#1 NYT bestselling author Linda Lael Miller

Well, the server was down yesterday, so that’s why I’m publishing two blog entries today.

I finished “The McKettrick Way” and have submitted it to my editor, who loved it. Joan and I make a wonderful team, and I can’t express how grateful I am to work with her, and to be a part of the dynamic HQN team. As of yesterday, when “McKettrick’s Heart” took the #7 spot, I have had a book in the New York Times Bestseller list’s top #15 for an unprecedented (for me) ten weeks!

Today, I plan to draft the working outline for “The Rustler”, my next big western, to be published in the summer of 08. Once that’s done, I’ll probably go over to the casino (Mojo and I have more in common than you might think) and try my hand at the slots. Last time I was there, I hit two jackpots within fifteen minutes of each other. :)

I’m a very lucky woman. And not just because of the slot machines. Cleo and I are on the outs, and the prince has been a frog right along. So I’m on the scout for a new one.

I’ll let you know how it goes. :)

The Cash House

As many of you will know, the former home of Johnny Cash and wife, June Carter Cash, burned down on Tuesday. I was greatly saddened, for the Cashes were friends of mine, and I have visited that house on several occasions. I met other extraordinary people there, besides the Cashes, including Naomi Judd, Jane Seymour and George Jones. I was always welcomed warmly, and I cherish the memories.

June, smiling and arranging an enormous bouquet of flowers, sent to her in celebration of a CD release–by Garth Brooks. John, sitting in his favorite chair, often in his pajamas, booming out, “Come over here and hug my neck!” when I arrived. In point of fact, I got the worst case of flu of my life from giving John a hello kiss one time. As soon as I got back home, the bug hit me like a freight train, and I spent several hours on my bathroom floor. I joked afterwards that it was worth it–after all, I kissed Johnny Cash!

There were other visits, in other places–I attended John’s last birthday bash, at their fabled place in Jamaica, Cinnamon Hill. Both John and June were funny, smart, generous to a fault, and unfailingly kind.

I’ll miss the house in Hendersonville. But not nearly as much as I miss the wonderful people who lived there, once upon a time.

The Pony Express carried almost 35,000 pieces of mail over more than 650,000 miles during those nineteen months and lost only one mail sack.