I made good on my earlier threat and gardened in the mud for about an hour. I feel much better and my yard looks like it's ready for an inspection from Martha Stewart. In a few weeks, I think even Ina Garten could stop by, but we'd need to power wash the siding first.
Still, I don't think there's such a thing as too much inspiration in a time of trial, and as I soaked in my bubble bath, I remembered that I had a signed copy of Return to Howliday Inn either on a shelf or in a box. Mom bought it for me at a particularly pleasant SCBWI conference in Los Angeles. The authors actually had time to chat with us little people between presentations. I really was a little person at the time. I think I was 13 or 14 and remember James Howe being very tall. My mom's friend, Helen, introduced him to me, and he was very sweet about at least pretending to think it was great that I loved to write. When we finally got to the autograph party portion of the conference, he signed my copy of his book.
|For Amy and all the characters who live in your imagination,|
|from James Howe . . . and all the characters who live in mine! 1992|