Dear Reader

Dear Reader Column 8-17-17

AUTHORBUZZ: Click here to discover new books,
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Dear Reader,

"Do you like school? Do you like your teacher?" A group of second graders were being interviewed about their new school year. When the kids were asked the conventional "What do you want to be when you grow up?" question, most of the their answers were predictable: "I want to be an astronaut, a fireman, a ballerina." But one boy paused and quietly said, "I want to be normal."

I don't know, I think that young man should consider rethinking his career goal. Personally, I take pride in the fact that people find me a bit strange. But that young man's serious answer did get me to thinking. Did I have such deep thoughts on my mind when I was in second grade?

I do recall telling people that I wanted to be a missionary when I grew up. But actually I spent most of my hours in second grade thinking about bigger issues--like how to impress Larry Harris, the boy whose desk was next to mine.

I knew for sure if Larry could just see me in my new light-green, chiffon dress--the one with the can-can slip underneath--that he'd look my way. But my mother always said no when I asked if I could wear it to school, insisting that the dress was only for special occasions. (Obviously she didn't see Larry in the same way I did.) So one morning I told my mother it was dress-up day at school--which was a lie--so of course that squelched any chances of becoming a missionary.

Tell a lie and look what happens, I grew up to be one wacky writer. Maybe I should've wished for just a little bit of normal?

Okay, so we know I'm not normal. What about you? How did you answer the, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" question when you were a kid? And how did you turn out?

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

Looking forward to hearing from you,

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

AUTHORBUZZ: With so many new books out every week, we promise these titles deserve your attention:

(Mystery) BOURBON CHASE, The San Francisco Mystery Series, Book 1 by Alexi Venice

(Fiction) THE RIVER OF KINGS by Taylor Brown

(Fiction) IN A VERTIGO OF SILENCE by Miriam Polli

(Fiction) SEVEN BIRDS by Amy Sargent Swank

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Dear Reader Columnn 8-16-17

AUTHORBUZZ: Click here to discover new books,
"meet" the authors and enter to win. 

Dear Reader,

Today's guest author, Dr. Rick Stedman, says he's a devoted husband, father, pastor, bookaholic, and collector of classic rock & roll LPs. And as you'll discover, when you read his guest column, he's also a romantic. Be sure to enter his book giveaway at the end of today's guest column.

Welcome to the book club, author Rick Stedman...

Knight for a Day, Husband for Life

Twenty-nine years ago, for a very short time, I was a knight in shining armor.

I had decided to propose to my girlfriend of one year, Amy. But how should I propose? And where? The beach, the mountains, Disneyland?

Then I learned that some church friends raised white Arabian horses. Suddenly I began to dream about the perfect engagement. What if they let me ride the horse for the proposal? What if I rented a knight's costume to wear as I rode?

And most important: what if I managed to not fall off the horse?

My friends were open to the idea, but were understandably concerned about my ability to ride one of their cherished--and spirited--Arabians. So they made me take riding lessons for two weeks.

To put it mildly, I was not a quick learner. I fell off the horse a couple of times. I never seemed to get in sync with the horse's gait. Plus, she nipped at me a few times--and I think laughed at me too (I'm talking about the horse, not the owner).

As the big day approached, I was afraid they were going to call it off due to my ineptitude, but instead they decided I was ready. Plus, they had a surprise for me: a week before the engagement they met medieval enthusiasts who offered to loan the proper costuming for a knight's horse. What perfect timing--it seemed like even God was pulling for me.

So on January 16, 1988, I donned my borrowed armor and horse, and we trotted (well, it was more of a walk) up to my beloved who had been seated on a throne on a hilltop. I dismounted awkwardly, knelt before her, and said, "Amy, your knight in shining armor has arrived. Will you marry me?" She immediately said "Yes!"

Here's the sad part. Little did she know that this one moment would be the romantic high point of my life. Nothing since then has measured up.

And for me, I set a standard that would make me feel like a disappointment from then on. I hit a home run at our engagement, but strike out quite often since then.

