So, we decided that over this Thanksgiving break, we would be having a Norman Reedus Movie Marathon. We began with Dark Harbor. Which, as an added bonus, featured Alan Rickman as well. So, it’s about this couple that stops to pick up this dude on the side of the road and he’s all beaten up and whatnot, which, I’m pretty sure I would avoid. Then again, when a free Norman Reedus slaps you in the face, you don’t turn that down. So. A movie with Alan Rickman AND Norman Reedus? The only thing that could make that movie any better would be…well, actually, the one thing that could make that movie better is ACTUALLY IN THE MOVIE. So you need to watch it and see for yourselves exactly what had me and my sister literally screaming out loud. (With glee!)

Then, we watched The Messengers 2: The Scarecrow, which had a lot of Reedus but sadly, nothing to do with The Messengers, (which was pretty scary.) Norman plays John, a man intent on saving his family and his farm, only to be undone by the hellish scarecrow he puts up on to scare away his crows. After that it’s all pretty much down hill, but really, who cares, because…hey. Norman Reedus running through a cornfield. Who needs anything other than that? There were even some sexytimes in the movie, though of the disturbing sort and I will admit it, I shouted “WHAT THE…!” at one point, but overall, a fun movie to watch if you…you know. Are enamored of the Reedus. As we were.

From there we went directly into The Boondock Saints, which, hello. Guns and more guns and some drinking and some smoking and some other stuff. This is actually one of the first things I saw Mr. Reedus in, lo those many years ago, and honestly I thought had an Irish accent for like, forever. Which was sort of disappointing when I realized he didn’t. Until I realized it wasn’t disappointing because he’s awesome no matter what his accent. Anyway, I love the Saints and have not yet seen Boondock II because it’s not on streaming and darnit, I don’t have disc service any more.

Next up was Tough Luck.

And can I say…I loved it. Carnival? Grifters? Norman Reedus doing slight-of-hand (again?!?) And the twists and turns…well, it was quite a pleasant surprise. Carny!Norman Reedus is delightful.

This is the movie in which we discovered the sleight-of-hand isn’t something from just one film, which made us both believe that if one should need a quarter, Norman Reedus will probably pull one out from behind your ear. No problem. Also. He smokes a lot.

And then, finally, with time running out, we watched The Crime. Featuring nekkid Harvey Keitel, which I’m not gonna lie, is not hateful. And also, sad, mourning and vengeful Norman Reedus. Who smokes a lot. And has a dog! And resists the wiles of some woman who is all “YOU WILL BE MINE!!! NO MATTER WHAT!” and while I can’t really blame her for the, you know, *wanting* part of it, her methods of securing le Reedus are…well. I haven’t finished watching the movie yet because we had to stop with 22 minutes left, but I sure hope she gets what’s coming to her, and it’s NOT more Norman Reedus. This is the movie in which my sister said “NORMAN REEDUS CAN DRIVE A TAXI.” But you know, then we were like, well, no shit, he’s NORMAN FUCKING REEDUS. He can drive a fucking taxi! He can do ANYTHING!

And finally, the last thing we figured out about Norman Reedus (other than he’s never just Norman, you know, he’s NORMANREEDUS) is that he’s alway cut up or bruised or covered in blood or punched in the face or something in every movie. We haven’t seen a movie yet in which there is no injury done to him. Which is sad and also unbearably sexy, and of course, we know he’s not REALLY beaten up all the time, but still. Guh.

So, that was my weekend. One long delightful blur of Norman Reedus movies, and the best part, the very best part, is that I haven’t even watched them all. PLUS I have the new Walking Dead to watch (spoil me on this week’s episode, and I will cut you) and that is ALWAYS fantastic.

So, in short, I am enamored of Norman Reedus, enabled by my sister and my friend Jen, who both appreciate him as much as I do. If not more.

