Krista LaRae
AUTHOR

Krista LaRae

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I am a cut-to-the-chase, done with the BS, post-menopausal mid-life woman who started writing monster romance in 2024 because the absurdity amused me. And when you have spent your life doing the right things for your family and your career, indulging in a little spicy absurdity is a lot of fun.

I'm a genre binge reader and will devour monster romance for three months, then pivot to cozy mysteries, take a hard left into historical fiction, about face to romantasy, and end up in thrillers. My only rules are no sad books and no abuse. I don't need to cry into my Kindle. That's what the news is for. And life's too short for sad books. There's enough of that in real life.

I am a plotter, a planner, and a dictator. Not the politically bossy kind. The kind who talks into her phone and hopes nobody can overhear the spicy scenes. My writing fuel is coffee in the morning, tea throughout the day, and not nearly enough sleep. Wine is out. It makes my head explode. Not literally, although it feels that way.

When I'm not writing, I'm working or traveling or spending time with family and friends, or my two little grand-goblins. I also like costume parties — Kentucky Derby, Mardi Gras, Halloween, and any other excuse to get crafty. I'm a divorced empty nester in the Pacific Northwest with retirement on the horizon and a passport with big plans. I had pets once. Wonderful ones. They've crossed the rainbow bridge, and I haven't homed new ones because explaining to a dog why I’m leaving for three weeks is a conversation I'm not ready to have.

I have strong opinions about trivial things, tolerant opinions on most things, and intolerant opinions on the biggest of things. For example, you're either the kind of person who sets an alarm at 5:30 or 5:35, or you're the kind of person who thinks it's acceptable to set an alarm at 5:32. One of these is fine. The other is a moral deficiency. If you are able-bodied and mobile, and don’t have children with you, I will absolutely judge you if you leave your shopping cart in the middle of a parking space instead of returning it to where it belongs. That said, I will consider extenuating circumstances, but those circumstances better involve a loved one on their way to the emergency room or the sudden onset of diarrhea.

If you set your alarm in proper five-minute increments, return your cart like a decent human, live with kindness in your heart, and enjoy your romance served with spice, tentacles, banter, and happily ever afters for humans and sentient objects alike, then we should be friends.
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