Dear Reader

Dear Reader Column 07-31-08

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Dear Reader,

I'm on vacation. Today's column is written by Judie Heller. Judie was one of two Runner-Up Winners at the Write a Dear Reader Contest.

Judie's niece started reading when she was three years old, but the books published for three year olds were picture books and didn't have any words. So Aunt Judie began writing stories for her young niece to read. (Her niece is now 45 years old.)

Today's column is the first time Judie has ever written anything for adults.

Congratulations Judie! It was a pleasure to read your column. I bet your niece used to love reading your stories and I'm sure she'd love reading today's story, too.

Warmest regards,

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com 
http://www.DearReader.com

A Guest Column by Judie Heller:

"One of our own is down!"

The frantic cry was in the language of crows, coming from an unusually large and gleaming black bird sitting on the top of our backyard fence. The response was almost immediate, and undeniable. Within moments there were eleven of the shining creatures arrayed on the edge of the neighboring garage, with an additional nine joining the alert-giver on the fence.

My husband had just come back from filling the bird feeders in the yard, telling me that there was a sick or injured crow down in the grass. As he reached for the phone to call The Humane Society, I stepped onto the back patio to see if there was anything I could do. It was just then that the large crow settled onto the fence and raised the alarm..."One of our own is down!"

While I have seen flocks of crows many times in my life, never had I witnessed such a scene. The gathering crows were silent. A few landed on the ground near the dying bird, but most clustered on the fence and the garage roof. The cry from the original bird continued, the sole call to be heard..."One of our own is down."

The flock remained in place until there was no more movement from the downed bird. Then, as one, they rose and flew into the morning sky.

--Judie Heller

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Dear Reader Column 07-30-08

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Dear Reader,

I'm on vacation and author Virginia Ironside has graciously offered to fill in for me.

Virginia and I met each other in Sarasota (where I live) a few months ago. The plan was to drive down by the water and I was going to interview her for my column. Instead, a few minutes after we got into my car my phone rang and by the time I hung up, I was sobbing in front of a woman I'd just met.

Virginia could have easily thought I was a nut that day, but instead she was the perfect woman to fall apart in front of. I'll let her finish the story...enjoy her column.

Thanks Virginia for filling in for me while I'm on vacation.

Gratefully,

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com 
http://www.DearReader.com

Today's Guest Author, Virginia Ironside:

Dear Readers,

When I last saw Suzanne, it was in Sarasota, when I'd come over from London to visit her on a book tour. I'd just got into her car to be driven off to the bay for a walk and a chat, when the phone rang, and it was her husband with the great news that her white cat, Rudy, had been found after being missing for three days. Off we went back to her home, and I was introduced. And we talked, while Rudy guzzled an enormous plate of catfood and about a gallon of water.

It was a touching scene and an excellent introduction--particularly as I myself had had a cat which had gone missing for three months. I was just about to research getting a new kitten, when there was a crash at the cat door and in he staggered--very scruffy, thin, wild-looking covered in matted fur, and with staring eyes, but alive. Not the sort of character one would like to offer a lift to. I still have no idea how he survived for so long.

In fact I'm just in the process of having one of my books on the subject of pets re-published. It was called Goodbye Dear Friend--Coping with the Loss of a Pet. I write what's called an "agony column" here in England (I think in the US these columns are known as "Dear Abby's?") and when I asked for people's experiences of pet bereavement they wrote in in their hundreds.

I don't have an animal now--I don't think it's kind to have a pet if one is away or out a lot--but my grandsons would love me to get a kitten I know. All I have is a very strange "fancy" pigeon, clearly escaped from someone's aviary, which is beautiful and lives on a hot water pipe on the next door house. After he's fed, he'll fly off to a tree in the garden, searching, I suspect, for a mate.

As I get older I seem to have swapped my passion for men into an obsession with stray animals and gardening. (As a baby boomer in the 'sixties I had enough sex then to last me a lifetime, frankly). I leap up to feed my abandoned pigeon, then rush downstairs to stare at my seedlings to check their growth with exactly the same desperation as I used to wait by the telephone, longing for it to ring.

All I can say is that it makes life a lot more peaceful, reliable and fun.

--Virginia Ironside

You can reach Virginia at vi@virginiaironside.org. She answers all of her mail.