But at least I have one knightly quality that I'm good at: I keep my vows. And I have vowed to love, honor, and cherish her till death do us part. I may be a poor at romance and my armor may be tarnished and worn, and but in my heart I'm still wearing it for her.

--Rick Stedman
email: rickstedman@live.com

Please welcome Rick Stedman to the book club and when you do, you'll also be entered in his book drawing. He has five copies of his newest title, "31 Surprising Reasons to Believe in God: How Superheroes, Art, Environmentalism & Science Point to God" to giveaway to book club readers.

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

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

AUTHORBUZZ: In a Vertigo of Silence (Fiction) by Miriam Polli

Authors must make their characters live in their minds. They must eat with them, sleep with them, and talk to them while doing their mundane choirs that have nothing at all to do with writing. My new title is a multi-generational novel that tracks the lives of a remarkable family of women--an evocative novel that manages to pack a saga into less than three hundred pages.

Go to AUTHORBUZZ click on IN A VERTIGO OF SILENCE to read more and to email author Miriam Polli, you'll get a reply.

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Dear Reader Column 8-15-17

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Dear Reader,

She's a dedicated second grade teacher at North Liberty Elementary school in Indiana. Ms. Anderson is the kind of teacher, if you were lucky enough to have, you'd never forget. Because for sure, she'd leave a lasting impression on your life. Recently Ms. Anderson discovered a talent that had been hidden away for years. Out of the blue, she learned some amazing things about herself and I've invited her to share her story with us today.

I think it's perfect timing, as school begins today at North Liberty Elementary, that Ms. Anderson reminds us that learning is a lifelong gift.

Please welcome today's guest columnist and long-time book club reader, Ms. Sandra Anderson...

To have friends and family believe in you, and see something in you that you hadn't seen in yourself, has been one of the greatest gifts I've ever received. Last year for my birthday, I was treated to a painting class by a dear friend and former teaching colleague. She recognized that I possessed some artistic skills and believed the class would be the perfect gift. One lesson, three hours and one painted canvas later, I discovered a talent within myself--the ability to paint.

Another month passed before I picked up a paintbrush again. This time, my cousin saw my painting and made an encouraging remark, "You need to do what makes you happy. If painting makes you happy, then paint," he said. I decided to follow his advice and I bought painting supplies, watched videos, and found myself escaping the stress of life for hours at a time. When I paint I feel a sense of release and peace within myself. I tend to be an over analyzer and often think way too much into things. I was learning new techniques and skills, while pouring my heart and soul onto blank canvases. Another thrill about learning to paint is just that...learning. I love to try new things, so painting is what brings me happiness right now. My paintings tend to be bright and happy, because that is who I am. There are times when life gets to me, when I miss people that have passed away, or friends whom I haven't heard from in awhile and now I paint as a way to keep positive. Sounds crazy, but I say that my soul bleeds in beautiful colors all over the canvas. Painting touches my soul in a profound way.

I often wonder if this talent was waiting to be uncovered at this particular time in my life. I have gained a great deal of personal satisfaction from creating and sharing my paintings with others. My home has become a miniature art gallery. I have converted a spare bedroom into my art studio. Recently, I started using the techniques I learned to create my own original art.

Every artist needs a signature element to their artwork. Along with signing my art, I write words from Scripture on the back of each of my paintings. These words are as important to me as the paint that stains the front.

I don't know where this hobby will take me, but I do know that I am thankful for painting, thankful for the people who believe and encourage me to paint, and thankful for the words on the back that sustain and inspire me.

I hope that all of your readers have friends and family who believe and encourage them, have words that move them, and have something in their lives that bring them happiness.

-- Sandra Anderson

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

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

AUTHORBUZZ: The River of Kings (Fiction) by Taylor Brown

The Altamaha River--aka Georgia's "Little Amazon"--has been named one of the 75 "Last Great Places" on Earth. My new novel follows two brothers who kayak this legendary river with their father's ashes in tow, unraveling their own family history and that of the first European artist in the New World, Jacques Le Moyne, whose illustrations pepper the novel.