Dear Norman Reedus. Thank you for being born.

sincerely,

M

PS– his haiirrrrrrrrrrrr. Oh. God. His hair. *killzmedead*

I love the clothes. I’m amazed at the amount of booze and cigarettes people apparently consumed — AT WORK! And how many people casually hooked up, again at work, and the role of women in the workplace, next to the men who called them “sweetheart” and “honey” and made them fetch ice and water and all other kinds of things.

I’m so glad I was born in the 1970s, even if I think that a good girdle can fix a lot of things, and oh, the clothes, the clothes. THE CLOTHES! An era in which men and women dressed for things, with gloves and hats and shoes and jewelry.

But I’m also writing, and I started a new story (part three in my series) and it’s fun because it’s fresh and new, and it’s in a different voice, and I’m just writing while I watch Mad Men in a separate window on my computer.

I’m consuming lots of media because the summer will be over soon, and when that happens, it’s back to work full time, hardcore, and I won’t be able to fritter my time away watching tv shows while I write. I will have to write and only write! Which will be wonderful! And yet sad, because summer will be over!

Letting go…this is the way it goes…summer happens and my schedule changes and things change and everything is different for awhile.

(PS — on Mad Men, a wife is upset about her phone bill being “almost EIGHTEEN DOLLARS.” LOL!!!!)

…back to my point.

This summer has been particularly strange. Lots of travel. Lots of time away from home. But the time is coming when it’s all going to go back to the way it was, there will be a huge letting go of late nights and sleeping in, of lazing away the hours watching hours of television and writing in spurts and dribbles.

In a few more weeks, everything that happened this summer will be over, and time will move forward the way it always does, and I will be doing what I always do. I can’t say I’ll be sad about it. I can’t say I’ll regret the time I spent this summer doing things I don’t usually do, because I’m not a person who spends a lot of time in regret.

But I am preparing for the season to change, my schedule to change, my life to move back into the groove and pattern that comes with back to school and back to work.

But before I move on with my life and go forth spreading some fucking sunshine, I just want to toss something out into the universe. Chances are the people for whom this is intended will not read it, and that’s okay, because even if they did, their astonishing lack of self-awareness will probably make it so they don’t even relate it as being related to themselves.

Here’s the thing:

If you put out negativity, that is what you will receive. If you want someone to like you and spend time with you and give you stuff, involve you in their lives, it’s really often a much better idea to embrace that person with love and positivity and acceptance and a willingness to work WITH and not AGAINST them. It’s important to take a look at yourself and say, “hmmm, I’m not getting what I want from this person, they don’t seem to be giving me what I want, what could I be doing differently? How can I make this work, how can I get what I want by changing my behavior?”

Now, sometimes, no matter what you do, that other person isn’t going to change. Sometimes, people are huge, enormous, dickweeds, and no matter what you try, they’re not going to give you what you want.

On the other hand, sometimes YOU ARE THE GIANT DICKBAG. Sometimes, if you look very carefully at yourself and your actions, you, in fact, are the one who’s perpetuating the nastiness.

And really, I’m not sure when most of you all learned that it’s much, much better to be nice to other people than nasty, but I kind of learned that like, in kindergarten or something. I mean, am I crazy here, or is it not common human knowledge that if you want someone to like you and spend time with you and share things with you, it’s generally better to be nice to them?

I don’t think relationships are easy. They are complicated as hell, and they involve more than one set of emotions and actions, which is sometimes difficult to work with, I mean, people have expectations of each other and you can’t always meet them or have them met. Right? Human beings are intense and emotional creatures, and we all like to be right, we all like to have what we want, we all like to be treated with respect, etc. But you know, I also think that when you come at something from a core of respect and consideration, when you approach another person with the idea that it’s better to work WITH than AGAINST, you accomplish so much more.

So, I’d like to put this out there for the world today: just because you think you have the right to be in a person’s life, that doesn’t mean you do. Not even if you share DNA. Your actions and behavior are what will grant you that permission. If you behave like a jerk, chances are good you won’t get what you want. If you don’t think you ARE being a jerk, and no matter what you do, the person whose life you’re demanding to be a part of keeps telling you things like “every time you behave in such a manner to me, it makes me less interested in pursuing this relationship” chances are good you’re deceiving yourself about that jerk thing. (In other words, you’re being a jerk.)

