You can play spot the Sylvia in the photo. Outside there’s a park full of my favourite cacti, the Saguaro.

I also visited Tombstone Public Library as it was right next door to the Wild West show and we had 15 minutes to spare.

I find librarians the best source for local tourist hotspots, they can tell the truth about restaurants etc, where as government tourist people have to remain unbiased. They know the history of towns better and plus they like books and are often thrilled to meet a writer.

The librarian at Tombstone was exceptionally friendly and asked for a business card, promising to buy my book as well as my traveling buddy Gisella Sherman’s.

I also visited Phoenix Pubic Library to thank the “Ask the Librarian” for all their previous e-suggestions on what books are set in Arizona. When you respond to same, there’s no inbox to accept your thanks. That librarian wanted to know if I was hoping to “break into the U.S”.

“No,” I answered. “I’ve written for 25 years and lots of my books are in the U.S. Just not in this library.” She took my bookmark to order Last Chance for Paris but I’m sure, as an urban librarian, she was a bit jaded, perhaps even besieged by budding (or ageing)writers.

But the library was gorgeous with a pond in the middle and wide open spaces throughout.

All three libraries were worth the mini detours.

Well, Mac, I’m a bit of a celebrity myself as I’ve been on Sonja Dunn’s television show reading from Bringing Up Beauty.

For the trail ride I brought my shockproof, waterproof, dustproof camera (love it!) but sadly it is not idiot proof. I left the camera on after downloading so there was no battery left and hence no riding shots of me and my fellow cowboys.

My husband only took photos with his high-potential-for disaster camera before the ride when all the farmyard animals befriended me. As I was patting an Australian shepherd puppy, this pig came up and nuzzled me for attention. I felt like a barnyard Cinderella when the chicken came up from behind to check me out.

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!