Go to AUTHORBUZZ click on THE RIVER OF KINGS to read more and to email author Taylor Brown, you'll get a reply.

Dear Reader Column 8-14-17

AUTHORBUZZ: Click here to discover new books,
"meet" the authors and enter to win. 

Dear Reader,

I've bought the turkey, and the shopping list is posted on the fridge for my upcoming "Thanksgiving in the Summer" family dinner. Turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes, gravy, fresh green beans, cole slaw, cranberries, skunk beans, shrimp salad, deviled eggs, homemade pumpkin and cherry pie topped with whipped cream. Yes, this coming Sunday is Thanksgiving at my house. Every year after the big holiday feast in November, I'm not the only person who comments, "We should do this more often," so I decided, "Why not?"

The menu might sound overwhelming to a lot of people, but I've cooked Thanksgiving dinner for so many years now, once I've bought the turkey, I go on automatic pilot. Skunk beans, shrimp salad, I make two days ahead of time. In fact, they both taste better when they've marinated for a couple of days. Then my homemade pie crust has to rest in the fridge for 24 hours, before I can roll the dough. Next, stuff the turkey, pop it into the oven--it does all the work, deviled eggs--I serve those with almost every meal--I could make them in my sleep. Boil potatoes, steam the green beans, fifteen minutes on the stove and fresh cranberries are popping open. The only thing I don't make is the cole slaw. It's an amusing holiday tradition for me to ask my son to bring the cole slaw--so it's always a surprise whether or not we'll actually be eating cole slaw.

But I won't be setting a fancy Thanksgiving table. A summer Thanksgiving calls for disposable plates and utensils, especially since my family will have dominos waiting for them after dinner. Not the game, but 742 brightly colored, special toppling dominos waiting to be carefully set up so when we tap the first one, the domino chain reaction begins (hopefully), winding around and around to a big finish, up and over domino rally curves, wheels and flips.

Big meal, big finish--wish us luck!

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

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

AUTHORBUZZ: Bourbon Chase, The San Francisco Mystery Series, Book 1 by Alexi Venice

Have you ever experienced the carnal catch--that exquisite, sweet moment when you're seized with passion in a romantic encounter and committed to fulfilling your sexual desire without turning back? In my new book, you get to experience the catch while a mystery unfolds.

Go to AUTHORBUZZ click on BOURBON CHASE to read more and to email author Alexi Venice, you'll get a reply.

Dear Reader Column 8-11-17

Dear Reader,

I love vacation, but honestly I'm excited about getting back to work Monday.

One of the things I did on vacation was bake Norway's National Cake: World's Best Cake, with Linda, a friend of mine. We'd been trying to set a baking date since the end of May. Linda's idea was to bake a cake together to celebrate my birthday, and it was a great idea, too. But we couldn't ever seem to coordinate our schedules. I was sick, she was working, I was sick (it was a rough couple of months for me), she had out of town guests, but we finally baked that cake together and she brought the most amazing centerpiece for the cake. A musical flower that opened up and on the tips of the flowers were mini candles. Round and round the flower went playing Happy Birthday! We had a great afternoon and I'd have to agree with the name of the cake, it was the best tasting cake I've ever had. Linda, my husband and I all had a second piece.

The Norway's National Cake: World's Best Cake, would have been a recipe I'd have passed by, because after reading the ingredients and the steps involved in baking it, I thought it was going to be a fancy, too sweet-tasting cake. But I would have been wrong.

Get out your baking pan, one single 8 x 12 inch pan will do and have fun baking this weekend.

NORWAY'S NATIONAL CAKE: WORLD'S BEST CAKE

10 1/2 tablespoons (1 stick plus 2 1/2 tablespoons) butter, softened
1 2/3 cups granulated sugar
1 1/3 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
5 large eggs, separated
1/3 cup whole milk
1/4 cup sliced almonds
1 cup heavy cream
1/2 vanilla bean (you can use one teaspoon of vanilla extract instead) raspberry jam (optional)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., with a rack in the middle position. Line an 8 x 12 inch baking pan with parchment paper.

