Tell us about yourself.
I’m Kayla Gerdes, a writer from New Orleans, Louisiana, where the stories are rich, the coffee is strong, and the chaos is always inspiring. I write across multiple genres, from steamy romance to empowering kids’ books, because I believe storytelling should be both healing and entertaining. My writing pulls from real-life experiences, personal growth, and the messiness that makes us human.
When I’m not typing away, you’ll find me sharing satire and snippets of everyday life on TikTok, spending time with my son and husband, or plotting out my next twist-filled novel. I’m a big believer in second chances, bold truths, and chasing dreams with your whole heart, even if your flip-flops fall off along the way.
Where did you grow up, and how did this influence your writing?
I grew up in Louisiana, between the wild heart of New Orleans and the quieter corners where stories linger like humidity in the air. My childhood was a mix of beauty and grit, chaos and charm. That contrast shaped how I see the world and how I write. I pull a lot from real-life experiences: family struggles, street smarts, survival, and the kind of humor that only comes from getting knocked down and learning how to laugh anyway.
The South taught me storytelling early. Everyone’s got a tale, and most don’t hold back. That honesty, raw, emotional, and often uncomfortable, shows up in my books. Whether I’m writing romance, poetry, thrillers, or kids’ stories, there's always a thread of truth, a bit of rebellion, and a whole lot of heart.
What was your journey to getting published like?
My journey to getting published wasn’t a straight line, it was more like a backroad detour with potholes, plot twists, and a lot of late-night writing sessions fueled by stubbornness and redbull. I didn’t wait around for permission. I chose to self-publish because I had stories to tell and didn’t want to spend years waiting for someone else to say they were “good enough.”
I researched everything, formats, covers, marketing, algorithms. I failed, learned, pivoted, and tried again. My first book wasn’t perfect, but it was mine. And with each release, I’ve grown bolder, sharper, and more intentional with my craft.
Publishing my work was never about chasing perfection. It was about showing up with the messy, beautiful truth, and connecting with readers who saw themselves in it. That’s the real win.
What’s the best piece of feedback you’ve ever received?
“That line wrecked me, in the best way.”
That was the feedback that stuck. And not because it was polished or glowing, but because it was honest. They weren’t talking about plot twists or grammar. They were talking about a sentence that hit them in the chest and made them pause.
It reminded me that the goal of writing isn’t to impress, it’s to connect. It’s not about having the perfect sentence. It’s about writing the one that reaches someone at exactly the moment they needed it. If your words can make someone feel understood, seen, comforted, or cracked wide open… you’ve already won.
I used to obsess over whether something was “good enough.” Now I ask: Did it move you? Did it make you stop scrolling, take a breath, or feel less alone?
That’s the kind of impact I aim for. The kind that wrecks you, in the best way.
What advice would you give to aspiring writers?
To write like no one’s watching, because at first, no one is. And that’s a gift. In the beginning, it’s just you and the page. No audience. No pressure. No expectations. That silence? That freedom? It’s where your voice is born. You get to be messy. Honest. Bold. You get to write the version that scares you a little, because no one’s looking yet. And that is sacred.
Don’t waste that time chasing trends, trying to write what you think will sell, or waiting for some magical alignment where everything feels “perfect.” Perfection is a moving target. The truth is, “perfect” never shows up, but you can.
Start ugly. Start unsure. Start late. Just start.
The first draft is never the final product, it’s the raw material your soul hands you. Messy is where the magic lives. That’s where your voice gets loud. That’s where your characters show up when you least expect them to. That’s where your story learns how to breathe.
You can edit bad writing. You can polish and shape and rewrite. But you can’t fix what doesn’t exist. You can’t edit a blank page.
So write the messy version. The honest version. The version that makes your chest tighten because it’s that close to your truth. You owe yourself that much, and your readers will feel it when the time comes.
Write like no one’s watching.
Because the ones who do eventually watch? They’ll be watching because your words made them feel something real.
What’s a fun fact about you that your readers might not know?
“I once went to Cosmetology school and dropped out to work on Bourbon Street. The stories I lived through there could fill three novels—and maybe one day they will.”
It sounds like the beginning of a punchline, but it was a turning point. I was young, searching for something, freedom, maybe. A way out. A way in to who I really was beneath all the expectations and survival mode. Hair school felt like the “safe” choice. The “normal” one. But I’ve never done well with normal. I needed chaos. I needed life. So I traded scissors for streetlights and found myself working in the middle of New Orleans’ most infamous mile, Bourbon Street.
