Hettie Ivers began her writing journey in the womb, etching hieroglyphic-like drawings on the inner lining of her placental sac—which doctors later discovered to be a translation of Tolstoy’s War and Peace. After the normal public educational experiences, Ivers dropped out of 4th grade and left home to “find herself”, uncover the meaning of life, and locate the best homemade hooch on the planet.
She proceeded to travel the globe, working odd jobs to pay for her opium addiction and Kindle Unlimited subscription. She served as Vice-consulate to the Sultan of Brunei’s stenographer, cleaned grease traps in Mama Trihn’s Vietnamese restaurant in Ho Chi Minh City, lived with a band of sherpas, assisted several successful Everest summits, and spent 6 months on a tiny raft adrift in the South Pacific chasing the perfect tan.
Upon achieving this, she backpacked across the Ural Mountains, living off nothing but kvass and goat cheese fermented in a pouch made from the stomach of a yak. She worked as Third Engineer on Mediterranean cruise ship, the Adriana, and as First Stomper on the Tuscan farm, Il Sant’Agnese, where she crushed grapes and olives for wine and oil production.
After such a turbulent 17 months, she decided to settle in a bit, and began an exciting foray into the world of corporate America—child labor laws be damned! She has been busy pushing paper and collating her way to the top ever since.
Ivers brings her unique experiences to bear on each word she writes to transcend mere symbology into the most sublime and uplifting werelock porn ever crafted by a Type A insomniac.
Her family couldn’t be more proud.
(Disclaimer: This was written by Hettie’s adoring husband, who has been known to exaggerate his wife’s accomplishments, on occasion.)