Beat the butter and 2/3 cup of the sugar in a large bowl with an electric mixer until light and creamy, about 3 minutes.

Add the flour and baking powder and mix well on low speed.

Mix in the egg yolks and milk.

Scrape the batter into the baking pan.

In a large clean bowl, beat the egg whites and the remaining 1 cup sugar to soft peaks. Spread on top of the cake layer. Sprinkle with the almond slices.

Bake for 30 minutes or until the meringue is golden brown and puffed. Cool on a wire rack in the pan. (We helped the cooling along by turning on a fan near the cake.) Transfer to a cutting board. (We cut the cake in half with a serrated knife and then lifted the cake halves, one at a time, out of the pan with a huge spatula. Place your hand underneath the cake half and the parchment paper easily pulls right off.)

When the cake is cool, put the cream in a medium bowl and scrape in the vanilla bean seeds. Discard the vanilla pod. Beat the cream to soft peaks with an electric mixer, about 3 minutes. (We forgot to keep the cream in the refrigerator, so when we beat it, it turned to a curdled-like butter. But I had a can of whipped cream in the fridge, so we substituted it.Truthfully, I think the next time I make the cake I'll use the can of whipped cream, then, too.)

Place one half of the cake on a serving tray and cover it with a thin layer of raspberry jam (optional) and then cover the jam with a layer of the cream. Place the other cake half, meringue side up, on top. Let the cake sit for one hour in the fridge before serving. (We didn't wait for it to sit in the refrigerator, and we still all felt it was indeed the world's best cake ever!)

Congratulations to some of the people who won giveaways, while I was on vacation, (drumroll, please...)

Kristal B.-- Charades game

Terry B.-- Joke Calculator

Marjorie G.-- Across Two Novembers: A Year in the Life of a Blind Bibliophile by David Faucheux.

The winners of Rescue Me by Guest Author Susan May Warren are, Beverly D., Judy H. and Dorie F.

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

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

Dear Reader Column 8-10-17

Dear Reader,

(Suzanne's on vacation today, but she's left one of her favorite columns for you to read.)

The last time I went home to visit, I invited my husband to go for a walk with me. But when we were walking the streets and alleys of the small town I grew up in, I soon realized that he wasn't taking the same walk that I was. Paint peeling, duct tape wrapped tightly around an air conditioner in the window, the front porch boards rotting--that's the rundown house my husband saw as we walked by, but that's not what it looked like to me. No peeling paint, no broken shutters in my mind, the house that my old school friend grew up in--the house that stood before me--was neat as a pin, just the way it looked 35 years ago.

Down the street the lot is vacant now, but there used to be swings, five-in-a-row, their chains hanging down from tall, steel, poles. See the worn spots on the ground underneath the swings? That's where I used to drag my feet. Sometimes I'd go so high in the air that it felt like the swing might wrap right around the top of the pole. I'd stretch my legs out and then pull them back together with as much force as an eight year old could. I was hoping to keep the momentum going just a little bit longer--I'd imagine I was flying. But eventually the swing would start slowing down and I'd drag my shoes back and forth on the ground below me, to bring it to a final stop.

When we turned the corner and walked towards Main Street, we saw a commemorative train car for tourists--but the train tracks used to run along side of the old post office. I walked those tracks every day on my way to school. And when I was in junior high, I worked the Friday Night Fish Fry at the restaurant across the street. The air conditioner couldn't ever keep up with the heat in the kitchen, so we'd always leave the back door open. In between washing dishes, my job was to peel the huge Idaho potatoes and put them, one-at-a-time, in the potato slicer that was bolted on the wall. Then I'd slam the long handle down and freshly cut french fries would fall down into an old white pickle bucket. But one night I miscalculated and my finger got caught in the french fry cutter. I had to go to the Emergency Room. That was the bad news. But the owner still paid me for my entire shift, which was good news, because I was saving to buy my parents a rocking chair for their anniversary. The man at the furniture store had it on hold for me.

And walking down another street, the story continues. My husband is passing by a supermarket, but I'm climbing the old apple tree instead. Yes, we're walking together hand-in-hand, but he's on South Washington Street and I'm strolling down Memory Lane.

