Ah, November. The cruelest month. When the weather teeters between frigid and oddly warm, when it is pitch black as you finish working. Good times! 

There are some social traditions with November, besides eating too much turkey. One is Movember, or a month of growing a mustache. Gladly, I can’t do that. There is also NaNoWriMo, the much maligned “throw a bunch of words on a page” project. I almost signed up for it, because some friends were, but then sanity prevailed. I can’t have one more obligation in my life. 

However, I am writing. I am 23 pages into a novel in which one of my characters, frustratingly, won’t reveal why he has stepped into my story (readers! Did you ever return to a place where you experienced a tragedy and swore never to return? What made you come back?) and still plugging away at the kayaking memoir. That one is by far the hardest. Does the world need a new story about me? Sometimes I think not. And then I remember. I remember what it was like to be in a small boat miles from town, paddling a dangerous coast. It’s a story I’d like to tell. So it limps along…

Also, I got the copyright stuff back from Fire in the Heart. Interestingly enough, there are Pay-to-Publish websites and these people must troll the copyrights to see manuscripts uploaded, because one sent me an email saying they would publish my book (for a price). Um, no thanks, got that covered.

What are YOU doing in November?