Dear Reader

Dear Reader Column - December 6, 2022

Dear Reader,

Please welcome today’s guest author, Allie Pleiter, who has sold over 1.6 million books in her twenty-year career. Allie also coaches on writing productivity and speaks nationally on time management for creatives. 

Allie is an avid knitter, confirmed coffee junkie and firm believer that "pie makes everything better." Her latest release is It Came Upon a Midnight Shear, the third book in the Riverbank Knitting Mysteries. Previous books in the series are Knit or Dye Trying and On Skein of Death.

Allie is giving away four copies of It Came Upon a Midnight Shear, simply drop her a note and include your shipping address, in case you are one of the lucky winners.

Email: [email protected]

Words and Stitches

I am as passionate about my knitting as I am about my writing. Both deeply feed my need to be creative and to put something into the world that wasn't there before.

While I admit both occasionally serve me up a humbling dose of frustration, I mostly take great pleasure in my knitting and writing accomplishments. I show off my shawls with as much shameless pride as I do my books. I look for creativity in my stitches with the same fever I do in my characters. For me, a story unravels itself before me just as a scarf builds stitch by stitch.

I find the two to be a perfect counterbalance. After a long day of staring at, messing with, and pondering words, nothing feels better than yarn running through my fingers. It is a particular pleasure to watch as the instructional words of a pattern transform themselves into a soft scarf--it's magic in my hands. Like many writers, I am a highly sensory person. I'm forever taking in how things feel, look, sound, etc. The varied textures of yarn indulge my senses in the same way a really good slice of lemon meringue pie (my personal favorite!) indulges my taste. And yes, I'm thankful yarn is calorie-free.

I knit everywhere. If you see me at a writing conference or any other of my many speaking engagements, I'm often knitting. I'm known to say "knitting is socially acceptable fidgeting." I'm not the kind of person who can sit still and watch for long periods of time, so knitting helps me pay attention. I'm not knitting because you bore me, I'm knitting so that I pay better attention to you. I'm skilled enough that often I have no need to look down at my fingers and can direct my complete attention to the speaker. I travel to teach writing frequently, and nothing eases the frustrations of travel like knitting in your hands. Flight delay? It's just an opportunity to get in a few more rows. And I love how knitting often opens up conversations with fellow travelers.

Is it any wonder that so many of my characters knit? Why wouldn't I take every chance to share my passion for the craft with the world? Because to me, knitting in books is simply the best of both worlds!

-- Allie Pleiter

Allie is giving away four copies of It Came Upon a Midnight Shear, drop her a note and include your shipping address, in case you are one of the winners. Email: [email protected]

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.

THE THIRD INSTINCT (Fiction) by Kent Lester

My new novel continues the adventures of Dan Clifford and Rachel Sullivan as they face an even bigger threat. While rebuilding their lives after the pandemic, they are thrust into a world of creatives empowered by technology--makers, biohackers, conspiracy theorists, cos-players, and phone hackers. They must decipher the truth in a war of deception that has raged for two thousand years. It will take insight into the third basic human instinct to find the answer.

I'm giving away five copies, to enter the drawing, click on the link to Authorbuzz and the book jacket to enter or email: [email protected] with the subject line "The Third Instinct giveaway." 

Go to: http://authorbuzz.com/dearreader click on THE THIRD INSTINCT to read more and to email author Kent Lester, you'll get a reply.

Dear Reader Column - December 5, 2022

Dear Reader,

Every year I am amazed at the quality of the writing entries I receive for the Write a DearReader Contest. It's difficult to choose just three winners, so I choose Honorable Mentions as well. Today's Honorable Mention was written by Carole Knoles. Thank you so much Carole for sharing your story with us.

A Time For Sweet Reflection

I ran across a quote today by a man, unfamiliar to me, named Charlie Kaufman (I will have to look him up). The quote says “Perhaps I am not interesting, but I am all I have to offer, and I want to offer something.” I do not have a conduit to make an offer of myself to the world at large at my advanced age and frankly I do not know what value any offering would have to others. I have given what I had to offer to work and to my loved ones. Now, in retirement, I think perhaps in reflection there is something to offer myself.

In the contemplation, there is such a mixture of emotion. There is gratitude, embarrassment, insecurity, joy, and even shame. The young person that I was had neither the interest, time, or wisdom to be concerned about these things although I clearly remember then feeling embarrassment, insecurity, and an abundance of appetite for material things, love, admiration, and the instant gratification of every desire.

Today, although that grasping, uncertain kid is certainly tucked in a corner of my aged soul, I am concerned with other things than she was. I think so much of people, now gone, who helped me along in life. I do wish that I had had the forethought to voice my appreciation to them in a louder voice at the time. The best that I can do now is to remember them lovingly for all they did for me and be a bit forgiving of myself for the self absorbed days of my youth.

