This weekend was Thanksgiving for us Northerners, rather than in November. We have the Monday (today) off, so our weekend goes Friday-Monday and back on Tuesday, as opposed to the American version of Thursday-Sunday and back on Monday.
And what a feast it was.
Turkey baked in the oven swathed with bacon, packed with stuffing; log-cabin potatoes (A Nova Scotian recipe which are basically breaded potatoes), as well as steamed vegetables. Dessert was an apple cobbler and pumpkin pie and all was washed down with craft beers and ales.
My mom has known her best friend since they were both in primary school together (let's say since the age of 5). They are still very good friends to this day, and our family sees her family a few times a year. I've known her son and two daughters pretty since they were born, as I'm about four years older than her oldest. Our thanksgiving dinner was spent with them.
Last year, I was thankful for friends and family. Make no mistake, I still am. This year, however, I am thankful for the English language and literature & fiction.
I've been working on my novel (and also, series that it belongs in, but mostly the first novel) since about late Dec. '11 - early Jan. '12. During this time, I've come to a newfound appreciation for authors and writers, transforming the language of 26 characters into worlds, stories and people of their own.
My first novel is going to take a while to write. I have to think of battle tactics. How much to reveal or write about in this volume, and much to put into subsequent volume. Clothes. Armor. Weapons. How a dragon would fly. Then it's the process of it becoming a book. My deadline to have the first draft completed, and me being able to say 'done' on the writing end of things (with no revision or editing) is August 6, 2016, the 20th anniversary of a certain book....