What I got in return was an unfiltered education in people. In survival. In energy and darkness and beauty and resilience. I saw strangers become legends in a single night. I watched heartbreak unfold in real time over cheap drinks and louder-than-life music. I learned to read a room in two seconds flat and how to make someone feel seen in ten words or less. I met people I’ll never forget. And others I’d do anything to.
I didn’t realize it then, but that version of my life was prepping me to write. To create characters with bite and backstory. To weave chaos into meaning. Bourbon Street taught me how to watch, how to listen, and how to hold a little madness in your pocket just in case the story needs it.
So yeah, I dropped out of hair school. But I walked into a world that cracked me wide open and showed me who I really was. One day, I’ll write those stories. And when I do, they won’t be fiction. Just truth dressed up with a little lipstick and smoke.
What’s your guilty pleasure book or genre?
Dark romance, with dangerous men and morally gray decisions. The kind of stories where love isn’t clean, and the stakes aren’t small. I’m drawn to characters who are broken in ways they don’t even realize yet, who love like it’s a weapon and trust like it’s a trap. Bonus points if there’s a power struggle involved and someone’s life is on the line, emotionally or literally.
Give me the anti-hero with blood on his hands and a reason that almost makes sense. The woman who walks into the fire anyway, not because she’s naive, but because she knows what it’ll burn and dares it to. I want forbidden touches, razor-sharp tension, secrets between kisses, and consequences for every choice. I want obsession that looks like devotion, and love that doesn’t always save, it wrecks.
Dark romance lets you explore the ugliest parts of human desire and still find beauty inside the wreckage. It’s not about what’s safe. It’s about what’s real, the parts we hide, the decisions we justify, the things we ache for even when we know they’ll ruin us. That’s the kind of storytelling that keeps me up at night, and keeps me writing.
What’s your favorite quote about writing?
“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” – Maya Angelou
That line doesn’t just speak to writers, it haunts them. It lingers in your bones at 2 a.m. when your brain is loud but your hands are tired. When the story inside you feels too big, too raw, too tangled to put into words, but even heavier to carry in silence.
It captures the ache of having something to say and not knowing how to start. Of staring at a blank page with a full heart. Of holding scenes, characters, or truths in your chest like a scream you’ve been swallowing for years. It’s the feeling of knowing that no one else can tell this story the way you can, and that if you don’t, it might go untold forever.
That quote reminds me that writing isn’t just an outlet, it’s survival. A release. A reckoning. A way to make sense of things that refuse to make sense any other way. Every time I’ve tried to ignore the urge to write, that line finds me again.
The story always demands to be told. And the longer you carry it, the heavier it gets. Until one day, you sit down, exhale, and finally let it spill.
That’s when the agony starts to fade, and the magic begins.
When you’re not writing, how do you like to spend your time?
Mom mode, mostly, and I say that with equal parts exhaustion and awe. My days are often filled with messy hair, mismatched socks, snack negotiations, and the kind of chaos that somehow turns into the best kind of memories. I’m either chasing my son through the yard, filming content between laundry loads, or trying to squeeze a creative idea into a spare five minutes before the next “Mom, watch this!”
But honestly, even when I’m not writing, my brain doesn’t really stop. I’ll be sitting outside with a cold drink, watching the breeze move through the trees, and suddenly I’m wondering what my characters are doing without me. Are they waiting? Plotting? Falling apart in my absence? The story doesn’t pause just because I do.
When I can steal quiet moments, I love getting lost in the little things, painting, music, long walks where I can hear myself think. Sometimes I journal. Sometimes I just sit still and let the ideas come. Because even when I’m off the page, I’m still a storyteller. I just shift the setting, from laptop to life.
Motherhood, creativity, and a little rebellion all exist in the same breath around here. And somehow, that combination fuels everything I write.
Do you remember the first story you ever read, and the impact it had on you?
I don’t remember the exact first story, I wish I did. But I’ll never forget the first time a book made me cry. Not a tear because something was sad. I mean really cry, the kind that creeps up on you and takes your breath away before you even understand why.
I remember closing the book and just sitting there, stunned. It wasn’t just about the characters or what happened to them, it was about how deeply I felt it. It was the first time I realized that stories could hold you. That someone’s words on a page, written who knows how far away or how long ago, could still crawl inside your chest and make you feel seen. Safe. Shaken. Changed.
