I was born in St. Louis, MO. My mother, Marie Ann (Han) Yoo, is a third-generation Korean American from Hawai’i, and my father, Tai-June Yoo is from Seoul, Korea. My maternal clan has been on Oahu since 1904; I’m a descendant from the very first wave of Koreans to leave their home country.

Yes, Han—my pen name, is my mother’s birth name! I love my mom:). I was a big baby. Mom said I was simply huge; I’m 5’1”. It’s amusing to know that at one point in my life I was considered terrifyingly big.

Dad got drafted after getting his U.S. green card and this, combined with his medical training and his research career meant that we lived everywhere from Seoul, Korea to Memphis, Tennessee. I have two sisters: Christine, born in Buffalo, NY and Katherine, born in San Francisco, CA.

I spent the bulk of my elementary school years in Iowa, although we made trips to Hawai’i to visit the ‘ohana, and then at the age of 13, I went to boarding school: Phillips Academy Andover. (This was not forced, it was my choice). The experience gave me the opportunity to study with some great English literature teachers. I made collages, had a messy room, had mad crushes, did terribly in math, took many art and music classes, and wanted to be an artist. Since I didn’t learn of or know any Asian American artists or writers, I didn’t know it was possible. 

I went on to Barnard College–the last class before Columbia admitted women, and was lost and depressed. I believe much of this was down to recovering from boarding school and what can be a very narrow world within elite institutions that are competitive, white, and patriarchal. I left university after two years. By the time I returned to finish my degree at University of California Santa Barbara, I was in my late 20s, living in Los Angeles, studying acting and writing poetry. I won a grant from the Los Angeles Department of Cultural Affairs to author a poetry chapbook, L.A. (Lovers Anonymous).

After graduation, I headed to Korea. A world opened up. Much of the frustration or discontent I experienced in the continental U.S. due to race did not exist in the same way for me in Asia. While there are always points of frustration anywhere you go, they were different, and I needed to experience this difference. Life unfolded: I married, had a child, taught, wrote, published, and found myself moving back and forth between the US and Hong Kong. I studied writing and literature at San Francisco State University (MA), labored as a journalist, provided content for Netnoir–the first African American online company, won a PEN Emerging Voices Fellowship and scholarship to VONA, studied creative writing at University of Arizona, taught K-12 and university, made a home in the rural village of Mui Wo, Lantau outside of Hong Kong, witnessed the Umbrella Revolution, became the first Ph.D. in English literature awarded by City University of Hong Kong, moved back to Hawai’i, and finally published my fiction collection:  Swimming in Hong Kong

The stories and the manuscript itself were rejected hundreds of times. The practice of writing is not always connected with the realities of publishing. The exact same stories that went on to win awards and prizes were the ones that were continuously rejected. My short story collection was even rejected three years after it was published! No writer will tell you that only great work gets published or conversely, that only poorly crafted work is rewarded. 

The several years prior to COVID were tumultuous. I divorced, moved, and began life as a single parent. Divorce compelled a close examination of the influence of narrative on women–including myself! The stories that govern our lives are based on texts written by men and are enforced by both men and women: how do patriarchal narratives affect our personal story? How do we obtain true empowerment in a society that has yet to acknowledge women as complete human beings?  I started surfing and studying hula; I taught secondary and university; I deeply questioned my purpose. How does one live authentically and kindly? What is the nature of belief and belonging? What is it to write and to live one’s truth to power? Given that we are more than 130 years from gender equity in the U.S., how does one function as a woman? How can I encourage women to manifest the lives they want to live?

During COVID I launched my online teaching platform to answer my own questions, to share what I know, and to teach what I wish I had learned during my years of formal study. This time of global upheaval was one of reckoning, alignment, flow, and rebirth. The countless deaths reminded us that we must live authentically and compassionately. The cataclysmic shift I had personally experienced collided with global events and compelled me to reframe time, mission, and opportunity. I now work backwards from death: I write and teach what I believe to be the most important information that I can share with others. I began the Woman. Warrior. Writer. newsletter to inspire women readers and writers, to literally or metaphorically author their lives. I created the Divorce Story Structure explained in the guide BREAK: How to Write Your Divorce Story to help women write their divorce stories for their legal/personal file and to set myself free. I started the newsletter BREAK: A Divorce Story (the title of my memoir-in-progress!) to deliver real talk, truth bombs, and general info to women divorcing.

Like everyone else, my time here is short. We are here to love. We are here as stewards of the planet. That’s it.

Any student will tell you that I will be honest with you and help you to improve your craft. The more stories that women write, the better we are as a society. I view writing as a practice of expression and art, and a key to transformation. It is a way to work out one’s relationship to life both physically and emotionally. It is also a way to community and ideas.

My life was formed by reading and writing. Growing up, I was unable to see what I wanted to be in books or anywhere in popular media. I came to writing to write myself into being. I did not see myself as existing because there was nothing to reflect who I was, what I believed, or any of the experiences that I had. The very nature of art and creativity is rebellion. I wrote because I had a desperate need to be seen and to believe that I existed. I didn’t like the words that were there for me to follow; I had to write my own. 

To create, one must be.

What took me a long time to understand is that we must first see ourselves before anyone else can see us, and that writing is one way to help us do this. Our lives are stories and our greatest task is to master the practice of authoring this life. (Think in metaphor!) If we understand how narrative works we can apply ideas of storytelling and writing to the greatest work of art we will ever create: our lives. 

The art of writing is always linked to the art of life. When we face who we truly are, whether in fact or fiction, poetry or prose, the world opens: the truth is compelling. 

We create the story of our lives.