Dear Reader

Dear Reader Column 09-16-19

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

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

Book Club Reader Sue M. writes...

"Dear Suzanne,

Re: your chocolate chip cookie recipe:

True confession. This past February? March? You sent me a box of your chocolate cookies. I happened to be having some friends--all readers--over for brunch Saturday, and I saved all but my sampling tastes for dessert. (I sent you a picture of us holding up our cookies before dunking them.)

I froze the leftovers, acting on the belief that that would slow my cookies consumption. Turns out I LOVE frozen chocolate chip cookies even better than the unfrozen or thawed version. I pulled them right out of the freezer and ate them with a cup of coffee." -- Sue M.

Enter September's Chocolate Chip Cookie Giveaway. If your name is drawn, I'll send you some of my homemade cookies. They are amazing. To enter this month's Chocolate Chip Cookie drawing, click here.

Start writing and enter this year's Write a DearReader contest. Write about your pet peeve, how you wish you would have taken a different path in your life, how having children changes your life. Or write a story about a favorite recipe that's been passed down through generations. Or the spouse you're hoping to meet some day. Whatever topic you choose, start writing. Don't know where to start? Just start typing, even if it's the words "I'm typing, but I don't know what to say," and if you keep going, without stopping, eventually what you really want to write about will appear on the screen. Cash prizes, rules and deadlines, along with last year's winning entries, read all about them here.

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

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

** AUTHORBUZZ **

BEYOND THE MOON (Fiction) by Catherine Taylor

Don't you love novels that pose the question 'What if?' in really unexpected and exciting ways? Me too! Which is what inspired me to write this novel where a strange twist of fate connects a British soldier fighting in WW1 with a young woman living in modern-day England. It's an intelligent and moving time travel love story with a page-turning, history-rich plot, perfect for book clubs.

Go to AUTHORBUZZ click on BEYOND THE MOON to read more and to email author Catherine Taylor, you'll get a reply.

This month's Penguin Classics book is PENGUIN BOOK OF MIGRATION IN LITERATURE: DEPARTURES, ARRIVALS, GENERATIONS, RETURNS, edited by Dohra Ahmad. I have a copy of the book to share with a lucky reader, so start reading today and enter for your chance to win.

Dear Reader Column 09-13-19

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

It's a favorite recipe of mine. "Shredded Barbecued Beef." There are a couple of pre-prep steps in the recipe, so I usually make it when I'm doing the laundry (which in my house, means I'm near the stove, or you could make it while you're working on your entry for this year's 15th Annual Write a DearReader Contest--see entry info at the end of today's recipe). No doubt about it, the barbecued beef is worth the little extra attention, because once it's finished you've got ready-made sandwiches for the entire week.

SHREDDED BARBECUED BEEF

1 boneless beef chuck roast (about 4 pounds)
3 T cooking oil, divided
2 large onions, chopped
1 c ketchup
1 c beef broth
2/3 c chili sauce
1/4 c cider vinegar
1/4 c packed brown sugar
3 T Worcestershire sauce
2 T prepared mustard
2 T molasses
2 T lemon juice
1 tsp salt
1/4 tsp cayenne pepper
1/8 tsp pepper
1 T liquid smoke, optional

In a Dutch oven, brown roast on all sides in 1 tablespoon oil.Meanwhile, in a large saucepan, saute onions in remaining oil until tender. Add remaining ingredients, bring to boil. Reduce heat; simmer, uncovered for 15 minutes, stirring occasionally. Pour over roast.

Cover and bake at 325 degrees for 2 hours; turn the roast and bake for 2 more hours or until meat is very tender. Remove roast; shred with a fork and return to sauce. Yield: 12-16 servings.

* Looking for a topic to write about for this year's annual Write a DearReader Contest? Let me tell you about the time my husband and I were on vacation in the mountains and a huge, I mean gigantic, bear was on the back deck of our cabin, looking through the flimsy, kitchen screen door...(the rest of the story another time). Think about something that happened to you on vacation, in the grocery store, at the movie theatre, there are ideas all around you. Write down the first line of your story, and before you know it you'll have finished your entry. You don't need to be a writer. Just have fun with it. To read last year's entries, and information about the rules, cash prizes and deadline, click here.

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

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

This month's Penguin Classics book is PENGUIN BOOK OF MIGRATION IN LITERATURE: DEPARTURES, ARRIVALS, GENERATIONS, RETURNS, edited by Dohra Ahmad. I have a copy of the book to share with a lucky reader, so start reading today and enter for your chance to win.

