Dear Reader

Dear Reader Column - July 1, 2025

Dear Reader,

Emma Pei Yin, today's guest author, is a UK-born and raised Hong Kong Chinese writer. She writes for publications including Mekong Review, Being Asian Australian, HerCanberra, Aniko Press, Hong Kong Review, and Books + Publishing Australia. She resides in Australia with her partner and their extremely barky Dachshund, Lady. She is the founder of yinfluence editorial, an agency specialising in manuscript editing, copyediting, proofreading, and web content copy for writers and businesses.

When Sleeping Women Wake is Emma's first novel... In this remarkable and harrowing debut novel, three extraordinary women--a mother, her daughter, and their maid--are each forced on a journey to survival during the Japanese occupation of Hong Kong in World War II.

You could win one of five copies of When Sleeping Women Wake. Send an email with your preferred shipping address (in case you're a winner) to: [email protected]

The Roads We Didn't Take

When I was seventeen, I had my life all planned out. I was going to attend the New York Film Academy in London, become a screenwriter, and write stories that would change the world. It was my dream, one I had nurtured since childhood, scribbling ideas into my Mulan diary and watching my grandfather practice calligraphy with quiet reverence each morning after breakfast.

But life, as it often does, had other plans.

Circumstances beyond my control derailed my path, and instead of London, I found myself on a plane to Australia with nothing but a one-way ticket and the weight of uncertainty pressing against my chest. I had no blueprint--no safety net--just an overwhelming sense that I had failed before I had even begun.

For a long time--over a decade, to be precise--I saw that detour as a loss. A lost opportunity, a lost dream, a lost version of myself that would never exist. But as the years passed, I started to realise that sometimes, the roads we don't take shape us just as much as the ones we do.

Had I followed my original plan, I might never have fallen in love with fiction writing. I might never have experienced the solitude and freedom that moving to a new country allowed me. I might never have built the resilience that rejection--both in life and publishing--inevitably requires.

In 2019, I finally did what my teenage self had once dreamed of, albeit a little different. I enrolled in university and attained my BA in Creative Writing. I started writing again, not because it was some part of some grand plan, but because I couldn't not write. And here I am, years later, with a novel on the way.

The truth is, there are infinite versions of ourselves that exist in the choices we make and the ones we don't. We are the sum of our detours, the unexpected turns, the missed opportunities that led to others we never even imagined.

I suppose this is my long-winded way of saying: if you're at a crossroads or looking back at a path you didn't take, wondering what if, know this: just because a road is closed doesn't mean the journey is over. Sometimes, the detour is where the real story begins.

With love,

Emma

-- Emma Pei Yin

https://www.emmapeiyin.com/

You could win one of five copies of When Sleeping Women Wake. Send an email with your preferred shipping address (in case you're a winner) to: [email protected]

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

Dear Reader Column - June 24, 2025

Dear Reader,

Today's guest is Cara Putman, the award-winning author of more than 40 books. By day she teaches at a Big Ten university and lives in Indiana with her family. By night she writes and dreams of her next trip to explore cities and bookstores. You can learn more about Cara and her books at http://caraputman.com. 

Cara's new book is The Accused. When a popular college student is murdered, her international roommate, Anneliese, becomes a prime suspect. But law professor Margeaux Robbins doesn't believe that the quiet, lonely German girl in her class is the killer.

You could win one of three copies of The Accused. Send an email to [email protected] and you'll be entered in the drawing.

 

Before I was a writer, I was a reader. I'm still a voracious reader of all sorts of books, most years topping 110 books read. When I travel, one of my favorite things is to explore bookstores and libraries. There's a magic that happens when I walk inside a bookstore or library and am surrounded by books. If the books are in another language, then it feels like a scavenger hunt to identify titles and authors I love. If it's an English language bookstore, then it's fun to find new covers on old favorites. I also love exploring books that are in different languages and seeing what's available in other countries.

