Dear Reader

Dear Reader Column - November 16, 2022

Dear Reader,

Congratulations to Victoria Stuppy, this year’s Second Place winner, in my annual Write a Dear Reader Contest. 

Reading Victoria’s story brought me to tears, and reminded me, “When the writer cries, the reader cries.” It’s a lovely piece and yes, I was in tears.

I Will Survive

When my mother was 60 my father left her. She was understandably devastated, heart ripped apart, wondering how she would rebuild her life at this late stage. It’s odd to me now to think about that. I, too, worried about her ‘advanced age’ and her future. I happen to be that age now. Funny how perspective changes. 

I remember many dark days, but I also remember that she got up every morning, went to work and just got through it, all the while rebuilding her finances since my father left her with two mortgages and bill collectors calling day and night. She was angry, scared and worried, most days all three at once, but she would often crank up her stereo and play Gloria Gaynor’s anthemic disco ballad, ‘I Will Survive.’ Sometimes on endless loop until she had danced out every emotion and felt too spent to muster anything else. 

This was a lesson to me at 30, how a resilient woman finds a way to weather life’s storms, a memory that always brought both sadness and joy over the years, but when faced with my own life-changing circumstances this summer, I forgot all about it. 

In June our daughter and her fiancé were involved in a horrible accident while vacationing in Spain, just two days after announcing their engagement. Their reckless and distracted driver flipped the car they were riding in and our beautiful girl, in the prime of her life, became a quadriplegic in a split second. The hours and weeks that followed were the most horrific we have ever known. I could write 10 essays just on those days alone. 

Then only a few weeks later, my beloved Mother, the woman who’d valiantly fought leukemia for 20 months, lost her battle. My sister and I were there at her bedside for her last days. Don’t let them tell you otherwise, there is no way to prepare, there are no days you wish you couldn’t get back, there are no platitudes that can make the physical pain of grief subside. 

But life wasn’t done handing out pain yet. In early August, my mother-in-law, one of the healthiest, strongest women I have known died in her sleep. She’d come down with pneumonia in early April and had never quite recuperated, spending the last months of her life in and out of hospitals and rehab facilities, but it was a shock all the same. We had just returned from my Mother’s memorial in Florida, we hadn’t made it back to California yet. She died alone and there is nothing that will heal that regret and longing. 

When this contest was originally announced, I wrote down some of the idea starters offered. As I look back at it now, I have to smile, one of them was what I did this summer. Does grieving count as an activity? What about screaming into a void? Or ranting at the universe? 

Yet, just as my mother taught me, I get up every morning and face the day. Most days those are the hardest minutes I face, how will I get through today? How will I be there for those that need me when I can barely hold my heart together? How do I suit up for the day when the armor I usually wear no longer protects me? 

And then I sat in front of a blank page today because Suzanne gave us another chance and damn it, isn’t that the universe saying write something down? Anything. And the memory of my mother dancing to that song came rushing back and reminded me that this is survivable. I will not be overcome by this tsunami of sadness and our family will put the pieces back together. 

One day. 

I’m not ready to dance just yet, but I will survive. My mother taught me that.

– Victoria Stuppy, Second  Place, 2022 Write a DearReader Contest

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

* This month's Penguin Classics is Metamorphosis by Ovid, a sensuous and witty poem in an accessible translation by David Raeburn. I have a copy of the book to share with a lucky reader, so start reading and enter for your chance to win.

Dear Reader Column - November 15, 2022

Dear Reader,

Congratulations to book club reader, Alice Sarnowski, this year’s 3rd Place Winner, in my annual Write a DearReader Contest. 

Alice has entered the Write a DearReader contest before, and last year her entry was awarded an Honorable Mention.  In this year's winning entry, “Bestie” Alice shares a magical moment with her best friend… 

Violets Be Blue

Best friends–I pride myself on being a good friend. I met my best friend Jody in primary school. We bonded by height as the tallest girls in our class. Our teachers organized a buddy system for class outings to keep track of us and my height buddy became my companion for all of my life's highs and lows.

Height was not all we shared. We loved animals and dolls and sports and our favorite color was blue. We dressed in the same styles and pretended to be twins and spent all our time together.

The best part of spending time at Jody's house was the amount of time her parents spent with us. As an only child Jody was the satellite that her parents rotated around. All the trips were planned around her interests and as I was her best friend I was treated as a treasure and was quickly absorbed into the fibers of their life, accompanying the family on all their family events.