Dear Reader Column 09-12-19

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

Kerrigan Byrne, this week's guest author, has done many things to pay the bills, from law enforcement to a belly dance instructor. Now she's finally able to have the career she'd decided upon at thirteen, when she announced to her very skeptical family that she was going to grow up to be a romance novelist. Whether Kerrigan is writing about Celtic Druids, Victorian bad boys, or brash Irish FBI Agents, she uses her borderline-obsessive passion for history, her extensive Celtic ancestry, and her love of Shakespeare in almost every story.

Kerrigan lives in a little Victorian coast town, on the Olympic Peninsula in Washington State, with her husband. When she's not writing you can find her sailing, beach combing, kayaking, visiting wineries, breweries, and restaurants with friends, and hiking--okay--wandering aimlessly clenching bear spray in the mountains.

Contact Kerrigan

Fierce Female Friendships

"I get along better with men." It's a mantra I hear from so many. It's one I've used myself. So often. Men are so simple, we say. Women are complicated. Men are more honest. Women can be devious and manipulative. Men will tell you when you messed up, fight about it, and then go for a pint. Women hold grudges. They are critical, judgmental, passive-aggressive, and competitive. And now I wonder--have we, as women, been buying into the stereotypes we are so desperately trying to avoid? What if having few female friendships isn't something to boast about, but something to fix? Does having a majority of male friends or masculine traits truly imply that you are lower maintenance, more down-to-earth, or somehow more exceptional than other women?

Perhaps I'm being a bit anecdotal rather than empirical, but hear me out. If there are so many of us who "get along better with men," perhaps we need to start to claim whatever traits we are ascribing to the masculine. Perhaps, you (or I) have been associating not with the wrong women, but the wrong people.

I'm starting to realize I need to stop dividing people into groups of me/us, and them. There are many levels of this, political, racial, national, socioeconomical, et al. But I'm addressing chiefly women about women for the sake of this moment, and because I've chosen this as a theme for my recent novels. I'm talking about building fierce female friendships. About leaning on females who have wonderful human traits. Traits that shouldn't merely belong to women, but that might come more naturally to them.

I am also doing my best to not ascribe negativity to historically assigned female behaviors. For example, perhaps the woman on the phone who is sobbing and heartbroken isn't being melodramatic, she's processing her emotions out loud. Something our apathetic society could use a little more of. I think the time of dubbing women as hysterical or petty is antiquated. That isn't to say that there are not women with toxic personalities, ones who do embody the stereotypical negative flaws--and maintaining relationships with said women is not advisable. However, I wonder if, in this world of rapidly shifting and increasingly fluid gender identities, roles, and relations, we shouldn't try to do what we can to understand the female perspective rather than vilify it. And beyond that, perhaps we should seek out the kinship, the soul-edifying, unparalleled comradery that exists in the affection of women--because if you don't have female friends, you are certainly missing out on one of the greatest joys life has to offer.

--Kerrigan Byrne

Say hi to Kerrigan

* You could be featured as a guest writer in my column, if your entry in this year's Write a DearReader is chosen as a winner or receives honorable mention. Cash prizes, rules and deadlines, along with last year's winning entries, read about everything here

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

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

AUTHORBUZZ: With so many new books out every week, we promise this title deserves your attention:

(Fiction) ENCHANTED by Lexi Blake

Go to: http://authorbuzz.com/dearreader

This month's Penguin Classics book is PENGUIN BOOK OF MIGRATION IN LITERATURE: DEPARTURES, ARRIVALS, GENERATIONS, RETURNS, edited by Dohra Ahmad. I have a copy of the book to share with a lucky reader, so start reading today and enter for your chance to win.

Dear Reader Column 09-11-19

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

If you're looking for a topic for the 15th Annual Write a DearReader Contest, maybe you could write about your grandfather, here's what I wrote about mine...

One of the highlights of summer when I was a kid, was spending time at my grandparent's home. Grandpa Hale was up early every morning, because he delivered gas to the county repair road crews. His delivery route started at 6:00 a.m., and I was thrilled whenever he'd ask me to ride along.

Grandpa Hale was a quiet guy, I guess my grandma said enough for the both of them, but he had a lot of interesting talents and ideas about life. He didn't talk about his views, or his personal take on things too often. The old saying, "Actions speak louder than words" described my grandpa to a tee.

Every afternoon when Grandpa got home he'd sit in his dark green recliner. The recliner had a pull down light above it with a long cord, and kind of like doodling, I'd pull it up and down when I was sitting in his chair watching TV. He always told me not to play with the cord, "It might break!" but of course I didn't listen and one day I broke it.

