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Pete has asked me to remind everyone that today is National Cat Day.  According to him, this means that all humans are supposed to provide extra treats and petting to all cats that they know. I’ll add that it’s a good day to donate to your favorite animal shelter or support a spay/neuter program.

I received my copies of Runaway Twin. There is a gate across my driveway and, although there’s no lock, Fed Ex and UPS sometimes drop packages over the gate rather than delivering them to my home. Other times, they come to the door. This time the box of books had been put in a plastic bag and left inside the gate, where it sat overnight. I found it at 7 a.m. Saturday when I walked out to get my morning newspaper. 

A box of books is too heavy for me to carry, so I hurried back to the house for a wheeled dolly to roll my treasure home. Sensing my excitement, Lucy barked, picked up a pine cone in her teeth, and raced ahead of me.

Is there anything more satisfying than opening a box containing copies of my new book? No matter how many books I publish, that moment is always a thrill. Running a close second to this feeling is the fun of distributing my copies to the special people in my life. My kids and grandchildren each get one. The person to whom the book is dedicated gets a copy, as does anyone who helped in some way, such as with research or proof-reading.  One copy of Runaway Twin is for the person who was high bidder at an auction to benefit Pasado’s Safe Haven. I had donated the opportunity to have a favorite pet included as a character in a future book. Snickers, the dog in Runaway Twin, is that character.

 Runaway Twin has a terrific cover that will appeal to middle grade readers. I hope my story will, too.

My closest neighbor, Chris, raises birds. She starts with eggs, then hatches and raises ducks, peacocks, chickens, quail and turkeys. She bought an emu egg on craigslist, hatched it, and now Emma the Emu is a pet. This year, Chris entered a turkey in the Western Washington State Fair, known locally as the Puyallup Fair. It’s a huge fair and one of my favorite events. My friend, Marie Smith (wife of author Roland Smith,) enters her delicious pies every year and has a host of blue ribbons to show for her efforts. If you taste one of Marie’s pies, you’ll agree that the judges know their business.

This was Chris’s first time to enter. She delivered Tom Turkey to the fair and got him settled in a spacious pen with bedding, food and fresh water. Until then, Tom’s only socializing had been with Chris and her other birds. At the fair, his pen was surrounded by admirers who praised his size and beauty. Well, Tom LOVED the compliments! He strutted and gobbled. He let the fair-goers pet him. He puffed up with self-importance and quickly became a favorite of the audiences and judges. He not only won first prize, he was named the Grand Champion Turkey. Because he was so popular, the fair officials asked Chris to enter him again next year.

The fair ended two weeks ago, but Tom is still strutting and carrying on. I can hear him from my back yard: “Gobble, gobble, gobble.” He doesn’t seem to realize that the ducks, peacocks, and Emma are unimpressed.

I understand how Tom feels. When I receive a book award, as I’ve done twice in the last month, I get complimented, photographed, and hugged. My books are praised and my autograph is sought. For a day or two, I’m the star of the show.  Then I come home and resume my real life – scooping the cat box, cleaning my house, slogging my way through the first draft of a new book.

Unlike Tom, I don’t want to spend every day in the spotlight. While award events are exciting and gratifying, I love my quiet life at home.  I am writing this blog on a bench in my back yard, enjoying the sun with Molly and Lucy. The only sounds I hear are bird calls, a squirrel, and, from Chris’s direction, “Gobble, gobble, gobble.”

Yesterday was moving day for Lindon Books. In order to lower their rent, they moved to the space next door. They didn’t need a moving van or packing boxes. What they needed was muscle power and it arrived in the energetic form of the Mother/Daughter Book Club members, along with other avid readers from the community. Armloads of books were scooped from the old shelves and carried next door to the new shelves. One enthusiastic reader, age eleven, shouted, “Books! Books! Wonderful books!” as she marched along. After weeks of a Moving Sale, stock was sparse, but there was still a lot of merchandise, and these volunteers schlepped all of it out one door and in the next.

One of my neighbors works for a company that installs hardwood floors. The short end pieces, which the company discards, make great kindling. The employees are free to take it, so Tim keeps me supplied with kindling for my wood stove every winter. This week he delivered two big boxes full, a welcome gift that will help warm many a cold night ahead.

