Dear Reader

Dear Reader Column 12-17-2020

Dear Reader,

The quality of writing in this year's Write a DearReader Contest was outstanding. Today's Honorable Mention piece was written by Nancy Bader. Thank you very much Nancy, for sharing your story with us.

Cheap Is as Cheap Does

Floridians don't need a clock to tell time. If the summer skies open up with a sudden deluge so intense you half-expect to see drenched cats and dogs falling from the sky, you know it's 3:00 pm.

Only, in our family, we didn't call them "deluges." We called them "Jaslow Carwashes," an eponymous designation in honor of my Dad. I won't say that Dad was thrifty or a penny-pincher. No, he was downright cheap. In the more than 60 years that he owned cars, he never went to a commercial carwash, and he never soaped up his car himself. But, if we were in the middle of a conversation at his house and it started raining hard enough, he'd get up, without bothering to excuse himself, open the garage door and back his car out onto the driveway to let Mother Nature clean off the car's surface dirt. If the rain kept up long enough, he'd back my mother's car out, too.

It didn't matter what we were talking about--life, death or taxes, world-altering news or neighborhood gossip--or whether he'd "washed" the car the day before. Any heavy rain warranted a Jaslow Carwash. When I lived in Florida, near my folks, the local newspaper columnist ran a contest to find the cheapest reader. He reasoned that, in a state where the Unofficial State Bird was the "Early Bird (dinner)," there must be some real cheapskates out there. He wanted to find the worst--or the best, depending on how you looked at it. There wouldn't be any prizes. Prizes would defeat the whole idea of being cheap. But you would earn bragging rights.

I told the family I was going to write about "the Jaslow Carwash." Everyone said it was a great idea, except Dad, who couldn't fathom why we thought it implied he was cheap. He maintained that he was just taking advantage of an opportunity.

I submitted my entry, certain that Dad would be named the Cheapest of the Cheap. After all, the story had been circulated so often and so widely that not only did relatives and neighbors talk about going for a Jaslow Carwash, so did friends who had heard the story but had never even met my father.

Alas, victory was not to be. I came in second.

First place went to a couple who, each year on their anniversary, would go to a local Hallmark card store. They'd split up and go to different anniversary card aisles and peruse the offerings until they found a card they thought their mate would like. They would show the cards to each other, kiss, replace the cards on the rack and go home.

They may have earned the right to call themselves Florida's Cheapest Couple, but I bet they pay to get their cars washed.

Nancy Bader
Honorable Mention, 2020 Write a DearReader Contest

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

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

(Fiction) THE DEAD HEAT OF SUMMER by Heather Graham

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

Dear Reader Column 12-16-2020

Dear Reader,

The quality of writing in this year's Write a DearReader Contest was outstanding. Today's Honorable Mention piece was written by Sheila Painter. Thank you Shelia for sharing your story with us.

I'm a city girl trapped in a country life.

Well, not trapped, exactly. You see, my husband grew up in an old farmhouse 2 1/2 hours south of us in northwest Ohio. Farm life is in his blood. The property has been in the family almost 80 years. After his mom died and his brother moved out, the siblings rented out the house and found a local man to farm part of the sixteen acres. When the renter moved out, my husband hoped to move us in. He knew I wouldn't leave my suburban life: my modern home, nearby malls, theaters, and social groups. So, he carefully broached the subject: what if he fixed up the 130-year-old house with all the modern amenities? Would I consider going down there for a week or so every month?

How could I say no? I reluctantly agreed. True to his word, he made the old homestead palatable for me. As a quilter, I needed a duplicate sewing studio, so we set up a fully equipped one in the dining room. We made the trek back and forth, bringing food in coolers, household items, my sewing projects by the dozen. It became a monthly regular routine, but I still didn't like being in the middle of nowhere. We had to drive thirty minutes to stores, restaurants and activities. The local library was inexplicably closed on Thursdays.

