Tag: opinion

This Week in Sniderville: 8

Stefanie Snider

I came here to update about what I did this week, then realized: I didn’t do anything.

I mean, I went to DayJob, I came home drained from DayJob, I camped out on the couch in front of Netflix and I just sat, like a zombie, and not a cool gore-covered-horror-zombie, but a half-asleep vegetative zombie in coffee-stained corporate clothes.

It’s times like this that I remember: this is not who I was cut out to be. I’m not the corporate type — I don’t find fulfillment under fluorescent lights. I don’t find joy in obtuse lingo, or pleasure in progress reports. I’m not big on meetings or memos on company letterhead.

I don’t want the carrot.

I’m not unique: I’m sure most of us probably don’t really dig working for The Man. I’m not trying to paint myself as special. I just find it frustrating, to be so completely in love with writing, and then for something that I… don’t love (is that PC enough?) to use up so much of my energy. It’s exactly like that Onion article: the thing I want to do most in life is being hindered by the thing I like doing least.

I have a plan in place for working at home, as a full-time writer. It’s something that could happen in the next few years. I just have to push through this slump, to not let office politics wear me out before I can make the rest of my life happen.

I wish I had something more interesting or lighthearted to write about this week, instead of a whiny tantrum. But honestly? Sniderville posts are for recapping the week, and this week was pretty much a write-off.

Sorry, dudes.

Here’s to a better week, next week.

The End.

Stefanie Snider

I just finished watching What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? for the first time (I know, I know, shame on me). It was a great film, but what I liked best was the ending.

Spoiler alert for those of us who have been under rocks since 1962.

Okay, so the best part was the precise cut at the moment the cops run down the beach to check on Blanche. I loved it because the movie ended right before we find out whether Blanche is dead. We see a psychotic Jane spinning and dancing in the crowd, and the crowd moving away, and the cops almost reaching Blanche, then BOOM! It’s over.

Did Blanche die? If so, will Jane be going to prison? When Blanche told Jane that she’d caused her own accident, was Blanche only trying to befriend Jane so Jane would go get help?

I loved it so much because I love complex endings. I love not being told precisely what happened. I love it when the exact ending is left up to my imagination.

It’s something I try to do with my own fiction: take What’s Inside, for example. The story has an ending, in a way, but it’s up to the reader to decide what comes next. Some reviews wanted the story to have been longer, and I get that some readers enjoy complete resolution. But I like leaving an end or two untied.

The flirtation between “finished-enough” to be satisfying and left “unfinished-enough” to let the reader interact with the story is something that excites me as a writer. I want you left curious. I want to encourage you to participate in the story, to think about it long after you’ve put the story down.

It worked in the case of Baby Jane, and I hope it works in my stories, too.

Why I Won’t Knit for Free

Stefanie Snider

Lately I’ve been taking my knitting along to work with me. You know me and my fidgety fingers: if there’s spare time to be had, I’m using it.

I’ve sold some of my knitting in the past to coworkers and friends-of-friends. I knit for free for family, of course, but even then, depending on the project, I’ve been known not to get around to it for a really. Long. Time. I’m working on this blanket for my husband…at this point he’s wanted a blanket for three years.

Anyway.

One of my coworkers asked if I’d ever auctioned off any of my knitting. Oh no, I thought, here it comes.

“…because my nephew’s hockey team is looking for items to auction off…one lady’s mittens sold for sixty dollars!”

I never really know what to say in these situations. I’m not great at saying no. So what came out was something like, “No, I don’t knit unless it benefits me. Sorry,” which, while true, came out wrong and totally makes me sound like a bitch. Here’s what I meant:

I won’t knit for you for free because:

1. Knitting takes time. This is listed first for a reason. My time is valuable to me. I like to spend it in ways I enjoy, which, when it comes to (free) knitting, means at my own leisure and on projects of my choosing. Believe it or not, even someone speedy like The Yarn Harlot can take 16 hours or more to knit a single pair of socks. I can do a lot of other things in 16 hours.

2. Knitting costs money. True, I have the needles already. But if I’m making your project for free, I’ll need to supply yarn. I’ll either need to give up some of my stash, which cost me money, or go purchase new yarn, which will cost me money. Either way, I’d be paying to do you a favour. Not happening.

3. No one works for free. Do you know how much money those mittens would “cost”, in real-life terms, if I charged by the hour? Do you realize that I’d have to give up other things in my life to make the time to knit for you? Would you come over and make me 16 free dinners? Or wash 16 loads of my laundry for me? Why not?