Then there's seeing how the bookstores are decorated or set up differently in other locations. Personally, some of my favorite bookstores to explore were in Bath, England, for the variety and creativity of the displays. Then there are the libraries. The library in Vienna took my breath away--it became my pinch-me moment in that beautiful city because the library truly felt like I'd stepped into the set of Beauty and the Beast. It was opulent and filled with amazing volumes. So rich in every way that matters. Then there's the infinity tower of books in the Prague library. It truly looks like the stack of books extends in a never-ending spiral in both directions. There may be an optical illusion to it, but I loved seeing it.

When we started traveling about ten years ago, we had each of our children pick a favorite book. This gave purpose to our exploration of bookstores. Now when we slip in and out of bookstores, we are looking for their favorite books in the language of the country we're visiting. Each young adult has a small shelf of their childhood favorite in a variety of languages. It's been such fun to hunt for these volumes. My only regret is that I didn't pick a title for myself. That would be such fun. I should probably start doing that anyway! Better late than never, right?

While I'm grateful for the opportunity to travel, I love that books give us the opportunity to do that each and every day regardless of our ability to hop on a train or plane. Where have you traveled recently in a book? And if you travel, which book would you collect?

-- Cara Putman

[email protected]

You could win one of three copies of The Accused. Send an email to [email protected] and you'll be entered in the drawing.

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

Dear Reader Column - June 17, 2025

Dear Reader,

Today's guest author, Kristen L. Berry is a writer and communications executive. Born and raised in Metro Detroit, Kristen graduated from the University of Michigan with a bachelor's degree in English Language & Literature. She has provided PR and communications expertise to leading consumer brands for nearly 20 years, all while writing in her spare time. Kristen co-founded a critique group that has gathered monthly since 2019. When she isn't reading or writing, Kristen can be found lifting heavy at the gym, hiking in Malibu, eating her way through Los Angeles with her partner, or shouting at the latest Formula 1 race. We Don't Talk About Carol is her debut novel.

In We Don't Talk About Carol, a dedicated journalist unearths a generations-old family secret--and a connection to a string of six Black girls missing since the 1960s--that hits way too close to home.

You can enter a drawing to win one of TEN copies of We Don't Talk About Carol. Email [email protected] Please include your preferred shipping address.

Please reach out to Kristen and welcome her to the book club: https://www.kristenlberry.com/contact

What Running a Half Marathon Taught Me About Writing

Shortly after moving from Michigan to California in 2011, while sitting outside a charming San Francisco restaurant, a close friend talked me into signing up for a half marathon. I was tipsy from our cocktails and from the headiness of my cross-country move; it's my only explanation for agreeing to run 13.1 miles as someone who for countless years insisted, “I am not a runner.”

I regretted this decision by the time I awoke the next morning. But instead of texting my friend a litany of excuses, I researched training plans. I was pleasantly surprised that the initial steps of the 14-week program I selected sounded manageable. I would only train for three days that first week, with four circuits each day consisting of a one minute run and a four minute walk. Each week I would increase my runs slightly, and decrease my walks.

Totally doable.

So I laced up a new pair of sneakers and committed to the process, putting in my prescribed minutes day after day, week after week. I encouraged myself to delay my walks as long as possible. 'I bet you can make it to that next stop sign,' I'd tell myself. Let's see if you can make it four minutes without walking, I eventually thought.

Before I knew it, I was putting in eight miles during my long runs, only slowing occasionally to gaze at the deer grazing along Sawyer Camp Trail. All I had to do was listen to the seasoned runners I met along the way. 'Can you take one more step?' Just concentrate on taking that single step. And on July 29, 2012, I crossed the finish line on the halfway mark of the San Francisco Marathon.

It's been nearly thirteen years since I ran that 13.1 miles, but I think about it often--not the moment the medal was draped around my neck, but the weeks of training leading up to it. How, through the guidance of a plan (and the support of friends and loved ones), I was able to take a big, scary goal and tackle it in small, manageable chunks over time. After completing a novel that went nowhere shortly after graduating from college, I was hesitant to take on such a daunting challenge again. But when the idea for my debut novel struck me during one of my many socially-distanced pandemic walks, I was able to draw back on my training from all those years ago.