With all these privileges one would assume we would be pampered but we remained balanced and loving companions. Jody's father was an administrator of a nursing care facility and we gladly spent a lot of our free time helping and assisting the residents with parties and song fests and reading poetry. We had alternate personalities to help the dementia patients remember us. Jody dressed in red and called herself Rose and I dressed in blue and called myself Violet.

Wonderful years passed and my best friend and I remained close during college, careers and marriages. We lived in the same town, attended the same church and volunteered at a local shelter. And then our world was shaken when Jody's mother died in a car accident. The death of our mentor and guide was devastating to us.

As a way to distract us we planned a birthday party at a park for Jody's daughter's sixth birthday. It was a marvelous day with much fun and laughter. As the children were playing Jody and I packed up all the presents and cleaned up the carnage that comes from serving a lunch for 20.

We were pleasantly surprised to hear birdsong from a cardinal. Jody's mother loved cardinals and her house was peppered with this bird on towels and cards and pictures. It was comforting to think that somehow her mother was sending us a  message through nature that she was still watching over us.

What we saw next caught us by surprise. On one of the picnic tables sat a cardinal with a single red rose and a sprig of violet in its beak. Both Jody and I had tears in our eyes and held hands in shock. It had been years since we had gone by Violet and Rose in our young years of galloping through the halls of a nursing home bringing joy and laughter to the elderly.

What Jody didn't know until that day was that I had been struggling with making a career move that involved a big monetary challenge to my savings and lifestyle. With this one vision it became clear to me that I should go forward with my plans to start my own small business named Violets Be Blue, all because of a loving woman  who enveloped me into her family and inspired me to give back to the world all the gifts I learned from a woman who loved me unconditionally and shared the best things this life had to offer.

– Alice Sarnowski, Third Place, 2022 Write a DearReader Contest

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

* This month's Penguin Classics is Metamorphosis by Ovid, a sensuous and witty poem in an accessible translation by David Raeburn. I have a copy of the book to share with a lucky reader, so start reading and enter for your chance to win.

 

Dear Reader Column - November 14, 2022

Dear Reader,     

You're in for a treat. This week you'll be able to read the First, Second and Third place winning entries in the 2022 Write a DearReader Contest. The quality of the entries this year was amazing--I'm sincere about that. It was very difficult to choose winners, so again this year I'll be featuring a number of Honorable Mentions with you, too.

1st place, Deanna White

2nd place, Victoria Stuppy

3rd place, Alice Sarnowski

An interesting observation about this year's contest, two of this year's winners were awarded Honorable Mention for their entries last year.

2022 Honorable Mentions (in no particular order)

Carole Knoles

Karen Schoch

Betty C. Eng

Laura Heyer

Robin Ball

Brandi D'Angelo

Cosina Dorothy Bardot

Deanna Hahn

Mary Nunn

Fatima Villa

Jacqueline Pinn

Lee Rothberg

Teresa Fronek

Deanna White

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

AUTHORBUZZ: Discover new books, "meet" the authors and enter to win.

VICTOR'S BLESSING (FICTION) by Barbara Sontheimer

Victor's Blessing is a story of a half Osage blacksmith who's life is filled with blessings. Although impoverished, through his wit and intellect makes a fortune for himself, and all his dreams come true when he marries the shy, Celena. But blessings like life can be fleeting and when the Civil War erupts Victor will have to make hard choices. And keeping one promise means breaking another until he is forced to bestow an agonizing blessing of his own.

Go to: http://authorbuzz.com/dearreader click on VICTOR'S BLESSING to read more and to email author Barbara Sontheimer, you'll get a reply.

 

* This month's Penguin Classics is Metamorphosis by Ovid, a sensuous and witty poem in an accessible translation by David Raeburn. I have a copy of the book to share with a lucky reader, so start reading and enter for your chance to win.

Dear Reader Column - November 11, 2022

Dear Reader,

Frequently people tell me I "overthink" things. And by most people's standards I probably do. I admit I think about things most people never even bother with, but my overthinking is actually one of the traits I admire and appreciate about myself. Perhaps if I weren't analyzing situations, and thinking about what people say and do, I might not have anything to write about every day. Having said that, even I admit lately my thinking about everything has been driving me a little nuts. But that's okay; I've been here before. This isn't the first time my thinking has gotten a little out of balance and I've always found a cure.

