I don’t write heroes.

I write what survives.

Yes, I have a day job.

Yes, I write what shouldn’t exist at night.


Now? I write about the kind of monsters who kneel. And the kind of women who don’t break—they burn brighter.

I balance a very normal, adult job with a not-so-normal creative life. I’ve revised spicy scenes between work meetings. I’ve answered emails with a shadow god in my head.

It’s fine. I’m fine.

If you like stories that are a little wild, a little lyrical, and burning with teeth, shadow, and rage…

You’ve found your people.

I live in rural Pennsylvania, tucked between ghost roads and folklore.

My work blends myth, magic, and monster worship, with stories full of devotion, fire, and women who rose wild and unyielding, refusing to belong to anyone but themselves.

I live with my husband (who inspired a rage witch with a soft streak), my son (who became a sweet, meat-sloughing shifter), and my dog Louie (now immortalized as a mouthy hellhound with a mean left hook).

Hey there! I’m Remy, and I’m so glad you’re here.

The little author bio in my book? Yeah, that barely scratches the surface.

I wrote a thesis on zombies. I cried almost nightly about monsters and started a career in instructional design. I got married and had son.

Then I accidentally built a cosmic shadow god with a praise kink, a concerning oral fixation, and a very unhealthy devotion problem.

And I gave him a heroine who grins through bloodied teeth, wildflowers tangled in her hair, and absolutely no interest in being saved.




I’ve always been drawn to monsters. I just didn’t realize, for a long time, that I was meant to write them.

I spent years in academia—wrote my thesis on zombies, Marxist cultural theory, semiotics, and post-humanism (yes, really). A publisher even approached me about turning it into a book…but the academic burnout was real.

I was cited in an academic collection about romance and zombies. Someone spelled my real last name wrong. I still bought the book.