Headed For Home


I’m going to be honest with y’all.

I’m writing this while we drive.

I think we’re in Alabama right now. Somewhere near Birmingham, I think, although I am directionally challenged and it’s very possible that I’m wrong.

Guys. Alabama is hot. Like, ridiculously hot. Like, if it wasn’t so beautiful I would never come here again kind of hot.

But the trees have flowers and leaves instead of needles and the grass is lush and green, and everything is beautiful. Also, the dirt is red. And today is cloudy and misty. So I’m trying to ignore the heat.

We’re headed for Texas right now. Then, tomorrow, our wheels will be pointed toward Colorado and home.

I’m excited.

I miss my cat. And my family. And my house.

I can’t swear that anyone misses me, but I have a little—possibly vain—hope that my cat missed me. A tiny bit. A very tiny bit. Like, she went to sleep at night in my big empty bed all alone with no one to cuddle with and thought, “I wonder what happened to that one person who used to feed me and would whine back when I whined at her.”

I’ll admit, that’s a little bit of a stretch. But I can hope.

As much as I am excited to get back home, this has been a trip and a half. We’ve been through twelve states so far and have four more to go, and I have loved seeing the country change along the highway. We’ve crashed in hotel rooms, been hosted by wonderful friends, eaten way too much fast food, baked on beaches, swam in the ocean, in hotel pools, lakes, and backyard ponds. My brother made friends with a lizard, I found baby clams and ate my first Po’Boy sandwich, my dad drove us through the town where he grew up and showed us where his dad’s mechanic shop had been and the house he’d lived in. We saw flooded rivers, Florida swamps, the sea, and a telephone pole shaped like Mickey Mouse.

It was wild.

And now we’re headed for home. Tomorrow night, I will sleep in my own bed, and one week from today, I will start my first full-time office job and get paid to be a writer.

Life is crazy, y’all.

Anyone have any crazy road trip memories to share? I’d love to hear about them in the comments!

Rottweilers and Writing Companions


This week, I went to visit one of my friends. She lives in town, which is a very long drive from where I hide away in the middle of absolutely nowhere, and she just moved into her beautiful new house.

She’s got an enormous tree growing in the front yard, and so, so much painting to do inside. I got paint all over me. It was very exciting, because I am a five-year-old at heart and I love paint.

On a side note, I am apparently incapable of using said paint without also painting myself.


But, the highlight of visiting my lovely friend (besides her company, which I have so, so missed) was her new dog. He’s a Rottweiler, and he met me at the door with his big, sloppy grin, his huge feet, and his clumsy, overexcited welcome.

We were instantly best friends.

Now, I am not really a dog person. Most of the time. I have a cat who head-butts me when she wants affection and drools like a dog, so I’m pretty happy. (Please don’t tell her I told you that. She would be mortified.) Besides that, an enormous dog in my very tiny house would be a disaster. Things would be broken. A lot of things.

But, realistic dangers aside, my friend was very lucky I didn’t try to sneak that dog out the door with me. I couldn’t get enough of him. He was big, he was goofy, he wanted all the attention, and I was totally ready to comply. We were painting, and—considering he has very large feet and not a great deal of coordination—he was not invited to join in. My friend insisted that he stay out in the hall.

Spoiler alert.

He did not stay out in the hall very much.

As much as I loved hanging out with this guy (and kissing his head, and being drooled on by him, and nearly tripping over him when he leaned against me or squirmed between my legs), I could already imagine the damage he would do in my little house with his big feet. So I came home and kissed my kitty on the head. And got booped on the face. And head-butted, because she loves me an extra-special lot and when I sit down to read or write, she likes to be right there with me.

It’s pretty distracting, actually. But every writer needs a writing companion, just like wizards need owls or toads. It’s always nice to have a little chum to curl up in your lap while you’re exploring the untracked wilderness of your imagination, or chasing a dragon, or arguing with trolls. I’m pretty convinced that, without a kitty to purr in my lap, it would be much harder to find my way home again.

Do you have a writing companion (or just a favorite chum) in your house? Tell me about them in the comments!