Years ago, when I owned an independent bookstore, we started several book clubs. One of them, which was only known as the CBTB Main Book Club (the store was called Coffee Buy The Book) still lives on. I haven't made it to a meeting in many months unfortunately, but I love the group and I try to keep up via email at least.&nbs
In today's post, guest blogger Carrie Adams, author of THE STEPMOTHER shares her Mother's Days musings on how hard it is to measure up the Hallmark version of Mom. As a mom myself, I know where she's coming from. Sometimes we cry over our failures, and sometimes over how amazing our kids have turned out...
Moms are great. They carry you around in their bellies for months, give painful birth to you, and then (hopefully) spend years caring for, worrying over and nurturing you until you're (hopefully) able to do all that life stuff for yourself.
Editorial content for Needles and Pearls
Teaser
Two weddings and a year after her husband's funeral, Jo Mackenzie is finally starting to get the hang of being a single parent. The boys are thriving, the yarn shop is doing well --- thanks to Jo's improvements --- and she's just about keeping her head above water.
About the Book
The warm and witty sequel to THE BEACH STREET KNITTING SOCIETY AND YARN CLUB.
Slip one…
Two weddings and a year after her husband's funeral, Jo Mackenzie is finally starting to get the hang of being a single parent. The boys are thriving, the yarn shop is doing well --- thanks to Jo's improvements --- and she's just about keeping her head above water.
Knit two together…
But a man from Jo's past and a new romance with the hunky local carpenter come along and make life a whole lot more interesting.
Cast off…
Can Jo cope when things get really complicated? Because if knitting really does keep you sane when life starts to unravel, Jo's going to need much bigger needles.
This past Thursday, my book club got together for our monthly meeting to discuss THE PIANO TEACHER by Janice Y.K. Lee. There were just four of us this month's and we were split down the middle as to whether or not we liked the book.
My mother, Harriett Dallas, was the literary equivalent of a stage mother. She dragged her friends to my signings, pulled my books from bookstore shelves and placed them face out for better visibility, and she often interrupted my conversations with others on politics or business or whatever to ask, “Sandra, what’s your next book about?” She was my most loyal fan.