We had our country home activities: he killed frequent bugs and chased out random critters, I sewed my quilts. He puttered in the barns, fixing things. I sewed more quilts. He happily mowed the acre of lawn, I worked jigsaw puzzles and read books. But I was always glad to return to my 'real life' of exercise classes, quilt guild meetings and live theater performances.

And then something shifted. My husband offered to give me a tour of our property. It had been years since I had seen it all, and I had never been in our woods. He hooked up a rustic trailer to his garden tractor, placed a sturdy blanket-padded toolbox seat upon it, and I clung to the cart sides for dear life as we bumped across the 'back forty.'

Over unmarked burial sites of long-gone farm animals, through spongy grass near the old leaking pond, past the once-electrified fence, we surveyed it all. Our tour went on for a long time, and I craned my neck this way and that as my husband proudly pointed out things of interest, shouting to be heard above the rumbling tractor motor. He indicated where an aging tree recently toppled and it had taken him hours to cut up and remove it. He showed me how he had spent over two years of visits to clear a path in the woods and collect long-abandoned rusty metal for recycling. We rumbled past the tree deep in the woods where, with our permission, a neighbor sets up his hunting blind every deer season.

The farm no longer keeps animals. Now the sheep/horse barn is storage and a refuge for wild animals seeking shelter, and he explained the repairs he had made. We examined the old fruit trees on the back lawn, once so stately and bursting with peaches, apples and pears, but now aging out, sparse, dying. The grapevines near the garage no longer yield much fruit either. We saw that the local farmer who rents the crop area had recently cut hay, so it sat awaiting baling. Along with its earthy aroma, birds sang their songs, distant cicadas droned, and the sun warmed our faces. Our senses feasted on the delights of the countryside.

This is our little corner of the heartland where my husband was raised. It's his happy place, and this city girl goes along, because I love him.

Sheila Painter
Honorable Mention, 2020 Write a DearReader Contest

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

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

Dear Reader Column 12-15-2020

Dear Reader,

Please welcome today's guest author Stephen Mitchell.

About the Author: Stephen was born in Brooklyn in 1943, educated at Amherst, the Sorbonne and Yale, and de-educated through intensive Zen practice. He is married to Byron Katie.

Stephen Mitchell says his gift is to breathe new life into ancient classics. In The Way of Forgiveness, he offers us his riveting novelistic version of the Biblical tale in which Jacob's favorite son is sold into slavery and eventually becomes viceroy of Egypt. Tolstoy called it the most beautiful story in the world. What's new here is the lyrical, witty, vivid prose, informed by a wisdom that brings fresh insight to this foundational legend of betrayal and all-embracing forgiveness.

Please say hello and Happy Holidays to Stephen. Your email will be forwarded to him via his publisher.

Enter today's book giveaway. Stephen has 5 copies of his book, The Way of Forgiveness to give away to 5 lucky readers.

Welcome Stephen Mitchell...

The Swordmanship Exhibition

When I was a young, ardent Zen student, sent out to begin the Cambridge Zen Center, my teacher billeted on us a master of Zen swordsmanship. Two friends of mine set up an introductory exhibition for him at MIT, hired a large hall, and plastered Cambridge with posters.

Sunday comes around: the big day. The exhibition is set for noon. Its climax will be an amazing feat by the sword master: a student will lie supine on the floor with an apple on his bare stomach; a hundred yards away, the sword master, blindfolded, will run toward the student, roll across the floor in a few sword-flashing somersaults, bring the blade slashing down, slice the apple in two, halt the sword a millimeter before its edge touches the student's flesh, turn around, take off his blindfold, and bow to the audience, now in a frenzy of relief and admiration.

At ten o'clock someone discovers that a crucial element is missing: there's no apple in the house. Panic. Pandemonium. The sword master is yelling bloody murder. Zen students rush through the house like chickens at the shadow of a hawk. Furthermore, it's Sunday and the markets are closed. I, calm and confident, take control of the situation. I will drive to Somerville, where there's a fruit and vegetable stand that's open on Sunday. I don't have a car, so my house-mate Kevin lends me his.

