It’s that time of year. NaNo is over, the whiskey is poured, and it’s time for some fuckin’ cookies.

An author friend, S.M. Carriere, slapped my face with this sticky note that said “make me cookies, bitch.” I don’t bake, so instead I promised to share a recipe for my favorite holiday cookies PROVIDED she doesn’t sneak into my apartment anymore.

Please be warned– Because I am a shit, this recipe will call for specialized equipment. Namely, a pizzelle maker. It looks like this:


Pretty cool, right? My grandmother had one that looked so old it looked like it could fall apart at any minute. I was FASCINATED with the thing. When she made pizzelles I stood so close to the iron I practically burned my nose on it They’re THAT good.

Now for the recipe:

Ish you will need:

  • 6 eggs
  • 4 cups of flour
  • 1.5 cups of sugar
  • 1 cup of butter, melted and cooled
  • 4 teaspoons of baking powder
  • 3 tablespoons star anise extract
  • 1 tablespoon vanilla extract

Ish you need to do with all that ish:

1. Beat the eggs then add sugar gradually. Add it all at once and all you get are lumps. Lumps are assholes. Make it frothy and pretty.

2. Add butter and both extracts to the mixture. My grandmother used anise seeds too. They added some texture to the batter which I really like.

3. Add sifted flour and baking powder to the mixture. Stir with a spoon, otherwise, if you’re like me, you’ll get flour everywhere except in the damn bowl.

4. Drop about 1 tablespoon of the finished batter onto the iron and cook until golden brown.

5. Dust with powdered sugar.

6. NOM.


Oh, also, I have to tag people for this.

Renee Miller, because she doesn’t bake. Hanna Elizabeth, because duh. Also Forbes West and Travis Mohrman. Lets see what weirdness they come up with.

Merry ChristmaHanukwanzaNaNo Or: Why NaNo in November was a TERRIBLE Idea.

Halloween is over and with it your Very Good Excuse to wear that hairless boner costume. Candy sits in half-eaten piles on your counter and in your bed (I promise we won’t tell). The sunny days of Autumn have been replaced by “snow/rain” mixes in the forecast and a cloud cover that’ll last until April.

That’s right. It’s November. For REAL. For most of us, that makes it National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). Last I shouted obscenities at you and called it a blog post, I told you all I’d be participating.

I lied.

No, that’s a lie.

I didn’t lie, so much as change my mind because NaNoWriMo in November is the most insane, terrible, MASOCHISTIC idea ever.

Allow me to let you in on a little secret. When retail stores set out their Christmas decorations bright and early on November 1st, it’s not JUST because they want you in that frenzied, buy everything NOW while it’s at a LOW, LOW COST as soon as possible. It’s also because the holidays STAMPEDE toward us at a pace that’s immeasurable in this dimension. Blink, and you’ll find yourselves sitting across from Great Aunt Marge who likes to make kissy faces at your husband (or wife, whatever) after a few glasses of the cooking sherry.

Throw in the bullshit of first snowfalls, school vacations and–CHRIST HELP ME–three goddamned birthdays in the span of a month and that leaves just enough time to take a healthy shit and MAYBE eat a granola bar or two.

Today, I talked briefly with a friend of a mine about how writing is a stress reliever. And then my mind went to that dark place where NaNo-ers pound the keys, sweat pouring down their faces, caffeine IVs plugged into veins and snaked around catheters and MY GOD… It turns something I enjoy into something to be FEARED. Talk about TRAUMA.

Even now as I sit typing out this MEANINGLESS clutch of wordy things, my mind wanders to the laundry I haven’t done in almost two weeks.

I’m not saying NaNo is a bad idea. I think–for MOST writers–a deadline is necessary to motivate them. The community surrounding NaNoWriMo is the most supportive, cheerleading bunch of fuckers I’ve ever come across. The endless back-patting, face-smacking, coffee-filling wonderful is, well, wonderful.

Let’s just save it for another month, maybe?

Like January, when we’re all stuck inside because if we were to step foot out the door, our nose hairs would freeze and our insides would shrivel from the biting wind.

Or even February. Still cold as a holy mother fucker then, AND there’s the added bonus of blowing off a holiday no one likes because, you know, you have WORDS to write, god dammit.

See? You’re liking my idea already. Let’s see how many people we can bribe/threaten to joining us in the land of BASIC FUCKING LOGIC.