My friend Jacqui sent me this link. It’s made me wish, temporarily, that I were a middle-grade writer. There’s an entire novel inside this ad.

I’m working on a book proposal with war-like themes. So I called up my brother-in-law, a former poli-sci major and an encyclopedia of all things historical. Whew — a few days later I had a deluge of possible topics waiting in my in-box. I simply had to sort through and choose my favourites!

One of the most interesting parts of my non-fiction writing is the opportunity to become an expert in a strange topic, learn everything I can for six months or so, and then move on to the next topic.

I mentioned this to a dad on the sidelines of a soccer game last week and he said the same thing about his job. He’s a criminal defence attorney. He said his wife works on multi-year class-action lawsuits, but he works on a series of small files. So he learns everything he needs to know about one type of crime, then moves on.

I had no idea I had things in common with criminal defence attorneys.

In between my proposal writing sessions this week, I have plans for some strawberry-rhubarb jam making, some library visiting (Jeremy Tankard’s summer reading program illustrations are adorable), and some spot-prawn buying. I’m a little squeamish about that last one. I’ll let you know if I end the week with fingers intact!

You know those stories about people who are diagnosed with terminal cancer and manage to write their masterpieces in only three weeks? Well, I’m not wishing for terminal cancer by any means, but the threat of a teacher strike has seriously helped my productivity.

I’ve completed a copy edit (in a single day). I’ve written thousands of words of my work-in-progress. Not necessarily great words, but words nonetheless. I’m even caught up on thank you cards and volunteer work.

I know.

All of this, of course, is because I may NEVER HAVE SILENCE AGAIN. But as I told my copy editor, I’m sure they’ll have internet in my asylum.

I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this before, but I have a fantastic app concept. It would look exactly like the official Weather Network app, except instead of showing the real weather, it would display a row of five sunshines, no matter what.

Doesn’t that sound like a happy idea?

Today, I had another brainwave. An app specifically for writers. Each morning, you get a message along the lines of, “Our virtual editor just read yesterday’s words. They were amazing!” A little random encouragement. Then it tracks your real-life editing changes, revisions, and rejections. Whenever the number of changes hits a critical level, or whenever you get too many rejections in too short a time period, it kicks into gear with positive reinforcement. Maybe it calls the local chocolate shop and automatically orders a shipment. Or it checks the iCal and pre-books you a pedicure.

Obviously I should quit writing and embark on a career in app design.

While my mom was visiting last weekend, she mentioned once getting called to the school by my grade five teacher.

“You got called by the teacher?”

“To look at your journals. You and Michelle had been writing back and forth to each other,” Mom said.

“Writing what?”

She couldn’t remember. “Something the teacher thought was inappropriate.”

“So what happened?”

“Well, I thought she should be happy the two of you were writing so much,” Mom said.

I have absolutely no memory of this. But I’m dying to know what sorts of inappropriate things appeared in those journals! I’m also feeling quite proud of my ten-year-old self for raising eyebrows. Not to mention my mom, for defending our miniature freedoms.

I’m going to have to get in touch with my friend Michelle and see what she remembers…

This Huffington Post article tells me I’ve become a more relaxed mother and stopped worrying about the details of my children’s growth and eating habits. I would love if that were true, but I’m afraid I had an entire conversation with another mom this morning about whether or not sliced fruit is enough fuel for a recess snack.

Horoscopes are a funny thing. I once held an elevator door for an elderly couple outside a grocery store. When they were inside and the door had slid closed, the man asked me about my day.

His wife elbowed him. “She doesn’t want to answer your questions.”

He said, “She does. She’s a nice person. Obviously a virgo or a libra.”

At this point, I’d exchanged probably ten words with the man. But he was right! “I’m a virgo.”

The man raised his eyebrows at his wife. “See?”

The people who put stock in horoscopes are not always those you’d expect. I’ve been thinking it would be fun to include a astrology fan as a character in a young adult book. I also know writers who use astrological signs to define the strengths and weaknesses of their characters.

In the meantime, I obviously need to stop exposing my inner personality traits by holding elevator doors.