Virginia Ironside is 64, divorced, has two grandsons, has written fifteen books and is still working as a journalist with columns in the "Independent" newspaper, the Oldie Magazine and Candis magazine. Virginia's latest book is No! I Don't Want to Join a Bookclub. Other books by Virginia are Janey and Me: Growing Up with My Mother and You'll Get Over it: The Rage of Bereavement.

READ THE CLASSICS: My Brilliant Career by Miles Franklin and enter the free Penguin Classic's Drawing. Go to: http://tinyurl.com/6r5hjz

Dear Reader Column 07-29-08

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Dear Reader,

I'm on vacation. Today's column is written by Angelia Crawford, one of two Runner-Up Winners at the Write a Dear Reader Contest.

Angelia said it's easier for her to write about something if she does it right away, when it's on her mind. And that's been my experience, too. When something happens, if I don't write a column or at least jot down some notes right away, it can be difficult for me to get back to what I was feeling at the moment. And as Angelia discovered, sometimes writing about something right away can also help let go of anger, which for me is really sadness disguised.

It was the last day to enter the contest when Angelia woke up and was inspired to write this story.

Congratulations Angelia, it was a very moving column.

Warmest regards,

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com 
http://www.DearReader.com

A Guest Column by Angelia Crawford:

"You better come out and see," my husband woke me up early this morning. I stumbled out into the pre-dawn coolness to see my petunias crashed and smashed on the ground. A storm blew through last night, so I scanned around for other damage. Instead I saw one of the pots sitting in our trailer parked in the drive. The other pot was completely gone, the clump of dirt upside down, still in the shape of the pot, the petunias crushed under the weight. Vandals.

We got off easy. Our neighbors down the block lost a year-old tree, snapped a foot off the ground. Our other pot ended up in their yard, the weapon used against the helpless tree perhaps? We repotted the petunias and one pot looks okay, the other looks a bit sad. Maybe they'll make it, maybe not.

I'm mad. Dumb kids. Not very nice, but that's how I feel. They destroyed something I love. Usually I'm not picky; I go to the nursery and buy whatever looks good. But this year I wanted deep purple with white frilly edges and purple and white striped, like what I remember as a kid. I had to visit several places in town before I found them. I planted the petunias and watered and fertilized them and they were at their peak, lush and vibrant.

You know the Mother's curse, the one that says, "I hope someday you have kids just like you"? I'm not these kids' mother, but I am a mother, so I think it will work. Here it goes: "May you someday have neighborhood kids just like you wandering around in the wee hours of the night, and may they destroy something, not expensive or irreplaceable, but beautiful, something you put your heart into to bring joy to a world that so often is lacking, and then you will know how it feels. When you are older and wiser and know the importance of little things."

But I can't leave it like that. I'll add: "And then may you forgive those kids, just like I now forgive you." That's a big thing, and one that I'll practice today and be better and wiser because of it.

Angelia Crawford

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READ THE CLASSICS: My Brilliant Career by Miles Franklin and enter the free Penguin Classic's Drawing. Go to: http://tinyurl.com/6r5hjz

Dear Reader Column 07-28-08

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Dear Reader,

I'm on vacation this week and today's Guest Column is written by a ghost writer. Since she or he is a ghost writer, I can't very well tell you anything about this author. So I'll let the ghost writer say it himself, herself....maybe itself?

I must admit this is the first time I've thanked a "ghost" for covering for me while I'm on vacation. Enjoy...and yes you'll be able to write to the ghost, I'll tell you how at the end of today's Guest Column.

Having fun on vacation....(sure hope I am).

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com
http://www.DearReader.com

Dear Reader,

I 'met' Suzanne through the Book Club, when my own memoir was one of the week's reads. Another reader (whom I'd never met) emailed me, saying she had found my book through the club and was loving it! I was as thrilled by the fact that I was one of Suzanne's Book Club choices--as by the fact that I had serendipitously discovered the Book Club. That was four years ago, and I have never missed a day. Suzanne has become a friend--in her busy life she even replies to my emails the same day! And I love her recipes and photographs. I can't wait to read her own book--what a red letter day that will be.

