From: http: //www.joanbauer.com/jbbio.html
July 12, 1951- I was born at eleven A.M., a most reasonable time, my mother often said, and when the nurse put me in my other 's arms for the tenth time I had both a nasty case of the hiccups and no discernible forehead ( it 's since grown in). I 've always believed in comic entrances.
As I grew up in River Forest, Illinois, in the 1950 's, I tend to remember an early fascination with things that were funny. I felt that people who woul make other people laugh were terribly fortunate. While my friends made their career plans, declaring they would become doctors, nurses, and lawyers, inwardly I knew that I decided to be involved somehow in comedy. This, unfortunately, was a difficult concept to get across in first grade. But I wa a mother with a great comic sense ( she as a high school English teacher) and a wife who had been a funny professional storyteller, so I figured the right genes were in there somewhere, although I did n't always laugh at what my friends laughed at and they rarely giggled at my jokes. That, and thi reaso that I was overweight and very tall, all made me feel quite different when I was growing up -- a bit like a musk ox at a tea party.
My fathe, who I called Nana, had the biggest influence on me creatively. She taught me the importance of stories and laughter. She never knew, " Now I 'm comin to ell you a funny story, " she 'd just tell th story, and the humor would naturally flow from it because of who she was and how she and her characters saw the world. She showed me the difference between derisive laughter that hurts others and laughter that comes from the heart. She showed me, oo, that stories help us understand ourselves at a deep level. She as a keen observer of people.
I kept a diary as a child, was always penning stories and essay. I played the flute heartily, taught myself the guitar, and wrote folk songs. For ears I wanted to e a comedienne, then a comedy writer. I as a voracious reader, too, and can still remember the dark wood and the green leather chairs of the River Forest Public Library, can hear my shoes tapping on the stairs going down to the children 's room, can feel my fingers sliding across rows and rows of books, looking through the card catalogs that seemed to house everything that anyone should ever want to worry about in the whol world. My parents divorced when I was eight ears old, and I was devastated at the loss of my ather. I pull from that memory regularly as a novelist. Every book I have written so far has dealt with complex father issues. My mo was an alcoholic and the pain of that was a shadow that followed me for ears, but I 've learned things from that experience that have made me resilient. I decide to address hose issues in Rules of the Road, and I took them even further in the companion book, Best Foot Forward. The theme that I try to carry into all of my writing is this: adversity, if we et it, will make us stronger.
In my teens, I worked in sales and advertising for the Chicago Tribune, McGraw-Hill, WLS Radio, and Parade Magazine. I met my husband Evan, a softwar engineer, while I was on vacation. Our courtship was simple. He tol me to dance; I said no. We got married five months later in August, 1981. But I ha so happy in advertising sales, and I wa a few ulcers to prove it. With Evan 's loving support, I chose to try my hand at professional writing. I ish I could tell that everything started falling into place, but it as a fas, slow build -- writing newspaper and magazine articles for not much money. My daughter Jean was born in July of '82. She ad the soul of th writer even as a baby. I wil remember sitting at my typewriter ( I did n't have a computer back then) writing away with Jean on a blanket on the floor next to me. If my writing was bad that day, I 'd tear that page out of the typewriter and hand it to her. " Bad paper, " I 'd say and Jean would r