How to Make Snowball Cookies


So I’m not going to lie, I’ve been wanting to share this recipe with you guys for months but have been patiently waiting for it to be socially acceptable to post Christmas recipes (which according to my mother would be the 1st of August)! Anyways, now that I’ve heard every single Christmas song ever written being played about a hundred times over in the last week, I figured it’s a perfectly acceptable time for making snowball cookies.

Personally, there’s nothing I love more on a cold winter’s day (or any day, really – weather’s pretty irrelevant) than to snuggle up in bed, briefly consider the possibility of being productive and ultimately end up just eating cookies for a couple of hours. And what with Christmas break coming up, I thought I’d spread some Christmas cheer and encourage you all to do the same 🙂 – because I’m such a great influence. And trust me, these little icing-covered, melt-in-your-mouth balls of deliciousness make the perfect snack to share with your family (or enjoy by yourself – I don’t judge) over the holidays!

I hope you get a chance to try them out over the weekend – if you do, make sure to let me know in the comments below!



1 cup butter, softened
1/2 cup icing / powdered sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
2 1/4 cups plain flour
1/4 teaspoon salt
plus additional icing sugar for rolling


Preheat the oven to 250°C/400°F. Combine butter, sugar and vanilla in a large bowl.

Add the flour and salt. Mix well until a crumbly dough forms.

Shape the dough into balls. Place the dough balls on a cookie sheet and bake for about 9 minutes until set (don’t let them brown 🙂 ).

Leave the cookies to cool slightly, then roll them in icing sugar while they’re still warm. Enjoy!

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10 Things I HATE About Winter


How have you all been? I’ve really missed chatting with you guys! I know, it’s been awhile…I’m sorry :/. I wish I could say it was because I have a crazy social life and super busy schedule, but we all know I only have like 3.4 friends, so that’s a lie(and no, I’m not going to explain the oddly accurate decimal) . Unfortunately, my only excuse is that I’ve been suffering from this terrible illness called procrastination. (In case you don’t know what a procrastinator is, it’s basically someone who sits down to write a post and then three weeks later finds that they still haven’t posted anything because they were too busy organising their desk and scrolling through pinterest and avoiding basic liferesponsibilities.)

Anyways, because it’s been so long since my last post, I wanted to write something really fun for you guys this week. I was looking back at my blog stats the other day and I saw that one of my most popular posts is ‘10 Things I HATE About Travelling‘. Naturally, I’m all about spreading positivity and all that, but if pessimism is what the people want – who am I to deny them of it? And since winter happens to be just around the corner, I thought I’d use it as inspiration! (Plus my radiator’s not working at the moment and my room’s like -40 degrees, so if ever there was a time I felt motivated to write a list of winter-related complaints, it’s today.)

So without further ado, here are 10 Things I Hate About Winter, in no particular order of importance because I’m too indecisive to prioritize anything.


The Weather

I thought I’d start off by addressing the obvious. Winter weather, and by that I mean constant rain, icy wind and dreary grey skies. Now I’d just love to see that on a Christmas  card, instead of this “winter wonderland” rumour that’s been going around spreading false hope.

Admittedly, I do live in Ireland where we have this kind of weather all year round – but it definitely gets even worse during the winter months so I’m allowed to give out about it. And if you actually happen to be one of those people who lives in a cute chalet somewhere in the Swiss Alps, well good for you. I hope you’re enjoying yourself while the rest of us try to convince ourselves that our snowy landscape screen savers are real.


Getting out of bed

Is it just me or does the cold make it significantly harder to get out of bed in the morning? I mean, I’m not the biggest fan of leaving my comfy quilt and pillows to go face reality in the first place. However, when I wake up and my blanket is the only thing shielding me from the arctic winds of my bedroom, the idea of dropping out of school and moving to the Caribbean suddenly becomes extremely appealing.


The Outfit Dilemma

Some people call winter a “time of festive cheer”, personally I call it the “time to decide between fashion and not dying of pneumonia”. Is there even such a thing as fashionable warm clothing? If there is please let me know what it is! Because let me tell you, if I had a euro for every time a perfectly constructed outfit was ruined by an ugly jumper or horrible winter coat, I’d be rich by now.