Howdy Doody was Grandpa's favorite TV show and every afternoon he got home from work, just in time to tune in. Howdy-Doody a kid's cartoon program, the host, Howdy Doody, entertained kids with tricks and jokes, and in-between his on-air shenanigans there were cartoons. Grandpa LOVED cartoons! Now when you're a kid and it's apparent your grandfather likes cartoons, in fact, he may just be more serious about them than you are, it does cause you to pause and reflect. But once the show started I'd forget all about such nonsense thinking, and we'd just enjoy each other's company.

Grandpa Hale was also a caretaker of the city squirrels that lived in his neighborhood. He built tree platforms for the squirrels, keeping them stocked with dried corn throughout the year. Thinking about it now, I suspect he felt it completed some natural cycle of life, because he was a hunter of squirrels in the wild, too.

What a nice trip down memory lane this morning. I hope you enjoyed my story and have yourself a "Howdy-Doody" Wednesday. If you haven't entered this year's Write a DearReader Contest--come on--I'm waiting to read your entry. It's a writing contest for fun. No need to call yourself a writer. Everyone has a story to tell, a memory, a hope, a dream that came true. Tell me yours. If your entry is chosen as a First, Second, or Third Place winner, I will donate a 50% matching gift to your local library in your honor. For all the info about the contest, including the cash prizes, click here.

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

Kind regards,

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

Dear Reader Column 09-10-19

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

Every other month I feature a Penguin Classics. I love sampling the Classic because it gives me the chance to read a book I may have missed. I have a copy of this month's Penguin Classics book up for grabs for one lucky reader, so be sure to enter the drawing and sample this month's title: Penguin Book Of Migration Literature: Departures, Arrivals, Generations, Returns, edited and introduced by Dohra Ahmad. Start reading today and enter to win, click here.

To inspire you to enter this year's 15th Annual Write a DearReader Contest, I'm taking a look at Karen Friez's winning column from 2012...

32 Princess Street (Watch Out For Pink Dragons)

The doctor is in her office, which is a relief. You see, my giraffe's spots have turned into stripes. As a responsible pet owner, I am deeply concerned about this turn of events. So I have loaded my giraffe onto my imaginary school bus and driven to 5 year old Dr. Emily's office at 32 Princess Street, heeding her warning to watch out for pink dragons ambling across the road. As the young doctor studiously examines my giraffe, she informs me the problem is my pet food. It is turning my giraffe's spots into stripes. She doles out the proper food and medication and then disappears back into her office at the top of the playground's jungle gym. As the sun begins to set on the park, the veterinarian's office closes for the night and we begin our trek home, stopping for an imaginary dinner of grass soup with acorn bread.

Actor John Leguizamo once said that, in parenting, "the days are long and the years are short." This is the best description of parenting I've heard. As my daughter grew, she stopped visiting 32 Princess Street, her imagination captured by other things. I have traveled through each stage with her, from tea parties to Barbies to sleepovers, feeling both proud of her budding independence and sad for the things left behind.

As we go with our children minute by minute, hour by hour, sometimes we are too close to see the growth that is taking place, a lesson that was brought home to me by two photographs of my daughter taken at the same location one year apart. The physical differences in my daughter in just one year are striking. In the first photo, she is still a child, running away from the ocean's waves. But, in the second photo, she has developed into a young woman, standing her ground and greeting the water with open arms. I wonder, as I look at these photos, why I hadn't noticed the changes in her.

And I know there will be many more changes to come. There are still many firsts on the horizon, like her first boyfriend, who may also be become her first love, her first kiss and her first broken heart. From her first car to her first child, there are many milestones still to come in her life. As her mother I want everything to go smoothly, but I know that there will always be those pesky pink dragons (otherwise known as problems) trying to block her path in life. Sometimes those dragons will just be a small nuisance, but other times they will seem immovable. I hope, through it all, she learns that the power to overcome the dragons is within herself.

And so, for now, the office at 32 Princess Street is closed, relegated to the realm of childhood memories. But there are still many more memories to make in the years ahead. And perhaps, one day, she will have a daughter of her own, and they will return to 32 Princess Street and the land of the pink dragons.

You could be this year's winner, but you have to enter to win. Cash prizes, rules and deadlines, and last year's winning entries, read all about it here.