It occurs to me that perhaps the body slows down in old age to give the mind and heart of a human to expand. I can see more clearly how one step after another led me here. If my parents hadn’t been a bad match they wouldn’t have divorced, my mother wouldn’t have married a military man who adopted me, and I wouldn’t have seen the world. If I hadn’t left home and moved to D.C. and worked with my father in law to be, I would not have met a husband who would father the two children who I adore. If I hadn’t left that life and moved the three of us to San Francisco those children would not have been set on the same fulfilling path on which they travel now. And so on and so on.

Certainly part of me wishes that I had the energy and health to do it all over again. The best that I can do is watch the reruns in my mind while I enjoy the good times, contemplate the lessons of the bad ones, blush at the embarrassments, be grateful for those who helped me, and forgive myself for my missteps and shortcomings. It’s been overall a grand life. Thank you Mother Earth for hosting me!

– Carole Knoles, Honorable Mention, 2022 Write a DearReader Contest

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.

THE SISTERS OF SEA VIEW (Fiction) by Julie Klassen

I am eager for you to meet the Summers sisters in book one in my new series--following their struggles, relationships, tested loyalties, and romances. It is set in the British seaside town of Sidmouth, where Jane Austen visited and possibly inspired her unfinished novel, Sanditon. To celebrate the launch of this series, I'm giving away five copies, to enter the drawing, click on the link to Authorbuzz and the book jacket to enter or enter the giveaway.

Go to: http://authorbuzz.com/dearreader click on THE SISTERS OF SEA VIEW to read more and to email author Julie Klassen, you'll get a reply.

Dear Reader Column - December 2, 2022

Dear Reader,

It’s my pleasure to share another Honorable Mention column from this year’s Write a DearReader Contest. Today’s piece was written by Mary Nunn. Thank you for your entry, Mary, I’m never going to look at dimes the same way again…

Finding Dimes

Years ago, I was talking with my cousin about our parents who had passed away (my mom and his father were brother and sister). He worked as a chaplain in a hospital in Philadelphia, and told me how one of his coworkers said that every time she found a dime, it meant that someone who had passed away was saying hello :)  Over the next few years, he would send me pictures of the various dimes that he found, always when he seemed to be needing it the most. I would just smile and think, well, he lives in the city, of course he would be finding dimes everywhere. One day after listening to another coincidence, I mentioned to him that I ‘never’ found a dime, like...ever. He said "Well, did you ever ASK for one? Try specifically asking." So one morning, lying in bed, I was thinking about my mom and really missing her. So I said out loud "Ok mom, I really miss you. How about sending me a dime?" I felt a little foolish, but I really put my heart into the request.

Two days later, at the library where I work, I randomly decided to clear off a windowsill in our program room. And there it was...a dime. I couldn't believe it. I actually teared up! What would a dime be doing on that windowsill that I just happened to be clearing off? A week later, I saw another dime on a bike path when I stopped to take a drink. The next day, another one on the curb in front of the doctor's office. That was just the start of years of finding dimes in the most unusual places, frequently after I have specifically asked, but always connected to some event or date. 

Here’s the even more unusual thing. I have told my dime stories to other friends and family, many of whom would smile indulgently as I did to my cousin...until they started finding dimes of their own. We have a group text going of pictures of dimes that we have found, along with all of the serendipitous stories that go along with them - finding a dime at the bottom of a purse that I randomly chose to bring to a wedding of a friend whose father had just passed away (and I taped the dime in her card :), going to visit my brother on his birthday and finding a dime in the road where I parked my car (and telling him it was our mom saying "happy birthday" :), my friend finding four dimes on the door of her dryer (she said she had NEVER before found any change in her dryer) right after she started asking for dimes. The stories continue, and it has brought comfort and amazement to all of us.

My cousin keeps his dimes in a glass bowl that had been his mother’s. I have all of mine in a mason jar on my desk. A reminder of the beauty, mystery, and connection that we all have.

Do you believe? How can you not? And why wouldn't you?

– Mary Nunn, Honorable Mention, 2022 Write a DearReader Contest

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

Dear Reader Column - November 22, 2022

Dear Reader,

A Christmas Deliverance is New York Times bestselling author Anne Perry's twentieth heart-warming Christmas mystery: The festive season is fast approaching, and Dr Crowe and his young apprentice Scuff are busy, as always, tending London's sick and wounded. This year, however, Crowe is increasingly distracted by memories of a former patient, Eliza Hollister, for whom he cared deeply.

I’m pleased to welcome Anne Perry as today’s guest author. She is the bestselling author of nineteen previous holiday novels, as well as the William Monk series, the Charlotte and Thomas Pitt series, the Daniel Pitt series, and the Elena Standish series. She has also written five World War I novels and a work of historical fiction, The Sheen on the Silk. Anne Perry lives in Los Angeles.

