Special Post

Friends, NaNoWriMo is upon us…

Tis the season in which we forsake realty, reason, and relative socialism. We writers remain holed up in our huts brewing something magical and mysterious.

If you are participating in National Novel Writing Month 2019, drop me a line on my profile page here.

I will continue updating my blog biweekly as usual, but keep an eye (or both, as often as you can spare them) for Special Posts just like this one in which I record my adventures through what will be my SIXTH NaNoWriMo. My first year in 2013, I wrote Clockwork Dreams and published the following year. What an exciting time!

This year’s story is about a witch – golly is it a problem I write so much about witches? A good witch, a kind witch, a woman who has lived endless time but whose heart still breaks when she is unable to save a missing lamb from her beloved fold.

The Witch’s Treehouse follows Mo as she finally settles down from an adventurous life, only to find her troubles have followed her. When the children of her tiny, innocent village are threatened, she must take up her mantle once again and be the hero. But time and fortune are no longer on her side…

Join me! Let’s play writers!

This has been,



Grace for the Road

I stole this title from another blog. 😏

Do you remember what it was like to be a child? I think some of us have gone so long in this world, we forget sometimes.

I remember feeling content to lie in a field dreaming of clouds.

I remember believing friendships would last forever.

There were days I felt pain, but it was such a minor distraction compared to the prospect of adventure.

Fear didn’t hold me back for long, because I dared to be bold.

I remember having energy for days.

There wasn’t so much worry about wanting or having. Sure, I was greedy like every child, but those were little distractions in the midst of all the fun we gained just breathing and living.

I wasn’t as strong back then.

I believed a lot of lies.

And fell for a lot of mean jokes.

But at least I still saw the potential in others.

My mom was my rock (she still is. Her truth is unwavering.)

Looking back, I feel I haven’t changed at all. Every day there’s a child inside me desiring to stand out, feel special, be brave, and believe in fairies. I still have a knack for putting off chores. I daydream more than most. I can forgive, but I’m terrible at forgetting.

I look back and realize children are just small adults with small perceptions of the world. Sometimes they get it right, and sometimes they get it wrong. The difference between a child and an adult is the child has an adult coaxing them to forgive and grant second chances.

But then again, adults have that too, don’t they? So really, we’re not that different from our younger selves.

Give a little grace along the road.

This has been,

Fanny T. Crispin


Autumn Musings

Is fall really official if you haven’t visited an apple orchard, pumpkin patch, or corn maze yet?


I remember reading about the “Indian Summer” in history class, but now I don’t recall why it was called that. Is a last burst of heat really worthy of being named Summer?


It’s strange how the autumn mood takes over you. It affects people differently, I’ve noticed. I’m usually kicking and screaming until that first wave of cool, crisp weather… Then suddenly happily resign myself to the season.


Do you know, I actually LIKE football when this season hits? I enjoy the excitement and enthusiasm.


What is everyone dressing as for All Hallows Eve?


Interesting to note, what happens on All Hallows DAY and why don’t we celebrate?


This has been,

Fan T. C.