A.K. Vyas gave early promise of being nothing special whatsoever. He was born in the small New England village best known for the witch trials, then banished to Texas at a tender age. Being annoyingly well-read for a Texan and exceptionally stubborn as a child, the smart money predicted a brief but clumsy career as a rodeo clown, while others foresaw an early death.
To everyone’s intense disbelief, U.C. Berkeley made the mistake of admitting him, and he squeaked out a degree or two while doing silly, acrobatic, things in small planes. The Navy eventually decided it was safer for all parties involved (including the enemy) if he didn’t fly jets. Like most wayward souls he ended up on Wall Street, a lifestyle interrupted from time to time by an occasional date, unless of course it was NCAA football season. (You can take a boy out of Texas, but never take Texas out of the boy.)
To date, his young family has survived two class five hurricanes, and an infatuation with TexMex cast iron skillet recipes. Europe is currently home, and for unknown reasons, people on the street everywhere always ask him for directions. The Eagle Feather was his debut attempt at the ancient art of storytelling, and was written for his beautiful, perfect, athletic, and wonderful son.
Writing, has since become a cathartic hobby.