When someone says to you, repeatedly, “every time you behave in this manner, I find it less important to give you what you want,” maybe you should listen.

And if you have someone in your life who keeps telling you how much they demand to be included in it, just remember…you have the right to surround yourself with people who love, admire, respect and actually like you. You have the right to deny access to people who refuse to treat you as you deserve to be treated — with love, admiration and respect.

Go be beautiful, and don’t be afraid to expect and demand beauty in return.

M

I’m talking about a numerically ordered grouping of items with a shared theme of some sort. Oh, like…a “To Do List.” For example, you can have a To Do List of people you’d like to sleep with. I believe this is also called a “Hit List.” (Not to be confused with a list of people you’d like to make sleep with the fishes.) Also not to be confused with the “Honeydew” List, which is a “Honey, do this” sort of thing. You can have a grocery list, a laundry list, that sort of thing.

I like lists. I like making lists. I feel accomplished when I check something off my list. It’s a tangible reminder that I have finished a task. I like making lists because it allows me the illusion of control over life — that I can put this, this and this down on a list and check off each item, HAHA, LIFE! IN YOUR FACE! I AM WORKING!

Today, I checked off an item from my list. It’s amazing how much better I feel when this happens. I still have many items left on my list, mostly stuff like “vacuum cat hair” “laundry” “clean toilets” “unpack suitcase” “pay bills” — but I also have “write 10 pages of superfunandseekrit project” — AND because I checked off finishing the final galley edits for ALL FALL DOWN, this means I can actually get to the writing of the fun and secret project! HOORAY!

Let’s pretend that the other items on that list aren’t there. Because I’m pretty sure I will not accomplish the vacuuming of cat hair today. I did clean a toilet. I am doing laundry.

LET ME WALLOW FOR A MOMENT IN MY GLORY OKAY!?!

I make lists to keep myself on track and organized. I like being on track and organized. When I am off track and not organized, I get cranky. I like to keep things in their place, where they belong. So today, hooray, for a few minutes anyway, I am feeling soundly grounded and where I belong.

For a few minutes, anyway.

M

And yet I’m almost finished with two different projects that I could certainly complete if only I were able to motivate myself to get working!

I do so much better with a schedule. I am by nature organized and disciplined, I get my work done when it needs doing. Usually. But right now I want to take a nap and read a book…

I think I know why. Because while I know that if I don’t write these things that I *want* to write I will be sad when it comes time to get back to my regularly scheduled programming, I don’t *have* to write them…and so I take more time padoodling around with the plotting parts instead of just sitting down and getting to work.

Oh, also, really, it might have something to do with the fact I’m not in my office and my ass has fallen asleep on this chair. Okay, I don’t need my butt to write, but it would help if it weren’t both aching AND numb at the same time, WTF.

The stupid thing is, I’m EXCITED about what I’m writing, and that’s also a bit scary, because I love it so much, what if someone else doesn’t?!

That’s my bit of philosophy for the day. I am a conundrum wrapped in a mystery with some lazycrazy on the side…

later, gators…

M

Because I write sexually graphic fiction, I’ve been told “a good book doesn’t need the ‘f’ word in it.” I’ve been asked when I’m going to write a “real” book, or a “good book.” I’ve been told I shouldn’t waste my time writing “that kind” of book. I’ve been told that my books would sell better if I didn’t have “that stuff” in them — and when I couldn’t bite my tongue hard enough to keep myself from saying “my books sell just fine,” was told that the people who buy them aren’t good people. Or the right kinds of people.

And here’s the deal.

I happen to like sex.

I don’t think sex is wrong or dirty, and it shouldn’t be embarrassing. Most people do it, at least a few times. Frankly, most of us are driven by sex in some way or another, if not all the time at least some of the time, so when I write about “that stuff” what I’m really working with is an experience common to MOST of the adult world.

