#1 NYT bestselling author Linda Lael Miller
My Dad

In the wee small hours of June 9, the day before our shared birthday, my dad had a massive heart attack. He’s holding on, but the prognosis isn’t very good. I spent all of the 9th and most of the 10th at his bedside, then returned to Spokane, exhausted and fighting off another onslaught of that flu I told you about last week. Of course, I’ve got one ear out for the telephone, and will return to Grand Coulee as needed. In the meantime, I’m hoping to go back out to the lake house and write. You see, my dad isn’t much for handkerchief-wringing–he’s want me to do my work and carry on with strength and dignity.

There’s always the meantime, isn’t there?

I told him I love him, and that he’s been the best dad anybody could ever hope to have, and promised him I would be strong–because he taught us to be strong. My creativity and talent for words come from my mother. My true grit is Dad’s gift.

Thanks, Dad. I love you. And whatever happens, I’ll be strong.

News From the Side of the Tub

Still writing the blog in my bathroom. That has got to be unusual!

“The Man from Stone Creek” is off to a great start out there in the marketplace. Hitting all kinds of lists. I think I’d really be dancing if I didn’t have the cold from hell. Heading for the lake later today–my haven, my port in a storm. I’m still hoping to write, but may end up on the couch, slathered in Vicks and staring out at the lake.

The weather is overcast today–the kind of weather that goes along with a bad cold. Guess I’ll light the fire and devote fifteen minutes to feeling sorry for myself. (Hard to do in a beautiful lake house, with a book on every major list.) Like my characters, Sam O’Ballivan and any or all of the McKettricks, I’m not much for crying in my beer. But, hey, I’m only human. I’m entitled to that fifteen minutes. After that, it’s the family credo all the way: Suck it up. We’re burning daylight here.

Love and thanks to you all. I’ll blog from the lake house tomorrow. (Hi, Susan. It’s twenty-five minutes from here.) That is, if it doesn’t fall into that fifteen minute period of unbridled whining.

Cheers. I raise my glass of Nyquil to all of you. :) (Way too early for beer.)

A “ten gallon hat” can’t hold ten gallons of anything.