Tea? I’ve only got camomile.
Coco Boyle grew up sunburnt and smelling of sage in Southern California in the heyday of the sweet nineties. On her journey towards a towering 5’3”, she was stomped by multiple ponies, brainwashed with accordions, Swarovski crystals, and a militant Canadian dance instructor. Then, predictably, copied her older sister in being a generic Irish person of above average intelligence and fitness–also brunette–at the University of Notre Dame. After ending up 5’3” with a degree in Biology in Indiana, she moved back west drawn by science, surf, Southern Californian famajamma, and Yosemite granite’s siren friction.
Currently, Coco is a recovering scientist and a technically successful technical writer. She renounced the sensual and many-pocketed uniform of laboratory research sciences after the pungent realization she had been drifting in bleach fumed, blood frenzy for the last seven years. Academic writing was not the typefont she dreamt about. She got out just in time, on the tail end of a grant, and malaria free. She now works documenting truck software because trucks are sweet. Autonomous trucks are even sweeter.
She has written three volumes of poetry, a couple of essays, and a smattering of short stories, and has several literary fiction novels in development. Her primary focus is novel length stories. In all sorts of voices. With all sorts of people. Because this world is all sorts of beautiful.
On the weekends she can be found losing skin and sanity wriggling up Joshua Tree offwidths, sliding about on her longboard when the surf is 3-4ft at her local break and there are no sharks to be seen or imagined, or running very very long distances with her blonde-haired viking bestie in the hills adjacent to her house. Which is her parents’ house because, like she mentioned earlier, she is a goddamn millennial. She doesn’t own property. Yet.
She does own two very important things. One, a 2014 Venetian Red Pearl Subaru Outback–Eric the Red–who is the perfect length for snoozing in on those long Joshua Tree weekends and the perfect width for stuffing chock full of friends, sweaty adventure gear, and on occasion, goats. The second thing she owns is a very small, very insane Border Collie named Chaos. He does not enjoy the Subaru Outback, climbing rocks, the ocean, or running. He does enjoy staring at goats. And all things. Everything is stare-able. This may mean that everything is a goat.