I watched Nightmare on Elm Street with my mother when I was too young for it. I was terrified. But I did not hate Freddy. That was the part nobody warned me about.

Then came Beauty and the Beast, and when the Beast turned into a prince at the end, I felt cheated. I wanted him to stay the Beast. Then I saw Dracula take Lucy in werewolf form, and that was the moment something inside me settled.

Villains over heroes. Creatures over men. The dark thing in the woods over the boy next door. Nobody was writing the books I wanted to read, so eventually I wrote them myself.

I write dark romance and horror romance for the women romance forgot about — plus-size, over thirty-five, with soft bellies and loud mouths and no interest in shrinking themselves for anyone. My heroines take up space. They are chosen first, not last. They do not earn the monster's love by losing weight or learning to be smaller. The monster wants them exactly as they are — every curve, every scar, every inch they were taught to hide.

The monster stays monster. The scenes do not fade to black. The ending is rarely soft.

If that sounds like home, you are in the right place.

More monsters are coming. They always are.