On Vacation,
Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

Dear Reader Column 8-09-17

AUTHORBUZZ: Click here to discover new books,
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Dear Reader,

(Suzanne's on vacation today. Enjoy this funny, really funny, old favorite.)

I tried to write a normal column today about something going on in my world, but instead, I kept coming back to this topic--blowing my nose.

Mother said I should always tell the truth and perhaps today is one of those times when a little white lie would make for more respectable reading material. But I was sick for over two weeks with a horrible virus and truthfully, blowing my nose is still one of the major activities in my day. There's an art to it. I've become an expert and I feel a responsibility to pass on the things I've learned to others. Mother taught me to share, too.

Okay, so some readers are ready to hit the delete key, figuring I'm still ravaged with fever, sick, and out-of-my-mind. Others are flush with embarrassment, imagining the details I'd need to use to describe such a personal, possibly disgusting topic and some readers--are this very minute--looking around to see if anyone is reading over their shoulder--they're embarrassed--but intrigued.

It started out with a sniffle, a dainty event--my Grandmother's lace hankie would have sufficed. But mid-way through the virus, I had to pull out the big artillery; a man-sized tissue in one hand and the other hand firmly braced against a wall, a car, or the person next to me--whatever was handy at the moment. Because my nose blowing had now reached wind speeds high enough to be classified as a Category One Hurricane, according to the Saffir-Simpson Scale.

Beauford (every hurricane has a name) was scary. The noise was deafening, long and loud hair-raising honks, grab another tissue, and come up for air. It was never ending. How could anyone produce such great quantities? A big blow from Beauford and my three cats and even my husband hid under the bed. When I ventured out to stock up on supplies, children screamed and ran from me in horror, but nevertheless, I needed to be prepared.

Getting ready to tackle Beauford was a lot like getting ready for hurricane season here in Florida. The two have things in common.

SUZANNE'S HURRICANE BEAUFORD CHECKLIST

* Stock up on tissue and chicken soup (I'm not kidding, my doctor wrote on his prescription pad the name of a restaurant that had great take-out chicken soup with matzo-balls).

* Blow out gentle puffs, but cover your windows with sturdy 5/8 inch thick sheets of plywood, so you're ready if the big one comes.

* Keep your mouth slightly open when it's time for the big blow to prevent damage to your ear drums, and store loose items so they won't blow away.

* Secure valuables and remove your jewelry to avoid possible damage and injury.

* Take a deep breath (through your mouth) before you blow your nose, so you don't black out.

* Put important documents in waterproof containers.

* Use tissues--not washable handkerchiefs--and have plenty of big, sturdy, trash bags to haul away the man-sized debris.

* Have hand tools ready for after the "storm;" screwdrivers, a shovel and a pick axe to loosen any tough clogs.

* When you hear the all clear siren, it's time to clean up--wipe your nose to make sure nothing else is hanging around.

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

On Vacation,
Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

Dear Reader Column 8-08-17

AUTHORBUZZ: Click here to discover new books,
"meet" the authors and enter to win.

Dear Reader,

I'm on vacation this week and author Erika Raskin is filling in for me today. Please say hello to her and she comes to the book club bearing gifts. Erika is giving away copies of her book, Best Intentions. Her email contact is at the end of today's column.

Erika writes:

I think I know why the circus closed. I'm not a hundred percent but I'm pretty sure it had something to do with the clowns.

At the risk of offending a whole group of professional performers (as well as those who merely paint on disingenuous smiley faces recreationally), I can think of few things more terrifying than adults who go about in public camouflaging their real expressions. Perma-grins and fixed grimaces (nothing more uplifting than somebody else's sadness!) as a form of entertainment just isn't.

Lots of people are freaked out by clowns. Kids in particular. I don't know if this branch of mimes comprises the top juvenile fear (who are the white-coated degenerates running that experiment?) but they definitely rank right up there.

