There are days when I fear that this blog header is practically my writing philosophy. But there are other, more disciplined, writers who won't let anything keep them from the keyboard. The month of November is their happy time.
 
That's because November is National Novel Writing Month. If you never knew there was a National Novel Writing Month, well, it can’t be that much of a surprise, can it? There’s a National Something Day/Week/Month ALL of the darn time.  Literally, there is not one day of the year that the USA isn’t celebrating something. For instance, although it is also novel-writing month, we recently enjoyed National Chocolate Cupcake Day. This comes one day before National Vanilla Cupcake Day, which comes two days before – and this is my favorite – National Pizza with the Works Except Anchovies Day. There are so many "special" days, it feels like a form of madness.
 
Today is the last day of National Novel Writing Month or, as it is more widely known, NaNoWriMo. Twenty-nine days ago, thousands of writers from all across the world challenged themselves to write a complete 50,000 word novel in one month. ONE MONTH, I say, astonished. Many of those brave souls signed up at the official site, where they also had the option to join a support group in their own region, and were encouraged to award themselves one of several participant badges (e-badges, not cloth-badges).  Some of those bold scribes went ahead and purchased a 2016 NaNoWriMo “Winner” t-shirt, proclaiming their book-length success before their novels were completed. As a result, the 2016 NaNoWriMo “Winner” t-shirts are currently sold out. That's golden, if you ask me, because a writer needs an unreasonable level of confidence to achieve this month's goal.
 
(Before we go on, don't be too disappointed if you failed to order your pre-victory t-shirt in time. I’m certain the NaNoWriMo marketing team have ordered several more cartons of the things.  If you’re not a t-shirt kind of gal, the organization also offers a “Write Every Day” writing journal, as well as a Astro-Novelist coffee mug  that proclaims, “Your Novel. Your Universe.” There’s a variety of items at the site, each offering solid encouragement, because that's the NaNoWriMo mindset. People don't go to that website to be told they can't do something. That's what my website is for.)
 
If you’re wondering why Glynn and I didn’t sign up for the NaNoWriMo competition on November 1st, it’s not because we're afraid of a challenge. We bow to no one when it comes to taking a dare. Whether we're subjecting ourselves to deprivation (our horrible year of Eating Only Healthy Things comes to mind) or degradation (I will forever carry the image of poor Glynn, striding the beach in his micro-Speedo), we're in. If the quest seems doable, we're ready.
 
But that’s the thing, you see.  It has to be doable for us to want to try. While many hundreds of writers will succeed in their NaNoWriMo task, we already know we can’t write a completed novel in a single month.
 
I state this with confidence because Glynn and I were asked to write a 30 day/50,000 word volume before we'd ever heard of NNWMo. (Yes, I’m now abbreviating the NaNoWriMo abbreviation. Time is money.) Once upon a time, on the strength of a pitch and a vague story outline, we were contracted to write a 50,000 mystery novel. Later, check in the bank, we were surprised when the editor contacted us, asking us if we could please complete our manuscript in a month's time. She told us another writer had suddenly bailed on his promise, there was a gap in the series' publishing schedule, and she needed our book ASAP. Taking a few minutes to calculate our average words per page x average daily pages x available days + rewrite, we soon figured out = no way on Earth. We assured her we'd get the story done in ninety days, per the contract, and that's what happened. We used every day we were given, too. 
 
When another editor bit on a different pitch, a story outline, and a completed opening chapter to a science fiction novel, we couldn’t produce that 75,000 word manuscript in 30 days, either, despite her wish to have it in hand as soon as possible. That time we needed four months. We were working on it seven days a week, twelve hours a day, and couldn't provide a quality story any more quickly. We just aren't very fast.
 
We’re simply not NNWMo material. Somehow, I suspect we’re not the only ones, which gives me an idea. If any of the NNWMo administrators jog past this website, I hope you'll contact me. Not to discuss if I'd like to sign up next year, no. That's not happening. Instead, I’d like the NNWMo marketing rights for those writers who can’t hit the 30-day mark; you know, my people. Send over the contracts, and AnneGlynn.com will soon offer 2017 NNWMo “Gave Up Already!” t-shirts, a nicely-designed “Procrastinate Every Day” writing journal, and a set of “Why Did I Even Try?”, “Failure to Launch”, and “Houston, We Have a Problem” Astro-Novelist mugs.
 
Because, Team NNWMo, you've already got the overachievers in your corner. It's time you thought about the rest of us.

