I’ve always lived in my head, building paracosms—entire worlds, characters, and stories that felt more real than reality. Even as a kid, I was always lost in a story, whether it was books, movies, or the ones I created myself. It wasn’t just a hobby. It was survival.

I spent years escaping into those worlds, crafting characters that felt like home. When I found Tumblr, everything changed. I met people who loved the same things I did. I wasn’t weird. I wasn’t alone. I devoured fanfiction, then started writing my own. Tumblr, FanFiction.net, AO3—those spaces became my escape.

Then life hit me hard. When my parents passed away, I wrote a fantasy story to distract myself from reality. I needed something to hold onto, something bigger than grief. I poured everything into that book—my pain, my hope, my need for escape. I published it, then later took it down. It wasn’t for the world. It was for me. But that experience made me realize something. Writing wasn’t just about stories. It was how I processed pain, love, loss, and desire.

At some point, I wanted more. I wanted stories where women like me—plus-size, over 35, with real lives and real desires—took center stage. The kind of books I had spent years searching for. So, I wrote them myself.

I’ve written small-town romance, and I’m working on a mafia romance, but monster romance is my home. People who love monster romance aren’t just looking for a love story. They’re drawn to something deeper, darker, and more consuming than traditional romance allows. A monster doesn’t love the way a human does. There are no rules, no limits—just obsession, devotion, and a love so primal it feels like fate.

I’ve been a storyteller for years, but monster romance is my jam right now. It’s where I found my voice, where obsession meets devotion, and where the monster always falls first—and falls hard. But who knows? My neurospicy brain might latch onto something else next. For now, though, this is home.