In the second of a series about writers’ work places, we’ll take a peek into Cynthia Leitich Smith’s little writing room. Cynthia is the author of several picture books (Santa Knows with her husband Greg and illustrator Steve Bjorkman) and novels (Rain is Not My Indian Name, Tantalize, and, forthcoming in February, Eternal). Cynthia has also created the outstanding popular blog, Cynsations (www.cynthialeitichsmith.blogspot.com), which covers the business of children’s writing and publishing, featuring absorbing and frequent interviews with writers and illustrators.

Here’s Cynthia’s portrait.

My nuts-and-bolts office is a small converted bedroom that once belonged to a young German-American immigrant who worked and lived here as a maid. The maid is long gone, and the 1924 house is in some disrepair (“a work-in-progress,” we call it). But it’s a cozy space.

A painting of a wolf by Cherokee artist Donald Vann and a 24-inch engraved white stone Celtic cross hang above my 1950s-style steel desk. Papers, books, and a red-leather-covered Day Planner litter the desktop.

A scratch-thin brown carpet—snagged at Home Depot–covers the long-leaf pine hardwoods, and a grey tabby named “Bashi” snoozes in a box beside the desk while a tawny tabby named “Galileo” naps on a bookshelf.

It’s here that I do correspondence and marketing and post my blogs. But this isn’t where I do the kind of writing people are referring to when they ask me about my writing. That migrates around the house.

I wrote Tantalize (Candlewick, 2007, 2008) by the light of my laptop and the television each morning after midnight in my sun room. I wrote Eternal (Candlewick, February 2009) during afternoons on the sleeping porch. But now, I’ve found a new spot for Blessed (Candlewick, TBA)—an oversize, denim-covered and cat-frayed chair in the reading room upstairs.

— Thanks, Cynthia

This is the first of an occasional series on writers’ work places. The actual earthly position a writer chooses (or maybe doesn’t choose) to do his or her work seems to me vital to the functioning of the art that takes place there. Or, if not, it’s at least interesting to me, and when I visit classes, I never fail to speak in revered tones about where writing happens, and where it doesn’t happen. For some writers, the space he or she works in is, possibly, the only three-dimensional reality they have.

Here is what Lisa Yee (Millicent Min, Girl Genius, So Totally Emily Ebers, Stanford Wong Flunks Big-Time, and the forthcoming Absolutely Maybe) has to say about her study.

My office is my sanctuary.

The bookshelves are crammed with so many books that they spill onto the floor. Every bit of wall space is covered with framed photos, collages, scraps of paper and whatnots. Three small stuffed animals shaped liked germs dangle from the ceiling. Christmas decorations hang from my two windows year round.

Surrounding my Mac screen are cutouts of photos of my family, dog included. On my desk are little containers filled with paperclips, stamps, candy, small Post-It notes, and other essentials. There are, wait, let me count—one, two, three, four—there are four mugs stocked with pens. (I never use pencils.)

My grandmother’s antique dresser houses my office supplies. A cigar box holds my stockpile of chocolates. The cork bulletin board is crammed with even more photos, campaign buttons and clutter. There are toys everywhere. They belong to me, not my children.

Three giant binder clips are lined up on my credenza. They overflow with notes for upcoming books. My black desk chair wears a tee-shirt given to me by one of my editors. The shirt reads: “I may be short but I am a genius.”

In the corner is an overstuffed armchair. I bought it when I sold my first book. It was supposed to my editing chair, however it is usually occupied by one of my kids or my dog.

This is my office.

— Thank you, Lisa.