I was released upon the world when Mother pedaled her bike through the always-sunny night to the only hospital in the ever-so-remote-feeling city of Fairbanks, Alaska. My young years were spent in the even-more-remote village of Kaktovik, an Eskimo village on an island off the north coast, population: 32. My permanently absent father was a successful drunk and a legendary bush pilot who crashed something like thirteen planes and was considered one of the best. Which makes one wonder what the worst were like.
      In Kaktovik, I learned proper eating style from the polar bears and how to lie on the beach from the beached whales. I learned to run through the tundra from the crafty lemmings, and to prance from the fox who was trying to eat the lemmings. Somehow, when I was two, I got a brother who was born orange and had to have a full blood swap. I thought they should have left him orange. When it was time to go to “proper” school, it was back to Fairbanks where growing up consisted of hockey, Mother's terrible cooking, wanting a TV, skiing, complaining about Mother's terrible cooking, and wishing my brother were still orange.
      Somehow, mostly due to a miracle and partially a late surge of somewhat hard work, I graduated high school. Vowing that I hated all things Alaskan, including Mother, I promptly received the boot which was in the shape of a one-way ticket to Paris. There, I quickly discovered I spoke no French. I found that instead of learning French I would rather do magic at local restaurants because you don't need to speak any language to make something disappear. I also discovered that rollerblading while holding onto cars, scooters, and buses is super fun and can get you anywhere in the city fast, and that getting hit by cars hurts. After nine months of performing magic, eating baguettes, crepes, and croissants, I realized that those tasty fresh pastries were the only reason I was staying. So I left.
      A year later, using wit, card tricks, sweet talking, and a community college,  I finagled my way into the University of Colorado at Boulder. After four years of playing Ultimate Frisbee at a somewhat successful rate and taking a smorgasbord of classes, I found out (to no one's surprise) that I was about five years away from graduating. It was time to move to Oakland. I piled everything that would fit into the car, including a girlfriend that took the place of a big box of fantastic books in the front seat. The jury is still out on whether that was a good trade. Books are just so much easier to read than a girl's emotions, and they definitely don’t leave you in Oakland to return to Boulder.
      So that's why I started writing kids' books: to replace my lost box of fantastic books and to provide a child, kid, parent, or a really smart animal with a simple thing to read in a not so simple world.
      I now live in San Francisco with 5 TV's, 4 stuffed animals, 3 roommates, 2 motorcycles and get along much better with my 1 mother.
                          Contact beausbooks@gmail.com