If you could time travel anywhere - where would you go?
Regency-era
England, without question. I grew up obsessed with Pride and Prejudice—the wit, the
longing glances, the slow-burn romance unfolding in drawing rooms and across
rain-soaked fields. There's something about that period that feels impossibly
romantic to me. Though I'll admit, I'd probably last about three days before
desperately missing indoor plumbing and my phone. The corsets alone might do me
in. But for those three days? I'd be taking notes on everything—the candlelit
ballrooms, the letter-writing, the way love had to be spoken in stolen moments
and careful glances.
Honestly, same!
What advice would you give to your younger self?
I'd tell her: that thing you think is standing in your way? Take it apart. Examine it. Because it's probably not as solid as it seems.
I didn't write seriously for a long time because I convinced myself there wasn't a place for my stories. Growing up Japanese American, I didn't see myself reflected in the books I loved, and I internalized that absence as evidence that my voice didn't belong. It took years to understand that the barrier I saw wasn't a wall, it was a door no one had opened yet. And sometimes you have to be the one to open it.
That's great advice!
Do you play an instrument? If so, which one. If not, which would you
pick if you had to choose?
I played violin in elementary school (very briefly and very badly). My teacher was patient; my parents were saints. But even in that short time, I understood something about music that stayed with me: the hours of solitary practice, the vulnerability of performance, the way you pour yourself into something that might not land the way you hoped.
That's why I gave Emma the violin. The life of a musician mirrors the life of a writer in so many ways—the discipline, the doubt, the moments when art feels like the only language that makes sense. Emma's relationship with her instrument is really about her relationship with herself: what she's willing to risk, what she's afraid to feel, and what happens when she finally lets the music speak.
I love the grandfather in this book; did you have a special
relationship with your grandfather that influenced this relationship?
Jiji was such a joy to write. He's one of those characters who arrived fully formed—his dry humor, his mysterious past, his ability to say everything in a single "eh." I could have written scenes with him all day.
He's loosely inspired by both of my grandfathers, on my mom's and dad's sides. Neither was a former government operative (as far as I know), but they both had that quality Jiji has—a quietness that holds volumes, a way of showing love through presence rather than words. Writing him was my way of honoring them and the particular tenderness of grandparent relationships, especially across cultures and generations.
I would read so much more about him!
Anything else you'd like to share that I didn't ask?
Book 2 is in the works. The letters aren't finished with her
yet.
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