In the USA, tomorrow is Thanksgiving, which means many of this blog’s readers won’t be stopping by this week to see if I embarrass myself. They’ll be too focused on some combination of food, family, football and Friday (Black) to spend their leisure time at this little website.
 
I don’t blame ‘em. I won’t be spending my time at this website, either.
 
If you’re thinking, “Those silly Yanks, refusin’ to work so they can devour their cuppa cranberry sauce!”, well, that’s a rather colorful thought you’ve just had. Also, you sound kind of sitcom-British, which is great, because I have such a weakness for UK accents. But also also, you should know that the USA is not alone in celebrating a harvest-related festival according to the edjimikated folks at Mental Floss. While those other countries may not celebrate the holiday in the same way, or even during the same month, a similar-ish celebration does occur at these places, according to the M.F. giant brains. (Oh, don’t pretend. You knew “M.F.” stood for Mental Floss.) Those that don’t indulge in a cranberry-based side dish? Their loss, as far as I’m concerned.
 
If you need a great cranberry sauce recipe, follow these instructions from Toni from Allrecipes.com. ​It only requires a few ingredients, the end result is super tasty, and the whole thing only takes about fifteen minutes to prepare.
  
A harvest-related celebration is also a lovely time to reflect on life and life’s blessings – and, upon reflection, I realized I hadn’t made a Kiva donation for a while. In the spirit of the holiday, I decided to find a cranberry farmer who needed a loan. I did not succeed in this quest. After a little too much time in this fruitless hunt (pun intended), I decided that maybe I ought to look for a turkey farmer, instead. This, for the Piranha Brothers, was the turning point.
 
Sorry. Watching a little too much Monty Python of late.
 
The turkey farmer I found was the nice young woman in the blog photo. Anahit and her family raise different kinds of livestock, including poultry, in Armenia. Plus, she and her husband have a two-year old, and I love babies, so it was an easy decision to join two dozen other lenders and sent a few dollars for farm supplies.
 
See you next week.

For me, inexpensive Chinese restaurant food is a joy. (What about my partner, Glynn? He believes candy corn is a joy. There is something seriously wrong about that man.) If you need a reason to grab some Chinese grub tonight, beyond general deliciousness, it’s this: you’ll receive a fortune cookie. Whenever I go to other restaurants, I have no expectation of getting a free treat at the end of the meal. At a Chinese restaurant, you bet I expect my cookie. And it’s not just any cookie, no sir. When I eat at the Canton Dragon or Chi’s Cuisine, or wherever, I get a cookie that offers a glimpse into my future.
 
Sometimes, anyway. If you’ve ever had a fortune cookie in the past, you know there are times when the folded strip of paper hidden inside isn't so magical. On those occasions, it offers statements that appear to have been written by the Sphinx from Mystery Men: “He who questions training only trains himself at asking questions”, “When you care for what is outside, what is inside cares for you”, those kinds of things. Not that the Sphinx didn’t offer some real wisdom in that movie. “We are Number One. All others are Number Two, or lower”, is as true today as the day it was written.
 
You and me, we're Number One. Those other guys, well....
 
I always feel a little thrill of excitement when I break open a fortune cookie. But when yesterday’s bit of pulp said, “A clever crow will always paint its feather black”, I was lost. I didn’t have any idea of what the saying meant, much less what it was trying to tell me. Glynn, eating a handful of candy corn – purchased at 50% off at Target, the day after Halloween, so it's not the freshest -- although, with candy corn, does it matter? – couldn’t tell me, either. The fortune cookie he’d opened had promised, “A wise man cherishes health over fortune”, a real snoozer. He crumpled up the paper because, by golly, he wasn’t in the mood for health-talk. Glynn intended to chase his supper with kernel-shaped discount candy, regardless of what the Chinese soothsayers had to tell him. His fortune could have read, “If you eat candy corn tonight, every tooth in your head will fall out”, and he’d have opened the bag, anyway. He might have brushed his teeth a little longer after, I imagine, but an eerily-appropriate cookie warning wouldn’t have stopped him from digging in. When it comes to terrible candy (he also loves Circus Peanuts. Circus Peanuts!), he’s a believer in indulging his joy.
 
Me, I wanted to know what my fortune cookie was trying to say. Not just to me, but at all. When the Good Witch stopped by, she read the slip then confessed she didn’t know, either. Then she focused on the over-sized bag of candy in my honey’s hands.
 
“That’s not a food,” she told Glynn.
 
“It has ‘corn’ in the name,” he pointed out.
 