I don’t know anyone who’s ever killed another person, but I surely know a fuckton of people who’ve had sex.

But what do I like about writing it? As Lauren touches on in her blog post, the opportunity for sex to reveal so much about your characters is such an amazing gift for any writer to use. The ability to strip your characters down, literally and figuratively…what’s more honest about fucking someone? I mean sure, how you get there might be full of lies, but when you’re in the midst of naked, sweaty, full-on sex, what are the words that come out? What are you thinking about, what are you CAPABLE of thinking about, beyond that finish? There might be lies before and after, but during (good) sex, who has time to make up stories? (I suppose during bad sex you can make up all kinds of things!) But during the middle of it, when you’re saying what you want, how you want it, what you think and feel, what you crave…sometimes the person who’s most surprised by what’s revealed is the one who’s doing the revealing.

I’ve always liked stories about relationships. Sometimes, but not always, romantic. I like figuring out what goes on inside people’s heads AND hearts (and between their legs.) I like details. I want to know what people like to do, how they feel, what moves them to do the things they do. To me, a good book is one that makes you understand the characters, even if you don’t like or agree with them. It’s my goal as an author to make you FEEL something.

Sometimes, I want to scare you, or make you cry, or laugh. Sometimes, I want to turn you on. (…though, as always, it’s not really necessary to share with me what you do when that happens! Really. I appreciate it! But don’t need the details. Well, unless I ask for them.)

Also, I think that even though I often write books that contain a lot of sexual content, in the end, I’m not writing about sex. I’m writing about the people in the story who are having the sex. Why? What brought them to that point? Why does he make her knees so weak that when she thinks of him saying her name, she has to stop and reach for something to keep her from crumpling? Why does she make him want to rub up against stuff? Why do they make each other laugh? Why do they want to be naked and sweaty and HONEST with each other in the first place? …what lies do they tell each other in order to get there, and what truths do they discover once they do?

I write all kinds of stories. Some never have so much as a kiss. I’ve even written a book that has no “FUCK” in it all! I know, crazy, right? I write horror, I write mainstream, I write science fiction and fantasy. I write romance, I write erotica and erotic fiction.

I write.

I don’t view writing sex as any more or less important or better or prestigious than writing anything else. Nobody else has to like it, because I do. And I’m going to keep doing it, along with all the other kinds of writing I do, for as long as it brings me satisfaction to do it. As long as it’s fun, and fills something inside me — which is why I write in the first place. I’m a selfish, greedy bitch that way. I write to please myself, because if I’m not happy with what I’m doing, how on earth could anyone else be?

Right now I’m switching between projects. One’s a short horror story that has sex in it (non-graphic, but still there.) One is a straightup erotic story, not a romance. One’s been a challenge to finish. The other one’s writing itself. At some point, I have a writing obligation to finish a project that will have NO sex in it, no curse words, nothing. And I’ll love that, too!

M

Interestingly enough, my iTunes shuffle keeps offering me these, over and over, though I’m on random:

one of my favorites…(look! Priest! Billy Wirth!)

I’ve written entire scenes based on this song and the video.

and this one, thematically similar…

“Here we go, we’re at the beginning, we haven’t fucked yet, but my head’s spinning…” — I’ve written entire novels based on that line alone.

Thanks, iTunes.

M

PS, Edited to add:

I’m not known (at least I don’t think I am) for writing BDSM, though I have written dominance and submission in both my Order of Solace books and in my contemporary erotic fiction. Switch, Taking Care of Business, No Reservations…Um…Layover. This Is What I Want has elements of D/S in it. Yet I don’t think I’m known as a BDSM writer, probably because I don’t write about scenes or stuff like that. Maybe I’m wrong, and people DO think of me as a kinky writer. At any rate, I’m far more likely to write about female dominance and male submission, and I don’t think that has to mean a woman in leather with a whip and a man in a collar. (Though…it surely could be, if both people are into that.)

