Talk Me a Story about Moon Rabbit! follows a young girl who struggles with her Korean American identity after classmates make fun of her mother’s accent, her family’s food, and the traditions that make her home special. What drew you to Moon Rabbit as the central figure connecting Shelly’s everyday life with the magical world of the story?

There were several reasons I chose Moon Rabbit to connect Shelly’s everyday life with the magical world of the story. In Korean folktales, the rabbit is often a small and seemingly vulnerable creature, but it is also clever, resourceful, and capable of outsmarting much larger and more powerful animals. Whether it’s escaping a hungry tiger or tricking the creatures who want to take its liver to save the Dragon King of the Southern Sea, the rabbit finds a way to turn the tables and come out on top.

I wanted to draw on that tradition while creating a Moon Rabbit who embodies those same qualities. Beginning as a humble rabbit, it eventually earns its place on the moon not simply because of its sincerity and compassion, but also because it thinks outside the box. Its journey shows that strength doesn’t always come from being the biggest, the loudest, or the most powerful. Sometimes, it comes from resourcefulness, creativity, and the willingness to see possibilities where others might not.

I wanted Moon Rabbit to serve as both a mentor and a mirror for Shelly. As Shelly struggles with feeling different and begins to question the parts of herself and her family that make her Korean American, Moon Rabbit offers her a way to see those differences differently. Through their connection, I hoped Shelly—and young readers, too—would recognize that being small or feeling like an outsider doesn’t mean you’re powerless. You can be vulnerable and mighty at the same time. Sometimes, the very things that make you feel different are also the things that make you extraordinary.

How do Shelly’s experiences with bullying and cultural misunderstanding influence the way she sees herself at the beginning of the novel?

At the beginning of the novel, Shelly is standing at the edge of an identity crisis. She loves her mother, but when her classmates make fun of her mother’s accent, her family’s food, and the cultural traditions that make their home special, shame begins to creep into a place where there was once only love and familiarity. She starts to question the very things that connect her to her family and her Korean heritage.

The nightmare passages in the novel offer glimpses into just how much Shelly has been carrying inside. She has experienced repeated instances of bullying, but she hasn’t felt able to talk about them openly. Instead, she internalizes those experiences, and they begin to manifest as anxiety, fear, and low self-esteem. She is trying to resist the negative messages her classmates are sending her, but doing so becomes increasingly difficult when she is struggling with those feelings on her own.

Shelly’s experiences are deeply personal to me. They reflect some of my own experiences growing up Korean American and mixed race, as well as experiences my own children have had. I also hear similar stories from many of my college students who identify as Asian American. They talk about being teased or stereotyped because of their food, cultural practices, and beliefs. Those experiences remind me how early children can learn to feel ashamed of something that should be a source of connection and pride.

What I wanted to explore through Shelly is how difficult it can be to hold on to your sense of self when the world around you is telling you that something about you or your family is wrong. Shelly has the love and support of her family, and the stories passed down through generations give her a connection to her heritage that she can draw strength from. But even when you have that foundation, it doesn’t mean you are immune to the hurtful things people say. Shelly has to find her way back to herself, and part of that journey is learning to trust her own voice and recognize the value of the very things she has begun to question.

How does the novel explore the importance of passing stories, memories, and traditions from one generation to the next?

Honestly, this is the heart of the story. For me, storytelling is about so much more than passing down folktales or preserving cultural traditions. It’s about passing down a sense of who we are, where we come from, and how we are connected to the people who came before us.

In the novel, Shelly’s mother, or Momma, uses storytelling to share Korean folktales, family memories, and experiences from her own life. These stories are a way of keeping their Korean heritage alive, but they also offer Shelly a connection to a history and a cultural identity that she is still learning to understand. Through her mother’s stories, Shelly begins to see that she is part of something much larger than herself. She is connected to generations of people whose experiences, struggles, wisdom, and imagination have shaped the world she lives in.

This theme is also deeply personal for me. I was born in Seoul, but I grew up in the United States, and my relationship with my Korean heritage has been shaped by both what was passed down to me and what I’ve had to seek out for myself. When I became a mother, I made a conscious effort to share Korean folktales with my own children. I wanted them to have a connection to a cultural heritage that might otherwise feel distant from their everyday lives. In many ways, writing this novel grew out of that desire to preserve and pass on those stories.

I also wanted to explore how storytelling can become an act of love and resilience. When Shelly is struggling with bullying and beginning to feel ashamed of the things that make her different, her family’s stories offer her another way of understanding herself. They remind her that her heritage is not something to be embarrassed about, but something rich with meaning, imagination, and possibility. The stories don’t magically erase her pain, but they give her a foundation from which she can begin to make sense of her experiences.

Ultimately, I believe that when we pass stories from one generation to the next, we are giving the next generation more than memories. We are giving them ways to understand themselves, to imagine who they might become, and to know that they are part of a story that began long before them and will continue long after them. That, to me, is one of the most powerful gifts we can give our children.

What advice would you give young readers who feel embarrassed or uncertain about the cultural traditions that make their families unique?

I would tell young readers to remember that every day, you walk with your ancestors. You carry their stories, their struggles, their wisdom, and their love with you, even if you don’t always recognize it. The foods your family makes, the languages they speak, the traditions they practice, and the stories they tell are all part of a history that has helped shape who you are.

I know that when you’re young, it’s not always easy to appreciate those things, especially when you’re surrounded by people who may not understand them or who make you feel as though being different is something to be ashamed of. I experienced that growing up, and I see it in the experiences of young people today. Sometimes, the desire to fit in can make us want to distance ourselves from the very things that connect us to our families and our cultural heritage.

But I would encourage young readers not to let someone else’s misunderstanding determine how they see themselves. You don’t have to know everything about your culture, and you don’t have to feel proud of every tradition right away. Give yourself permission to ask questions, explore your family’s history, and discover what those traditions mean to you. Talk to your parents, grandparents, and elders. Listen to their stories. You may discover that something you once felt embarrassed about holds a beautiful history or a meaning you never knew.

And remember, you don’t have to choose between honoring where you come from and deciding who you want to become. You can embrace your heritage while creating your own identity. You can be proud of your family’s traditions while also making room for new ones.

Most importantly, never mistake being different for being less than. Your family’s story is part of your story, and your story matters. You may not always understand the gifts your ancestors have given you, but you carry those gifts forward in the way you live, love, create, and tell your own stories. Every day, you walk with your ancestors—and someday, you will be part of the story that someone else carries with them.

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