About me   

I suppose it was inevitable that I would start writing. After all, I was asked to edit notes, letters, and documents almost as soon as I learned to spell my name: my parents never did quite grasp the subtleties of the vernacular, be it French or English.

I was born a Russian émigré in a house full of tomes and loose papers, where books were the most prized possessions and knowledge more important still. I learned to read between the lines as soon as I learned to decipher the words on the page. I learned to translate as soon as I learned to speak a second language. And I learned to analyze and cross-check information as soon as I learned to turn on the radio.

I also grew up on traditional tales and legends, myths and epic songs, folk beliefs and old traditions. On meals cooked from scratch and stories of long, harsh Russian winters. On literary readings and classical music. I'm not sure any of my teachers realized that my language-art homework didn't stop at mere sentences but reflected entire fantastic worlds full of magic and adventure.

My parents' and my much older siblings' favorite pastime was arguing philosophy and politics, discussing art, and gathering for long family dinners on major holidays. I didn't learn about pop culture until I went away to graduate school, but then I made up for lost time. Today, my teenage kids are happy to help fill in the gaps.

From grade schools in France and Morocco, to secondary schools and university in Paris, and finally to graduate school in the USA, I did my share of travel, although not as much as I once dreamed.

And here I am, from Russian émigré in Paris to American wife, mother, and writer, with ties to Wisconsin, California, and Texas.