One foot in front of the other. One mile (or chapter) at a time.

-- Kristen L. Berry

https://www.kristenlberry.com/contact

You can enter a drawing to win one of TEN copies of We Don't Talk About Carol. Email [email protected] Please include your preferred shipping address.

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

Dear Reader Column - Jun 11, 2025

Dear Reader,

Today's guest is Camilla Sten, a thriller author and comedian, living in Barcelona with her husband and two evil, fluffy cats.

Camilla's new thriller is The Bachelorette Party and she says it is not based on her own bachelorette party, which was in fact both lovely and murder-free.  

She'd love to hear from readers at [email protected].

Enter the drawing to win one of three copies of The Bachelorette Party. Email: [email protected]

(photo credit: Elvira Glänte)

The way I remember it, it never once rained the summer we met. It was the start of a drought that would last for five years. But at the time, it just seemed like we had won the lottery.

We met the summer of 2019, in Barcelona, on what was then called a "digital nomad trip"--a name that even then made me grimace in deep, millennial cringe. We became acquaintances, then friends, spending long, hot afternoons drinking sangria and eating patatas bravas on the street like the tourist clichés we were.

Barcelona seemed, to us, like a place too lovely to be real. I remember, late one evening on someone's balcony, discussing how famous European cities always disappointed a little. Like a tinder date who looked nice in pictures but turned out to have a strangely high-pitched voice in person.

Paris was stunning, but smelled terrible; Berlin was too intense; London was too stressful.

But we couldn't find fault with Barcelona.

There was something about walking through the city at night in July, the heat of the day still emanating from the cobblestones, the salty breeze from the Mediterranean sneaking through the slim, Gothic alleyways, that made you feel every single second of the three thousand years of history beneath your feet.

Strolling over Placa Catalunya at night, seeing teenagers whispering secrets and sharing hand-rolled cigarettes under the trees made you wonder if it had not looked almost exactly the same in Roman times; if it would not look just the same in another three thousand years.

But we never pictured ourselves living there. And we couldn't picture being together, either.

He was American, and I was Swedish, and there were more than two decades between us. Surely there could be no future for us outside of this place and this moment. It was a summer fling, that was all, after which we would return to our lives, far away from the warmth and laughter and culture of Catalonia.

He'd go back to Texas, and I'd go back to Stockholm, and it would be a lovely memory. Something to look back on and smile wistfully.

The only hitch in the plan was that, once home, we missed each other.

Five years after we met, the drought broke on our wedding day. We served patatas bravas at the reception. Despite having lived here for four years, we still haven't managed to shake the feeling of having won the lottery.

-- Camilla Sten

[email protected]

Enter the drawing to win one of three copies of The Bachelorette Party. Email: [email protected]

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

Dear Reader Column - Jun 3, 2025

Dear Reader,

Today's guest author is Martha Hall Kelly, the New York Times bestselling author of Lilac Girls,  Lost Roses, Sunflower Sisters and The Golden Doves.  She received journalism degrees from both Syracuse and Northwestern universities and worked as an advertising copywriter for many years before becoming a novelist. With more than two million copies of her books sold and translated in fifty countries, Martha Hall Kelly lives in Litchfield, Connecticut, and Hobe Sound, Florida.

Born and raised in Massachusetts, she was inspired to write her new novel. The Martha's Vineyard Beach & Book Club by her mother's family, the Smiths, who settled on Martha's Vineyard in 1891.

Find out more about Martha Hall Kelly at: https://marthahallkelly.com/

I'll never forget the day I lost my mother's precious childhood copy of Jane Eyre she let me borrow. It was a hardcover with the coolest sleeve it slid into, featuring a woodcut illustration of

Jane and her boarding school class. In fifth grade I asked if I could bring it to school on the last day of classes to show it off and I swear I left it in my locker but was devastated to find it missing. I looked everywhere for it and was terrified to tell my mother the bad news, but she took it well, though she became quiet, her way of dealing with disappointment.