Good or bad, I always think about situations or meetings after they're over. Step-by-step I replay what happened, mulling over the actions and reactions people had. Sometimes when I'm replaying a situation out loud for myself, if someone hears what I'm doing, they'll tell me to just forget it--to let it go. I know they react that way because they think I'm retracing my steps looking for something that I did wrong, but that's not true. I'm not searching for words misspoken or missed opportunities, I'm reexamining things because now that the pressure's off, I can slowly wander through the meeting picking up the little things. I've found those seemingly little things are sometimes the secret to why a meeting turned out the way it did. And the little things can "let me in" on how someone really feels.

What's the cure? Well, you know me, I'm still thinking about it.

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

* This month's Penguin Classics is Metamorphosis by Ovid, a sensuous and witty poem in an accessible translation by David Raeburn. I have a copy of the book to share with a lucky reader, so start reading and enter for your chance to win.

Dear Reader Column - November 10, 2022

Dear Reader, 

I received a text “SOS" from a friend the other day. It read: 

I'm home and on the phone--call me and interrupt--please!!!

My friend and I had been trying to hook up on the phone for a couple of days, but it wasn't for any urgent matter, so I couldn't imagine why she would be texting me this message of distress. I felt kind of funny calling her and interrupting her in the middle of her conversation with someone else, but  one thing I learned in school was how to follow directions (at least when the spirit moved me), so I immediately dialed her number.

I heard relief and delight in my friend’s voice when she took my call. "Thank you for rescuing me," she said. "I was talking to my mother-in-law, whom I love dearly, but if I try to end a phone

conversation by telling her that I have to go, she's offended. But if I tell her I hear another call coming in (yes I know I could pretend, but I feel less guilty if there’s actually a call), she’s satisfied and she willingly says good-bye. Thank you, thank you, Suzanne.”

Hey, that's what friends are for.

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

* I’ll be baking for these three November Chocolate Chip Cookie Giveaway winners: Anna B., Sherri E. and Nina M. Get ready to dunk and much.

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

* This month's Penguin Classics is Metamorphosis by Ovid, a sensuous and witty poem in an accessible translation by David Raeburn. I have a copy of the book to share with a lucky reader, so start reading and enter for your chance to win.

Dear Reader Column - November 9, 2022

Dear Reader,
Fran Hawthorne has been writing novels since she was four years old, although she was sidetracked for several decades by journalism. During that award-winning career, she wrote eight nonfiction books, mainly about consumer activism, the drug industry, and the financial world, and has also been an editor or regular contributor for The New York Times, Business Week, Fortune, and many other publications. But Fran never  abandoned her true love: Her debut novel The Heirs was published in 2018, and now her second novel, I Meant to Tell You, is being released next week. From her home in Brooklyn NY, she's at work on her next novel and also writes book reviews for the New York Journal of Books.

When Miranda Isaacs agrees to help her friend Ronit, in the midst of a messy divorce, take her young daughter to see her grandparents in Israel, she doesn't realize they're breaking the law. Seven years later, the repercussions of their arrest at Dulles Airport will threaten Miranda's engagement and her fiancé's job, and unravel three families' long-held secrets, stretching back to 1960s-era Vietnam War protests.

Be sure to read below how you can enter Fran's giveaway of five copies of her new novel, I Meant to Tell You. 

WHAT MY HAIR TAUGHT ME

Growing up in surfer California, where beauty was defined as straight blonde hair, I hated, hated, hated my thick brunette mess of frizz and curls.

I once burned my cheek while trying to iron my hair straight. I spent hours sitting under a portable dryer with my hair in huge rollers, then sleeping with it wrapped tightly around my head. I avoided the Pacific Ocean and swimming pools as if they were earthquake fault lines.

Even after I moved to the East Coast and curly (though not frizzy) hair became fashionable, it was too late. My trauma had been set.

Then I was diagnosed with Stage II breast cancer. I would need to undergo chemotherapy, and all my hair would fall out.

I wish I could report that this prospect made me immediately appreciate the hair I was born with, but, sorry, no. I simply dreamed that my reward for all my suffering would be that my hair would grow back straight. 

Meanwhile, I wasn't brave enough to stride through life starkly bald, so I bought scarves, hats, and a wig to cover up my head. Of course, all the available wigs had straight hair or perhaps a cascade of perfectly sculpted curls. The world was confirming that no one would choose a frizz-curl combo if they weren't born with it.