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

I'm looking forward to reading your entry,

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

Dear Reader Column 09-09-19

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

Dear Reader,

When the writer cries, the reader cries. It's been over 11 years since I wrote this column, but when I read it now, I still have to fight back the tears. If you have a moment that changed your life, it might make the perfect topic for you to write about for this year's Write a DearReader Contest. All the info you need is here.

My mother told me the day before she died that what was really important in life, was love. It was a strange sentiment to hear her convey, because my mother had a hard time showing her love. But somehow at the end, she must have gotten a glimpse of what I saw and felt the other night.

It's four in the morning. Paul, my grandson, is in All Children's Hospital and I'm spending the night with him. There are four cribs in the room, each one has a baby in it and there's a mom, dad, or grandparent like me, sitting in the chair beside it. I've never been comfortable sharing a room with anyone, but this evening, even though we're all strangers, instantly there's a bond. Each one of us is hoping to hear good news when the doctors make their rounds in the morning. Each one of us is hoping nothing bad happens during the night.

There's a curtain in-between each baby's crib, but there's really no privacy. You can't help but overhear. Across the room, a husky man is leaning over a crib whispering to his four month old daughter, "Don't worry honey, Daddy will always take care of you." And then he rings for the nurse, because Daddy's trying to figure out how to safely give his baby girl a hug. She just had a tumor removed from her brain and he doesn't want to hurt her.

It's hard 'not' to hear, and it's even harder to hold back the tears. A doctor is trying to help the mother next to me understand why her newborn baby's brain didn't develop like it should, and so her daughter will need a lot of special assistance when she's growing up. Then a nurse wheels the baby's crib out of the room, they need to do more tests. And the mother is left alone. I hear her crying.

Across the room from my grandson a mother is trying to sleep in the reclining chair next to her baby's crib. She brought her baby here from Michigan, because the doctors at the hospital where she lives kept telling her nothing was wrong. But she knew something wasn't right. And now she's been told that her new baby boy can't hear or see, and won't be able to do much of anything except "be." But simply "being" is plenty for this mother to love. She's hoping to be able to take her son home in a few days, so his brothers and sisters can get to know him.

My grandson is finally asleep and I lay him back in his crib. I'm tired. The days and nights are long in the hospital. But tonight I'm at ease. The doctor says in a couple more days we'll be taking home a healthy boy. I felt a little guilty hearing such good news.

I've always thought my job, my purpose here on earth, certainly must be something more dramatic than simply loving and taking care of the people around me. So I've strived to be clever, artistic, and talented in business. But as I sit here at four in the morning, looking around the room and looking at my grandson, I realize I've been looking at life all wrong. It's not complicated, there's nothing to prove. My mother was right. It's really very simple.
What's really important is love.

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

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

***** AUTHORBUZZ *****

ENCHANTED (Fiction) by Lexi Blake

When Sarah and Jared first showed up in From Sanctum with Love, sparks flew off the page and I knew I would be writing their story one day. This book is about second chances and how fairy tale endings don't always have to be perfect. It's about family, friends and second chances. I hope you join me for ENCHANTED.

Go to: AUTHORBUZZ click on ENCHANTED to read more and to email author Lexi Blake, you'll get a reply.

Dear Reader Column 09-06-19

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

Dear Reader,

Be sure to enter this year's 15th Annual Write a DearReader Contest.

If your first thought is, 'I'm not a writer.' Don't give it a second thought, because I started the writing contest 15 years ago, for someone exactly like you. Everyone has at least a 650 word story inside of them (the maximum number of words allowed in an entry), and I'd love to read yours.

The Write a DearReader contest is all about writing for fun and you're allowed to collaborate with a friend, or spouse. Two people can work together on an entry. If your entry is chosen as a First Place ($200 cash prize), Second Place ($100), or Third Place ($50) winner, I will donate a 50% matching gift to your local library in your honor.

So get busy writing. Write about your grandmother's favorite recipe, write about the thing that's been stopping you from following your life's dream, tell me about your favorite or most obnoxious neighbor. What was it like to be an only child, maybe your parents have passed away and you feel like an orphan now? Write down the conversation you'd have with your cat or dog if they could talk. Tell me about a perfect first date, or one that made you run the other way. Write about your favorite aunt, a bizarre and whimsical woman who vacuums her living room in the buff. Write about unusual words like poppysmic. When does your passion shine? When do you pull up the covers and hide-out from fear? Serious, funny, embarrassing situations, thoughts about life, the topics are endless.

Does the thought of writing something that people will read give you the willies? Perfect. There's your topic--write about your fear of writing. But start writing about something, because it's time to enter my 15th Annual Write a DearReader Contest.