Growing up in Massachusetts, my mother delighted in my trading romance paperbacks and 'Nurse Cherry Ames' series books with friends, but she was oddly anxious about her own books. She smoothed a custom bookplate into the inside cover of each one and dusted her bookshelf. She was a generous lender, but fretted silently until she got her books back and stowed them safely away, and only then could she relax. She also kept a Never Lend shelf, a twenty-book collection of
books that didn't leave the house.

And then one day I understood the reason for her book anxiety when she told me, "As a kid, I got my books at the dump." She grew up on Martha's Vineyard just after the Depression and was not a summer resident but a year rounder, and after her father died, her mother had a hard time making ends meet. Mother often talked fondly about the town dump and told us she found her tricycle there, which she loved. It turns out the summer people would leave cartons of books at the dump at the end of the season, and she would lug the cartons home, feeling lucky to have any books at all. Later in life, when she could afford to purchase her own books, she cherished each one.

I never forgot the Jane Eyre I lost. When Ebay came online the first thing I searched for was an old copy and was thrilled to find the exact edition that I had lost almost twenty years before. I gave it to my mother, and she clutched it to her chest, went to her Never Lend shelf and slid it into place. And all was right with the world.

-- Martha Hall Kelly

https://marthahallkelly.com/

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

Dear Reader Column - May 27, 2025

Dear Reader,

Today's guest is Dr. James Lacey, the professor of strategy at the Marine Corps War College. He also holds the Horner Chair of War Studies at Marine Corps University. Prior to taking this position, he was a widely published senior analyst at the Institute for Defense Analyses in Washington, D.C. His previous works include: Rome: A Strategy for Empire, the New York Times bestselling The First Clash, and several others.

In his new book, The Year God Died: Jesus and the Roman Empire in 33 AD Lacey explains how the events in Rome drove events in Judea--which is directly linked to Jesus' crucifixion. He uncovers a vibrant and rich world, but one still coming to grips with the reality of Roman power.

Reach out to James and welcome him to the book club: [email protected] Authors are inspired when they hear from readers.

The Power of a Smile

As I entered a square filled with Iraqis of all ages almost surrounding a battalion of the famed 101st Airborne Division. After nearly forty-eight hours of running firefights, the soldiers were grimy and exhausted. But their mission today was a happy one; they were being sent to the Mosque of 'Alī --the most holy mosque in the Shia faith--to secure a local Iman, asking for American protection from Saddam Hussien’s troops,

As I entered the square it felt almost festive. Children darted through rubble, men waved, and women peeked from doorways as the paratroopers. Yet the mood pivoted in an instant, as groups of Saddam loyalists shouted that the Americans were there to desecrate the mosque. The crowd suddenly turned hostile and the first rocks flew into the American perimeter.

I watched nearby rifleman flip their weapon selectors from safe to fire. The silent Americans made no threatening gestures, but they were clearly ready to meet an assault with overwhelming violence. The situation was edging toward a massacre.

Lieutenant Colonel Chris Hughes, stepped into the breach. Snatching a loudspeaker from an interpreter, he shouted: "Second Battalion soldiers, take a knee. Weapons pointing down." Instantly, every soldier obeyed as though the order had been drilled for years. In one fluid motion an entire line of infantrymen sank to one knee, rifle barrels pointed down toward the dust. It was then that I heard an order that still amazes me. Colonel Hughes, shouted one more time: "Second Battalion soldiers—smile."

The soldiers beside me looked at one another in disbelief. Yet within seconds cracked lips stretched into crooked, dust-caked grins. The impact on the crowd was almost instantaneous. The chants and shouts stopped as fury gave way to confusion, and confusion to hesitant curiosity. For five minutes the soldiers stayed kneeling and smiling as the crowd’s anger bled. Amazingly, the crowd began to advance, smiling and reaching out to touch the Americans,

Colonel Hughes waited for his moment, and then shouted to his men to, "stand up and keep smiling" When they had done so, he announced, "we are going to turn around and walk out of here smiling."