Yesterday morning I found a bag of plums hanging on my gate. Although there wasn’t any note, I know which neighbors have a plum tree. They often share produce from their garden, too.

The local feed store has birdseed on sale. I go through a lot of birdseed, but it comes in forty or fifty pound bags so I only buy it when I know I can get help to unload it. The store clerks will put it in my trunk, but I’m not able to lift the heavy bags out. Knowing this, Jenny called to say if I want to take advantage of the sale (she feeds the birds, too) she’d be glad to come out to unload the bags for me.

All of this gives me hope for our society. There is so much animosity in the news that I sometimes wonder whatever became of civility, and good manners, and respect. Then I look at my small corner of the world, and I see kids gladly helping their community book store stay in business, and I see generous neighbors and friends watching out for each other, and I trust that somehow, just as in my fiction, the good guys will win.

Writing is the original deferred compensation plan, where you do the work now but get paid in the future. Some times, it’s a long way in the future.

In 1975, the Dramatic Publishing Co. published a one act play of mine called “Cemeteries Are a Grave Matter.” I signed a standard royalty contract where I receive ten percent of the price of the playbooks sold and fifty percent of the production royalties. I knew I would not get rich from a one act play, but I did not anticipate how far into the future I would continue to be paid for my work.

Yesterday I received a check from the Dramatic Publishing Co. for $67.  It’s hardly an earth-shaking sum, but it is amazing to know that the play I’m being paid for was written thirty-five years ago! In all that time, there has never been a year when I didn’t receive royalties for “Cemeteries Are a Grave Matter.” Some years the checks are bigger than others, but I always get something.

Occasionally a young reader will ask, “How much money do you make on each book?”  An honest answer would be, “Ask me again in forty years, and I might know.”

Today I baked zucchini cookies, one of my favorites. I love cookies! Besides zucchini, I love snickerdoodles, chocolate chip (milk chocolate, with nuts), peanut butter, rolled sugar cookies, oatmeal (no raisins) and – well, you get the picture. There is something comforting about baking cookies, perhaps because I have happy memories of baking cookies with my children and grandchildren. Anne always wanted to eat the raw cookie dough. Once when she was away at college, I mailed her a small ball of raw cookie dough and she claims it was the most successful dorm package of her college career.

I didn’t see any meteors because it’s been raining for two days. We needed the rain. As I gazed out my office window at the downpour, I realized that part of the drip…drip…drip that I heard was inside the house. Water was leaking through a bathroom skylight and dripping on to the toilet seat. At least it didn’t do any damage there, and my repairman will be out to take care of the problem. If he’s lucky there will still be some cookies left when he arrives.

While I wait for editorial suggestions on my new book (still untitled) I’ve been working this week on an adult novel that I started a few years back. Maybe this time I will finish it. I’ve also done more reading than usual, including some authors who are new to me. My idea of a perfect evening is to settle in my recliner with Lucy on my lap, a hot cup of coffee beside me, and a good book. It doesn’t hurt to have a few cookies within reach, too.

The meteor showers will be at their peak on Aug. 12. I love to lie outdoors, watching for “shooting stars.” I did it as a child, I’ve done it many times with my grandchildren, and I still get excited every time I spot a meteor streaking across the sky.  I used this experience in Runaway Twin – one more piece of my own life that’s been transplanted to my fiction.

There are no street lights or neighbor porch lights out here in the woods, which makes for excellent star gazing. If the sky is clear on Aug. 12, Lucy and I will snuggle under a blanket outside for a few hours, gazing upward.

If you opened my refrigerator right now, you’d probably wonder why I have a bowl containing watermelon rinds and an apple core. It’s because the weather’s been so dry this month that the deer have little grass or other greenery to graze on. When it starts to get dark, I will toss the watermelon rinds and apple core, along with any carrot tops or other leftover greenery, under my bird feeder. The deer come every night to eat the spilled bird seed and they will find these extra treats. When my windows are open, I hear them crunching the watermelon, apparently with great gusto.

Today I am wearing my Disney World 1999 T-shirt, a souvenir of Brett’s tenth birthday trip.

