Tag: home

As If I Wasn’t Busy Enough…

Stefanie Snider

I’m chugging along on a multi-part writing project. I’ve been much more organized with my time lately, so I find myself reaching my word goals and actually having time left over.

There’s only one solution to extra time, when you’re a Type A like me.

You take on another massive project.

Enter a giant, beautiful knitted blanket.


(From ShellyKang.com; click the pic for info on her project and pattern.)

It just so happens I have all this yarn around…and lots of spare moments that find me away from my writing and laptop…Oh yes. It WILL be mine.

Brain Shots, Anyone?

Stefanie Snider

“i was looking up recipes for pumpkin martinis & i came across this…quite possibly the grossest looking shot i’ve ever seen…i’m not sayin’ i wouldn’t do like 6-10 anyway, but you know…”

Click here for the recipe.

(via folkinz.)

The Saddest Day is the Last Day of Vacation

Stefanie Snider

It’s my last day of vacation. A lot happened in the past two weeks.

The floor is down in the new office:
(You may remember it looking like this.)

Some things I did:

baked, set up a home office, read, wrote, published, sold some work, took on an art job, slept for days, drank 500 pots of coffee, listened to hours of late-night conspiracy radio, watched cartoons, played with the cats, hung out with the husband, hung out with friends, worked on two novels, and applied for freelance writing work.

I wish I didn’t have to go back. I wish I could work from home instead.

I’d get so much done if I could work here. I’d use breaks so productively, on things like organizing the new spaces. And going on grocery runs. And doing the laundry, in our dark, scary basement…

Shit. Well, maybe that can be the husband’s job instead.

Horrors of Home Ownership

Stefanie Snider

As you know, my most excellent husband decided it would be good for me to have my own creative space. Someplace to write, and knit, and drink tea, and have brilliant thoughts.

“Wonderful!” says I, and we commence dramatic upheaval.

Upstairs goes downstairs. Downstairs comes upstairs. Once the furniture is in place in my swank new digs, I realize the carpet is pretty shabby. And nasty. And I figure, hey, we have hardwood under there (as evidenced by my horrible cats who pull at the edges). Let’s just rip up the carpet! Sweet! I never did like that carpet anyway.

So we begin cutting up the carpet. And rolling it back. The floor looks a little…iffy…but it’s a 100+ year-old house, it’s going to have issues. My dude gets it all pulled up and

WHAT THE DEAR SWEET JESUS IS THAT.

You know how some people maybe aren’t great at stuff? And how they should just own up to that fact, and maybe not do things they don’t know how to do? Yeahhh. The previous owners of our house took it upon themselves to GLUE carpet down, on what was at some point beautiful hardwood. That picture? Totally not the worst of it. I spared you. You’re welcome.

Unspeakable horrors have occurred on this floor. I daren’t speak of it, but I’m pretty sure it’s haunted.

Tomorrow: laminate-flooring shopping, then attempted installation. Pray for our fingers.

Writer’s Rooms

Stefanie Snider

After yesterday’s Bag of Bones post, I got to thinking about the act of writing. It thrills me to see a character who is a writer, because other than the people pecking away at their laptops in coffee shops all over, writing is a very private act. It’s not featured much at all in movies or on tv. It happens behind the scenes. You’d no more stumble on a writer at work than you’d walk into someone’s house uninvited.

But what if you were invited, welcomed even, to see the spaces where writers tuck themselves away? Would you notice some common link, some talisman that summons the Muses?

I’m not the only one hoping to tap the magic (and be a nosy little snoop while I’m at it); The Guardian offers a whole series of peeks into the most private spaces of authors.

Have a look.