As I drive, I am totally focused on my mission. I think only Apple, apple.

Uh-oh, a police siren. Is it me they're after? Why? The courteous policeman tells me I've been driving 30 mph in a 25-mph zone. He asks me for my registration. I open the glove compartment. There, right up front, sits a plastic bag of marijuana. The policeman asks me to take it out and give it to him. He sniffs it and looks at me as if he were a cartoon cat and I a cartoon mouse whose tail is caught under his paw. "Is this yours?" he says. I nod. I don't want to get Kevin in trouble.

The policeman hauls me off to jail. I am allowed one call. I call the Zen Center, explain where I am and why, and tell them to get someone else over to the fruit stand, pronto, bring an apple back to the sword master, then please come bail me out.

The exhibition takes place, complete with apple, to great enthusiasm.

Six months later, my record is purged with hyssop and washed whiter than snow.

-- Stephen Mitchell

Stephen has 5 copies of his book, The Way of Forgiveness to give away to 5 lucky book club readers, click here to enter.

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

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

Dear Reader Column 12-14-2020

Dear Reader,

Your emails are beautiful holiday notes. Thank you so much for writing to me throughout the year. It's the time of year to exchange gifts and in that spirit, I'm giving away three signed copies of my 2010 book, Muffins and Mayhem: Recipes for a Happy (if Disorderly) Life, to three book club readers.

To enter the drawing, click here.

Reader Emails:

"Hello Suzanne, I want to extend a heartfelt and grateful thank you for your dedication and hard work in sharing thoughts, ideas, feelings, and, of course books, with your readers each weekday. You have a wonderful talent in written expression which is open, realistic, and joyful." -- With thanks for all you do, Gail W.

"Dear Suzanne, what a great column [about hand-writing your holiday cards]. I'm Jewish and I always try to find non-denominational holiday cards, or blank ones, as you did, so that I can write a note. It takes much longer, but I figure it means much more than just signing my husband's and my names to a card.

About 20 years ago, I started doing a holiday letter. My cousin always sent the doom-and-gloom letter--who was sick, who had died and who was about to. When she finally sent one detailing her husband's shingles and her grandson's 'accident' in the community pool during potty-training, I decided to start writing a tongue-in-cheek one. I work on it all year, and it has become so popular that, if I don't send it, people call or email asking why.

Like you, I debated doing cards and my letter this year, but then I decided maybe a little levity was called for. This year's letter is definitely the least funny of all the ones I've done, but a couple of people who have already received it have said it brightened their day. Below is an sample of this year's holiday letter, in hopes that it might bring you a smile or two, too."

(Suzanne replies:) Nancy, your holiday letter made me laugh, so I couldn't resist sharing a bit of it with readers.

An excerpt from reader Nancy B.'s holiday letter:

Dear Friends, Wishing you hopefully Happy Holidays from the Land of Let's-Pretend-This-Year-Never-Happened. So far, it's been like looking both ways before crossing the street, and then getting hit by an airplane. It came as no surprise that Dictionary.com chose 'pandemic' and "Collins English Dictionary" chose 'lockdown' as their respective 2020 Words of the Year. And for a made-up word, consider Coronacoaster (noun): the ups and downs of a pandemic. One day, you're loving your bubble, working out and baking banana bread, and the next you're crying, drinking gin for breakfast and missing people you don't even like...

"Suzanne, your newsletters have been a year-round Christmas present for me, and one for which I am especially grateful this year. I get up at 6:00 to feed the cats and then go online, and you're almost always in my inbox waiting for me. I'm as anxious to read your column as I am to see what book you're promoting each week. Happy holidays, and may the new year bring you all good things--starting with a vaccine." -- Regards, Nancy B.

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

Congratulations to Carol B., Ann B., and Darlene H., the winners of this month's Chocolate Chip Cookie Giveaway.

