About Megan:
Seriously? You want to hear about ME? Well, okay, but I hope your Coke is loaded with caffeine.

I started reading Harlequins by chance. When I was fifteen, I spent a week with my Grandma in Kansas City. The day before I was to leave for home, we spotted a forgotten Harlequin Romance on the seat of a cross town bus. Since I had a long Greyhound bus ride ahead of me the next day, Grandma handed me the book to while away my time. I couldn't believe my luck and stashed it away, not to be seen again until I'd safely boarded the Greyhound.

So started my love of reading romance. Soon I yearned to write them. I wanted to be able to move a reader to laughter and tears and to sigh over the overwhelming passion I'd conveyed with mere words on a page. But I didn't think I could. For one thing, I had to earn a living, and (insert laughter) trust me, one doesn't get into fiction writing, and especially not romance writing, for the money. What you do get is the satisfaction of knowing someone out there is reading your story. It's a lonely task, and it's hard WORK, but believing my book might touch the emotions of a reader is . well, SO COOL. That's the payoff. If you've been bitten by the writing bug, you have to write. Even back in the dark days when I doubted I'd ever get published, I started new projects.

I had to.

So I wrote, I joined Romance Writers of America, and I listened. I attended conferences with workshops so I could perfect my craft. I learned about the business side of the industry. When I got THE CALL (one of the top five coolest days of my life), I was ready.

HA. All the real writers and the people who've been on this journey with me are laughing their behinds off. Because as much as I'd learned, there's ten times that I don't know. And trying to deal with emerging technology (website? blog? online presence? Oh, my!) is mind-boggling. Can't I just write the books and trust readers will go look for me? Nope, not anymore.

Fortunately, I have a very supportive husband and two kids who don't remember a time when Mom didn't write. We live in the Midwest, where the weather has an imagination of its own.