To review the guidelines and to read last year's winning entries, go here.

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

Start writing and have fun,

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

Dear Reader Column 09-05-19

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

To inspire you to enter this year's 15th Annual Write a DearReader Contest, I'm taking a look at Liz Rolland's winning column from 2011...

When my daughter, Hannah, was born she didn't cry. Not a peep. We looked into her deep blue eyes and knew right away that she was an old soul. She seemed to be looking out on her world with innate patience. As a toddler, she would sit quietly by my side for long stretches, "reading" her books to her babydoll.

Just before Hannah turned three, a new child joined our preschool playgroup. Fiona was also three years old, with strawberry blond curls and Down Syndrome. We met often at the playground or each others' homes, occasionally taking a day trip together. For Hannah's birthday, Fiona's mom gave her a book called, "Where's Chimpy?" by Berniece Rabe. In this story, a little girl with Down Syndrome searches for a lost toy. Misty, the girl in the story, bore an uncanny resemblance to Fiona.

The book quickly became Hannah's favorite, as she loved to watch the search for the missing stuffed animal unfold as the father recreated each step of the young child's day. The book ended with a short description and explanation of Down Syndrome.

Although we had never discussed this in relation to Hannah's new friend, one day I mentioned the connection.

"No," Hannah said, simply. "Fiona doesn't have that."

"Yes," I replied, gently. "Fiona is just like Misty. She has Down Syndrome."

Hannah just shook her head again. In all the months that we had played together with Fiona, Hannah had never noticed how Fiona was different. How she didn't speak in words and sentences, how she still sat in a high chair with a bib to eat her lunch, how her mother still had to help her perform many simple tasks.

"No," Hannah explained to me patiently, "Fiona is my friend."

And then I understood. In Hannah's eyes, they were both two little girls who loved to eat cupcakes with pink frosting, dance the hokey-pokey, dig in the sand, and splash water with their feet in the baby pool. Hannah automatically accepted Fiona just as she was and never questioned the minor differences which had absolutely no effect on their friendship.

Later on, I realized that Hannah had never noticed or questioned why certain people we met had different skin colors, or ways of dressing, or body shapes or sizes. I could pretend that her special way of seeing had to do with the way her father and I had raised her. Possibly this was due to our extreme tolerance and acceptance of diversity? But no, we eventually had another daughter who noticed all this and much more, questioning everything as soon as she had the words to express herself.

I can't say why Hannah began life with such a sense of openness. She will turn eighteen this year and head off to college, a fairly typical teenager, probably about as judgmental as the next. But I like to believe that the unique toddler with the old soul is still in there. I hope that when she heads out into the world on her own, she will be carrying with her that generous spirit of acceptance. If I can dig up that old picture book, I may just pack it in her duffel bag as a reminder...

You could be this year's Write a DearReader contest winner, but you have to enter to win. Fiction and nonfiction entries accepted. Cash prizes, rules and deadlines, and last year's winning entries, read all about it here.

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

I'm anxious to read your entry,

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

AUTHORBUZZ: With so many new books out every week, we promise this title deserves your attention:

(Fiction)
THE WORDS BETWEEN US by Erin Bartels

Go to: http://authorbuzz.com/dearreader

Dear Reader Column 09-04-19

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

Dear Reader,

To inspire you to enter this year's 15th Annual Write a DearReader Contest, I'm sharing Herman Martin's winning column from 2017, which is a good reminder that you can write a fiction or nonfiction entry.

I was getting ready to do the laundry and I had an enormous thought. I am disappearing. Not disappearing in the usual sense. Not the science fiction movie you can't see me anymore sense. Just disappearing.

I looked at my clothes. My socks are wearing out. It seems that a day doesn't go by that I have to throw one away. One gets holes, to the trash it goes. Same for my underwear. I looked in my closet and I don't have as many shirts as I used to have. I used to have a job where I always wore a dress shirt and tie. Now I am not working and I no longer need them.

I once had 50-60 ties. Some were even designed for the holidays. Some had Santa and his reindeer, some had green four leaf clovers for Saint Patrick's day. I no longer work that job, so I don't need the ties anymore. Some went to a charity shop, some in the garbage.

My closet now has more t-shirts than dress shirts. The ones I could no longer wear went away. Same for my trousers. I could not wear them so out they went. I once had 2-3 pairs of sneakers and a pair of boots and five pairs of dress shoes. Now one pair of dress shoes and two pairs of sneakers. I look at them and see that they are not going to last much longer.