And congratulations to the winners of The Anne of Green Gables Devotional by guest author Rachel Dodge: Karen C., Kathryn D., Gretchen B.

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

THE DEAD HEAT OF SUMMER (Fiction) by Heather Graham

Casey Nicholson opens a shop in the French Quarter using her understanding of people to read tea leaves and tarot cards. She's not a medium, but while visiting an old cemetery, she is stunned when a ghost appears to her, begging for help. The departed woman is desperate to ensure the safety of her daughter and her sister--both of whom appear to be on a murderer's hit list. But trying to do the right thing brings Casey to odds with the striking Special Agent Ryder McKinley of the Krewe of Hunters--and secures her place on a murder list.

Go to: AUTHORBUZZ click on THE DEAD HEAT OF SUMMER to read more and to email author Heather Graham, you'll get a reply.

Dear Reader Column 12-11-2020

Dear Reader,

The quality and fearlessness of writing in this year's Write a DearReader Contest was outstanding. Today's Honorable Mention piece was written by Barbara Parker. Thank you so much Barbara for sharing your story with us.

You Can Send It Where?

Have you ever wished you could just start over? Did you ever think your life was boring? Same address, same phone number and yes the same old routine for over 2 decades. Yet, be careful what you wish for because you just never know what will happen. For nearly 25 years at the same job, my husband seemed to be in a middle aged slow motion routine. He was unhappily thinking ahead to the next 10 years or so to retirement with the same mindless, yet somewhat comforting job.

In an idle conversation one night, Clarke announced he was applying for a new job. What's that honey? Suddenly, he had my full attention and not just the left ear. He sounded excited for the first time in a very long time, new job possibility, new people and what's that dear...we have to move where??? Clarke was a traditional person, he didn't like change. Yet, he was willing to leave his hometown, childhood friends and his comfortable, yet now boring job for something brand spanking new all in the space of two months time. Oddly enough, I was the clog in this turn of events. Fifteen years ago, I might have been on board with this idea. Now, suddenly I was not on board. Let's just say I had become comfortable in my two decades old boring routine and "liked" things just the way they were. Thank you very much for asking. Despite the two vastly opposing opinions, interviewing occurred, plans were made and the move took place.

At first I thought it was my wifely duty to try and be positive and believe all would work out. Most, if not all family, and friends figured I'd fall in line sooner or later. Clarke even tossed aside that idea that this was only temporary and we could visit as often as I liked.

It was doing one of these visits that I decided that I would rather remain behind. Now the phrase his, mine and ours is very much present in our conversations. Just like thinking of what item is in what location and where does the cat go this month and on and on. By the way you can send this at....wait where do I live again? Sometimes there really is no place like home, again.

Barbara Parker
Honorable Mention, 2020 Write a DearReader Contest

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

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

Dear Reader Column 12-10-2020

Dear Reader,

Today's the last day to enter this month's Chocolate Chip Cookie giveaway. I'd love to bake for you and send some of my delicious holiday cheer your way. Three book club winners will each receive two dozen homemade chocolate chip cookies delivered to their front doors.

To see recent cookie winners and to enter this month's Chocolate Chip Cookie drawing, click here.

The quality and fearlessness of writing in this year's Write a DearReader Contest was outstanding. Today's Honorable Mention piece was written by Judy Simmons. Thank you so much Judy for sharing your story with us.

just.... Alice Corkey

In today's tumultuous times, scary and filled with a fear of what lies ahead, it is comforting to know the great institutions that are always there for us...one of which is the United States Postal Service. And yes, there has been a lot of press regarding this wonderful institution as of late, but here is a story that will warm your heart.

Alice, my mom, was a beautiful young woman living at home with her family in Valley Stream, Long Island. It was during WWII and all young men were off to war. Alice loved all the typical things a woman of her age would love...hats and shoes, singing and dancing and Fire Engine Red lipstick. She worked in New York City and would often stay on in the city for an evening of fun and entertainment. It was the time of the Big Bands which she loved so very much...the wonderful sounds, the dancing and crowds of people.

