I have never been much of a fan of November, poor month.
After the roaring gold and red beauty of October, November comes on cold, blech and dreary, with skeletonized trees, and murk. The routine is in place, there's a lot of generalized busy guilt about the impending holidays, and between leaving home before sunrise and returning after sunset, I feel like a clean coal miner. To reuse Douglas Adams' description of Sunday afternoons, November is the long, dark, teatime of the soul.
So this November, I'm going to finally do something I've always wanted to do, which is National Novel Writing Month. It'll mean going on a bit of a hiatus from this and my other blogs (Kindernerd and Cordelia Flakk), but I'll do some updates here and let you know how it all goes.
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