For more from Anne Perry, follow her on Facebook at @AnnePerryAuthor.  Or say “Hello”. Contact her at [email protected]

Like almost everyone else, I stayed home during most of COVID. It was little hardship for me because I work at home. Groceries and everything important were delivered to my door. I kept in touch with friends and family by email and telephone.

What I did not realize was what a hermit I had become. Last year, I had made a commitment to travel to a 2022 writers’ conference when I thought this would all be over. And as I had given my word, I had no honorable choice but to go. When the departure day finally arrived, I realized that I had become afraid of being in public. Crowds, Airports. Queues a mile long. Delays. Missing connecting flights. I’ve been in that situation before. I also knew what it meant to be the last one standing in an airport in the middle of the night. As they say: been there, done that. Aching with tension, pulling my one small case, I set out. I was quickly reminded that I have a sore back. Probably from sitting in one position too long. And not enough walking. Envisioning long queues of people waiting to check in, I had asked for a wheelchair, which was provided at every stop. I was treated with care and courtesy. No waiting, no getting lost.

Everything went well, nothing was more than a few minutes late. There was a connection where the second gate was a quarter of a mile away from the first, but I whizzed along in the chair. When I arrived at the other end of my journey, I found a taxi immediately. A most interesting driver, and we had a terrific conversation about all sorts of things.

There were roughly four hundred people at the writers’ conference, mostly from the United States and Canada, and a few from scattered places. I met old friends, and made new ones. We were given very smart black masks in our welcome kit, and wore them everywhere except the dining room, or if we were the lecturer or on a panel. And all the time I was there, I never heard a single complaint or unkind word about the masks, or anything else.

After the years alone, most of us were happy to meet again.

Some familiar faces were deeply missed, but that is inevitable.

What I particularly enjoyed was breaking the imaginary bars that had been imprisoning me.

What else have I missed because it involved stepping into the unknown? I promised myself not to let that happen again. It is up to me!

-- Anne Perry

Follow her on Anne on Facebook at @AnnePerryAuthor. Or contact her at [email protected]

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 21, 2022

Dear Reader,

Every year I receive so many outstanding entries in the Write a DearReader Contest, it seems a shame to only publish the three winning submissions. So I like to choose some Honorable Mentions I also feature at the book club.

Today, it is my pleasure to share with you one of the writing entries awarded Honorable Mention this year, written by Betty C. Eng. Thank you so much Betty for sharing your story with us.

Life as Maintenance and Wonder

I wash dishes, I wash dishes, I wash dishes, and then, I wash dishes. Clean dishes are important and essential, but there is the relentlessness and seemingly despairing nature of it that tempts the use of paper plates.  Washing dishes, brushing my teeth, taking my medications, doing my exercises, answering “what’s for dinner”, sorting for garbage day…. I Wonder:  Is this all there is?

I make lists, I make lists, I make lists.  Lists for groceries:  apples, bananas, milk, bread…. Lists for Tasks:  pay bills, appointments for the dentists, tune-up for the car…. Feeling smug when I have completed each item until I realize each list is primarily for maintenance that keeps me standing in the same place and does not seem to be advancing me forward.

I write, I write, I write and I write. It seems all I have are my words.  My words are gathered into stories that become a book. And Wonder: The book is published. The stories are family narratives that are reclaimed to honor and celebrate the legacy of my mother and father. They are stories of immigration, seeking Gold Mountain, what we found and who we became.

The stories that became a book remind me that the routine and repetitive nature of maintenance can fortify and renew to prepare me for something wonderful. The rhythm and pace of these daily acts sustains and nurtures. Washing dishes, washing dishes, washing dishes becomes meditative and the cleaning becomes cleansing for the soul and spirit. The simplicity of the repetition is reassuring, affirming and inspires me to be patient, to listen and to feel and hear the power of silence. The quiet heartens me to be kind, to be grateful and to Wonder with hope.

– Betty C. Eng 

Honorable Mention, 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 18, 2022

Dear Reader,

It's one of my family's traditional Thanksgiving recipes, Crock Pot Dressing, and it's become a classic recipe at the book clubs, too. Every year readers email asking for the recipe, like Bryce, who emailed last weekend…

“We are hosting Thanksgiving a bit early. I cannot find my Thanksgiving folder with all my favorites.  Would it be possible to get your CROCK POT Stuffing recipe a bit earlier than you might have planned? I about cried the first time I saw the recipe, because all the ingredients were what was in my mom's, but nicer to do because of the crockpot! I hate asking, but am desperate! Thank you in advance.“ 

He later emailed,   

“…I am a bit frantic with the holiday being moved up! It felt good when I thought of you as a friend who could/would help me.”  – Bryce C.

