Fun With Search Engines


Some days, when I look at what drives traffic to this blog (hi, Mom!), I am pleasantly surprised. For instance, yesterday my top search terms were Meggan Connors and Meggan Connors author.

Hey, I resemble those search terms! Yay!

Then today: el mariachi hair.

Um, beg pardon?

It’s kind of like the search term: Do I look good in leather pants?

Oh honey, if you’ve come to this blog looking for an answer to that, I’m afraid the answer is probably no. (Also, unless your name is Kate Beckinsale or [a much younger] Antonio Banderas, no one looks good in leather pants. No, no. Seriously. No one.)

Happy New Year, everyone. May you be blessed with health and happiness in the new year. And no, you still probably can’t wear leather pants.

Update


So, to update everyone.

What I’m listening to: Wintersleep’s Dead Letter and the Infinite Yes. I listened to it on continuous repeat for a couple of scenes in the upcoming Jessie’s War. If you read the book, you’ll find out why. Here’s the link

Weird, I can’t seem to get the song out of my head. I’m singing it right now, as a matter of fact. I can’t explain it, but this song got under my skin and into my head, and it’s not going anywhere. I suppose it’s entirely possible that I am just not ready to give up Jessie and Luke, and that’s why I can’t move on from this song. Not yet, anyway.

What I’m watching: Well, last night I watched While You Were Sleeping, which is my favorite Christmas movie of all time. I let myself have a reward for taking the GRE.

Tangent: And how did the GRE go, you ask? Well, considering that I only realized I had to take it three weeks ago, and I had edits due and spent probably a week working solely on that on my off time, about as well as can be expected. The test itself was like a steel cage death match. I rocked the verbal component, and I felt pretty good about the essays. The quantitative rocked me. I felt like Jean Claude Van Damme right before he turns around and kicks some ass. Overall, my score was plenty high enough for me to get in, so I’m not worried. But ugh. Four hours of testing with no breaks, to find out if I’m going to be a quality doctoral candidate, when I’ve already done this once with this same department? Blech.

What I’m doing when I’m not working: Looking at shoes online. Not that I’ll buy them, because they’re too rich for my blood and I don’t do well in heels, but I am loving these shoes from Fluevog:

Meh, I can’t get it to link to the picture. But hey, if you clicked on the link, you’ll see those shoes are awesomesauce. I thought so, anyway. I really like funky shoes and funky heels.

And I get asked this a lot: How am I feeling, after my little escapade in October? Well, about as well as can be expected. It’s not horrible, anyway. My stomach is probably better than it was in September, so that’s a good thing. I’m catching another cold, I think, but I work with preschoolers, so what else can I expect?

So, what about you? What have you been up to?

Real Me and Fake Me


This isn’t much of a shock to anyone who follows this blog, not really, because I’m sure you’ve guessed.

Meggan is not my real name.

See, I have a day job, where it’s not always approved of if you write romance novels. Writing? YES! Romance novels (particularly with open door sex scenes)? Not so much.

Again, this is not much of a surprise, but in real life, I’m a speech pathologist. It pays the bills. Also, I like it. I really, really like it. I have no intention of quitting, even if I could. In fact, I have an idea for a nonfiction book that I’ll write once I get that PhD I’ve been yammering on about (super excited about that, btw).

I am, to put it mildly, a crazy, overworked, probably overly ambitious personality.

In any case, I’ll go ahead and admit what most of you have probably already figured out: I work with preschoolers with a range of developmental delays, including 14 with autism. The reason Meggan Connors even exists is because of this.

Not because I am ashamed of my romance novels, nor is my hubster, the only person whose opinion really matters. I’m not. Anyone who knows me in real life knows that I regularly announce, “I write romance novels!” The reason I have the alter ego is because there are parents who don’t approve of the romance novel genre. See, I’m a sweet little preschool speech pathologist. I am as pure as the driven snow.

When people first find out I’m writing, I’m almost always asked, “Oh, children’s books?”

Nearly always, they have that hopeful, sweet, approving look on their faces. Because I’m sweet, remember? And, probably, a virgin. (hehehehe)

And then I laugh. Heartily.

“No,” I answer. “I write trashy romance novels.”

People who know me, who know my sense of humor, aren’t shocked by this revelation. Because while the face I present to the world–at work–is sweet and loving (and it’s true, I love all of the kids on my caseload), in real life, I’m kind of crass. Bawdy. In grad school, during dysphagia class, I was the one with the dirty swallowing jokes. One day, in the distant future, I’ll be that old lady who tells dirty jokes, and the little speech path who comes in to evaluate my cognition will have to try to determine if this dirty sense of humor and outright inappropriateness is pre-existing or if it’s the result of a right hemisphere trauma.

Maybe she’ll read this blog and discover that, indeed, I have always been inappropriate. And that I’m okay with that.

Fake me and real me are cool with one another. I’ve been informed that fake me is dirtier than real me, but these are the same people who ask, “Which one are you right now?” And the answer is, “Both.”

I’m always both. There really is no distinction between fake me and real me. In fact, fake me has announced things on Facebook that real me is keeping quiet, because I’m Facebook friends with my boss. (Yes, the PhD thing)

So, if you see me in real life, no, I probably won’t answer to Meggan unless I’m at a conference. Funny thing is, I won’t answer to my real name, either. I learned, long ago, to ignore that, too.

Do any of you have an alter ego, and why did you choose to have one?