At every rest stop in Arizona there’s a sign warning of dangerous snakes and poisonous scorpions. I keep my eyes peeled but never spotted anything but this lovely lizard. Let’s hope my photos land close to my description. No such luck. This must be what publishing children’s novels was like in the early 20th century.

At the Arizona Desert Museum, we saw mountain lions, rattlers, bears and racoons. In the Grand Canyon Park, we saw these mules. You can ride these guys down Angel Trail to the bottom of the canyon if you book a couple years in advance and pay a few hundred dollars.

Then I saw this black Lab at the canyon. He was very friendly, wagging hopefully anytime anyone came within patting range. His owner told me his name was Kay-oh-

tay. “Oh, he doesn’t look like a coyote,” I said. “No,” he explained, “Kayohtay means wolf in First Nations.” Yeah, well he doesn’t look like a wolf either.

Why I took his photo was Kayohtay was desperately trying to join his owner on this stone fence. Where is this fence? Overlooking the Grand Canyon. “Noooooo! Don’t stand there!” I wanted to shout. “I wrote about this once and it doesn’t end well, trust me.”

Finally, I spotted this brave squirrel who posed for me in an effort to extract treats from me.

“No feeding the wild life!” I told him as I snapped away. His good natured scurrying about against the vastness of rocky beauty behind him still makes me smile. We should never be daunted.

The wind blows strong here and it’s jaw droppingly beautiful. Everyone waits, camera poised, for the sunset. Then the whole sky glows and the clouds become eerie wisps but the canyon turns too dark.

You have to keep the moment perfectly in your heart instead of on your camera.

My first thought: Ah, Hunter, what have you done wrong. Gee I hope you’re okay.

“Your name came up…”

Second thought (the authors reading this will appreciate this line of thinking): Yay, they’re hiring me to talk at a professional development day. Mortgage payment, score.

“…because there’s a school opening in the fall …

third thought(still thinking like an author here): Oh a school visit, okay half a mortgage payment. Still it’s nice to be asked.

“…and we want to name it after you.”

What? No really. The message said to call back immediately. How long had I been gone for?

Of course when I returned the urgent call, Jane Doe was gone so I had to wait, gobsmacked, tidying ’cause you shouldn’t have a messy kitchen if someone’s going to name a school after you.

Crazy thoughts come into your head. You feel like you should write your memoirs and/or die fairly soon. You feel like you should be a better person. That afternoon I returned my grocery cart from the other end of the strip mall where I had originally parked to go to the bank.

Immature thoughts too: wow, think of all the cool personalized stuff that will be available.

Sylvia McNicoll mugs, Sylvia McNicoll hoodies, Sylvia McNicoll pens–I’ll try to buy some of those if they come available.

Jane Doe finally called back and it seems there are three other names in the running, can’t remember any others but Dundas Heights.

No I don’t think I’m famous enough or all that worthy but, yes, I feel honoured. I drove by and took a photo of the potential Sylvia McNicoll Public School. No matter what it’s called, in my heart it will always be mine.

“Lots of people may think you’re not a professional author, but I think you rock.”

And just how many ways are there to spell author wrong!

My mixmaster hair is styled messy deliberately. Costs a lot of royalties to keep it this way.

My face is fully made up, teeth brushed etc. It’s 9 a.m. and by now I’ve looked at a couple articles for the magazine I work for, copy edited a chapter of a basketball novel my Norwegian publisher wants to look at (hey I’m losing a whole writing morning to this class), fed my grandson Hunter breakfast and made his lunch, double checked to make sure his homework went into his backpack, walked the dog and packed up all my author visit gear. I know people in 9 to 5 jobs do a lot of stuff in the morning but still I can’t help wondering about the public perception of the writer’s life from her question. Or her perception of me.

“Oh yes,” I answer. “I am an early riser.” The first image of my Powerpoint presentation rises up on the screen with no difficulty at all. Ha! I think. When we first approached the idea of me visiting the teacher cautioned me that she knew nothing about technology and that I might be “on my own” getting the projector and computer to communicate.

I should add, we first approached the idea three days prior when Hunter told me I was expected.

The 21 students were a captive audience. Yes, I took the entire first period English as they may have hoped since their book review presentations were due that morning. We all had fun.

The teacher gave me a lovely plant which I will post a photo of a little later when I try my new camera on it.

That afternoon I continued editing articles for Today’s Parent Toronto and matching up my basketball novel in text form to the book it was published as. While I walked the dog in between, made supper, went to aqua fit etc, I only put the laptop down at 10:30 p.m.

And here it is 6:30 a.m next day and I’m up and at it again. “Are you rich?” one of the grade fours asked me.

“Not in the way you think I am,” I answered.