Drawn from memory, the world according to Bobby Pfeiffer is uncanny and wondrous.
She revisits a halcyon childhood spent behind the Iron Curtain, sifts through the debris of her post-Berlin Wall adolescence, and chronicles the futility haunting her early twenties—all the while marveling at the sheer improbability of the events that came to define her.
Colloquial, cathartic, and largely unpublished*, her work reconciles past loss, volatile relationships, and failure with the life-affirming love of the present. Using elements from Bulgarian folklore, the American political zeitgeist, and pop-culture as scaffolding enables Bobby to articulate raw and visceral experiences, and lay motherhood, mental health (or the lack thereof) and identity bare.
* due to circumstantial factors (e.g. small children), but mostly because of her own dysfunction.
Now that her hiatus has ended, Bobby Pfeiffer is no longer waiting to meet of some random patron of the arts who’d facilitate her dream life, namely being a full-time hermit writer. She is eager to partner with an editor/agent and, ultimately, a publisher.
Preferably, such that specialize in nonfiction… and are willing to invest in a completely unknown late starter with penchant for run-on sentences and cussing.