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As a kid I used to walk around holding a book in front of my face, back before I grew up and had to use my hands to do more cooking / washing / chauffeuring / shopping / relating / baby- and hand-holding, gesticulating while arguing, etc. Whenever I sat still without a book, I wrote and illustrated stories, but I quit drawing my first year in high school when I got a C+ in art class. I kept writing, but only serious academic stuff, since I couldn’t dare to imagine myself trying anything creative. 

I clawed my way to a PhD in Japanese literature, then introduced some college students to the pain and hilarity of Japanese language and culture in the classroom while publishing obscure academic articles. Along the way I’ve continued to scribble about my first love, fiction, with its places I sail away to and characters I want to hug or slap by turns. Some of my scribbles turn into typed and posted essays and attempts at my own stories, once I can get over myself and let the words speak for themselves and (I hope) for you too.