In war there are tragedies that are too many to count and I knew I’d almost witnessed one that would have resounded throughout the region for decades. But instead, the rage of a crowd about to test itself against American firepower was dissipated by the iron-discipline of soldiers who opted to kneel and smile rather than shoot.

-- James Lacey

Reach out to James and welcome him to the book club: [email protected] 

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

Dear Reader Column - May 20, 2025

Dear Reader,

Today's guest is Jilly Gagnon, the author of the brand new novel, What if It's You? Everyone wonders about the one that got away...and thanks to an alternate reality tech project, one woman will get the chance to actually find out.

Jilly has also written, Scenes of the Crime, All Dressed Up, and the young adult novel #famous. Her humor writing, personal essays, and op-eds have appeared in Newsweek, Elle, Vanity Fair, Boston magazine, and McSweeney’s Internet Tendency, among others. She lives in Salem, Massachusetts with her family and two black cats.

Reach out to Jilly via: https://jillygagnon.com/contact/ and please welcome Jilly to the book club. Authors are inspired when they hear from readers.

 

I've always been a visual person, and as a student, it was a huge advantage. Whether I was writing a blue book for an English class, or trying to memorize the 17 distinct morphological changes to the skeleton that distinguished a specific dinosaur species from its forebears, I simply had to 'see' it. On my mental film reel, the story would flicker past, allowing me to zero in on the information I needed.

Eventually it came time to fulfill my college physics requirement. While the class itself was surprisingly visual--the professor loved setting up elaborate Rube Goldberg machines that transferred energy and created reactions and generally displayed basic physics principals--when I sat down to turn the various equations for acceleration and force and speed into an elegant solution I saw…nothing. Jumbles of Greek letter constants whose purpose I couldn't wrap my head around. Ideas that I could put words to (the speed of... speed, somehow?) but which 'meant' nothing, at least not to me.

I went to the late-night study sessions, plodded through the problem sets week after week, but all of it just... slid right off my brain, at a constantly increasing velocity. I think.

One day, leading up to finals, I was hunched over my half-eaten dinner, struggling to get my head around the (truly basic) concepts for the umpteenth time when my friend Ian set down his tray across from me. After some small talk, I showed him what had me so confounded.

By this point in the semester, the basic concepts were being applied to the movement of stars and planets, describing the way the universe itself grows, and at a growing rate. If I'd been lost before, I was--forgive the pun--out in space at this point.

But Ian--an astrophysics major--took one look at the book and his eyes lit up. He started explaining the concepts to me, first slowly, using metaphors I could actually understand, then with increasing energy, hands moving through the air as he described the motions of the cosmos, how incredible the formulas I was poring over were in reality, the picture they formed for him.

I didn't understand the story, not entirely, but for the first time I realized that's what it was: a story. Something beautiful and sweeping, something Ian could see when he glanced at the alphabet soup of equations.

I never quite understood the picture, but knowing it was there, hidden behind the veil of equations, made physics, if not comprehensible, beautiful.

-- Jilly Gagnon

https://jillygagnon.com/contact/

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

Dear Reader Column - May 14, 2025

Dear Reader,

Today's guest, Sarah Arthur is a fun-loving speaker and best-selling author of numerous books for teens and adults. After 30 years working with students (everything from church youth director to middle school secretary to substitute teacher), she can play a mean game of Four Square--but don't make her eat pizza from a box. Ever. More recently, her bestselling YA fantasy debut Once a Queen kicked off the award-nominated Carrick Hall Novels, including fan favorite Once a Castle: Book 2 and the forthcoming Once a Crown: Book 3 (January 2026).