My parents took each of my children and my brother’s children on a special trip when that child turned ten. As soon as we had grandkids, Carl and I knew we wanted to continue the tenth birthday trip tradition, and we had great fun planning those excursions.

Brett was first. I was invited to speak at a conference in Orlando the week of her tenth birthday, and that seemed a fine destination for a child. It was also a way for her to see me in my professional role. We had so much fun that a year later when I returned to Orlando for my first Florida Young Reader Award, we took her with us again.

Chelsea’s trip came next. She liked country music, so we spent several days in Branson, Missouri, seeing all the shows, including the Radio City Rockettes.  We took Eric, our wildlife watcher, on a cruise to Alaska. I’m not sure which he liked best – our visit to a raptor rehabilitation center or the unlimited buffet meals on board ship. Mark, our baseball fan, went with us to see the Seattle Mariners play in Los Angeles, where we ended up on TV as we cheered for an M’s homerun. My son, Bob, taped the game, so I have a video that shows Carl, me, and Mark clapping and yelling at the ballpark. Of course, since we were in L.A., we also went to Disneyland.

The tenth birthday trips are a special bond. When Eric comes to visit, we use my Alaska mug. When the Mariners play in L.A., Mark and I look at the TV screen and find where our seats were. When the Rockettes came to Seattle, we all went to see the show that Chelsea had enjoyed in Branson.  And if anyone says, “Orlando,” even in a TV commercial, Brett and I look at each other and say, “Let’s go!”

When I’m revising a manuscript, I do a word search for just. Experience has taught me that I tend to over-use it and that many times it is not needed. In fact, the sentence is stronger without it.

This time I eliminated just twenty-two times in a manuscript that is 160 pages long. I did not cut every just. I left some of them, twice I replaced it with only, and a few times I completely rewrote the sentence, but there were still twenty-two unnecessary words and my book is better without them. Example: The heading on today’s blog would be better without the first word.

Years ago, I often began a line of dialogue with the word Well. “Well, it was my turn.”  “Well, let’s go see where she is.” I finally broke myself of that bad habit, so I no longer need to do a word search for Well.

I’m meeting Anne and Kevin for lunch today. Tomorrow Bob and Pam arrive for a two-day visit. I love spending time with my kids.

A few weeks ago, I blogged about the wonders of the World Wide Web. Later I realized that I’d aimed that post at my own age group, some of whom remain resistant to the marvels of e-mail and Internet usage. The kids who read my books would read about what I’d learned on line and think, “Well, duh.”

So to balance the discussion, I’d like to say that I love newspapers. Always have. One of the joys of my life is to read the morning newspaper every day while I sip my first cup of coffee. Now that I’ve officially passed the age of retirement, I also allow myself the luxury of working the daily crossword puzzle. My mother worked the puzzle every day in ink. I can see her sitting in her recliner, with a towel across her lap so she wouldn’t get newspaper ink on her robe. “What’s an eight letter word for hard rain?” she’d ask, but before I could reply, she’d already be writing downpour. I’m not confident enough to use ink but I usually complete the entire puzzle.

I currently subscribe to the Tacoma News Tribune. It isn’t a journalistic wonder but it gives me both the national headlines and the news of my area. It also holds wonderful surprises, such as instructions on how to prune rhododendruns, which appeared on the very day I had intended to Google that topic. Yesterday there was an article, with photo, about a sandstone sculpture that’s being created for my town’s centennial celebration this July. I read only a few of the comics, but I’m devoted to those few, and if I’ve missed last night’s baseball game, I get a quick overview.

For many years I lived in California and took the San Francisco Chronicle. It remains my favorite daily newspaper. My friends, Larry and Myra Karp, brought me so many interesting articles from the Sunday New York Times that I finally asked them to routinely save the whole shebangs for me, which they do.

I know you can read newspapers on line, but it isn’t the same. I like to hold the thin sheets of paper in my hands, and hear the slight swish of the pages turning. I want to fold it in half and then thirds, with the crossword puzzle in front.

Update on Rosie: the potential adopter’s husband nixed having an indoor cat, so Rosie is still with me, awaiting a permanent home.