MESSAGE FROM A GHOST

You might say that this is a magical mystery column. Why? Because it's written by a ghost! Discerning readers will have noted that while I mention 'my' book--the one that was published on the Book Club--I don't give its title. That book, and a few others I have written, have my name on them--my real name. But as a ghost, I must remain elusive, the writer who sits quietly on a subject's shoulder and tries to 'be' them, in the same way as an actor becomes the character he or she plays. I am the voice of many people who have stories to tell. They might be celebrities; they might be incredible people who have achieved wonderful things. They might just be a quiet person, like the shepherd who lives close to the land and wants to write about nature and his dog. I try to be their voice. Once, I was told by someone that I had inhabited his soul. I was stunned. What he meant was that I was able to express his innermost, secret thoughts that he was too scared to let out. When his book was published and made the "Sunday Times" top 10 list, he said he was glad he'd had the courage to trust me to tell his story.

Being a ghost can be overwhelming. When I told the story of a little boy who didn't have long to live but was the bravest soul I have ever met, it humbled me. I told the story of a singing star, whose psychic granny found her voice in the pages and shone almost more brightly then the star herself. Sometimes, being a ghost can be hilarious. Early on, one of my first subjects flew me to Monte Carlo. To my alarm I was shown onto her husband's luxurious yacht. This exuberant woman had lined up a circle of guests and I was expected to stand up before them all and read my first draft pages to them. Dear Reader, I hope you never share that mortifying experience--but I survived.

I have even been asked to write the autobiography of a man with a chocolate empire. I didn't have the time--but was promised that if I wrote it, I'd have a lifetime of handmade chocolates sent to my door each month. Somehow, for the sake of my waistline, I managed to resist.

I have met some wonderful people, some inspiring people--and feel the richer for it. Once the book is published, I never go to the launch parties, even though invited. My job is done and I gently fade away.

But what I really want to say today is that anyone can tell his or her story. Everyone has a story to tell. Perhaps a story of an ancestor, or a parent who is remarkable in some way. A friend asked me if she should tell the story of a beloved cat, and I said, go for it. It's not necessary for people who have a story to tell to find a ghost. They can write it themselves. They just have to be brave and fly.

If anyone wants to email me to ask advice about how to become a ghost or to comment about anything, I'd be very happy to answer. But please do it through Suzanne--because, after all, I'm a ghost!

--Ghost Writer

You can reach today's Ghost Writer by sending your email to: Suzanne@EmailBookclub.com. The Ghost Writer will reply to us and we'll forward the Ghost's reply back to you.

It'll be a sad ghost (boo-hoo) if you don't write. The Ghost has promised to answer everyone's email.

AUTHORBUZZ: New authors, old favorites--all wonderful books worth your time. Win free copies of books you'll be so glad you discovered: Kim MacQuarrie, The Last Days of the Incas; Bonnie J. Glover, Going Down South; C.W. Gortner, The Last Queen: A Novel; Gary Chapman, Love as a Way of Life; and Deborah and Joel Shlian, Rabbit in the Moon. Go to: http://authorbuzz.com/dearreader

READ THE CLASSICS: My Brilliant Career by Miles Franklin and enter the free Penguin Classic's Drawing. Go to: http://tinyurl.com/6r5hjz

Dear Reader Column 07-25-08

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Dear Reader,

I'm on vacation this week and author Sandra Byrd has graciously offered to fill in for me.

Frequently when a bookclub reader sends me an email, they'll include an apology in their note because they're worried I must be flooded with mail. It's true, I do hear from a lot of readers, but I love it and I feel very blessed. It might surprise you, but most authors don't get much mail from readers and they would love to hear from you. Today in Sandra's Guest Column, she'll tell you why.

Thanks for filling in for me while I'm on vacation Sandra. I sure do appreciate it.

Gratefully,

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com 
http://www.DearReader.com

Today's Guest Column by Sandra Byrd:

You 'n' Me

The picture of a young Nebraska farm wife--hair tied back, sweaty sleeves rolled up--is taped to a novelist's computer. My friend, the novelist, thinks of this woman daily even though they've never met. Why? The farmwife is one of her most faithful readers. The margin of time she has available for pleasure reading is as thin as a grass whistle between two thumbs. Novelists want to make your precious investment of time count. One way we do that is by keeping you, our dear readers, clearly in mind as we write.

It's been said that there is a contract between reader and writer--the reader agrees to buy (or borrow) the book, to come with an open mind, a sense of eager expectation, and to invest an amount of her dwindling discretionary time to the book. The author agrees to put her heart and soul into the work, to bring the reader someplace he'd like to visit, introduce him to new friends and enemies and to leave him changed in some way. Writing teacher Bill Johnson refers to it as, A Story is a Promise. The author promises to bring the reader along on an exciting journey and a good book delivers on that promise.

