Brief Author Bio:

One of people that doesn't appear to cause mess as much as accelerate entropy. If you can make your way around laundry baskets of clean clothes, kicked-off shoes, stacks of library books, office chairs so covered in papers as to make sitting in them impossible, and the sporadic blanket (kicked off during the night), you would most likely be able to find her curled cozily in bed, dreaming of carrot cake and park swings.

Provided that it isn't November, of course. In that most chilly and prodigious month, you're unlikely to find her at all. She might be under a desk or in the stacks or up a tree, wherever she can get away from other humans in order to write. She'll reappear under covers on December first, though, sleepily mumbling "For me?", so don't worry so much.