Sarah welcomes messages on Instagram at @HolyDreaming

You could be a winner. Three winners will receive copies of both Once a Queen and Once a Castle. To enter the giveaway visit: waterbrookmultnomah.com/dearreader

Sarah welcomes messages on Instagram at @HolyDreaming

 

"Storied Affirmations"

One of my favorite corners of social media is where people post the daily affirmations they say with their kids. A father and son recite their own hero's creed in the car on the way to school. A teacher raps with his students so they'll never forget his belief in them. A coach chants a call-and-response with her players about who the real winners are, not just in sports but in life.

These examples remind me of the comforting quotes my parents said with us each morning, long before affirmations were trendy. It's a tradition my husband has carried on with our own middle school sons before they head out the door--except theirs is in the form of a Q&A.

Lately I've found myself thinking about the ways great books have provided similar affirmations for me, as a reader. Anne of Green Gables, for instance: "Isn't it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?" Or the bishop to Jean Valjean in Les Miserables: "Do not forget, never forget, that you have promised [to be] a better man." And one of my favorites, from A Wrinkle in Time, when Mrs. Whatsit tells the preteen protagonist, "Stay angry, little Meg... You will need all your anger now."

I'd be a different person without storied affirmations like these.

But I didn't realize how much they'd become embedded in my life till I began reading drafts of my novels to our sons. Without realizing it, I'd included moments of dialogue in which a loving adult utters the words a young person needs to hear. Not in a heavy-handed way, but with instinctual simplicity. As if the quotable pithiness was the point.

So the other morning, after the boys recited their usual Q&A with Dad before school, I gently placed my hands on the eighth grader's shoulders.

"What are you a part of?" I asked.

He glanced up, momentarily puzzled. Then his expression cleared. I could tell he remembered those evenings when I read drafts of my novels-in-progress to him and his brother. The boys would listen, enrapt, and then offer honest feedback--much of which I'd incorporate into future drafts.

And now, in this moment, he recognized the lines.

With a grin, he answered, "A very great story."

"And who can take that from you?"

"No one."

I hugged him. He hugged me back, all skinny arms and bony elbows, before walking out the door.

And guess what?

No one can take that from me either.

-- Sarah Arthur

I welcome messages on my Instagram at @HolyDreaming

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

Dear Reader Column - May 6, 2025

Dear Reader,

Today's guest author, Virginia Evans is from the northeastern United States. She attended James Madison University for her bachelor's in English literature, as well as Trinity College in Dublin, Ireland, for her master's of philosophy in creative writing. Virginia lives in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, with her husband, two children, and her Red Labrador, Brigid.

The Correspondent, Virginia's new book is: filled with knowledge that only comes from a life fully lived, The Correspondent is a gem of a novel about the power of finding solace in literature and connection with people we might never meet in person. It is about the hubris of youth and the wisdom of old age, and the mistakes and acts of kindness that occur during a lifetime.

Please reach out to Virginia and welcome her to the book club. Authors are inspired when they hear from readers. [email protected]

 

I never ended up living in New York City.

I suppose my determination to move there was out of some combination of the idealism that writers live in small Manhattan apartments–three-foot square kitchens, beds folding up into walls, a desk in the corner, books stacked to the ceiling, cigarettes--and growing up in the suburbs. I longed for the busy, bright energy of a city. Not 'a city,', but 'the greatest city on earth.' I was going to live in New York.

When my husband and I were newly married and without much money we found inexpensive flights to LaGuardia and an inexpensive hotel room in late January. We explored the city together for the first time, freezing, whispering in the flagship Tiffany's, seeing Wicked from in the highest seats with a partially-blocked view, going on jogs through Central Park. We ate cheap. We had a small, fold-up Subway map, which we studied in the hotel before setting out, not wanting to look like the tourists we were.

Returning every few years, we got to know places we liked to revisit-—a corner of Central Park, a specific bakery, a bookstore–and every time back, we found new favorites. Holidaying in Manhattan was like having a far-off friend, and when you meet up occasionally it's a happy reunion, stakes are low, only fun. My dream of living in New York faded. Coming to the city as a visitor was enough.