It was on one of those nights that she met this very nice young man--a soldier home on furlough and visiting New York. They struck up a conversation as she introduced herself as Alice...just...Alice Corkey. "I don't have a middle name, I could never understand why; everyone else in my family has a middle name and I know many who have two. I think my parents just plain forgot or perhaps they thought Alice and Corkey were strong enough to stand on their own"...to which they both laughed.

The night continued in a most pleasant manner, talking, dancing and getting to know each other, where they were from...what they did and future goals. As time flew by, my mom realized that she had to catch the train back to Long Island and the last one was leaving very soon. With a little bit of regret and hesitation, she quickly took her leave in hopes of seeing this young man again. He seemed a bit surprised at her quick departure and had hopes of seeing her again also.

The next day, the "would-a, could-a, should-a" set in and over the next couple of weeks, my mother thought of this young man. She wondered why she didn't offer to write or create a connection somehow...after all writing to a soldier was almost a patriotic duty.

She even went so far as to visit the same place a couple of times in hopes of bumping into him...but it wasn't meant to be.

A month went by and my mom was still thinking of him as she walked to the mailbox to check for mail.... The box was full, the usual bills and advertisements and there poking it's corner out of the stack was what seemed like a letter.

The envelope seemed quite battered and none the worse for wear, but still clear enough to read...

Alice Corkey
Somewhere in Valley Stream, NY

As she ripped open the letter, smiling with anticipation, she saw it was from him...he had found her or should I say the United States Postal Service had. She was overjoyed at getting a letter, having a connection but also at the initiative of this young man and the wonderful government institution that showed such perseverance. Now I know you're wanting me to say... 'And they lived happily ever after...' well, they did...just not with each other. They both found the love of their life in others but they themselves remained friends for many years, and more important, my mom filled a gap in this soldier's life at a much needed time.

My mom had always wanted to personally thank the US Postal Service, don't know if she ever did, so I would like to say thanks for their dedication and tireless service, from myself and many others but especially from Alice...just... Alice Corkey.

Judy Simmons
Honorable Mention, 2020 Write a DearReader Contest

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

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

(Fiction)
SLAY: A Slay Series Novella by Laurelin Paige

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

Dear Reader Column 12-09-2020

Dear Reader,

Home alone for the holidays this year because of COVID? Then be sure to enter this month's Chocolate Chip Cookie giveaway. I'd love to bake for you and send some of my delicious holiday cheer your way. Three book club winners will each receive two dozen homemade chocolate chip cookies delivered to their front doors.

I'm ready to bake, if you're ready to "dunk and munch" my chocolate chip cookies are ready to brighten up your holiday.

To see recent cookie winners and to enter this month's Chocolate Chip Cookie drawing, click here.

Be sure to enter right away because I'll be drawing names tomorrow, so I can get the cookies shipped in time for the holidays.

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

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

Dear Reader Column 12-08-2020

Dear Reader,

Author Nick Oldham has written 27 crime novels in the highly addictive and compelling Henry Christie police procedural crime series. The first novel appeared in 1996 while Nick was still a serving police officer in Lancashire Constabulary, to be followed by a further seven books in the series before he left with the rank of inspector, to become a full-time writer. Nick lives with his wife in Preston, Lancashire.

For much of his police career he worked a lot in Blackpool, and as he says, "Murder was a frequent visitor to Blackpool", so he decided that was where Henry Christie would be stationed. "The resort attracts more than 10 million tourists a year, with a surge in the summer and lull in winter, and is teeming with amusement arcades, cafes, iffy clubs and pubs, three piers and the famous tower, so crime flourishes, including murders. Blackpool is a leading character itself in the books and I believe that real locations give a gritty authenticity."

Bad Timing is the latest novel in the series and pits Christie against a ruthless gunman in a breakneck novel of revenge, justice and organised crime.

