Chalon Emmons grew up in northern California, near dairy farms, redwood forests, and the Pacific ocean. When she was 8, she and her brother would get up before dawn to feed the family’s cow. This was a cold and treacherous business, involving travel across a lumpy field, the bucket of oats knocking against their legs, mists swirling. After college, Chalon adopted a cat named Wimsey, who bore little resemblance to Lord Peter, her favorite literary detective. As an adult, she shared a household with humans, yes, but also snails, a snake, and a baby mouse. Recently, a hummingbird has been raising chicks in a teensy nest just outside her front door in Berkeley. This small parent is unhappy when people hang around on the porch; she hovers and buzzes until they get the message and go away. Chalon keeps the peace by staying inside and writing as much as possible. She’s currently revising her first novel, about a boy who lives with a magical chicken and an enchanted box turtle, and who wants nothing more than to meet a fairy-familiar of his own.

Chalon’s first name is pronounced with a soft ch: shhh. It rhymes with salon. Her last name rhymes with lemons.