Shorter Days

This may just be me, but as soon as the days start getting shorter, my productivity just plummets. It’s like my life becomes a maths test, the formula is ‘hours of daylight are proportional to levels of motivation’, and I’m failing miserably. Honestly this is why I’ll never be a great writer because I could be on the last page of my masterpiece and then as soon as  it gets dark outside, that’s it – game over. I’d just drop everything and watch Netflix for six hours.


No Heating

I think it’s safe to say that I relate to this issue on an emotional level. First off, my school’s heating system works so that 75% of the classrooms are freezing, and the other 25% are like the fires of hell (which I’ve never been to personally, but I’m just assuming that accounting class and hell are more or less the same). This basically means I’ll be sitting in maths wearing a hat, scarf and fifteen layers of clothing, and then walk into Spanish class and have to change into a bikini.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, when I get home I then have to enter into a four-month-long argument with my Dad about turning on the heating, because he’s one of those vampire people who just don’t feel the cold. Not to mention that on top of all that, the heating in my car’s broken. Really at this point, as soon as Halloween’s over I’ve just learnt to accept that that I’ll be in a constant state of frantic shivering for the rest of the year.


Christmas Exams

You know what I just love? When the Christmas holidays are around the corner, everyone’s acting uncharacteristically sweet because they want to get presents and there’s just a generally festive and joyous atmosphere. Oh, and you can’t take part in any of it because the education system decided that this was a great time to test you on everything you learnt in the past 6 years.


Getting Sick

You hear a lot of phrases tossed around during the winter months. “Happy Holidays”, “Merry Christmas”, “Can you turn the heating on?” (yeah, the heat issue’s really gotten to me). But you know which one you hear the most often? “There’s a bug going around”. I swear as soon as the clocks go back, life just turns into a countdown waiting for who’s going to get sick first. And you know there’s no avoiding it, because as soon as one person has it in the family then it’s just a domino effect of doom from then. Plus everywhere you go, everyone’s sniffling and coughing and asking you for tissues (needless to say I wasn’t destined for a medical career).


Using Your Phone Whilst Wearing Gloves

Perhaps not the most serious problem of all time, but I just think in today’s day and age, touchscreen devices should be able to handle my wearing gloves. I mean lack of technological advancement here is basically forcing me to choose between frost bite and listening to music (because I’m not one of those normal people who can just put on a playlist, I have to choose each individual song).


Burning Your Tongue 

Cold weather means hot chocolates and spiced coffees and herbal teas… oh and SETTING FIRE TO YOUR MOUTH. Now this could just be me, because I have the patience of a five year old and can’t wait for my drink to cool down before drinking it, but I thought I’d complain about it anyway.


Struggling to Find Socks

Okay so I have this theory that my washing machine consumes socks. Seriously, that seems to be the only logical explanation for my socks’ random disappearances. And the worst part is that during the summer months, I always seem to have an abundance of them, but come November I’d be lucky to find even one pair of mismatched socks.

. . .

Well that’s all I have for you guys today! I hope you all have an amazing week. Make sure to comment down below letting me know if you can relate to anything on the list or if you have any other winter complaints you want to share and we can be pessimistic together:) Talk to you guys soon...signature


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A Christmas Tale


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Hey Artsy Teens,

You might not know this, but one of my biggest passions is actually reading and writing. Unfortunately, though I have started writing dozens of novels, I never make it past the first few chapters. That being said, I have managed to write a few short stories.

Here’s a short Christmas story called ‘The Harmonica Man’ that I wrote last year.It’s a bit sad, but hopefully you’ll enjoy it!

The Harmonica Man

Mr. Jones walked along the old path through the park, past the cemetery, as he did every evening. The path was his old friend; the tarmac was wet from the melted frost and worn by the hundreds of shoes that had stepped on it over years. An occasional piece of chewed gum or a crushed soda can littered it. But it was still there, it was dependable – old, dirty and slippery – but dependable. Not like most things in his life, Mr. Jones thought as he kicked a frozen can of ginger beer with his old shoe.

