About Orly Konig
I'm still trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up. But that's part of the fun, right?
I’ve always been a reader and a dreamer. Not so much a writer, though. Or at least not a fiction writer. I tried during college but my professor wasn’t impressed and I wasn’t terribly amused by the experience. Fast forward through several (okay, MANY) years of working in magazines and corporate communications and, like so often happens, life took a detour. I began freelancing after my son was born until, one day, I realized that as much as I loved my clients, I really, really needed a new creative outlet. We were on our way to a ski weekend (side note: I don’t ski but I rock the whole sitting by the fireplace, drinking coffee, and reading part), I mentioned to my husband that I was considering going back to school for my PhD. He “gently” suggested that I take the writing workshop I’d been mumbling about for a few weeks instead. By the time the workshop was done, I had a solid start on a manuscript and I was hooked.
I joke that writing is cheaper than therapy. Fiction has become my escape, my release. It’s where I turn when I want to sort through feelings and thoughts and the commotion of life. It’s where I go when I want a new experience or trick myself into believing I have some control over something—anything.
When I’m not writing, I’m chauffeur/ATM/personal assistant to my teenage son or catering to the whims of the feline overlords in my house. I have a ridiculous (somewhat cliche) weakness for coffee (you’d think with the amount of coffee I consume, I’d be slaying my daily to-do lists but, sadly, not so much) and borderline obsession with yarn (the cats are the only other ones in this house who share my enthusiasm). If it was up to me, we'd have a house full of pets -- cats and dogs, a pig to snuggle with. My dream was to have a house with enough land to have horses and donkeys and goats and an alpaca or three.
For now at least, I have the cats (wait, that's backwards ... they adopted us) and I busy myself crocheting various creatures instead. Crocheting is my busy-fingers-quieting-the-mind time. It’s when I let my brain run amok on story ideas or life stuff and somehow, I usually manage to work through whatever plot holes I was struggling with (you can see some of my #yarntherapy results here or in my Instagram feed).
I’ve always been a reader and a dreamer. Not so much a writer, though. Or at least not a fiction writer. I tried during college but my professor wasn’t impressed and I wasn’t terribly amused by the experience. Fast forward through several (okay, MANY) years of working in magazines and corporate communications and, like so often happens, life took a detour. I began freelancing after my son was born until, one day, I realized that as much as I loved my clients, I really, really needed a new creative outlet. We were on our way to a ski weekend (side note: I don’t ski but I rock the whole sitting by the fireplace, drinking coffee, and reading part), I mentioned to my husband that I was considering going back to school for my PhD. He “gently” suggested that I take the writing workshop I’d been mumbling about for a few weeks instead. By the time the workshop was done, I had a solid start on a manuscript and I was hooked.
I joke that writing is cheaper than therapy. Fiction has become my escape, my release. It’s where I turn when I want to sort through feelings and thoughts and the commotion of life. It’s where I go when I want a new experience or trick myself into believing I have some control over something—anything.
When I’m not writing, I’m chauffeur/ATM/personal assistant to my teenage son or catering to the whims of the feline overlords in my house. I have a ridiculous (somewhat cliche) weakness for coffee (you’d think with the amount of coffee I consume, I’d be slaying my daily to-do lists but, sadly, not so much) and borderline obsession with yarn (the cats are the only other ones in this house who share my enthusiasm). If it was up to me, we'd have a house full of pets -- cats and dogs, a pig to snuggle with. My dream was to have a house with enough land to have horses and donkeys and goats and an alpaca or three.
For now at least, I have the cats (wait, that's backwards ... they adopted us) and I busy myself crocheting various creatures instead. Crocheting is my busy-fingers-quieting-the-mind time. It’s when I let my brain run amok on story ideas or life stuff and somehow, I usually manage to work through whatever plot holes I was struggling with (you can see some of my #yarntherapy results here or in my Instagram feed).
Some useless or useful information…
2020 Reading ChallengeSee my progress on this fun challenge of reading one book for each letter of the alphabet by December 31, 2020!
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