What I find fascinating and intriguing and wonderful about writing D/S is the exchange of power and control, the willingness of one person to give up to another in some way. But isn’t that how most relationships grow and work? You give up something to one person, they give up something to you, you find a way to compromise or work it out, right?

…except sometimes, for some people, the very ACT of giving up something to the other person is the turn on. It’s their button. It’s the idea of submitting that excites them, and it can be something as simple as getting a list of instructions or arranging a lover’s closet, or more complicated like props and toys and positions and words. Triggers. Words are triggers. Costumes. Role-play. Whatever. There’s such a wide range of “kink” that can be explored in real life as well as fiction, but as Lauren says, it’s such a gift and opportunity to use it to explore your characters’ motivations, and it’s such a shame when anyone simply slaps on a pair of handcuffs and an ass plug for the sake of being kinky without exploring what, exactly, it is about those items that gets their character off.

Whether you’re writing vanilla sex or any other flavor, I think the most important thing is always NOT what body part is being inserted into what other one, but how it feels. Physically, but also mentally. Emotionally. Push those buttons…but first you have to understand what they are. Why they need pushing.

1. Set up a wireless network with a minimum of cursing (and troubleshoot that network too!)
2. Fix a bike chain
3. Design super groovy and awesome t-shirts — like the one below

4. The Running Man AND The Roger Rabbit

5. Touch a snake

Things I Can Not Do:

1. Complicated math

2. Walk on my hands

3. Bend my right thumb (seriously, can’t do it)

4. Fluently speak another language

5. Pluck my eyebrows evenly

What can you do? (or not?)

M

“I love Supernatural so much it’s like that crush I had in junior high on the senior boy who would every so often toss me a grin as we passed in the hall. Oh, he knew, he knew how much I loved him, but he wasn’t interested in a geeky 8th grader with glasses and a binder pressed to her chest. Nope. He just strode the halls of school like he owned it, and I was one small piece of his kingdom, a tribute like any good king should have, only instead of a flock of sheep or some barrels of wheat, he had my heart.

That’s how much I love Supernatural.”

HAHA. Awww. Supernatural, I still love you.

AND THIS:

Thirteen Things about things I have in my living room that you probably do not

1. A whale eye in a jar
2. A walrus penis bone
3. A mannequin
4. A lamp shaped like a lady’s leg wearing a fishnet stocking and stiletto heel
5. A karaoke machine
5. A traffic light
6. A phone booth with a working phone
7. A rack of caribou antlers (mounted)
8. A trunk that crossed the Atlantic ocean on a boat
9. A pair of red glittery shoes
10. A player piano
11. A carved wooden statue of Frankenstein
12. A glass vase filled with purple glass balls
13. A family portrait taken by ScottChurch

HAHA…and this…maybe I should do those Thursday Thirteens again…

Thirteen Embarrassing Things about Megan

1. I love Criss Angel. When he says “Are you ready?” My answer is “Oh, yes. Please.”
2. I didn’t learn to tell time until I was in sixth grade. Same with the difference between left and right. I still have trouble.
3. I wore the same jeans for five days in a row two weeks ago.
4. I have given in to the urge for revenge.
5. I lose my temper frequently. And loudly.
6. I am clumsy. I have fallen flat on my face (literally) in public. More than once. More than twice.
7. I burp and fart with wild abandon.
8. I have such a morbid fear of food poisoning I will throw food away if I even suspect it might have turned.
9. I am consistently fearful that a spider has crawled into my soda can (or the bathroom cup if I get up in the night)
10. I am still so afraid of the Green Haired Lady and Bloody Mary I will not look in the mirror at night. Ever.
11. I once had to use the restroom so badly while travelling I utilized a plastic grocery bag in the backseat of my car and left it by the side of the road.
12. I can’t spell rythym correctly no matter how many times I try. Or restaraunt.
13. I am so looking forward to the season finale of Supernatural it’s like the fire of a thousand suns…oh, wait. I’m not embarrassed about that.