Still, with my wig, I temporarily managed to fulfill my lifelong dream: I had straight (albeit fake) hair.

In fact, at my son's eleventh birthday party that summer, the mother of one of his friends complimented me on my new hairstyle. (Um, what had she thought of my hair before this?)

Slowly, after the chemo ended, my hair began to return. I was thrilled: It was straight!

Sure, it was, because it was too short--at maybe one-quarter of an inch--to curl.

As the hair grew in further, however, so did the realization: It was still frizzy-curly. Moreover, now it was grey.

My hair, unlike me, had accepted itself for what it was.

Now, at Thanksgiving, I'm grateful for many things. My health, certainly. My family, friends, two published novels, hobbies. And, finally, my beautiful hair.

 Thanks for reading this post. If you'd like to share your thoughts about hair, books, or anything--or enter the giveaway for one of five copies of my newest novel, I Meant to Tell You, please email me at: [email protected] (If you're entering the giveaway, include your mailing address)

-- Fran Hawthorne

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.

KIDSBUZZ: THE LAST HUNTRESS by Lenore Borja

For teens who like magic, fantasy and the TV shows Buffy the Vampire and Charmed, be sure to check out Lenore Borja's YA novel The Last Huntress. For a chance to win free copies, talk with the author, and more, see www.authorbuzz.com/kidsbuzz.

 

 

 

 

* This month's Penguin Classics is Metamorphosis by Ovid, a sensuous and witty poem in an accessible translation by David Raeburn. I have a copy of the book to share with a lucky reader, so start reading and enter for your chance to win.

Dear Reader Column - November 8, 2022

Dear Reader, 

Every other month I feature a Penguin Classics title for you to sample. Classics are timeless books. Many people feel each one depicts powerful life situations and lessons, that they deserve a special place on the bookshelf and in our hearts. 

This month's Penguin Classics is Metamorphosis by Ovid,  a sensuous and witty poem, in an accessible translation by David Raeburn.

(Notes from the publisher) 

In Metamorphoses, Ovid brings together a dazzling array of mythological tales, ingeniously linked by the idea of transformation—often as a result of love or lust—where men and women find themselves magically changed into new and sometimes extraordinary beings. Beginning with the creation of the world and ending with the deification of Augustus, Ovid interweaves many of the best-known myths and legends of ancient Greece and Rome, including Daedalus and Icarus, Pyramus and Thisbe, Pygmalion, Perseus and Andromeda, and the fall of Troy. 

Erudite but light-hearted, dramatic and yet playful,  Metamorphoses has influenced writers and artists throughout the centuries from Shakespeare and Titian to Picasso and Ted Hughes.

Start reading and enter for your chance to win.

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

Dear Reader Column - November 7, 2022

Dear Reader,

I'm still thinking about Halloween last week and how disappointed my husband was that we didn't get any trick-or-treaters. Last year only a handful of kids came to the door, but that didn't dampen his enthusiasm. His candy bowl had bubble gum and Tootsie Rolls in the middle of it, surrounded with carefully placed Tootsie Pops circling the outside rim of the dish. I was impressed.

He opened the front door, turned on the porch light, pulled up the window shades and illuminated the living room; a Halloween invitation to let the kids know that our house was candy equipped, and trick-or-treat friendly. Barry, our always curious, tuxedo cat, was even sitting by the screen door in anticipation. But after a couple of hours my husband gave up. "Well, it's 8 o'clock and that means the biggest hour for trick-or-treaters has gone by, and we still haven't seen any kids."

Okay, I confess. I guess I really did miss the trick-or-treaters, too. When I was a kid it was a big night; it ranked right up there with Christmas. I'd map out the neighborhoods in advance, always starting on the North side of town in the "rich" neighborhoods, because they handed out full-size candy bars. I knocked on so many doors that I'd have to make a couple of pit stops at home to dump out the pillow case I used to collect candy.

Oh well, maybe next year. In the meantime, it's a good thing I like Tootsie Rolls.

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

AUTHORBUZZ: Discover new books, "meet" the authors and enter to win.

CHARMED BY YOU: A Stark Security Novella (FICTION) by J. Kenner

I love movies--everything from noir films to modern blockbusters. (I even went to film school). So of course I had to write a story set in that world. I wanted this story to have a hint of the classics, reminiscent of Hepburn and Tracy. That push-pull between the characters. And what better than long-time Stark World diva Francesca Muratti ('the' A-List star of the moment) pairing off with
a Hollywood-hating bodyguard? 