That moment stuck with me. It was when I first understood that stories aren’t just entertainment. They’re connection. They’re survival. They’re little lifelines passed from one heart to another. And that’s when the seed was planted, that maybe one day, I could write something that would do that for someone else.
I think that’s what I’m still chasing, every time I sit down to write:
That moment.
That connection.
That kind of magic.
What has inspired you and your writing style? How did you choose the kids genre?
Real life. The messy, beautiful, chaotic, uncomfortable kind. The kind where emotions don’t always come in neat little boxes and people say the wrong thing before they say the right one. That’s where my writing lives, in the real. I write how people actually talk and feel, not how we wish they would. I want my words to sound like they’re being whispered across a kitchen table, or shouted during a meltdown, or laughed out loud in the middle of a moment that’s supposed to be serious.
And when it comes to my kids’ books? That came from the most honest place of all: wanting to protect and prepare the next generation without scaring the magic out of them. I wanted to give children tools disguised as fun. Little lessons they could laugh through, play with, remember. Stories that sneak confidence and common sense into the background while they’re busy giggling about superhero missions or wild imagination games.
We don’t give kids enough credit. They’re smarter than we think, and more intuitive than we realize. So I write books that speak to them, not down at them. Books that make them feel clever, capable, and entertained. If they close the book a little braver than when they opened it? That’s the win.
And honestly? I write them for the adults reading, too. The ones who need a reminder that learning can be joyful, silly, and surprisingly profound. That it’s okay to laugh while you grow.
Because life is messy. But if you can find a way to turn that mess into meaning, especially with a kid in your lap and a smile on your face, then you’ve got something worth writing about.
How do you deal with negative reviews?
I read them… maybe twice. Once with a little sting, and then again with distance. Then I move on.
Because the truth is, not every book is for every person. And that’s okay. It’s more than okay, it’s reality. We don’t all love the same music, food, or people. So why would we all love the same stories?
I don’t write to be universally liked. I write to connect. To provoke emotion. To say something honest. And sometimes, that honesty hits hard. Sometimes it’s misunderstood. And sometimes, let’s be real, it just isn’t someone’s taste. That doesn’t mean the story wasn’t worth telling. It just means it wasn’t theirs.
Art isn’t about pleasing everyone. That’s a trap. Art is about reaching the right ones. The people who needed that exact line, that exact scene, that exact flawed, messy, aching character. And I’d rather be deeply loved by a few than mildly tolerated by many.
That said, I do believe in growth. If a negative review offers thoughtful critique, I’ll take it into consideration. But I’ll never let it shrink my voice or dull my fire. Because if you’re writing from a place of truth and love and fire, you’re already doing something brave. And that kind of bravery doesn’t need everyone’s approval to matter.
How do you connect with your readers?
I show up online as my full, sarcastic, chaotic, heart-on-my-sleeve self, because anything less wouldn’t feel honest. I don’t polish myself for the camera or hide behind the pages of my books. What you see in my writing is who I am in real life, and that’s how I connect with readers: through truth.
Whether it’s TikTok videos, behind-the-scenes chaos on my stories, late-night live chats, or personal emails, I talk to readers like I would talk to a friend. Because at the end of the day, I’m not just trying to sell a book. I’m trying to build something real. A community. A bond. A place where people feel seen, understood, entertained, and safe to be messy and human.
I want readers to feel like they know me, not in a polished, “look at my highlight reel” way, but in that “you get me and I get you” kind of way. I share the behind-the-scenes struggles. The unfiltered emotions. The random wins. The real voice behind the stories. Because connection doesn’t come from perfection, it comes from presence.
The messages I get from readers who say, “This book felt like it was written for me,” or “I laughed so hard at that video because I’ve been there”, those are everything. That’s the magic. That’s the whole reason I keep showing up.
My readers aren’t just an audience. They’re part of the story now.
What’s next for you as a writer?
More books, more genres, more unapologetic storytelling. I’m not here to stay in one lane, I’m building an entire world where readers can grow with me. A space where there’s something for every version of you: the bold one, the broken one, the healing one, the tired parent, the hopeless romantic, the curious kid, the dark-hearted dreamer.
