Dragon Kings and Pomegranates

Two things come to mind the beginning of November.  Gordon Lightfoot’s song:  The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald:

and this passage from Moby Dick. the Whale:

Moby1“Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people’s hats off – then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.”

For me November’s that dark and dreary month before the Christmas season lands on my doorstep and catches me unprepared (every single year!). 

For many writers, November means NaNoWriMo which stands for National Novel Writing Month.  If you sign up for this challenge, you’re supposed to start writing 1:00 AM on November 1st and stop at midnight on the 30th.  Every year I vow to participate in NoNoWriMo and every year something comes up (or I just feel lazy).

My excuse this year? Well, I was too busy celebrating the Coronation Day of the Fifth Druk Gyalpo.  You know who he is right?  

No? I didn’t either so I googled.

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Raven hat worn by the Druk

The Fifth Druk Gyalpo is the reigning Wangchuck of Bhutan.  I’m not Bhutanese or anything like that, I just think he has a cool hat. Ravens represent Mahakala, the guardian deity of Bhutan and thus are revered in that country.

I know the question you’re dying to ask: “Why were you celebrating the coronation of someone you’ve never heard of?”

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In honor of National Pomegranate Month – yummy!

When I started this post (a few days ago) I had a severe case of blogger’s block so I decided to check out other things associated with November.  The Coronation of Fifth Druk Gyalpo (Dragon King) of course caught my eye and soon I found myself researching the Wangchuck dynasty.  It was far more interesting than researching some of the other things November is famous for – such as National Pomegranate Month or Sweet Potato Awareness Month. I mean, why do we have to be aware of a sweet potato?  It’s not a disease, is it?

Has your blogger’s block taken you in unexpected directions – such as Dragon Kings and pomegranates?

Bhutan

“Off with her head!”

BTW – I hope writing about the Wangchucks isn’t a capital offense; otherwise this may be my last blog post!

(Images, except for the pomegranate, are from Bing.com)

Feed Your Hypos Well

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View on a morning in November

Generally depression is not a problem for me, however, I just finished the edits on a third book and, after reviewing the sales of my last two, the gales of November have come early.  Is writing really worth it?  Low sales, too few reviews, a body none the better from lack of exercise. Last night I announced to my hubby, I was over. Done.  I’d written my last word, blogged my last blog, tweeted my last tweet. Then, to ramp up said depression to a fever pitch, I picked up Moby Dick:

Moby1“Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people’s hats off – then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.” -Herman Melville

While listening to The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald:

The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they call Gitche Gumee
Superior, they said, never gives up her dead
When the gales of November come early – Gordon Lightfoot
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One of my hungry hypos!

It’s not exactly what a shrink would prescribe.  I should be taking a walk on this fine crisp day, making myself a pan of brownies or volunteering to help people who are truly misfortunate instead of selfishly indulging my “hypos.” (love that word, don’t you?  Can’t have sex right now love, my hypos are acting up.)

Hubby just stopped by on his way to the market with this bit of snideness: “I see you’ve really given up writing this time.” The cad.  Just because I’m on the computer doesn’t mean I’m ever going to write again.  I’m not, truly, no way!

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When the gales of November come early, what do you feed your hypos?