Yup, sparks are definitely going to fly!

Go to: http://authorbuzz.com/dearreader click on CHARMED BY YOU to read more and to email author J. Kenner, you'll get a reply.

Dear Reader Column - November 4, 2022

Dear Reader,

Years back, when I took my car in for some minor repairs, since I’d just bought it from the dealer, they gave me a free loaner while mine was in the shop. Usually they give folks a car from the local rental company. But today, the guy who sold me my car offered me something different.

"Can you drive a stick?" he asked.

"No problem." I assured him. One of my dad's requirements for getting my driver's license was that the first car I learned to drive had to be a stick. He said if I could handle shifting on a manual, then I could drive anything. He was right and I've thanked him for it many times.

When the white BMW convertible pulled up in front of me and my salesperson got out and handed me the keys, the first thing I did was tell him not to hurry with the repairs on my car.

I'd never driven a convertible before and after driving for only one hour, I quickly learned that there are definite "do's" and "don'ts" when you're driving with the top down:

DON'T park under an oak tree. When you start driving, leaves will start flying out of your car.

DON'T look up when pelicans are flying low overhead; believe me it's frightening.

DO secure any paper and light objects to something. I was eating a bag of those miniature carrots and when I finished the last one, the bag went airborne. (I caught it before it whirled out the back.)

DO wear sunglasses and roll up the side windows, or you could become a human bug shield.

And finally, if you like to sing along with the music when you drive, like I do...DON'T...people can definitely tell that your voice isn't the radio when you're driving with the top down.

Well, that's about everything that I've learned so far. The sun is out, (remember I'm in Florida), and it's getting late in the day. They may call and say that my car is finished soon , so...come to think of it, I really should do a few errands, cruising with the top down....of course!

* That leftover Halloween candy won't last forever, so be sure to enter the November Chocolate Chip Cookie Giveaway. I love to bake, and even more, I love to give away cookies. I'm ready to bake, are you ready to "dunk" and munch? http://www.emailbookclub.com/photo/Cookie-Contest-2022.html

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

Dear Reader Column - November 3, 2022

Dear Reader,

A few months ago I shared a column about how I had been a frustrated flute player, because I had really wanted to play drums. Although I haven’t set up a drum set in my living room just yet (Christmas is coming, I drop some hints to my family), thinking about those years playing the flute, brought back some other memories…

I used to play the flute, but I always felt like I was pretending because I wasn't very good at it.

Some days I could barely drag myself into the band practice room because I was afraid I would finally be exposed. I knew deep inside that I would never be good at playing the flute. I was always in a state of dread, and I constantly worried, ‘Would today be the day other people would realize it, too?’ Would today be the day?

When it finally happened, I was second chair and I was informed that now I would sit third chair, I was devastated. This was a small town of only 2,000 people, so second chair didn't really hold the prestige you would think, because there were only four of us who played the flute. And truth be told, I had only been second chair, because I had been playing longer in the band than the two people sitting behind me. But they quickly caught up and surpassed me, and in no time I was sitting at the end of the line--in the fourth chair.

I did practice, but in spurts. I'd pump myself up thinking, "You can do it, Suzanne, if you just put more effort into it." I'd burn in, recommitting myself. But it just never flowed. I was so tense when I practiced that the top joint in my fingers would cramp and stay in a bent over position, even after I'd put down the flute. Plus, there was always an airy sound when I played and I just never found a way to make the necessary correction.

Thinking about it now, it seems crazy that I just didn't go to my parents and tell them that I wanted to quit. But they had bought me an expensive flute and I knew I'd be hearing things like, "Nevertheless, we bought the flute and now you're going to play it." So I never did tell them.

I think one of the worst things about continuing to be moved back was that no one mentioned a word about it to me, other than the band director when he casually told me that I'd be sitting in a different chair from now on. Everyone was acting like nothing had happened, but how could such a 'non-event' make me feel so ashamed and embarrassed?

Maybe my parents and other people thought they were doing me a favor by not mentioning it. After all it was just a high school band and I was just a teenager, but I felt like the whole world was watching and I had let them down.

* That leftover Halloween candy won't last forever, so be sure to enter the November Chocolate Chip Cookie Giveaway. I love to bake, and even more, I love to give away cookies. I'm ready to bake, are you ready to "dunk" and munch? http://www.emailbookclub.com/photo/Cookie-Contest-2022.html

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]