Sara C. Snider's Blog, page 11

The Inscrutable Nature of Ravens

I’ve been thinking a lot about ravens lately. Probably in part because autumn is here and Halloween is approaching, and the general atmosphere outside has been rather raven-esque. It’s probably also because I’ve been reading—and just recently finished—Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell by Susanna Clarke. Excellent book by the way, I highly recommend it for anyone who likes both 19th century literature and fantasy heavily steeped in folklore. Ravens play a big part in that book, and so it’s got...

Hazel and Holly — Enshrined, Part One

Previous: Cats and Contemplation

Holly.

Holly grinned and sipped her tea. She sat at their little kitchen table at home, seated across a squirrel twice her size.

“It’s all rubbish, you know,” she said. “Gathering acorns for winter is one of the world’s greatest hoaxes. Everyone knows that summer is eternal, and that winter is just a clouding of the mind.”

The squirrel chittered and nodded, then buttered a piece of bread.

“Holly!”

Holly jolted awake. Hemlock stood over her, a little glowing...

Hazel and Holly — Cats and Contemplation

Previous: Milled Messages, Part Two

They made it back to Sarnum the afternoon of the following day. They had all slept fitfully in the carriage, and everyone was exhausted. They didn’t return to the Backwards Buck, though. Hawthorn directed them to a different inn—one that, he claimed, knew how to properly feed its guests.

The inn didn’t look like much from the outside—a narrow grey stone building wedged between two others like a spindly child trapped on a sofa between her two great aunts. A...

Hazel and Holly — Milled Messages, Part Two

Previous: Milled Messages, Part One

“Time for what?” Hemlock asked.

Hazel stared at the paper as a cold veil of realization settled over her. “It’s time to meet.”

“Who?”

“My father,” she whispered.

“How do you know?”

Hazel said nothing. She took the lock of hair and dropped the empty box on the ground. The hair was golden like spun flax. Just like Holly’s hair. Just like their mother’s. With shaking hands she untied the ribbon and pulled it free. On one side of the stiff fabric was a scrawli...

Giant Sweaters, Crocheting Gnomes, and Other Unlikely Tangents in the Realm of Forgetfulness

I’ve been slacking with the blog. Other than keeping up with Hazel and Holly (which is a challenge unto itself), my ideas for blog posts have been rather few and muddly. Or they require a certain amount of research, which I delude myself into thinking I have time for, only to fall into the pit of “I need to get Hazel and Holly done!” so that it doesn’t actually happen.

Hazel and Holly, apparently, are the bosses of me.

Maybe it’s because I’m getting close to the end, and I’m going full-steam...

Hazel and Holly — Milled Messages, Part One

Previous: Through the Keyhole, Part Two

Holly ran over to Hawthorn as he lay on the ground. She fell to her knees and scrabbled at his coat and gently patted his cheek.

“Hawthorn? Wake up. Please, wake up.” She looked up at Hemlock, who had also hurried over, and felt a pang of panic at Hemlock’s distressed expression.

“How do we wake him up?” she said.

Hemlock shook his head as his mouth hung open. “I… I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? Do something!”

“I–”

Hawthorn groaned and...

Hazel and Holly — Through the Keyhole, Part Two

Previous: Through the Keyhole, Part One

“She’s lost it,” Holly said as Hemlock gently led her across the main room. “Her mind’s finally snapped and she’s gone the wrong way ’round the bend.”

They reached the door and Hemlock opened it and led them outside.

“I mean, you agree with me, right?” Holly said. “We shouldn’t be staying here.”

Hemlock stopped as they reached the bottom of the steps at the base of the porch. He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what I think. Hazel’s dug in, and she’s...

Hazel and Holly — Through the Keyhole, Part One

Previous: Chester’s Field Day

Just as Hawthorn let down his crystalline wall and retrieved his jacket, a carriage came rattling down the road behind them, headed their way. The carriage slowed as it approached and Tum scowled down at them from his perch next to the driver.

“You think you can just ditch old Tum? Placate him with some dolls and leave him in the cellar? Not nearly enough beer to ditch me in a place like that. So if you want to keep on my good side, you’d best think again the ne...

Goodbye Summer, Hello Icy Roads

Autumn pretty much arrived in Sweden a couple of weeks ago, judging by the yellowing leaves I see when I look out the window. Joy! Of course, when autumn rolls around, the icy weather isn’t too far off. Normally I don’t mind the freezing weather, but now with me trying to get my driver’s license here, the thought of driving on ice doesn’t fill me with nearly as much joy as the turning leaves. I come from California, where it’s perfectly valid to stay home from work/school as soon as a light d...

Hazel and Holly — Chester’s Field Day

Previous: Disastrous Discipline

Holly sat on the step of Emmond’s front porch, resting her chin on her palm with her elbow propped on her knee while Hawthorn paced back and forth behind her. Of all the stupid ideas Hazel’s ever come up with, this one had to be the worst. If Holly had tried such a thing, Hazel would have thrown a fit fierce enough to make her go cross-eyed. But when it was Hazel’s idea, Holly was supposed to go along with it and pretend everything was all right. It wasn’t, an...