In Writing

The flight to LA is bumpy. I write my name in my notebook in case the plane goes down, so that my kids will have the last words I wrote. Because, yeah, that’s me. A glass half empty kinda girl.

Landing in LA feels weirdly familiar. It’s strange. I’ve only been here one other time as an adult, this past March, but it feels much more like home than Cleveland did, despite the palms and lack of deciduous trees. It must be something about the thrum of the place, somehow more “New York-y.” Actually, sprawled as it is, most of LA feels even closer to home, more like the tightly-wound New Jersey suburbs nestled right up against New York rather than the cavernous corridors of Manhattan. Except with Spanish-tile roofs.

I find my way easily to my first stop – LA Public Library Memorial Branch, right across the street from Los Angeles High School. I’ve come straight from the airport so I’m way early. I fight the urge to nap. What is it about sitting on a plane that’s so exhausting? It’s just sitting, damn it.

4:00
The event is really cool, with a lot of thoughtful questions from the moderator.

7:00
Dinner with publishing sibling Bethany Crandell, author of Summer on the Short Bus and Tracy Holczer, The Secret Hum of a Daisy. Lots of publishing “shop” talk. Divine! I need more of this in my life.

9:00 pm
Drive down to Orange County, sleep 12 hours. Not enough.

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