Category: LHA

Icky, scary dream last night. A cancer nightmare. Makes me want to go back to sleep so I stop thinking about it. But if I go back to sleep, I might wind up stuck in it again. I hate this.

Going to take Mer to school, then buy a gallon of coffee at Wawa. It’s raining. Maybe I should buy two gallons.

Feeling random, due to lack of coffee. Has anyone figured out the relative price of gas compared to milk and coffee? Gas vs. orange juice? Diet Coke?

On another random note – I’ve been receiving more homework help requests. Last night a reader asked for a list of similes and metaphors from one of my books. She needed it immediately so she could use it to study for this morning’s test. (But she was polite, which was nice.)

I did not send her a list. Instead, I rewrote the homework policy on writerlady.com. Here it is.

Note to teachers and students – Laurie will not do your homework. Sorry. She has done enough homework in her life. One of the advantages of being middle-aged is No Homework. Old people like Laurie have to pay taxes. That’s bad enough.

Is this too harsh? Comments anyone?

My Beloved Husband just wrote to tell me that our neighbors up there (dairy farmers who also have apple trees) have started to boil sap. They have a couple hundred maple trees that they tap this time of year. They have an old-fashioned sugar shack filled with new-fangled gear where they boil the sap and turn it into liquid gold: maple syrup.

From our house you can smell that maple syrup.

Pancakes, anyone?

I’m almost caught up on my laundry, email, snail mail, and other boring life things. If all goes well, I’ll be writing by lunchtime.

So here’s a writing prompt, if you’re in the mood. Use the two photos below to inspire a quick story. Some context – they were both taken in the lobby of my hotel in Kalamazoo, Michigan.

(trying to space photos)

The possibilities are endless…

Yesterday was the Day of the Slug. I parked on the couch and read, watched basketball, and read some more. (Michigan beat Vermont. Villanova won. UConn lost.) Eight hours of sleep last night and I’m beginning to feel human again.

Here is the freaky coffee cup story. Last Tuesday night I had a bizarre dream. I’ll spare you the details. The important thing is that I was being chased by a weird group of bad guys brandishing old-fashioned weapons. The bad guy crew included Vikings in period-appropriate gear. (It was one of those dreams.)

Me and my fellow-chasees made our way up to the attic where the bad guys cornered us. I saw three blue coffee cups on a table, empty. I picked up the first one and instantly I weighed nothing. I picked up the second and I started to float. I picked up the third and, if I scooped the air with the cups, I could fly.

The dream went on for a while. I’ll spare you those details, too. But I woke up mumbling “Blue cups, blue cups, blue cups.”

Jump ahead two days. I was in K’zoo with Terry and Kevin and Sue and we were drinking coffee in between school visits.

These were the cups we drank from. They are almost exactly the cups from my dream.

I sort of freaked out a little itty bitty bit. I tried to buy the cups, but they weren’t for sale.

You can’t force the Universe, so I didn’t beg to buy them or anything.

But I am now on a Blue Cup Alert. I’ll let you know when they cross my path again. (There you have it, Aunt Barb!)

This Road Trip has been amazing. I’ve been an incredibly lucky author. I figure I traveled about 5,000 miles, talked to 4,000 kids, visited 10 school and 25 bookstores, stayed in 8 hotels, shook countless hands and signed countless books. (In 13 mornings, I received 12 wake-up calls. See previous post for details.)

I will be thinking about the people I met for months, especially the teenagers.

But I’m here to tell you, a trip like this can leave you feeling like yesterday’s gum stuck on a subway platform.

And then, a miracle happened.

Like I said, Terry Truman and I went to Kevin K’s house (and the house of his terrific wife, Kathleen) for a family dinner after the conference. Kathleen and Kevin are the parents of Abigail and Rachael. Along with feeding me, they let me play with their daughters, carry them around, pretend to be superheroes, and draw. Hanging out with little kids is the best medicine in the world. By the end of the evening I was still tired, but I felt whole again.

Happy, happy author.

The King family joined us again for breakfast, so I got another dose of little kid-goodness before I had to step on the plane. It was heavenly. The French toast was pretty good, too.

This is what I look like to a 4-year old.

More tomorrow, including the freaky coffee cups story. And maybe a writing prompt, if any of youse need something to write about.