I simultaneously believe I’m unforgettable and insignificant.

In 2007 I wrote “Timothy Olyphant has a smile that turns me upside down.”

In 2006, I wrote: “Sometimes you really need to hold things with two hands, because if you hold them with only one you can drop them.”

THE INTERNET IS NOT ONLY THE DEVIL, IT IS A TIME MACHINE.

M

The reason I’m able to do this is because in the summer time, I’m no longer alone. Not only am I no longer alone during the day, but those creatures I spawned insist on doing…”stuff.” They want to do stuff. They want to go places, or have people over, go to the pool, have a bonfire, go to someone ELSE’s house for a fire, get picked up, get dropped off. They want to eat stuff, and though they’re both perfectly capable of making themselves sandwiches, it becomes a matter of imperative importance to come into my office to tell me, “I’m hungry.”

…

…..

………

Actually, though, I love the summer because there’s little scheduling. I can stay up until 3 am  and sleep in the next day so that I’m able to do the running, the stuff-doing, all of that, and besides, I really like being up late at night when nobody’s around. The phone doesn’t ring, I don’t have to feel one micron’s worth of guilt about not vacuuming or doing laundry, the internet is generally quieter. Fewer distractions. I love being up late at night.

It’s an upside down, topsy-turvy state of being, and quite frankly, I’m made a little giddy by it. This summer is going to be even more interesting, because I’m going to be spending a lot more time traveling and away from home, so I have to find ways to work around that. I’m going to have two kids who are capable of being left alone for a few hours at a time, so that’s going to change things too. It’s the last summer, maybe the second-to-last, that both of them will be home before the older one has to get a summer job, so I feel like we should cling to these times and pay attention to them, and revel in them, because pretty soon, it’s all going to change.

And…I don’t have any deadlines. Not for a long time. So, for the first summer in quite some time, I’m working on some projects that are just for me. (I mean, I have deadlines, but they’re pretty far advanced, and I can wait until the fall when my work schedule is better, to start them.) I try to write something just for me every year, squeezed in between contracted projects, but this feels…different.

I feel different.

I feel poised on the rim of pretty big abyss, but instead of being dark and dank, the bottom of it seems to be filled with glitter and rainbows, and I’m getting ready to just dive in. Who knows what I’m going to hit on the way down, but I’m ready for impact.

M

So I thought about that.

Well. First off, rich AND famous might be nice, right? I mean, it would suck to be famous but not rich. On the other hand, being rich without being famous would probably be EVEN BETTER. All the perks without the problems. And then I thought…but…well, more money is always better, I guess, but as far as being rich…

What I’d really like is to make a good living doing something I love. Enough money to support my family and do nice things for other people, including giving to charity which I try to do but I’m not as generous with as I should be. I’d like to make sure my kids have what they need, including an education, and frankly, I like gadgets so I want to be able to afford them. And right now, I’m so blessed and fortunate to be able to pay all my bills and do all of those things without living extravagantly. And the best part of all that is, I have a job I love! Not just a job that’s “meh, it’s okay” or “I went to school for it, so I guess it’s better than nothing.”

I LOVE MY JOB.

I make stuff up for a living! I get to work from home! I get to ogle hot dudes as “research!” I get to watch Netflix streaming (also as research, hello Timothy Olyphant, yes, I’m looking at you) all day long if I want/need to. I get to travel to interesting cities and meet up with readers and other authors for “work” when we all know, as Superman puts it, that it’s really just parties.

I love my job so hard.

About the famous part though…there’s usually talk amongst my writing friends about hitting the lists, or the success other writers have. And I won’t lie, sometimes it can be super hard to look at Author Random and see the ads in Entertainment Weekly, the movie deals, the celebrity endorsements…THE MONEY. *dollar signs shooting from eyeballs* THE FAME! OMG, MEETING OPRAH!