I only keep the one pair of dress shoes, so I can look decent at a family funeral. I have been to a lot of those. I have lost both sets of grandparents, then my father, then my mother. I lost my oldest sister this year. My mother used to call me at least once a week with the name of someone in our family who had died. Now she is gone so no more phone calls, but there are still funerals.

I have worked all my life. I have had many types of jobs in every field. Whenever I lost one I was always able to get another one in a short time. This time I have not been so lucky. I have been unemployed for a year and I am still looking. I have sent out resumes, filled out applications, and even been to a couple of interviews. I thought that the interviews went well, but no offers and no phone calls to return.

I am slowly fading away. Even when I go out to the grocery store or just to take a walk, no one notices me. There are no service people coming up to me and asking if they could help. There are no offers of parking my car or giving me a cart to use in the store. If I want something, I must find it myself. If I want something done, then I alone must do it. Even when I walk through the store aisles, I feel as if I could walk through the crowd. I mean, literally, walk through.

I have become a non-entity, a non-person. I do not exist in anyone's life.

I look at my laundry and think about the day when I throw that last sock away. Will I completely disappear? Will I be like a ghostly spirit, walking but not being seen? Will cars pass through me when I cross the street? Will people look through me and not at me? Will I continue to be ignored when I ask a question?

I have two more pairs of socks left. I see one of them is starting to wear through.

It won't be long now.

You could be this year's winner, but you have to enter to win. Cash prizes, rules and deadlines, and last year's winning entries, read all about it here. 

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

I'm looking forward to reading your entry,

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

 

Dear Reader Column 09-03-19

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

Dear Reader,

Get busy and start writing. You can enter the Annual Write a DearReader Contest. All of the info, including past winning entries are here. 

Today I'm featuring guest author, Joanna Davidson Politano. Joanna writes historical novels of mystery and romance set in Dickens' Victorian England. She loves tales that capture the colorful, exquisite details in ordinary lives and is eager to hear anyone's story. She lives with her husband and their two babies in a house in the woods near Lake Michigan and you can find her at jdpolitano15@gmail.com

Her latest release, Finding Lady Enderly, is a very Prince and the Pauper story with a unique, classic-literature-themed romance. It features rag vendor Raina Bretton whose new position is a dream--but some dreams turn out to be nightmares.

Welcome to the book club Joanna...

Ask my adorable five year old daughter if she wants to be an author like her mom one day, and you'll get this pert response--"I already am an author. I wrote six books." Every book event, I take this companion who's half my size, but twice my pluck and enthusiasm. She sells more of my books than anyone I know by sheer charm.

She'd make a killing in marketing.

I have no idea why I thought it was a good idea to launch a publishing career and a family at the same time, but here we are, intertwining both. Babies one and two began their lives as books one and two released, and between naptimes and a few late nights, it has somehow worked out. My oldest, who is my freckle-faced twin in every way, comes to most book events with me and tries to do everything I do--in her own way.

I'll always remember when she wrote her first book at age four. She had begged me to take her along when I sold books at a convention, but I was facing a nine hour day. What four year old wants to sit at a booth that long?

Mine, apparently.

One notebook, a few pens, and a page of stickers kept her utterly content. That, and a lot of amused attention from customers. As she perched in her little folding chair, filling notebooks with random letters and illustrating with stickers, she had everyone's attention--and their heart. "I'd like to buy your book," a few unsuspecting ladies said to the young authoress.

"Of course! That'll be $50, and I'm keeping the book."

I love that two of the most important parts of my life are so enmeshed. We all write silly stories together, going back and forth creating the plot with a lot of hilarity, and my daughter and I keep each other company at book events. Looking over my days, I can't say I regret jamming two big and precious things into my life at once. I think I had this idea somewhere along the line that the books I wrote would be a legacy to leave these kids, a little bit of my heart and maybe some wisdom to pass along to them--something that would echo in their hearts after I was long gone. But as I watch my daughter create these fantastical bedtime stories, as I see her brilliant and wild imagination in her everyday play, I realize I haven't been giving her a bunch of stories I made up--I merely taught her how to create her own.

-- Joanna Davidson Politano
Email Joanna and welcome her to the book club: jdpolitano15@gmail.com

* I hope you enjoyed reading today's guest column. If your entry in this year's Write a DearReader is chosen as a winner or receives honorable mention, it will be featured as a guest column. Cash prizes, rules and deadlines, along with last year's winning entries, read all about them here.

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

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com