4. It’s my hobby, and therefore it needs to benefit me. When I knit for myself, this is a no-brainer. I get to use the end product: wear the sweater, use the gloves to keep warm, revel in the luxury of perfectly-fitted socks. When I knit for family, in ways that’s even better: I take time to pick just the right project, and colour, and yarn. I sit and smile to myself, imagining the recipient enjoying whatever it is that I’m making. It makes me no money, but it’s incredibly rewarding. If I donate my knitting to a charity — which someday I’d like to — I’ll still feel the warmth of knowing I’ve kept a preemie’s head warm, or gotten a handmade bear to a child with cancer, or whatever.

When I’ve knit for paying customers, that glowing feeling is replaced with cold, hard cash. Still beneficial.

If I give you something to auction for a league sport, neither of these things happens. You could just as easily sell chocolate bars.

5. I plain don’t feel like it right now, which means forcing myself would make it feel like work, and we’ve established I don’t work for free.

This isn’t the first time this has come up since I taught myself to knit. It’s kind of strange, if you think about it: asking someone (oftentimes a mere acquaintance) to give up hours and hours of their time and some of their money, as if it’s something you’re entitled to. Sure, I enjoy my knitting, but I bet there’s lots of mechanics who enjoy their work, and I don’t see them giving away free engine overhauls.

We’re Lucky to be Horror Fans

Stefanie Snider

Last night I came across a blog about the atrocities of war. It’s graphic; there are pictures of the dead and brutalized victims of bombings, attacks, and the like. The photo that stuck with me all through today was of the aftereffects of a bombing: there is an eleven year old girl, screaming and blood spattered, and in the corner is a child who died smiling. I can’t get the image out of my mind.

It’s made me realize how lucky we are, us horror fans.

I live in Canada, and more often than not I take my country for granted. I don’t mean to, and I really do love being Canadian. It’s just that life here is…nice. People really are polite here (for the most part). We get all the seasons, so there’s something for everyone. The land is vast and largely green and just so damned nice. There really isn’t any other descriptor for it. And because it’s so lovely and safe, it’s easy to forget that life is not like this for most.

I can walk safely to my car in the dark (even though doing it drives my Mom crazy). I lock my doors out of reflex, but honestly? I probably don’t need to. I have never in my life worried about whether a bomb will hit my house. (I HAVE a house, in the first place, which is again more than many can say.) I grumble and bitch about my “bad days” like everyone else, but I rarely spare a moment of gratitude for the life I live.

It made me think: if you’re a horror fan (and if you’re here, there’s a good chance you are), you’re lucky too. No one in a war-torn country would welcome more horror. They have enough in their real lives. Those of us who can assume that we’ll return home unscathed at the end of the day have the luxury of “escaping” into horror. The monsters are different, but fear is fear. The difference is that we welcome the safe version, tucked cozily into our beds. The fact that we get to choose our horrors renders us lucky.

I don’t honestly know where I’m going with this. It’s just a thought that’s been with me today.

Today I am grateful.

For The Millionth Time: We Are Not Having Kids

Stefanie Snider

I don’t see why it’s so difficult for people to understand. We’re not having kids. Period.

If you have kids, that’s great. Honestly. I know tone doesn’t always translate well on the internet, and for that I’m sorry, but believe me when I say that if you’ve always wanted children, you should have them. Enjoy them.

I’m not anti-kid. I have two nephews that I love like crazy, and any future nieces and nephews will also be welcomed with open arms and spoiled rotten. But enjoying kids is not the same as wanting your own.

I know most people mean well. They cherish their own kids, and find fulfillment and purpose in raising them. It saddens them that I’m “missing out”. I appreciate the concern.

Where it gets frustrating is when a simple “nope, not for us” goes unheeded. I’m a woman in my thirties. I’ve had lots and lots of time to think this over, and being female I’ve had lots of heavy encouragement to jump on the parent-wagon. I’ve been in a straight relationship for years; it’s not like we couldn’t have tried for kids, had we wanted them. The simple fact is that we’ve made our decision, and prodding us is irritating, not influential.

Flip it for a second: what would it be like if, instead of congratulating you on your pregnancy, I raised an eyebrow and said, “But what if you change your mind?”

I realize parenting is hard work. I know that parents make sacrifices in order to give the best to their children. If bowing out makes me selfish, then so be it. But my life, our life together, is just plain built differently. We have different goals and ambitions, and enjoy spending our time differently. We have different expectations for the future. We find satisfaction and contentment in other places.

If I wouldn’t force my life on you, why force yours on me?