If you're cooking for a crowd, or if all of your stuffing never fits in the turkey and you have to find room for another casserole in your oven, consider making my Crock Pot Dressing this year.

Crock Pot Dressing

1 cup butter, melted

2 cups chopped onion

2 cups chopped celery

1/4 cup fresh parsley

2 cups mushrooms (if you use canned, drain them)

2 eggs beaten

3 1/2 to 4 1/2 cups chicken broth, or enough to moisten well

13 cups dried bread, cubed

1 1/2 tsp poultry seasoning

2 tsp salt

2 tsp sage

1 tsp thyme

1 tsp pepper

1/2 tsp marjoram, (optional)

Melt butter in a fry pan and saute onion and celery until soft. Mix with remaining ingredients and toss well. Pack in a large crock pot. Cover. Cook on high for 45 minutes, then turn to low and continue cooking for 6-8 hours.

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

* Congratulations to the winners of Dead and Gondola by Guest Author Ann Claire: Elizabeth I., Linda S., Jeanmarie R., Henry K. and Karen B.

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 17, 2022

Dear Reader,

It’s my favorite time of year at the book club, because I get to announce the winners of this year’s Write a DearReader Contest! I read hundreds of entries every year in my annual Write a DearReader Contest. This year’s First place entry, written by librarian Deanna White, tells a beautiful story that my heart just couldn’t let go of. I must have read her entry five or six times, and each time I smiled. 

Congratulations Deanna! Thank you so very much for sharing this story…

 

She shuffled into the library every Saturday morning and bee-lined straight to the newspaper section. Well into her nineties, her fragile frame was draped by a green housecoat that stay-at-home moms wore zippered up over their day-clothes once upon a time. The housecoat was faded, worn and weary--on the verge of becoming grey--but in another lifetime I imagined the color was a festive Christmas green. 

Mrs. Green Housecoat was followed in every Saturday by Mr. Kind-Heart, her middle-aged neighbor who lived across the street from her and told me with a shy smile as he peered over his glasses, "her husband passed away and she doesn't drive anymore." While Mrs. Green Housecoat devoured the newspaper, Mr. Kind-Heart requested DVD's for her to watch at home, "She loves the old musicals," he told me the first week I met them, "and the old black and white movies." 

Over the course of a year, I looked forward to Saturday morning exchanges with this eccentric couple. We talked about her favorite musicals, Mrs. Green Housecoat loved, My Fair Lady, Sound of Music, Guys and Dolls, and Singing in the Rain. I shared with her my favorite black and white classics, Pride of the Yankees with Gary Cooper and Gas Light starring Ingrid Bergman. Their weekly visits were sunshine on a rainy day. 

Mrs. Green Housecoat's petite face was framed with a silver, wavy bob worn like the starlets of the silent-movie era. When she smiled, her whole face wrinkled up into a thousand tiny crevices, such as a vintage map etched with highways, roads, and mountains, and revealed missing teeth from her radiant smile. One day, as we scoured the stacks for movies, I pulled out Elvis Presley's Blue Hawaii, holding it out to her like a gift. She glanced at the title and casually stated, "I knew Elvis," and I chuckled aloud as if she told a funny joke. Then she continued, "When I was a young girl, I worked for MGM Studios," her eyes twinkled with delight and her cheeks flushed a glowing pink of a first crush. She paused for a moment as if she were searching through the library in her mind that held volumes of precious memories forged over a lifetime. Suddenly, she leaned into me as if we were childhood friends exchanging conspiratorial secrets on the playground, "One day he walked in and looked straight at me and said, Hey, Good Looking!"

In that moment, Mrs. Green Housecoat was transformed before my eyes. I no longer saw the shriveled woman with faded clothes and a worn-out body, instead I saw a young girl in the prime of her life with golden curls, pink cheeks and red lipstick. I saw a young, strong woman with smooth skin and a curvy frame that could fill out a pencil skirt and a snug-fitting sweater like Ann Margaret in Bye-Bye Birdie. I also became fully aware of the fragility of life--that one person holds thousands of precious memories, countless adventures, and a million beautiful stories that weave a history of their past. 

After the initial COVID quarantine passed and we could return to the library, I expectantly waited for Mrs. Green Housecoat and Mr. Kind-Heart to walk through the door on Saturday mornings. Unfortunately, I never saw either of them pass through the library doors again. I now work for another library, but I often remember the flash of her smile and the twinkle in her eyes as she recounted the fabulous stories of her youth and I wonder at the goodness of  Mr. Kind-Heart who with his selfless act of generosity, provided Mrs. Green Housecoat with as great a gift as Elvis Presley did all those years ago. 

– Deanna White, First Place, 2022 Write a DearReader Contest

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 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.