Paris is very far. Seven hours on a plane is a very very long time. I don’t like flying. I’m always uncomfortable, it’s always too cold or too hot, the movies are serious and dull and the food … well, let’s not go there. And it’s so dry! On the flight home I drank three litres of water. I kid you not.

Wow. I sound like I’m complaining. I was in PARIS! And it was … fantastic. Once you get beyond the jet lag (did not follow protocol and actually slept 15 hours once we landed) and the business of everything (it’s always busy every single place you go) and the noise (did I mention the busyness?) it’s beautiful. The apartment was great (despite climbing a circular staircase of 80 steps each time), the buildings were beautiful, the language is beautiful. I didn’t think anyone was rude at all. Actually, I went into one store where they sold funky things and it was two ‘younger’ retailers (boy and girl) and they were playing terribly rude music (lyric-wise) and I’m pretty sure they were making fun of me as I looked around and I started getting paranoid and uncomfortable BUT THEN I remembered that they are not people that I know and love and care about so what difference does it make what they say about me. This is a very important thing to remember while growing up. Sadly, you don’t really think of it until you’re well into your thirties. I mean, I’m well into my thirties and I still have moments where I think a group of girls I pass by are laughing at me, or a couple are whispering about me and I need to remind myself that I am not the center of the universe and that they are even thinking about me is a remote possibility (practically inconceivable) and even if they are, does it really matter what they are thinking? They don’t have to like my messy hair or my clothes that don’t fit right or my bright red lipstick. They don’t have to like my shoes, they way I walk or that I trip over things or jam my thumbnail constantly into zippers (we won’t get into that right now). Because I like me, my husband likes me and my gaffer likes me. Really, does it matter that I can’t please the other thirty billion people in the world?

No. No it does not.

Ok, off the soap box.

I have news.

Da da DAAAAA!!!!

HarperCanada has picked me up!

I don’t mean they sent a strong man over and he knocked on my door and said in a deep voice, “Are you Jenn Kelly?” to which I would probably reply, “No” and then run away screaming before he picked me up. What I MEAN is that they picked me up. Which actually doesn’t make a lot of sense to me. Because Zondervan is a division of HarperCollins. And HarperCanada is a division of HarperCollins. Maybe they’re the same thing but Canadian? I have no idea. But it means that I think I’ll be getting more … publicity? More facevalue in bookstores? I think. I actually have no idea. I’m still very new at this whole getting published thing. So I actually have no advice for you. Regardless it’s good news so I’ll just do my disco dance and be happy with it.

Oh dear. I have four months to finish this manuscript. And the jet lag has set in again. Technically, it’s 1:24 am in Paris. And I’ve been up since 4:30 (our time) because I couldn’t sleep anymore. Must stay up till 9. I can do this!

Listening to: the gaffer’s Pachelbel Canon bedtime music that plays on repeat

Watching: I think I’m catching up on LOST tonight. With a bag of yogurt and onion chips.

Reading: Peter Pan. Why oh why didn’t anyone ever tell me to read it?? I LOOOOOOOve it!!!!!

Eating: not much. Paris food is delicious and rich and I think I’m just not hungry for awhile.