When my novel sold, I went to New York for the first time with a purpose beyond exploring. I was there for work, meeting with my agent and publishing team to strategize and discuss my novel. I was alone, walking the streets I'd come to know with a shallow but congenial familiarity, but with this wonderful reason for being there. I had my own small 'place' in the city, on the fourteenth floor of the Penguin Random House building where my book was coming to life.

When my son turned ten I took him to Manhattan. We retraced some of the paths that were familiar to me, but we made new ones, too. We took the Staten Island Ferry past the Statue of Liberty, stayed on Roosevelt Island and frequented the aerial tramway across the East River, ate calamari at the newest Jean-Georges concept. I was a confident guide, and he regarded me with satisfaction when I navigated the subway without hesitation, and I squeezed his hand when he said to me on the flight home, "I'm going to live in New York City one day."

-- Virginia Evans

[email protected]

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

Dear Reader Column - April 29, 2025

Dear Reader,

Today's guest is Annie Hartnett, author of Unlikely Animals, which won the Julia Ward Howe Prize for fiction and was longlisted for the Joyce Carol Oates Prize. She is also the author of Rabbit Cake, a finalist for the New England Book Award and a Kirkus Reviews best book of the year. Along with writer Tessa Fontaine, she co-runs the Accountability Workshops for writers, helping them commit to routines and embrace the long, slow, joyful, terrible process of doing the work. She lives in Massachusetts with her husband, daughter, and dog.

Annie's new novel is The Road to Tender Hearts a darkly comic and warm-hearted novel about an old man on a cross-country mission to reunite with his high school crush--bringing together his adult daughter, two orphaned kids, and a cat who can predict death.

You could win one of five copies of The Road to Tender Hearts. To enter the drawing send an email to: [email protected] Please be sure to include your preferred mailing address.

Please email a "Welcome to the book club" to Annie Hartnett: https://www.anniehartnett.com/contact

On Keeping Calm While Gardening (and Writing)

Last April, I handed in my novel manuscript to my editor and then I turned my attention outdoors. I didn't know how long it would be before she got back to me, and I needed to distract myself.

We had closed on a house in March, and I wanted to do something with the garden. Before we bought the house, we had already lived there for two years as renters, so it had been two summers of being completely overwhelmed by the large garden. The fenced-in plot of land was enormous, nearly all of it in full-sun, so I had a lot of room for weeds to grow.

But this year, I had friends with their own beautiful garden, who wanted to help me. "So much potential," they said. "You could do so much with this."

"It's too much," I said.

"You just need to get organized. Paths would help you," Rebecca said, the planner. "We could do stone paths."

Her husband, Brian, told me how much stone to order for the paths. "Get 5 yards," he said, a unit of measurement which meant nothing to me.

When the truck arrived, I could not believe they were going to leave a pile of rocks that size in my driveway. A mountain. But Brian showed up in the middle of his workday to oversee the  delivery. "I knew you'd get overwhelmed," he said. And then he told me to get a shovel and the wheelbarrow.

Over the next few weeks, the garden project reminded me of how it is to work on a novel. A little at a time. If you get overwhelmed, make the project smaller, like making the garden smaller, creating paths, focusing on certain sections. "Keep calm, one chapter at a time," I write every day in one column of a spreadsheet where I keep track of my plot and word count.

Rebecca told me not to worry if some plants die, that gardening is an experiment to see what works, which is pretty much what I tell my students writing novels and memoirs in the Accountability Workshops I run--that words are never wasted, everything is an experiment until you get it right. 

I often remind myself and my students: Lower the bar. Keep calm and do more with less. And yes, it helps so much if you have a few really good friends to keep you from getting overwhelmed by the massive pile of rocks (or words) in front of you.

-- Annie Hartnett

https://www.anniehartnett.com/contact

Enter to win one of five copies of The Road to Tender Hearts. Send an email to: [email protected] Please be sure to include your preferred mailing address.

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]