Happy National Absurdity Day

My Natural Habitat

If there was ever a holiday I didn’t need marked on a calendar, it’s National Absurdity Day. Some people celebrate it once a year (November 20); I simply call it “Thursday.”

Absurdity and I go way back. Long before I published under three different names: because why choose one creative identity when you can cultivate an entire literary multiverse—and long before I was knee-deep in delightful nonsense —writing gnome politics, decoding medical mysteries, and building a planet where gemstones run the weather forecast.

But it wasn’t always that way. A lifetime ago, a teacher in elementary school scribbled on an essay of mine that I “lacked imagination.” Me. The future creator of a feline narrator, a gnome council, my own planet, and three pen names that keep elbowing each other for desk space.

Sometime along the way, absurdity slowly became my co-pilot — the creative rebellion that whispered, Oh I’ll show you imagination.

I grew beyond what the teacher said.
Way beyond.
Galaxy beyond.

Nowadays, absurdity is the secret fuel of creativity. It’s the object that makes a stuck idea loosen, the thing that turns a weird dream into a chapter, the article that reminds you that logic is lovely, but ludicrousness cracks open whole worlds.

On National Absurdity Day, I feel almost… normal.

I mean, what else would you expect from someone whose cat regularly communes with gnomes, whose Christmas tree has a backstory, and whose fictional starship is named something that roughly translates to “big donkey” (paraphrased)? Long story—actually, no, short story: the ship deserved it.

So today, I honor the absurd.
The ideas that make no sense until they suddenly do.
The drafts that begin with “this is ridiculous” and end with “this is the best thing I’ve ever written.”
The stories that show up uninvited, tracking glitter or gnome moss across the floor.

Absurdity isn’t chaos for me — it’s a compass. A creative GPS with terrible manners, questionable directions, and impeccable timing.

And honestly?
I wouldn’t write any other way.

So, today I raise a toast (with a mismatched mug, naturally) to the absurd.
To the child who was told she lacked imagination.
To the adult who said, Challenge accepted.
And to the creative universe that grew from that one deliciously ridiculous seed.

Happy National Absurdity Day.
May your inner rebel get the last laugh — and may it come with a plot twist.