Sari Boren is a writer, museum exhibit developer and instructional designer.

Well, that’s not very enlightening, is it? Here’s a Q&A I conducted with myself. Several Qs are shamelessly stolen from Grub Street’s Get to Know a Grubbie feature.

Q: Besides writing nonfiction and working as a museum professional, what else have you done?

I was born and raised on the Jersey Shore where I worked in my uncle’s bakery and scooped frozen custard on the Asbury Park boardwalk. I moved up to Boston to attend Brandeis University, and after graduation worked mostly as a freelance videographer with odd side jobs when I couldn’t parlay my degree in early 20th century Russian literature into paid work. I packaged Mexican jumping beans, conducted marketing surveys (for slipper socks) at the mall, taught sex education, and cataloged stock video footage. I was a Kelly Girl secretary, an associate editor at a science fiction magazine, and an adventure tour guide driving foreign tourists across the country to places I’d never before visited. When all that grew tiresome I went back to school for a Masters in Education at the Harvard Graduate School of Education, followed by a job at the now sadly defunct Computer Museum. In 1998 I co-founded the exhibit design firm Wondercabinet Interpretive Design, where I was the writer and exhibit developer for history, science, and children’s museums. Currently, I’m an independent museum professional who works with museums and exhibit design firms, and I’m also a freelance writer and instructional designer.

I live and work in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Want to know more? Email me.

Q: What’s Grub Street?

Grub Street is a non-profit writing organization in Boston and the heart of Boston’s writing community. Members are called Grubbies.

Q: Grubbies? That sounds kind of dirty.

Yes indeed.

Q: Write a six-word memoir:

Sure, I’ll eat the other half.

Q: What’s your favorite way to procrastinate?

Reading political blogs and lying on the couch. I’m in a constant struggle with my Internet overlords.

Q: If obituaries were written as haikus (and they should be), what would yours say?

That’s bad luck, writing
my obituary. Oy.
Better I should wait.