After a bitter childhood, Mr. Jones had been all too eager to leave home. At a young age he married a lovely girl named Isabel, with whom he had three children. They had little money and lived in a modest home, but they were happy. Of course, that was before the recession hit and his salary got smaller and smaller. Though both him and his wife struggled with several part-time jobs and late-night shifts, more often than not the family went hungry at night and slept wrapped up in layers of second-hand clothes which did little to keep out the winter chill.

Mr. Jones glanced at the tacky Christmas lights that had been lazily draped over the park trees. He sighed, remembering the look on little Lilly’s face when Paula had told her that they wouldn’t be getting a Christmas tree this year. The children were very good about it most of the time, Lily and Tom were old enough to understand. He worried most about Rosie, who had just turned four a month ago.

“But Santa will still be coming, right Daddy?” Rosie had asked. “Of course.” he had said. What else could he say? But tonight was Christmas Eve and he knew that Santa wouldn’t be coming. A small tear trickled down his cheek as he kicked the old soda can. He was no better than his own father, who had abandoned the family on Christmas Eve, thirty years ago.

He continued to walk for some time, wrapped up in his worn winter coat, haunted by his thoughts and kicking the frozen fizzy drink.

Suddenly, the can hit something that was lying a few feet away. Mr. Jones bent down to pick it up. It was a little teddy bear. It looked pretty cheap – but new, all the same. No doubt an insignificant stocking stuffer that had fallen out from someone’s shopping bag. With a sad smile, he put it in his pocket – a little gift for Rosie.

Mr. Jones exited the park, and continued walking along the path, passing the local cemetery. As he did so, he heard beautiful music coming from down the road. It was a Christmas song – he couldn’t remember the name, but it was a joyful tune he knew well. As he approached the sound, he saw it was coming from an old brass harmonica, played by a man sitting on the bench outside the graveyard. The man wore an old coat and a dusty cap. His eyes were tired but friendly. As he played, Mr. Jones stood by the bench listening. The notes from the harmonica were full of life. As the familiar melody danced around him, Mr. Jones smiled, reminded for a few moments of the magic of Christmas.

When the man finished his tune, Mr. Jones sat down beside him.

“You’ve got a real talent.” he said.

“I’ve been playing this old thing for years.” replied the man with a grin. “Are you on your way home for Christmas?”

“I am.” Mr. Jones nodded.

The two strangers chatted for awhile. Mr. Jones told the harmonica man about his job, his wife and three children, and his companion listened quietly with a smile. Every time he spoke, the man would comment on how lovely it was to have such a nice family. He would say how lucky he was to have such responsible children. He would congratulate him on managing to have a home though times were hard. He told Jones that his wife sounded lovely. And the more he said, the more Mr. Jones started to see things differently. He started to see past all the things that had gone wrong in his life, and he saw the one thing he did have, and would always have; love. The true spirit of Christmas.

“Do you have any children yourself?” Jones asked the man, as he stood.

“I have a daughter named Holly. She’s a bright girl, very pretty too. Loves Christmas, she does.” the harmonica player replied.

Mr. Jones smiled and looked his companion up and down. Raggedy clothes, eyes creased by fatigue and work, and a plate with a few coins tossed in it lying by his feet. Really, he was probably worse off than Mr. Jones.

Now, had he had a penny to spare, Mr. Jones would have given it to this man whose music had brightened his day and who’s insight had reminded him of his own fortune. But he didn’t. So instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the teddy bear he had so valued a few minutes ago, and handed it to the man.

“A Christmas present for Holly.” he said simply.

The harmonica man held Mr. Jones’ gaze for a moment, showing how much he understood the value of the gift.

“You’re very kind.” he said gratefully, taking the bear.

“Have a merry Christmas” Mr. Jones said, with a genuine smile, as he started to walk down the path.

“Merry Christmas,” the other replied.

As Mr. Jones turned the corner, when he glanced back at his friend. The harmonica man was still there, but he wasn’t sitting on the bench. He was kneeling down, crying softly, next to a small gravestone on which he had placed the teddy bear.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.