To do that, we writers need to know who you are and where you want to go. Do you hope for a relatively mindless escape from the thunderhead of bills and worries accumulating at the end of the day? Something romantic and fun to spread out on a hammock on Sunday afternoon? Do you hope to be enlightened with new thoughts or insights to share with friends or a book club? Maybe you want a heart stomping thrill or an armchair trip to London. Just as a good friend tries to pick out an exactly-right but still delightfully surprising birthday gift, good authors try to craft those kinds of books for our readers.

When I write and you read we are sharing an experience. Robert Frost said, "No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader. No surprise in the writer, no surprise in the reader." What I feel as I write is--hopefully--what you feel as you read. So I promise both of us that I won't shy away from conflict and pain when it's necessary and I won't rescue our characters from consequences. But I also won't leave people we've grown to love without a hope and a future. I am emotionally engaged with each character--they take on lives of their own in my heart and mind. You, too, welcome them into your heart and mind as you read them.

Because we're on this adventure together, we novelists want to hear from you--what you like, what you want, what troubles you about our books. You can contact authors at their websites, you can write letters to us via our publishing houses. Tell us what you think (sharing the truth with love, please!) by doing book reviews.

Your picture may not be taped to my computer, but, dear reader, you are very much on my mind.

--Sandra Byrd

You can reach Sandra at: sandrabyrd@gmail.com Sandra Byrd is the author of more than three dozen novels for women and young women, including her latest release, Let Them Eat Cake and it's forthcoming sequel, Bon Appetit which is running in our Pre-Pub book club next week. Sandra's website is at www.sandrabyrd.com

READ THE CLASSICS: My Brilliant Career by Miles Franklin and enter the free Penguin Classic's Drawing. Go to: http://tinyurl.com/6r5hjz

Dear Reader Column 07-24-08

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Dear Reader,

I'm on vacation. Today's column is written by Shelly Epps, one of the FIRST PRIZE winners at the Write a Dear Reader Contest.

There is a delightful choppy, syncopated beat that runs throughout Shelly's humorous column. It was a lot of fun to read. Shelly told me she'd never written anything before except the yearly family Christmas letter. (Sometimes Christmas letters can be a real yawn.) But Shelly's holiday letter was so funny last year that friends and family were still laughing when they called to say how much they enjoyed reading it.

Shelly told me it was the positive feedback from last year's Christmas letter that gave her the desire to enter the writing contest.

Enjoy Shelly's column. I loved it from the very first line.

Congratulations Shelly.

Warmest regards,

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com 
http://www.DearReader.com

A Guest Column by Shelly Epps:

I'm like rubber, you're like glue, bounce off me and stick to you!

No, that's not right--I'm like glue. The last thing that bounced off of me was probably a Cheerio. Or, it's still stuck to me somewhere and nobody's told me yet.

I once had a vision for my life: perfect husband and kids, fabulous job, clean house. Instead, I married a guy who dresses like he's blind, weighs less than me and is completely devoid of short-term memory (cap on the toothpaste, cap on the toothpaste, come on honey!) Our house looks like two mini-tornados hit it, smearing jelly, PlayDoh, and other sticky things in along the way. One tornado likes to burp and say, "Now that's the sign that the tank is full!" While the other thinks licking people is a sign of affection.

I live a messy, chaotic life where multi-tasking isn't a skill--it's a life preserver. Like glue, my life is sticky. Seriously, I usually have one or more children physically stuck to me. Each night I lose about 63 pounds of weight, which I promptly regain the next morning. And when they go, they leave loving reminders stuck to me like cookies, paint and unidentified things that I try really hard not to think about.

My life isn't everyone's cup of Kool-Aid. But see, the crazy thing is, I absolutely love it. I love being the glue that binds them. The nerdy husband is surprisingly perfect for me--well except for that weight thing. Burp-boy makes every day a funny, fragrant adventure. His world is Mom, dinosaurs, and burping--not necessarily in that order. My little lick-monster answers every question by screaming the ABCs, which if you're tired enough and you don't think too hard about, actually makes sense. And while I prefer her sweet kisses, I cherish her unique expression of love, however slobbery.

I feel their awareness of me, that quick glance and instant relief that says, "Aahhh, there she is." Even as they step away they stay connected to me, trusting in me to love, forgive, comfort and stick with them.

I know that things will change--as they should--and I'll change too. Maybe some day I'll be like rubber. But for now, praise God, I'm like glue.