Children (like everybody else) study faces for important social clues. So withholding that type of communication is not only confusing, it's downright sadistic. Because even the most fleeting of emotions skittering across somebody's features can serve as a way to raise the alarm, the point of frozen expressions can only mean one thing: sneak-attacks.

In my years mothering a child with a chronic medical condition, I've regularly seen clowns roaming the halls of pediatric wards. To which I ask--why not hand out Jason masks and orthopedic saws at the visitors' desk? (And along the same lines, who decided that having clowns perform at birthday parties was a good idea? You might as well fill the goodie bags with chicken pox and wormy chocolate.)

The first time my youngest encountered a clown in real life, the earth tilted.

Coulrophobia (dread of bizarre individuals with rictus grins and pancake make-up) is clearly a genetic thing. I'm pretty sure I had my first panic attack at the circus when a Volkswagen rolled to a stop in front of my seat and disgorged an unending chain of brightly colored, paint-smeared faced monsters. I was six. While Barnum and Bailey's is no more, I still worry about where that VW is parked.

Interestingly, some inverse corollary has probably propelled one of my brothers to collect clown "art." He keeps the horrifying paintings, puppets and statuary in his house. Recently, one of his grotesque ceramics found its way into the bottom of my purse at a family reunion. When I went to withdraw my car keys, my baffled fingers pulled out the smooth object. I screamed in the parking lot then texted him a picture of the freakish thing. Beneath my tire.

Another time the same brother and I were walking down the street when a trio of orange-wigged miscreants rounded the corner. My heart froze in my throat when he called them over. As if it had been prearranged (and knowing him, it might well have been) they complied. Sensing my terror they of course came in for a group hug. I took off.

But now that the circus has closed down, I'm a little concerned that there might be even more of them wandering around unattended.

--Erika Raskin
Please email me with your opinion of clowns and you'll be entered in my drawing for a copy of Best Intentions, erika_raskin@yahoo.com.

More About Today's Guest Author: Erika Raskin's debut novel, Close, was nominated for a Teen Choice Book of the Year award. Her work has appeared on public radio and publications including The Washington Post, Salon, and Washingtonian Magazine. She was a fellow at the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts and a panelist at the Virginia Festival of the Book. She's a mother of three, a politician's daughter, and wife to a successful doctor, just like the main character in her new novel, Best Intentions.

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

On Vacation,
Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

***** AUTHORBUZZ *****

THE REGULARS (Fiction) by Georgia Clark

If you were given a potion that would turn you jaw-droppingly beautiful for just one week: would you take it? Best friends Evie, Krista and Willow do, and the results are hilarious, sexy, and entirely irregular. Set in New York, my first contemporary fiction novel delves into the allure, the myth, and the truth about beauty. I invite you to answer the question: what would you sacrifice to be pretty?

Go to AUTHORBUZZ click on THE REGULARS to read more and to email author Georgia Clark, you'll get a reply.

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Dear Reader Column 8-07-17

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Dear Reader,

(Suzanne is on vacation today. Enjoy one of her favorite columns about the most memorable practical joke that's ever happened in her family.)

A llama has moved into my neighborhood. Actually it's taken up residence in my yard. To be more precise, it's living on top of my carriage house. (My home was built in 1925 along with the carriage house.) Yep, a smiling llama beaming with joy (obviously happy with his new digs,) is standing tall on the roof of my carriage house this very minute. His smile is infectious. Eventually, I may even invite him into my home. The "Dalai Llama" (my son, daughter-in-law and grandchildren named him), doesn't have much of an appetite, and he'd be an easy houseguest to move from one room to another when I'm vacuuming, because he's on wheels.

My grown son is a talented practical jokester. He's not a planner, his funnies are spur-of-the-moment ideas. Yesterday when he was driving by a school, instead of seeing a llama sitting on the curb waiting for trash day, my son envisioned the llama sitting on top of my carriage house. Made out of paper mache and wood, the llama is life size and heavy--not to mention the wheels. How he managed to haul that llama up to the top of the carriage house, I'm not sure. No doubt about it, the joke was hilarious. And to my surprise, I've fallen in love with that crazy llama. I may even put a collar and leash on my new pet and walk (roll) him around the neighborhood (Craziness runs in our family.)

