Hi!  However you came to find me, welcome; it's lovely to meet you!

I'm Eun-byeol; for various and sundry reasons, I also answer to "E". I am a Korean-Chinese-American speculative fiction writer who accidentally fell into the market as a poet—after decades of declaring my inability to write poetry. I grew up in the California Bay Area, relocated to New York for university and stayed another three years, then came to the DC Metro area for grad school (yes, my weather radar is exactly as bizarre as you think it is). I'm currently in Virginia, in an apartment that probably contains more books and tea than it does anything else, and frequently wishing my horses were here.

I've worn a lot of hats in my life, but writing has been one of a handful of constants. I believe in the power of the written word, in its ability to convey and represent people and things that are often overlooked: the marginalised; the experiences in your life about which you don't know how to speak; the bigotry we all wish to believe we have left behind. The pen might not be mightier than the sword in a fight—don't bring a knife to a gunfight, don't bring a pen to any fight unless you know exactly how to stab it through someone's eye or carotid artery, etc.—but it is when it comes to lasting impact.

I want my words to resonate with my readers; I want them to paint a different picture of the things reality has distorted or sugarcoated or made somehow more palatable. I want words that invite readers to return, that provoke thought and echo through the empty spaces, drawing them back to find the images and messages hovering below the surface. In my fiction, I love sharp imagery and evocative language and stylised prose—enough to transplant you into a new universe, but not so much that your imagination has no room to work.

And, as I have gotten older, I've come to the understanding that a million people have reached before me: that the words born of blood and tears and survival and grit are not something to be hidden away, locked in closets with demons and ghosts, never to be mentioned. Use those words when you can. Let them, if you're lucky, present the lessons you've learnt the hard way so that others might not have to.

It's a work in progress. I'm getting there.

That isn't why I started freelancing as an editor, but it's a perk. Among a thousand other things, if I can play a role in bringing marginalised voices forward, I consider that a victory. There are millions of us, and I'm one of them. I want their voices to be heard as much as my own.

The rest of the time? I'm an equestrian—hunter-jumpers, emphasis on jumpers—a student of armed and unarmed self-defence, focussed on krav maga, though I'm now severely limited in my ability to train; and an admittedly out-of-practise calligrapher now that my hands object to holding pens, never mind nibs at the right angle. (That said, I've done wedding invitations and various other projects, some for experimentation, so if you'd like to hire me, let's talk.)

I am also chronically ill, and therefore vaguely disabled, diagnosed with an unspecified connective tissue disorder, and either secondary or comorbid POTS and dysautonomia. Translation: my whole body hurts at any given time, and my autonomic nervous system objects to doing its job. This has been my life since...well. The "when" is a little unclear, but suffice to say it's been actively hounding me since 2003 and has graduated from "obnoxious" to "constant pain", which is sadly not an exaggeration. And if you think "disabled" and "self-defence" sound like a paradox when combined, you'd be right; I confuse myself most of the time. If you're interested in more about my experience living and working with disability and chronic illness, rather than write a dissertation here, take a look at this post.