That doesn’t happen for most of us. And I won’t lie — I’d like my books to hit lists, get featured in magazines. I have never yet once gone to the beach in the summer and found someone randomly reading my book, and believe me, my doves, I LOOK FOR IT. I walk up and down the beach from our blanket to the boardwalk, and I check out what people are reading. I think the day I come across a random stranger reading my book in the wild, I will fall over from excitement and a seagull might poop on my head. And that wouldn’t even mean that I’m famous, just that the local beach bookstore is pushing my book again — which I LOVE! And I love them for doing it!

Anyway, most authors trundle along writing our books and hoping first that someone will publish them. Second, that readers will buy them. Third, readers will like them. Fourth, we can write another book that someone will publish and buy and read and like…and that’s pretty much how it goes. Over and over. Most of us just keep on doing what we do, sometimes to more success, sometimes less, but not so many of us become JK Rowling or Stephanie Meyer or even Nora Roberts. We don’t have those megahits that catapult us into the world of “fame.” We just…write.

I recently got to hear Dean Koontz speak at the RT Convention in LA, and  you know something that really struck me about him? More than sitting in the same room with him, this man whose work I’ve been reading for years and years and years, whose books consistently sell millions of copies and get movies made from them and blah blah blah…you know what really struck me? Dean Koontz had…bodyguards.

They weren’t little hotel security type body guards there to make sure there wasn’t shoving over the seats, either. These dudes looked fierce. Like if you even sneezed toward Mr. Koontz without saying “excuse me” they might tackle you and rub your snotty nose all over the psychadelic carpeting. They had those earplug things and everything. They were serious.

I don’t actually know why Mr. Koontz has to have bodyguards, and it makes me sad for him to think he can’t even come speak to a group of fans without needing someone there to protect him from us. (As scary as we can be!) And I would never, never, never want to live that way. I don’t want to have to put on makeup to go to the grocery store, ffs, much less worry about security. I don’t want my family to have to deal with the fallout of what *I* do.

Basically, I really want to labor along in obscurity. I mean, I want to write my books and have someone publish them and buy them and read them and LIKE THEM (haters? 1. why are you reading my blog? 2. the world’s a big place with plenty of books to read that you do like, please find some of them and be happy, life’s too short for misery, kthxbai). I don’t want to be “unknown.” I don’t want to be unread. I don’t want to be unloved!

But if any part of what I do is going to lead me to fame, I’d like it to be the books. Not my face. Not “me.”

I get quite a few emails that say “I LOVE YOU” when what people mean to say is “I LOVE YOUR BOOKS.” I don’t mind. I know what they mean, and frankly, *buffs nails* what’s not to love? I’m loveable! But what they mean is that they love my WORK, which sure, is part and parcel of me but not the whole me. And I’m glad for people to love what I do. If I didn’t have people reading my books, I wouldn’t bother writing them. I mean, let’s face it, I love my job, but it is a job, not something I do just for fun. I can think of lots of things I’d rather do some days other than write.

So, to answer Mr. Dallesandro’s question about Famous or Rich? I have to say I can’t rightly decide. The world’s not black and white, and I’m full of shades of gray. I want a little money, I want a little fame, but in the right amounts and in the appropriate manner and for the right reasons. I want to do what I want to do, and do it well and be recognized for it and rewarded financially and with acclaim; I want to be successful, but deservedly.

I want to write books, and I want someone to publish them and people to buy them and read them and like them. At the end of the day I want to be surrounded by friends and family I love and who love me, and I want to entertain people with my work, and I want to try and do some good in the world while I’m here. (And I’m pretty sure I’ll be here after 6 pm this Saturday, May 21, 2011, because the only Rapture I’m involved in will be Blondie’s.)

Mostly, I want to work for what I get and appreciate what I have.

Thanks to everyone who publishes, buys, reads and likes my books. (Haters can go jump in a lake.) Thanks to my friends and family who make my life richer (though not more famous).

Thank you.

M