Megan Hart

In fact, I know I’m not. I’m not the only person to talk mostly about stuff I like rather than what I don’t.

Not that I’m immune to a good rant now and then, mostly about stuff that makes me nuts like kids not doing what they’re told or people doing stupid stuff like walking too slow in front of me. But most often I’m way more likely to talk about stuff that is exciting me, or pleasing me, than I am to waste my time (and yours) discussing crap I don’t like.

Books, movies, tv…if I don’t like it, meh, I just don’t bother. Get me talking about Supernatural and I’ll talk all day and all night. Try to get me to discuss The Grateful Dead? I’ll tell you flat out I’d rather poke out my eardrums than listen — but you know, then I don’t, like…listen on purpose and then complain about how much I hate the Grateful Dead.

I mostly try to avoid crap I don’t like, if I know I’m not going to like it. I also have a fairly open mind about stuff I may or may not like, and I’ll give it a chance. If I don’t like it, you’ll know it, but I don’t go back for more. Who has time for that?

I was thinking about all this because I’m annoyed with my house being dirty and my desk being covered in crap and how much I’d really like to be doing something I enjoy like playing the Sims 2 or watching Supernatural or napping or eating chocolate…and if I *have* to clean my desk, well, it’s something I have to do and I don’t have to like it and I guess I complain about it, but it has to be done.

I don’t put myself purposefully in places or with situations that I know already I’m not going to like. Don’t ask me to go sky diving. Don’t ask me to go on a run with you. I won’t like it. Don’t ask me to read Christian Inspirational fiction of any kind. I will not like it. Don’t ask me to wear corduroy. I don’t like it! (Well, sometimes I do.)

But I don’t seek out any of those things so I have a reason to complain about them. I’d rather spend my time doing stuff I do like!

And you know what? I’m really glad I have so many things I *DO* enjoy! I wake up every day and I find something I want to do. Yeah, sure, many days I have to do stuff I don’t want to do, but what it comes down to in the end is that most of the time, most days, most hours, I’m doing something I want to do or enjoy, or at least know I have to do because it’s necessary, even if I don’t like it.

I’m really very blessed to enjoy so much of my life.

M

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I think it’s working now!
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I should think it’s no secret that I like to write and read about sex. And I’m not the only one. I think it’s fantastic there are so many female-friendly sites out there now for women who want to find quality erotic fiction and media — not male-oriented porn (though hey, some of that’s not bad, either.)

In my web wanderings, I came across this site: The Erotic Woman.

And what do you know? They happen to have some Tempted Excerpts up and an interview with none other than little ole moi. So head on over and check it out, and don’t forget to check out their stories and links, too. Lots of good stuff there, including lots of pretty, pretty pictures in the galleries!

M

…is progressing!

section of the day:

It took everything in him, but Brandon didn’t rise to the blatant challenge. He smiled, instead. Mike sneered.
“Fucking pussy,” he said.
“Apparently I am,” Brandon said. “And you’re not.”

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I named my hero Brandon. Hey, listen, sometimes you just don’t choose. The name just fits.

I do have a list of names I will NEVER EVER NEVER EVER use, ever, for a hero.

M

So, I found this letter I wrote to myself in oh…2005, maybe? Not sure.

Here it is:

Dear Self –

You’ve wanted to be a writer since you were in elementary school. You’ve won praise and awards and great reviews; your work has fans who buy it and READ it and recommend it. You can tell a good story and make people laugh or cry or moan. You ARE successful as a writer — you’ve touched people. No, maybe not as many as you’d hope. Maybe not as much $$ as you’d like. But what is truly the most important thing to you — and what has always been? To tell stories that touch people — make them laugh or cry or kiss their spouse and hug their children. You’ve done it. It’s not the level that matters, though it’s always important to strive for higher ground. It’s reaching that goal — of being A WRITER — the best you can be. And freeing yourself to get better by taking chances. DON’T BE SO AFRAID OF SUCCESS THAT YOU ALLOW YOURSELF TO FAIL. Don’t let anxiety paralyze you into not continuing to take the jump forward. Don’t be afraid to be uncomfortable. And keep telling the good stories that made you laugh or cry or OTHER so that others, can, too.

From that same notepad:

Am I the elephant, or the ball? The two-ton Tessie poised precariously atop the fragile rubber sphere but, dammit– BALANCING? One foot in the air, ready to topple at any moment? Or am I the ball, heaving and straining to hold the weight of the creature above me? Ready to pop, let go, explode, deflate, release, lay down and expire, but managing to hold up an elephant, anyway?

Am I the elephant, or the ball?

And more importantly, does it matter? Both have success and failure, good and bad points.

Does it matter?

——

So that’s it, thoughts from 2005 or maybe 2004, I can’t remember. I know it wasn’t 2006.

M

Well, well, well…I asked for a cowboy and they gave me a niiiiiiice belt buckle…

Cripes. Those hands! Guh!

So it’s up for pre-order at Fictionwise, but not yet at eHarlequin. I don’t really care where you buy it from, just that you do.

Here’s a little taste to tease you…

This Is What I Want
By Megan Hart
copyright Megan Hart
available Dec. 1 2007 from Spice Briefs
Excerpt: NOT FOR UNDER 18!!

This is what I want.

Your hands make circles around my ankles. They shackle me for but a moment before your fingertips move upward over the edge of bone, the dip and hollow of muscles and flesh. Over my calves and the prickly stubble of my knees, where they linger to stroke the soft, smooth underside. Those untouched places. Your fingers linger there, seeking creases.

Your thumbs move up the sun-warmed flesh of my thighs, which I part for you beneath summer’s bright golden light. Like the breeze that twitches the ends of my hair, your fingers drift along my skin. Moving higher.

This is what I want. You. Touching me.

You take the time to trace the faint white line, the place where once my flesh parted beneath the edge of a razor wielded by an unsteady hand. You don’t ask about this scar. You ask nothing, say nothing. You have no voice but that which I grant you, and so far I haven’t given you permission to speak.
You kneel in front of me, and this is where I like you. How I like you. On your knees, my body aligned for your worship and your hands smoothing their constant upward path.

This is what I want, your breath on my skin. Your fingers parting me. I want you to lick me as I stand over you, you upon your knees.

I want you to worship me.

Cowboys! Cybersex! Sexblogs! Dominance! Submission! Role-playing! Coffee! It’s all in there.

M

Tempted book video contest! Only two more days!

You could win a hundred bucks for Amazon.com! C’mon, you know you want to.

M