Anastasie Moreau isn’t going to like it if you make comments about secret islands and doctors who create fantastic creatures from everyday animals. She’s particularly going to dislike you if you don’t get that literary reference, though. As long as she can remember, she wanted to be a writer and growing up in Louisiana gave her a lush and atmospheric kind of sensuality that fills her erotic writing, making her descriptive use of language exciting and provocative. She still lives in Louisiana, where she spends her days eating crawfish, gumbo, and beignets and drinking red wine. You might see her if you travel to New Orleans for Mardi Gras but she won’t be the one lifting her shirt for beads. She’ll be the one who writes a description of your breasts in her next story.