Please welcome this week's guest author, Nick Oldham, email [email protected]

This year has been an anniversary of sorts for me in that on September 1st 1975 I became Police Constable 485 in Lancashire Constabulary, so 2020 marks 45 years since becoming a cop (yes, 45 years, I can hardly believe that myself).

I hadn't grown up wanting to be a police officer; it was no long-standing desire. In fact, I didn't really have any life plan at all other than the vague thought that I would like to become a writer one day, something that seemed entirely unachievable even though I was pretty good at English at school.

So at the age of 18 I drifted into working in a bank, for some reason that still eludes me, and spent just under a year travelling on a bus to work in the beautiful town of Clitheroe in the Ribble Valley in Lancashire, England, from my home in the less salubrious Oswaldtwistle, a journey which took the better part of an hour each way. I spent a lot of time looking out of the window, wondering just what the heck I was doing. I had it timed to perfection every day so that I entered the bank just as the town clock was striking nine, just so I would have to spend as little time as possible there, because although the people were lovely, the work was mind-numbingly dull.

During those journeys I often saw police officers on patrol and got to thinking that was more like the job for me: out and about, being your own boss, being challenged, meeting people from all walks of life and maybe doing something worthwhile for the community, as well as having a great time. I took a punt and applied to join Lancashire Constabulary--much to the mortification of my mother who saw me more as a bank manager than a cop--and much to my surprise, after the selection process I was offered a job as a police constable. After initial training I set out as a rookie 19-year-old, in full uniform with a big, pointed helmet, walking the streets of Blackburn, one of the great mill towns of northern England, and began a career spanning 30 years.

I can only say that acting on a whim turned out to be one of the best decisions of my life and also provided a rich vein of experience to draw on as a writer, which goes to show that gut feeling is probably the way to go in most situations.

--Nick Oldham

Drop Nick a line and welcome him to the book club, [email protected]

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

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

Dear Reader Column 12-07-2020

Dear Reader,

Congratulations to Joyce M., the winner of last week's giveaway for the Let it Snow Instant Snow Powder.

I love blueberry muffins. They're a spur of the moment craving for me. I'm hungry, and it's got to be a blueberry muffin, and I've gotta have one right away. Picture it. A warm blueberry muffin, just out of the oven, a cuppa coffee or a big glass of ice water, and I'm relaxing in my lounge chair surrounded by my flower gardens. But with COVID, since I don't go into bakeries, supermarkets or restaurants right now, the only way I'm going to eat a blueberry muffin is to get out the flour, sugar, baking powder, and the blueberries I froze when they were in season.

I should know the recipe by heart. I make blueberry muffins at least once a week. But the older I get, the choosier I get about what I'm going to store away in my brain. Certain facts and figures, the neighbors' names, but not the recipe for muffins. I can easily look it up. Except, now that I'm straining to read the recipe in front of me, it all comes back to me. The last three times I've made muffins, I've cursed the recipe page in the cookbook. The print is so teeny, tiny (the smallest I've ever seen--or rather 'not' seen), and that's the problem. I take off my regular glasses, put on my reading glasses (the eye doctor assures me it's the right prescription), but I don't think so, because eventually I'm leaning over the counter with my nose just about touching the page with the recipe, so I can read enough of it, along with my recall, to make the muffins.

Every time I mix up the muffins, I swear I'm going to type or write the recipe on a card (12 point type), so I don't have to fight trying to read it anymore, but clearly I haven't done it yet. Because here I am, hovering over the measurements--again. Frustrated, I decide to take a break and check the mail.

My husband heard the commotion in the kitchen and when I returned to the counter, there was a magnifying bar sitting on top of the muffin recipe. I know it was put there with love, but nevertheless, this old(er) gal will be typing up the recipe today.

