January 23rd, 2008

Get Out the Puffs

I've been sick. You know, the usual. Exhaustion. Nasty cough. Painful sore throat. Colorful blobs coming out of my nose.

Last year I had two books come out (So Totally, Emily Ebers and Good Luck, Ivy). I spent over 80 days on the road. And I gave 12 million (or so) speeches and made 47 billion-ish author appearances. People ask (okay, I asked myself), "Lisa, how do you do it all? You're an author, a mom, a wife, and you still have time to blow up peeps?"
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Well, the answer is simple. Three times a year I collapse. My body just shuts down and so do I. Like this past week. I became incapacitated and pitiful . . .
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It's really too bad because I was looking forward to meeting Andrea Beaty at Vroman's. . . .
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But, I suppose if you're going to get sick, it's best you do it at home. I have to get well soon because on Monday I head to Dallas to speak at Scholastic's 2008 Book Summit, along with Walter Dean Myers and others. And I'll still get to meet Andrea at the most marvelous St. Charles Literature Festival next month in Illinois.

The doctor says to rest and not to talk. I have a prescription for steroids, that I will keep in my purse. And I've got several boxes of Puffs handy. By the way, I know I've mentioned this before, but I believe it to be true . . .

In every relationship there is one squeamish person (Hubby) and one not squeamish person (Moi) who wants to show the other person what their spleen (or whatever it is) looks like when it comes out of their nose . . .
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Oh well, and oh yes, in response to my last blog about tattoos and scars, the answer is -- ALL THREE.

Suffice to say, Hubby almost passed out when I had to have the rare bone tumor on my skull removed with a hammer and chisel. It's a long story, and I'll spare you the details. Let's just say that Harry Potter isn't the only one with a scar on his forehead.



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