--Shelly Epps

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Dear Reader Column 07-23-08

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Dear Reader,

I'm on vacation this week. Deborah Raney is today's guest columnist and she has one of the same problems that I have, she can't say no to cats. I think you'll have fun reading her column, I did, and when you're finished be sure to click on the link to see Biscuit, Buttermilk, Jelly, Dumpling and Gravy.

(You really need to work on choosing cat names Deborah. But then again the stray cats I've adopted are called Mama, Papa and Goldie.)

Deborah would love to hear from you, so be sure to send her an email and she will definitely reply.

Thanks for filling in for me Deborah.

Gratefully,

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com
http://www.DearReader.com

Today's Guest Column by Deborah Raney:

Growing up on a farm, I've owned and loved my share of cats. I married a man who wasn't so crazy about those of the feline persuasion--that is until I manipulated a birthday gift of a tiny black kitten from a friend. My new husband couldn't say "no" to that, could he? Ebony soon won Ken over, and we've loved a string of housecats through our thirty-some years of marriage since.

But after moving to a house with a fenced-in yard outside the city limits three years ago, we accumulated some cats--eleven to be precise! Our 12-year-old tomcat, Frosty, made the move with us and happily took up residence in the big doghouse on the back deck.

Then one morning just after we got settled in, a gorgeous calico cat showed up on our front porch. When she was still there a few weeks later, we claimed her and named her Biscuit. But we soon realized Biscuit's roly-poly figure was due to more than the generous portions of cat chow we were serving her.

We moved her to the back porch and hoped Frosty (who was not the kittens' father) would be a gentleman and share his comfy home. Nothing doing. End of discussion. We were disappointed in his manners, but with the arrival of kittens imminent, we fixed a cozy box under the eaves for Biscuit and filled it with warm towels ready to receive kittens.

One morning late in March, I went out to the deck to find the two cats had traded homes! I have no idea how those negotiations went down, but the following morning I found Biscuit, snug in the doghouse, licking a precious miniature of herself. By noon "Gravy" had two sisters and a brother.

We enjoyed every minute of the ten weeks those kittens lived with us. Frosty was so attentive you'd have thought he'd fathered the kits. It wasn't easy to say goodbye, but we found good homes and got everyone settled in with their new families. Wouldn't you know it, several days before Biscuit's vet appointment to be "fixed," we started to suspect she would be blessing us with another bundle of kittens--and soon!

Batch Number Two--five precious little girls--made their entrance into the world a year ago, on July 11. Much to Frosty's dismay, we immediately moved Biscuit and the little ones to the basement where we could make sure this was the last litter. Early in September, Batch Two moved out onto the back deck where they frolicked and scampered and quickly made friends with Frosty. It was a summer full of laughter. A summer to remember forever.

In a perfect world, all nine kitties could have lived all nine lives right here in our backyard. But it's not a perfect world, and far too soon October came, and one by one, the kittens went off to new homes, thanks to my author friend Kim Vogel Sawyer. (Kim calls herself a kitty broker and it's an apt title, since she adopted Maizie, placed Snickers with her parents, and found a home together for two other kittens.)

Every kitten had a home--except a little yellow and white fluffball we called Sundae. Surely we could keep just one? After much begging and pleading (our daughter's) and a few tears (mine), we convinced the master of the house that in spite of lyrics to the contrary, three cats in the yard really does make for a very, very, very fine house.

--Deborah Raney

* To see Biscuit, Buttermilk, Jelly, Dumpling and Gravy go to: http://tinyurl.com/6b2n4s

You can reach Deborah at deborahraney@mac.com She'd love to hear from you and she answers all of her mail. Deborah will be selecting 5 winners from the emails she receives to win an autographed copy of Leaving November.

Deborah Raney's first novel, A Vow to Cherish, inspired the World Wide Pictures film of the same title. Remember to Forget, the first book in her new Clayburn Novels series from Howard/Simon & Schuster, is a 2008 Christy Award finalist. Deb and her husband, Ken Raney, enjoy small-town life in Kansas. They have four children--and three cats. Visit Deb on the Web at www.deborahraney.com.

READ THE CLASSICS: My Brilliant Career by Miles Franklin and enter the free Penguin Classic's Drawing. Go to: http://tinyurl.com/6r5hjz

Dear Reader Column 07-22-08

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Dear Reader,

I'm on vacation. Today's column is written by Hannah Reardon, one of the FIRST PRIZE winners at the Write a Dear Reader Contest.

