Megan Hart

Turkey’s cooking. Potatoes mashed (though I’ve been told they don’t measure up to my mother’s.) I heard the door open, I think it’s my sister.

Gotta go…

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

M

Wow.

Okay, so you know when I love something, I love it hard. Well, I love this song. I would never say I’m a Britney Spears “fan” — I like some of her songs but wouldn’t rush out to buy her albums and find her personal drama too distracting to be anything other than sad. But TOXIC is one of those fun dance songs I will crank up loud when it comes on the radio.

Not this version.

Oh, I’ll still listen to it in the car. And the coffee shop. And while I’m writing. Mostly, while I’m writing.

Wow.

I love Christopher Dallman’s voice, anyway, and have been listening to his songs on repeat a lot over the past few months. And now I have another one.

Go check out this song at and get the rest of the album, Sad Britney, too. Pick up his others while you’re at it.

I’m not going to go into the whole vanity/subsidy publishing thing because there’s too much and it frankly makes me vomit into my mouth, but let me just point out…

YES, absolutely, there have been people who’ve become successful after beginning in self-publishing, but for anyone who thinks that’s “the way” to go because, after all, JOHN GRISHAM DID IT…

John Grisham doesn’t still self-publish. NOBODY who became “famous” self-publishing still prefers to PAY to be published instead of BEING PAID to be published.

So really, think about that.

I know which I’d rather have.

M

Faced with spending her first Hanukkah alone, Lilly Gold wishes for a miracle that would change her life just a little bit. Then her prayers are answered–in a big way–when the most perfect naked man appears in her yard during a blizzard.

Zachariah tells Lilly he’s been sent to be–and do—anything she wants. And for eight passionate days, trapped together by the snow, he does just that, giving Lilly all the pleasure she could have hoped for. But when their holiday is over, only another miracle can keep their affair from ending, too…

This morning I dreamed that giant red crabs were burrowing out of the ground in a place they shouldn’t have been — right through the street, the pavement, up through grass. I was in a playground, watching, and I screamed, and an old lady told me not to be so hysterical, they always did this and they’d go away soon.

But the real part of the nightmare was that I was trying to take a picture and…

I BROKE MY IPHONE!

It cracked in half and I scrrreeeeeeamed! And then I woke up and cradled it to me, whispering “precioussssss” over and over…

M

Oh, Supernatural.

Oh.
Two months? Two months? Do you see the pieces of me all over the floor, Supernatural? Because that is what you have done to me. You have torn me apart like a Hellhound would. I am undone. I am shredded. Two months?

I can not bear it.

I’ve wept before, watching Supernatural. I’ve laughed, I’ve screamed. But tonight, watching Ellen and Jo…

I like to tease my sister that I love her, but I’m not sure I’d die for her the way Sam and Dean would. And I love Superman dearly but I’m not sure I’d *die* for him.

But I have a daughter, and I would die for her. And though I never cared for Jo, or Ellen, in the way I’ve come to care for and love Dean and Sam, I have to say that the last moments between Ellen and Jo were some of the most powerful and moving moments I’ve ever seen on a television show. A few minutes in an entire five seasons’ worth of excellent moments, and I find myself once again simultaneously hating and wanting to fall down at the feet of the writers of Supernatural.

Supernatural, you have once again killed me — only I’m not dead. I’m still here, ripped all up and covered in rock salt, because I have to wait another two months before I can see a new episode.

When she was a baby, I would go into my daughter’s room when she was sleeping, and I would touch her just to make sure she was still breathing. And sometimes, I would just hold her, not because she needed me to, but because I wanted to make sure she was there, she was all right, and I would worry that there would be a time when I could no longer protect her.

I think I’m going to hug my children tonight just a little harder and a little longer, even though I know they’ll be annoyed I’ve woken them.

And that, my doves, is all I can say for now. I have to go sob in the shower and wonder why I bother writing books, because nothing I ever do will ever make anyone feel the way I felt watching tonight’s show.

At least, I’ll think that until tomorrow, when I decide not to quit writing and remember there are always reruns and DVDs to watch until January 21.

M

…it’s bigger on the inside.

Writing, writing, writing on Collide. Got a little stuck, but now I’m moving forward again. Of course have to cut off early today for family duties. *shakes fist*

Oh, and hungry. So, so hungry. *shakes fist*

You wanna see how real life and fiction collide? (haha, get it?)

lines of the day:
I looked again, closer. Long black coat. Long striped scarf. My stomach flip-flopped. I reached for the picture, the glass dusty and spotted, the wooden frame loose at the corners.
That was my house. This one. Tall and narrow, three windows on one side of the front door, one on the other. Okay, so it could’ve been any house, but it looked like mine.
And then, I saw the TARDIS. I’d missed it the first time, the blue shape partially obscured by the out-of-perspective trees. Oh.
“Hello, Doctor.” I touched the figure again. Mystery revealed. I’d been a huge Doctor Who freak as a kid. No disrespect to any who came after him, but Tom Baker would always be my doctor.

M

I was dead this morning when I woke up. Dead tired, that is. But now it’s nearly midnight, I’m getting up in four hours for the meteor shower, I know that my real getting up time won’t be much later after that, and I know I’ll be a zombie again in the morning. But right now with the house quiet all around me, with my fingers flying over the keys, with the story coming out of me…

I wish I could write all night and sleep in tomorrow. THAT is what I would do if I didn’t have people living in my house who needed stuff from me.

But let me say this: It’s been awhile since a book gave me such utter uncomplicated joy. I’m not saying COLLIDE will be my best book (the best ones seem to actually be the hardest to write, though Tempted is my personal all time favorite and it came out pretty fast by necessity.) And don’t get me wrong, I love all my stories, or else I wouldn’t write them –contrary to what some people seem to to think about authors, I don’t personally know any who write books they hate on purpose!

But this one is…special.

Today’s page count: 23

more lines of the day: Johnny’s coat brushed our table as he passed, and I let my fingers creep over the spot to caress it. I caught Jen looking at me. I shrugged.
“You,” she said, “have it worse than I ever did.”