The short version, the version I usually give when a stranger inquires, is this:
Hair started growing out of my chin when I was about thirteen. For the next twelve years, I shaved, tweezed, pulled, and occasionally chemical-burned the hair away. It was a pain, so I finally decided to just let it grow.
I didn’t expect to like having a beard (I didn’t expect to hate it, either), but I did. So I kept it. And, somewhere along the way, I started writing down all the odd occurrences and amusing moments my beard brings me. These are those stories. Some day, I hope to organize them into a book, but, for now, they’re appearing here in a more scattered form.
For more details about who I am, see the “About” section.