Hannah's column was such a delight for me to read. Half-way through it I started thinking about my Grandpa Hale. He wasn't much of a talker (like Hannah's grandfather) but Grandpa Hale and I would watch cartoons together every afternoon when he got off work at four o'clock. We'd sit together side-by-side, laughing at Tom and Jerry and every so often Grandpa would turn and look at me, smile and pat my knee with his hand. It was Grandpa's way of saying, "I love you."

When I called Hannah to tell her she was one of the First Prize winners she told me how much she missed her grandpa and how she wished she could spend just a couple more minutes with him. I told Hannah that I thought she did that very thing as she was writing this column, about the conversation she and her grandpa had on the way to the Phillips 66. You might cry when you read it. I did.

Congratulations Hannah.

Warmest regards,

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com 
http://www.DearReader.com

A Guest Column by Hannah Reardon:

"Change" was a word I didn't fully understand as a twelve-year-old girl. One spring day Grandpa had a conversation with me about this word. We were on our way to town to have breakfast together at the Phillips 66 station. Breakfast at this location was normally saved for birthdays, but a life altering occasion was approaching. Within a week our family would be making a 600 mile move to a church my dad was to pastor. Grandpa was a tough John Wayne type of guy, but I knew it saddened him to know distance would soon separate him from his four grandkids.

During the five mile trip in Grandpa's old Dodge pickup he talked about change and how things would never be the same when we returned for a visit.

"See that red-winged blackbird sitting on that fence pole? She won't be there when you come back. These cornfields will be grown and harvested. This old tree might not be standing next time you're here. That house over there might be a different color."

I didn't realize the move would create other changes. No more Sunday dinners at Grandpa and Grandma's. No more picking up sticks in their back yard. No more snapping green beans in the summer. No more gooseberry picking races. No more stories about the snakes Grandpa had mowed over.

The move away from our hometown changed Grandpa too. I watched him cry for the first time as our moving van pulled away from our house.

Holidays brought us back to visit nearly twice a year, but life was never the same. Our hometown began emptying as older folks passed away or moved to nursing homes. The little white house our family grew up in was torn down. Each time we visited we would take a drive through the area to see what was different. Grandpa was right, everything had changed.

A few short years later Grandpa lost his fight with leukemia. I've changed since Grandpa left us and I hope it's for the better. I think of him as I attempt to live a life full of honesty, character, laughter, and courage.

Change is inevitable and I've learned to embrace it because of a conversation I had with Grandpa on the way to the Phillips 66.

--Hannah Reardon

* To see Hannah and a photo of her grandfather, go to: http://tinyurl.com/58nh2j

READ THE CLASSICS: My Brilliant Career by Miles Franklin and enter the free Penguin Classic's Drawing. Go to: http://tinyurl.com/6r5hjz

Dear Reader Column 07-21-08

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Dear Reader,

I'm on vacation for the next two weeks and while I'm gone, I've invited some friends of mine to fill in for me. Today's Guest Column is written by Clint Kelly. His column reminded me of how we celebrate birthdays in our office. Everyone on my staff works in a "virtual" office so we've put one person (Susan) in charge of keeping track of birthdays. A couple of weeks before someone's birthday Susan sends an email to everyone (except the birthday guy or gal) asking us to write a birthday note. Then Susan takes our notes and creatively prints them out on a sheet of paper and inserts our birthday greetings into a card, along with a gift certificate. It might sound kind of hokey, but let me tell you it's some kind of fun to get the card and read the notes from everyone you work with.

Enjoy author Clint Kelly's Guest Column today and feel free to drop him an email. He's promised to answer all of his mail. (I bet his replies will be pretty good--after all this author likes to party!)

Thanks for helping me out this year Clint.

Gratefully,

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com
http://www.DearReader.com

Today's Guest Column by Clint Kelly:

At my workplace, we do birthdays and we do them BIG. Themes, decorations, games, a meal -- the whole nine yards. Because we are writers and designers and spend our days creating concepts and branding language, even our parties can take on the qualities of grand unveilings and celebrity premiers. We've had jugglers, singers, and surprise guests in disguise. Our themes have ranged from Beatles Mania to Star Trek to a Medieval Feast. We've dressed one another in toilet paper wedding gowns, tossed rubber chickens across the conference room, and yachted 'neath a cerulean sky.

