Happy Valentine's Day! My MIL was horrified last night to find out my dh and I don't exchange cards for Valentine's Day. We don't. In fact, he bought me a card for our anniversary and I didn't get him one (okay, I feel bad about that in retrospect.) He doesn't bring me flowers or chocolate, but he lets me get what I want when I want it and doesn't fuss. So I feel pretty good about it.

I ordered pizza for my kids, and as soon as I placed the order, I found out the VP had told the unit leaders she wanted to keep the day low-key. Ahem. That only works if the unit leader TELLS her people. I've been merrily sending notes, had it in my newsletter, and, oh yeah, spent $30 on pizza! It wouldn't be a big deal except Wednesday is the day the people from district office do walk-throughs. I hope they walk through early.

I've been thinking a lot about limits lately. (No, not limits on my TV watching, why do you ask? Though I have definitely decided to Tivo American Idol and watch it after. Good LORD, that show is padded.)

I went to lunch with some writer pals on Saturday before JoAnn's signing (SHE SOLD OUT! YAY!) and we were talking about books we like. One pointed out that she used to think Johanna Lindsay was pretty darn sexy till the new wave of erotica started coming out. I remember Betina Krahn books were about as hot as I could handle. Actually, they sort of still are. And there was that Michelle Jarett book, All Night Long. That was a book I finished and turned back to the first page to read again. It SIZZLED!

But I can't feel comfortable reading romantica. I've quit reading two books recently because they were just outside my comfort level. One was a case of mistaken identity where the hero thought the heroine was a hooker (EW!!!) Same reason I don't get the appeal of Pretty Woman. Another had very public, very graphic sex in the first chapter. I just didn't want my son to pick up that book and think that was something his mom enjoyed reading, you know?

I'm reading Surviving Demon Island by Jaci Burton, who writes romantica, but other than things twitching, it hasn't strayed into discomfort territory. (Actually, it rocks - it's like someone asked, "What would Mary like to read?" then wrote it. DANG! Except for those twitching bits.)

I'm the same way with suspense books. Lisa Gardner is a good writer, but I can't read her. And Allison Brennan is on the NYT list, but her books scare the hooey out of me. So my limit right now it Cindy Gerard books. If they're scarier than hers, I don't wanna read it.

Also at the lunch, one of the writers was talking about these huge edits she got on her contracted book with an e-pub. The first few pages were all highlighted! She started thinking about the effort she would take to make those changes, versus the money she would make and she's starting to wonder if she should do them, or just write something new. I know another person didn't sign a contract because she couldn't agree to the terms, and another recently sold friend is squirming over the fast turnaround for revisions in her contract. All of these have made these writers think twice about getting published.

What are your limits, in reading or writing? And what are you doing for Valentine's Day?