California, by way of Ohio, Here I Come

I’ve got a busy few weeks coming up. There’s that pesky deadline thing, of course. And I’m writing, I really am. But I have some long-standing commitments to get to first. For instance, this weekend, I’m headed up to Yellow Springs, Ohio to help celebrate the 25th anniversary of the Antioch Writer’s Workshop.

Twenty years ago, I was a totally frustrated, pissed-off newspaper reporter. I wanted to write fiction, and be a stay-at-home mom to my two children. Katie was eight and Andrew was four. My husband was tired of hearing me bitch and moan about my mean editors. So I did something. I started writing a mystery. One night a week, I’d sneak back to the newspaper office and write on their computer, which was a big no-no, which made me want to do it even more. Subversive streak, you see? I finished that first mystery,and sent it out to thunderous silence. Then I saw an ad in the back of WRITER’S DIGEST magazine, for a writer’s workshop in a place I’d never heard of, Yellow Springs, in a state I’d never been to, Ohio. Sue Grafton, who was my total mystery author hero, was giving a class at the Antioch Writer’s Workshop. And for like, fifty bucks or something, you could have her critique your manuscript. I was so there!

In July of 1990, I used up all my frequent flyer miles and my last week of vacation, and flew up to Ohio. Antioch College, it turns out, was this hippy-dippy little liberal arts school, and Yellow Springs was the totally chill college town, where, instead of having a town drunk, they had a town stoner, sitting on the curb across the street from Weavers Supermarket. Coolest of all, though, was Sue Grafton, who gave a three or four hour workshop every night for a week. That workshop changed my life. I went in a wannabe and came out a WRITER. I had my manuscript conference with Sue, who was incredibly encouraging about my finished novel, telling me I was ready to find an agent and a publisher. Later that week, I read the first chapter of a new book I’d started to the workshop attendees, and afterwards, Sue told me that book would be published. Less than four months later, I had a book contract for EVERY CROOKED NANNY with HarperCollins Publishers.

In May of 1991, I gave my notice at the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, and in 1992, my first book was published. And I’ve never looked back. I’ve been back to the AWW several times since 1990, a couple of times to teach at the workshop, most memorably, in 2000, when Sue Grafton came back to teach, and I was on that same faculty, and again, to be the AWW keynote speaker, which was a huge honor. In the 20 years since I first travelled to that hippy-dippy college town, I’ve made lots of friends in the writing community there, including my dear junk buddy Barb, at whose home I stayed on my first trip back to AWW, and on every trip since. Oh, and I’ve also had 17 novels published.

I’ll fly up to Dayton with a half-empty suitcase early Friday, so that Barb, and my hometown friend Sue and I can have a whole day of Ohio junking before I give my talk at the AWW celebration. Have I mentioned how much I love Ohio junk? They have AWESOME junk in Ohio. I’m looking forward to seeing my book club and writer friends in Yellow Springs, and also to tip-toeing over to Young’s Jersey Dairy Barn for some of their home-churned ice cream.

I come home from Ohio on Sunday, and then on Tuesday, Mr. Mary Kay and I are flying to San Francisco, where he has a two-day meeting. Then it’s on to Sonoma, and some wine-sipping, and hopefully, more junking. Although my chick trip friends and I were just in Sonoma in November, there was no time for junking. This trip, it’s different. I have already warned MMK that there WILL BE junk stops. And I’d appreciate any junk tips anybody has to offer for junking in Northern California next weekend. I’m totally bummed that we have to fly home early Sunday, and I’ll miss the Alameda Point show, so, somebody give me the 411!

Grow–Dammit!

It’s spring, and hope springs eternal, especially in the garden. Yesterday Mr. Mary Kay and I spent an enjoyable couple of hours planting our annual crop of tomatoes, peppers, herbs and potted palms and annuals in our small suburban yard. With all the rain we’ve had this winter, and the early springlike weather, our hopes are high.

You must understand, though, that I did not come from a gardening people. My father was first generation Irish-American, and he grew up a city kid, on the Southside of Chicago. My mother was a city kid too, although there must have been some farmers somewhere in her middle-American background. Essentially, my people were talkers, dreamers, jokers, and bon vivants. Neither of my parents had much talent or interest in gardening, and it showed, since we generally had the raggediest yard in the neighborhood. My Dad could and did kill even the hardiest grass, and my mother just wanted to be in the air-conditioning with a good book and a glass of instant Nestea.

Mr. Mary Kay’s people, of East European extraction, were fishermen originally, although his parents were also city kids. His mother loved plants and had some success with roses, but his family yard wasn’t especially scenic, either.

Still, we’ve always piddled around with gardening. And by we, I mean, he. He is the one who toils endlessly over the lawn, fertilizing, seeding, re-seeding and aerating. I love the idea of gardening. I really do. But I seem to have some kind of magical attraction to bugs, who will fly hundreds of miles to bite me. And then my back hurts and I get big itchy welts and I say the hell with it and go back inside to a good book and some home-brewed iced tea. See? I have evolved a little.