I’ve got dark romance books in the works that push emotional boundaries and make readers question what love really looks like when it’s tangled with obsession and survival. I’m diving deeper into thrillers that unravel secrets and test loyalties. I’m writing poetry that speaks to the messy middle of healing, the stuff you don’t post about but always feel. And I’m continuing to write children’s books that teach big life lessons through fun, laughter, and wild imagination.
This isn’t just about building a career. It’s about building a connection, with readers who want more than just a quick escape. I want someone to read my books and feel like they’ve been seen, like I reached into their life and gave them something to hold onto, whether it’s strength, a laugh, or a line that hits too hard to forget.
So what’s next? Everything. All of it.
I’m not just writing books. I’m creating a legacy, one chapter, one reader, one wildly different story at a time.
Are there any Easter eggs or hidden messages in your work?
Always. Sometimes they’re obvious, sometimes they’re buried so deep only a few people will ever catch them. But they’re there. In the rhythm of a sentence, in a name choice, in a line that feels like a throwaway until you realize it’s holding the whole chapter together. I layer in personal truths, inside jokes, and quiet tributes to people I’ve loved, lost, or learned from.
There are lines that are stitched together from late-night conversations I’ll never forget. There are phrases only one person in my life would recognize, and moments written the way they should’ve happened, if we’d had more time, more honesty, more healing. Some characters carry the weight of people I couldn’t save. Others carry the hope I still have for them anyway.
If you know me in real life, you’ll probably feel those lines hit a little harder. You might even pause and wonder if that sentence was meant for you. (Spoiler: it probably was.) But even if you don’t know me personally, I write them in a way that makes you feel like you do. Like that truth could’ve come from your own story. Because some pain is universal. Some healing is, too.
I believe books should be more than entertainment. They should be a mirror, a secret, a lifeline, something that finds you when you didn’t even know you needed to be found. So yes, there are Easter eggs. But they’re less about clever tricks and more about connection. Little pieces of soul left behind for someone else to discover, when they’re ready.
How do you approach writing dialogue for your characters?
I say it out loud. I act it out. I let it roll around in my mouth until it either lands with impact, or falls flat. If it doesn’t sound like something a real person would say, with attitude, sarcasm, hesitation, or heart, it doesn’t stay. Period.
I don’t write dialogue to show off clever phrasing or perfect punctuation. I write it to feel real. Dialogue, for me, should sound like you just walked past a room and caught the middle of a conversation you weren't supposed to hear. It should feel like eavesdropping, not a grammar lesson.
I pay attention to rhythm, pauses, tone. People don’t always speak in full sentences. They trail off. They interrupt. They deflect with humor or cover fear with anger. The way people talk says just as much as what they say. That’s what I try to capture, not just the content of the words, but the emotional undercurrent beneath them.
And it’s not just about what each character says, it’s about how they speak differently from one another. A man hiding grief will speak differently than a woman who’s used to masking rage with flirtation. A child trying to be brave will use the same words as a hero, but with a completely different weight. Dialogue reveals who a person is when they think no one’s really listening.
So when I write it, I step into their shoes. I let the tension sit between sentences. I listen for the words that would come naturally, not the ones that look pretty on the page. Because the best lines? The ones that get highlighted, underlined, and quoted? They’re the ones that feel like something you would’ve said, if only you’d had the nerve.
If you could share one thing with your fans, what would that be?
Thank you. Truly. For every single page you’ve turned, every quote you’ve highlighted, every review you’ve written, and every message you’ve sent into the void hoping I’d see it, I did. And I felt it.
You don’t know how often your support has kept me going. On the days I doubted myself. On the days I questioned if any of it mattered. On the days when the blank page felt like it might win, you were the reason I kept writing. You reminded me why I started in the first place.
If my words ever made you feel seen, understood, or a little less alone, just know you’ve done the same for me. If something I wrote helped you find your voice, or your strength, or even just a moment of escape when you needed it most… you’ve returned the favor tenfold.
I don’t take it lightly, this connection between us. It’s not just about books. It’s about being human together. About sharing the mess and the magic and the maybes. You let my characters live in your head and my words live in your heart. That’s not something I’ll ever take for granted.
So if you’re reading this, thank you. For trusting me. For sticking with me. For showing up in a world full of distractions and saying, “Yes, this story matters.” You matter. And as long as you keep reading, I’ll keep writing.
Kayla Gerdes’s Author Websites and Profiles
Amazon Profile
Goodreads Profile
Kayla Gerdes’s Social Media Links
Facebook Page
Instagram
YouTube Account
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