The most memorable practical joke my son ever pulled off was on the day of my mother's funeral. Our family was staying with my mother's husband, Ron. He appreciated the company, but I know we drove him a little crazy, too. Especially my grown son's bad habit of leaving half-filled water bottles around the house. Personally it drives me nuts, too, because you don't know whose bottle it is, so you have to dump it out. But in the midst of a funeral, half-filled water bottles didn't seem all that important.

Surrounded by friends and family at the reception, Ron knew eventually we'd have to say good-bye, and I could see it in his eyes that he was a little nervous about going home and walking into an empty house. But thanks to my son, Ron didn't have to.

We said our good-byes, and an hour later as we were driving to the airport, my cell phone rang and it was Ron, laughing hysterically--at least for a few minutes. Unbeknownst to my husband and me, our son had left the reception earlier in the day, snuck into Ron's house, took all 47 water bottles out of the recycle bin, filled them half-full of water and strategically placed them in every room of the house.

To see my llama and to enter today's drawing for a Crazy Message Practical Jokes Calculator, click here.

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

On Vacation,
Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

***** AUTHORBUZZ *****

TANGLED (Fiction) by Rebecca Zanetti

What is it about a youngest sibling that leads to wildness? The youngest Reese vampire is wild, determined, and a hunter like no other. So when Ginny O-Toole, a sweet Irish lass, turns out to be a master thief who stole from his family, Theo has no choice to but to hunt her down. Forget that. He wants to hunt her down. Of course--Ginny knows exactly what she's doing. In her mind, it's high time Theo made a move. Boy, does he.

Go to AUTHORBUZZ click on TANGLED to read more and to email author Rebecca Zanetti, you'll get a reply.

Dear Reader Column 8-04-17

AUTHORBUZZ: Click here to discover new books,
"meet" the authors and enter to win. 

KIDSBUZZ: Click here to discover new books,
"meet" the authors and enter to win.

Dear Reader,

(I'm on vacation today, but I'm sharing a column that made a reader quit the book club. The book club reader wrote, "How could you treat your husband like that? Take my name off the book club list. You should be ashamed." The reader's take on my column is still a mystery to me, but I was quite amused by her response. Enjoy the "shame on me" column.)

I've been dying to write about a bizarre personality quirk that I have, but I couldn't ever come up with enough to say about it to turn it into a "Dear Reader". Nevertheless, today, I've decided that I have to broach the subject with you because it happened again this morning.

I got up at 5 a.m., went into the kitchen to make some coffee and oh no...the coffee fairy (my husband, who usually washes my coffee machine) didn't show up last night. Yesterday's grounds were still in the machine.

My coffee machine automatically grinds its own beans, has a timer, keeps the coffee piping hot--just the way I like it--and adjusts for any number of cups that I might desire. It's a high-tech machine that gives me a freshly ground cup of coffee every morning....except this morning. If I wanted that rich-bodied, caffeine blast I was gonna have to wash the pot, the grinder, the whole kit-n-kaboodle. I don't know, it seemed like too big of a job for me that early in the morning. I couldn't face it. I thought maybe I should just get dressed, hop in the car, drive over to Starbucks, stand in line and get myself a cup of coffee.

Do you see my problem? Any intelligent, sane woman like myself, knows that it's quicker and easier to just roll up her PJ sleeves and wash the darn coffee machine. But something in me is immune to even considering that possibility.

So did I end up washing my coffee maker? No, I was saved. The coffee fairy showed up at 5:15 a.m., while I was still having this internal discussion with myself. He immediately recognized my dilemma and offered to do the deed--and he doesn't even drink coffee--what a guy!

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

On Vacation,
Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

* Today long-time book club reader and author, David Faucheux is giving away a copy of his book Across Two Novembers: A Year in the Life of a Blind Bibliophile. David is a lifelong resident of Louisiana, has a Master of Library and Information Science degree and has worked as a braille instructor and medical transcriptionist. He is as a reviewer of audio books for "Library Journal." Click here to enter.

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