Buttermilk Blueberry Muffins
(makes12 muffins)

2 cups all purpose flour
1 T baking powder
Pinch of salt
1/2 heaping cup sugar
2 eggs
1 generous cup buttermilk
6 T butter, melted and cooled
1 tsp vanilla, overflowing
1 heaping cup blueberries (fresh or frozen is fine, and you can use any type of berries with the recipe)
Powdered sugar for dusting

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Put paper liners in a muffin tin.

Sift together the flour, baking powder and salt in a bowl. Stir in the sugar.

Put eggs in a bowl and beat lightly, then beat in the buttermilk, melted butter and vanilla extract. (I just mix by hand.)

Make a well in the center of the dry ingredients, pour in the beaten liquid ingredients and add the berries. Stir until combined, DO NOT overmix. Fill tins with muffin batter.

Bake for 18-20 minutes, or until well risen, golden brown and firm to the touch. Let cool in the pan for 5 minutes. Put them on a wire rack to cool, or dust with powdered sugar, then eat them warm.

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

Happy baking,

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

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

SLAY: A Slay Series Novella (Fiction) by Laurelin Paige

I wrote Slash in the middle of a global pandemic. Every day the news was full of death and heartbreak. Like many authors, I struggled with finding the motivation to sit down and write through the chaos. Then Camilla spoke to me. Her noisy thoughts and deep wounds mirrored my environment. She became the personification of the sadness and anxiety around me, and she helped me tell the story I most needed to write in the moment. When the world felt fragile and broken and unsure, I needed to believe that fragile and broken and unsure was still beautiful. I found that reassurance in the writing of this book. I hope you find it in the reading.

Go to: AUTHORBUZZ click on SLAY to read more and to email author Laurelin Paige, you'll get a reply.

Dear Reader Column 12-04-2020

Dear Reader,

This is the first year I had second thoughts about sending out Christmas/Hanukkah/New Year's cards in the mail (snail mail). I'm not a fan of email cards. Yet when I was ordering cards this year, part of me thought I should 'get with the times' and use email. But then again, I admire the old fashion girl inside of me. Traditions bring me a lot of joy and keep me grounded. The paper cards friends and family send, they become part of my Christmas decorations. I string them up around a door frame, just like Grandma Hale used to do.

I decided on a box of cards that were blank inside. It was a first for me. Normally the cards I send have a printed sentiment inside, and I add a couple of lines along with my signature. But this year, since the cards were completely blank inside, I'm forced to take the time to write a little "here's what I've been up to" note. Not a "brag-what-every-family-member-did-over-the-year letter" instead, I simply write about what I'm up to at the moment.

"I hope everything is okay at your house. I'm still a happy camper here, even though COVID is keeping me close to home. Actually when I thought about it the other day, I realized my routine isn't that different. I work from home (as I always have), I still have my flower gardens, I'm sewing quilts, turning on my bubble machine out front every day, and every week I'm baking chocolate chip cookies and giving them away. The two men who pick up our trash every Tuesday at 6:55 a.m., I'm waiting at the curb every other week with a bag of my homemade cookies. They're overjoyed, which brings me joy, and even though I'm wearing a nightgown with a housecoat overtop, the one fellow always greets me with, 'There she is that lovely lady. Thank you, thank you!'"

Well, this "lovely lady" better get back to work writing those personal notes in her old fashioned holiday cards. (It's taking me longer than I thought it would, because I'm also being treated to some old fashioned writer's cramp.)

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

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

Looking for great read gifts for your tweens and teens? Check out MILLIONAIRES FOR THE MONTH by Stacy McAnulty where two kids are challenged to spend $5 million dollars in 30 days (will their lives ever be the same?); 7TH GRADE REVOLUTION by Liana Gardner, a "National Treasure" meets "Spy Kids" type adventure; and the six-starred review THE RISE AND FALL OF CHARLES LINDBERGH by Candace Fleming, because if heroes weren't flawed, they'd have nothing to teach us. For a chance to win a free copies, to talk with the authors, and more, see KIDSBUZZ.