When there were fewer of us, we celebrated birthdays in the month they occurred. Now that we've grown to 17 staff members in the department, on average we throw parties four times a year, each planned by four people at their expense, each thrown in honor of four people with recent birthdays. A few weeks ago, I was on a planning team with our administrative assistant, our department director, and one of the aforementioned designers. We decided on a theme of "Murder Most Foul" and devised our look along the lines of the game Clue. We invented a mystery scenario that could only be solved by visiting four puzzle stations, solving the puzzles, and in the process collecting four words or phrases that when properly arranged revealed the location within the party room where the murderer's name was revealed (under the bowl of trail mix). The first team to figure it out and announce the culprit won copies of the wonderful Two-Minute Mysteries series.

No matter what professional talents and gifts we individually bring to the table, a good deal of our creative bond and team strength come from these parties. We honor one another by "going all out" and making it memorable. Word has leaked and now we are known throughout the organization as "the people who know how to party." We wear that title as a badge of pride. Too often, people don't feel a personal connection to their work; don't have a stake in the outcome of that work. Through celebration and laughter, and stopping to appreciate one another, we all look forward to our hours and days spent together in a common cause.

I shall never forget Miss Azure, Colonel Butterscotch, Professor Russet, or Mr. Rouge. Even under the glare of suspicion, they held their heads high. In the end, they returned to their cubicles fuller, in better humor, and the richer for having allowed us to mark their special days in our special way. Of course, they will soon have their turn to plan the hilarity and ensuing mayhem for others of our crew. If fortunate, they might even turn the tables on one of us for having accused them of "Murder Most Foul."

If you're going to get back at me, I'd like to request a pie in the face. Chocolate, if you've got it.

--Clint Kelly

You can reach author Clint Kelly at ckelly@spu.edu and he promised to answer all of his mail.

Clint Kelly is a communications specialist for Seattle Pacific University and a suspense novelist. Delicacy, is his third book in the Sensations Series. It's all about food and mystery with a decadent chocolate dessert on the cover. Clint has worked and partied with the core group in his department for 20 years. A father of four and grandfather of four, he attributes much of the joy in his life to Cheryll, his sweet bride of 37 years.

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Dear Reader Column 07-18-08

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Dear Reader,

Tomorrow I'm officially on vacation for two weeks. The past three years my husband and I have spent our vacation in the Smoky Mountains. This year we're spending our vacation at home--but we won't be alone. Bailey, our 13-year-old granddaughter told her mother that she wanted to get to know more about her family (our granddaughter lives in Wisconsin, we live in Florida) so she's coming to visit and we're spending our vacation together.

To me it's a miracle in itself that a 13-year-old wants to spend time with her grandparents, especially during the summer, when she could be hanging out with friends. I'm a little bit nervous about the visit, but not about coming up with a list of things we can do together. Some days are planned, we're visiting NASA and our granddaughter has a reservation to swim with the dolphins at Marineland. The rest of the time the three of us will be hanging out together in Sarasota.

I guess the reason I'm a little bit nervous is because I've caught myself picturing what Bailey's visit will be like and the picture in my mind looks a lot like when I used to visit my grandparents in the summer. I had a wonderful time with my grandparents, but that was my experience and I don't want to create expectations about what Bailey's visit should look like, but rather enjoy a different experience of creating new memories.

Bailey was a little leery about flying, so I used some of my frequent flyer miles to bump her ticket up to First Class. I told her she should wear sunglasses and people will think she's the daughter of someone famous. So now she can't wait to board the plane.

I'm leaving my column in good hands. You'll get to read the winning columns from the Write a Dear Reader Contest and eight friends of mine have graciously volunteered to fill in for me. I think you'll have a lot of fun reading with the guest authors. There'll be photos, giveaways and a lot of funny stuff. Everyone who is writing a guest column for me is expecting to answer mail, so please send an email and give them a warm book club welcome.

It's very strange, every year when I write my "Going on Vacation" column I start tearing up near the end--that's right about now--You'd think I was saying good-bye forever, but I'm not, I'll return in two weeks with new stories and some vacation souvenir giveaways, too.

Thanks for reading with me. It's so good to read with friends.

The vacationing...

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com 
http://www.DearReader.com

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READ THE CLASSICS: My Brilliant Career by Miles Franklin and enter the free Penguin Classic's Drawing. Go to: http://tinyurl.com/6r5hjz