Amanda Helms

I have a love/hate relationship with fall.

Actually, “hate” is too strong. Even “dislike” is a little too far on the negative end of the shades of meaning scale. It’s more accurate to say I have a love/mild regret relationship with fall.

Fall brings pumpkins. Pumpkins means pumpkin pancakes (try the ones here*), pumpkin ice cream, pumpkin chili**, pumpkin soup**, pumpkin beer**, pumpkin cheesecake, pumpkin bread, pumpkin butter, pumpkin pie, and the pumpkin spice latte from a certain ubiquitous coffee shop chain***.

I would love fall for the tastiness of pumpkin alone. But fall also brings the cool, crisp weather that’s perfect for snuggling up with a cup of chai tea†, a blanket††, and my current book of choice. Yes, yes, it’s sedentary, and I whined about being sedentary in my previous Miscellany Monday post, but still. There is that within me that likes to stay still. I embrace it on occasion.  And if I embrace it not with chai, then with cider.

Oh, brainstorm: Pumpkin cider! Pause with me a moment to consider that taste sensation.

pausepausepausepausepause

(happy sigh)

Lest you think that my love of fall stems solely from the squash and imbibeables, let me note also that I love the colors of the changing leaves†††. Maybe it’s because I’m what the fashion industry would call an autumn and the pastel blues and pinks of spring aren’t meant for my skin tone, but one of my favorite fall pastimes, when I’m not quaffing my chai or cider with my book in hand, is to walk outside and admire the trees. I’ve often thought that when/if I get married, I’d like to do it in fall when the leaves are changing. And that’s as far as I’ve gotten in planning my wedding‡.

The there’s Halloween. Halloween actually isn’t my favorite holiday, but (and here’s another sedentary activity) I derive much enjoyment from watching, and mocking, the cheesy B-movies that abound on basic cable and base satellite packages‡‡. Brings back fond memories of movies mocked and degraded with my dear college roommates.

And, of course, fall is the season of NaNoWriMo‡‡‡.

And so, dear readers,  you are likely now asking yourselves, assuming you didn’t abandon me after sighting the symbol for footnote 6, just what it is about fall that might cause my slight regret, as I have just discoursed on its virtues.

Well. And this likely isn’t wholly fall’s fault, since I’m sure Colorado’s dry clime plays a large roll. But come fall, I am often subject to dry skin, forcing me to slather lotion on my hands and feet in a (mostly futile) effort to prevent my skin from developing rough patches. But worse yet is the facial eczema I develop, since it can get fairly widespread and painful and unsightly and make me think that I might as well try out to be the hideous monster in one of those Halloween-season B-movies, because then at least my misery would result in some monetary compensation rather than just making me wish I really could just wear a bag over my head and be done with it.

I don’t like thinking about that bit. I’m not sure why I even included it.

Lucky for fall that it gives me pumpkins.

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*Considering that two of my three real posts now include links to that Ben Starr guy’s recipe, he should be pretty happy with me.

**Okay, rightly speaking I haven’t yet tried any of these. But I still suspect I’d like them. Well, maybe not the beer, but since I’m not much of a beer fan, that wouldn’t be the pumpkin’s fault.

***And rightly speaking redux, I don’t particularly like this chain’s pumpkin spice latte. But since I don’t much like espresso or any latte, I also know that’s not the pumpkin’s fault. If there is any real pumpkin involved, that is.

†If anyone knows where I could get pumpkin chai tea–or just pumpkin tea–let me know. Really. I’m serious.

††So help me, I actually own one of these thanks to my mother.

††† Comments about how the changing of the leaves lasts a month, tops, leaving behind piles of leaves to rake (which aren’t my responsibility anyway as I have no yard–but I would trade away the convenience for the chance to grow pie pumpkins) and barren branches are unwanted and unnecessary. This is my idyll.

‡ Okay, okay. I’ve also thought that a ballroom-style wedding dress is out and I’d prefer a trumpet or maybe mermaid. But that’s truly it.

‡‡ABC Family’s 13 Nights of Halloween is often a good starting point.

‡‡‡I’d say that Chris Baty must love me more than that Ben Starr guy as I’ve linked to or mentioned NaNoWriMo at least twice as much as the pumpkin gingerbread pancake recipe, but I rather doubt NaNo requires as much advertising.

Some might consider it counterproductive for my first real post (I don’t count my last one) to contain a confession that I haven’t been writing for the past, hmm, eight months or so when my site is ostensibly devoted to promoting my writing career. What can I say? I live dangerously. As dangerously as one can live in the electronic medium, that is.

All right, here it is: I haven’t been writing for the past eight months. I do believe that writers write, period, and that the only way to get through writer’s block is to write through it. There are various reasons why I didn’t, one among them being that I was focused on my health and taking off the ten pounds I’d put on following a trip to Disney World in May 2008. One of my tools, aside from the fabulous Leigh Peele‘s work, was my GoWear Fit. I love this little device. I don’t plan to use it forever, and I know it isn’t 100% accurate, but. It first convinced me that I was, initially, eating too little for my activity level. Now that I have that straightened out, it’s shown me to me how few calories I burn while sitting. Pretty much the same as sleep. And no, that one hour of exercise really doesn’t make up for those eight hours working as a desk jockey.

So I have mixed feelings about choosing a sedentary activity as my favored hobby when the majority of my day already consists of sitting. Because honestly, that writer’s mantra “butt in chair [or in my case, butt on exercise ball], hands on keyboard” is at odds with my GoWear Fit–induced awareness of nonexercise activity thermogenesis, or NEAT, which is simply all the calories we burn by living life rather than formal exercise. And that’s where the bulk of our caloric burn comes from. In terms of getting to eat more food, I’d be much better off spending that hour or two cleaning my apartment or walking while reading or biking or pretty much anything besides sitting. And despite my history as an undereater, I like food. It tastes good. It makes me happy.

But writing makes me happy, too.* I’m more content when I’m writing consistently. I have a sense of benevolence toward the whole world, including those whom I normally consider irritants. I suppose it’s rather how mothers feel when holding their newborns for the first time. Or at least it makes me feel deep and philosophical to think so, at any rate.

So yes, I plan to get back to writing regularly. I’ll likely hitch my star to NaNoWriMo for the sixth time out and use its momentum to get me going again. Though I have to admit that as Wrimos all over scramble to get their 50k done and chant to themselves, “butt in chair, hands on keyboard,” a tiny part of me will sigh wistfully: Guess I don’t get my pumpkin pancake today.**

And then I will get my butt on my exercise ball and my hands on my keyboard, and I will write. (Though I might also wish I had a treadmill and treadmill desk, but that, too, is another post.)

*Well, for the most part. There are the days when I want to pull my hair out over characters running amok and plot points that won’t come together, but that’s another post.

**I love pumpkin pancakes. Found a wonderful recipe last year for pumpkin gingerbread pancakes. Just thinking about them now makes me all tingly.

I’ve at last got my site pretty much how I want it, which means I have to begin real posting. My first Miscellany Monday should appear tomorrow.

So yeah, essentially this post is here just so I don’t have to leave up my generic “new content will appear here eventually!” thing. Which is essentially what I’m saying with this post, anyway. Ah, well.