G.W. said, “It’s neither corn nor candy. It’s an abomination of everything that anyone with taste buds holds near and dear”, which is exactly what I’d asked her to say but – and this is disheartening – he only laughed. I bet Glynn haunts the candy aisles next year, too, the minute the Target crew grabs its discounting sticker gun. 
 
After G.W. left, I went online to see if anyone knew what my fortune cookie meant. As it turns out, I’m far from the first person to ask. Over the years, that very saying has appeared in Chinese restaurants from coast-to-coast. There are pages of people wanting to know what the saying is supposed to mean. I think I may have found the answer.
 
“A clever crow will always paint its feather black” appears to be based on an old folktale. (Are there any new folktales?) In the story, a crow and a peacock are buddies, hanging out in the jungle. At that time, so long ago, both birds were white and, as happens so often in the deepest, darkest jungle, they came across a container of magical paint.
 
The crow wondered, “What should we do with this paint?”, while I wondered how the crow knew what paint was. The peacock didn’t have any idea of what to do with the stuff, so he kept quiet. (Peacocks, you probably knew this, are male. Peahens, not as cute, are the females.) Pondering over the subject, the crow soon declared, “We’ll paint our feathers, the boldest, most beautiful colors!” and the peacock agreed with her.
 
Who knew that painting feathers was a good idea? The crow, that’s who. So she went to work, taking her time and doing a masterful job of decorating the peacock – and painted the peacock exactly as we know them today.  The peacock, delighted with his new coloration, had observed the crow closely...but just didn’t feel like making as much effort. He splashed some black all over his friend and called it a day.
 
Well, his laziness ended THAT friendship, I’m telling you now. The peacock didn’t care. He couldn’t wait to show off his feathers to all of the other birds in the jungle. He strutted about until everyone was tired of him. They remained amazed by his colors, however. After a while, the other birds started to ask, who did the paint job?
 
When they found out the crow was the artist, she was viewed with new respect. She was the one given all kudos and, when the crowd noticed the color of her feathers, they lauded her for her modesty.  The peacock, infuriated by their behavior, left the jungle, never to return. The crow still lives there today, admired and appreciated.
 
It turns out, regardless of species, most chicks appreciate a little black dress.

With all eyes on the US election this week, I don't think too many people will care about today's blog. I'll save the good stuff for next week.
 
See you then!

​Every year, there’s one day that Glynn makes me the queen. Queen Anne, so to speak. It’s always during the first week of November, shortly after Halloween. This year, today is that day.
 
By now, this is a game we’ve played many times. Glynn slips out of bed early-ish, usually before I’m awake, and he takes care of the morning chores. All of them, from dishes to the Chihuahua, from emails to laundry. Although he's usually careful to pick a day when all of the laundry has been done. Chores completed, he returns to the bedroom and, when I start to stir, goes to find my crown.
 
This is the picture of the actual crown and, yes, it fits quite nicely on my head. The head it occupies in this photo is our Halloween candy dish. Isn’t it fun?
 
If we ever find a crown that fits Glynn’s over-sized noggin, he'll have a day when he's the king. Just between you and me, I’m making no effort to find that crown. But he isn't either, really, or we'd have found one by now.
 
Oh, and he's the one who says his noggin is over-sized. I'm simply the one who agrees with him.

When I’m the Queen, there are rules. My door is always opened, my chair is always pulled out, my consort is ever obedient, and my every inexpensive wish is indulged. Today, we’re going to Panera Bread for lunch. Fuji Apple Chicken salad, *yum*. Later this afternoon, we’ll watch the 1945 horror anthology, Dead of Night, because (a) I love horror anthologies, and (b) it features Mervyn Johns and I’ve always had a fondness for his rumply presence, and (c) it’s British. Shouldn’t the Queen be a supporter of all things England?

No, excellent point, there are some things I can't defend -- and one of those is stargazey pie. That culinary horror show is an English sardine pie and, I know this to be true, the words "sardine" and "pie" should never be joined together. Also, the finished products looks so insanely wrong, I know I'll never want to try it. Even if Panera offers it on special.

This is stargazey pie.
 
There is one thing my consort refuses to do for me, even on my special day. He refuses to write this blog. He'd much prefer to lounge on the sofa (until his Majesty proclaims a need for his services). As I type this, he's watching the Bowery Boys in From Bowery to Bagdad. He's always thought that Leo Gorcey was kind of cool. 
 
Consorts, am I right?
 
For now, I proclaim the week's blog as complete and adequate. (I may be a Queen, but I'm not deluded.)  I hope your day is wonderful, too.