My role in our gardening drama these days is to go to the garden shop, pick out some pretty plants, and sprinkle pink flowers around the landscape. I have had my occasional triumphs,though. There was the year our son and I double dug a perennial flowerbed in front of my little office cottage, and planted it with zinnias, cleome, cosmos, sunflowers and pentas, which all flourished that one, amazing summer. And we’ve always had an arbor with pink New Dawn roses clambering over it. Even my father could have probably grown New Dawns, they’re that easy. I usually manage to keep the geraniums and fern baskets on our front porch alive for the duration of summer too.

Yesterday,I planted four dozen little peat-pots with four different varieties of sunflower seeds. I love the poetry and optimism in the variety of flower names: “Mammoth” “Ebony and Gold” “Skyscraper” and “Evening Sun.” In my mind’s eye, I see a row of tall blooms, their bright happy faces turned skyward. I see our little Molly, barefoot, in a hand-smocked white linen dress, toddling amongst the blooms, like one of those Anne Geddes greeting cards.

The reality, I know, is that even if I get some of those seedlings to grow and flower, they will probably be just as raggedy-ass and scraggly as my father’s lawn in St. Pete. Molly, it must be said, is not yet walking, let alone toddling. And even if she were toddling, would we let her do that barefoot, in a backyard that’s essentially a dog-run for our two English Setters? And then there’s the matter of that hand-smocked white linen dress. So far, I don’t know how to smock, and there is very little likelihood that I will learn that much-admired skill, what with trying to write a new book and grow those sunflowers. Still, I have my hopes. And isn’t that what gardening is ultimately all about?

Hippity-Hoppity


I looked up and discovered that April had arrived–and along with it Easter. We spent the Easter weekend at Tybee, although not at the Breeze Inn, because by the time I realized Easter was coming up, our house was already rented! But the important thing was that we spent the weekend with our family, Katie, Mark and Molly, and Andy, otherwise known as Boomerang Boy. After a hard, cold winter on Tybee, we finally got a stretch of beautiful, sunny weather. The boys were able to get out on the boat and do a little fishing, and we all took long strolls and bike rides. Unfortunately, Molly, who is now 9 months old, was under the weather–cutting four teeth and with a nasty cold and cough that sounds like she’s been smoking Camels for years. So we didn’t get any beach time, because snot and drool really don’t mix well with sand. Today we had Easter lunch here at the cottage we were renting. Baked ham, Mr. Mary Kay’s fabulous lamb chops with cherry balsamic glaze, the Barefoot Contessa’s green, green spring vegetables, herbed new potatoes, and, of course, devilled eggs. Our friend Diane, of Mermaid Cottages, contributed not one, but two, desserts–apple cake with cream cheese frosting, and coconut cake. Our friends Ron and Leuveda joined us too, bringing a great goat cheese appetizer. And Jimmy and Susan took time off from running Seaside Sisters and Seaside Sweets, to stop by for lunch. The children left to drive back to Atlanta and Charlotte, and Mr. MK and I took a bike ride around the island. I even managed to sneak in a nap before heading over to the Kellehers for a second Easter meal. Yikes! Gotta take some brisk walks to work off some of these desserts. Hoping your Easter was as blessed with family, friends and food as ours was.

This ‘n That


We had a brief, glorious hint of spring in Atlanta last weekend, sunny with temperatures inching close to 70. Naturally, I spent a good amount of time Friday afternoon trolling the AJC classifieds and Craigslist to put together my proposed line-up. On Saturday morning, when I was downstairs pouring my Diet Coke, Mr. Mary Kay looked astonished to see me up that early. Have I mentioned that I am NOT a morning person? “What are you doing?” he asked, as though I’d come downstairs in a skydiving or spelunking outfit. “It’s the home opener,” I replied.
“Huh?” And to that, I replied, “Junking season starts today!” Then I was out the door–driving his ginormous Yukon, because you can fit a buttload of junk in that puppy. My regular junk posse members were out of pocket or out of town Saturday, so Katie stepped in as a junior posse member. Katie is of that generation that thinks Pottery Barn and Restoration Hardware stuff is absolute nirvana, but these days she is suddenly hot to trot for junk, because she and her husband (and Molly) will be moving into their recently-purchased new home in May. And that Pottery Barn particle-board crap is NOT cheap. Have I mentioned that they (and by they, I mean Molly) will be living within walking distance in the ‘dale? We actually did a scouting trip on Friday afternoon, to a couple of sales in Midtown Atlanta. At the first sale, Katie stayed in the car with Molly, while I climbed the incredibly steep front steps to check out the action. Seeing a couple of things I thought might be workable, I signalled her to come up. But after hiking all those steps with 8-month-old Molly in her frontpack, Katie turned up her delicate nose at the porch offerings. In all honesty, I must say I wasn’t really sold on anything. There seemed to be a LOT of cat feeding dishes around. At one point, the woman running the sale mentioned to a ponytail-sporting man that she had, like six cats. So they started cat-talking, and he volunteered that he MAKES his own cat food. At which point, being decidely dog people, we fled the scene. We cruised past a porch sale that was to start Saturday morning, but Katie, who is very finicky about these things, opined that she didn’t like the look of the place. Have I mentioned that I somehow managed to raise a child who is NOT down with pawing through mildewy basments and roach-ridden attics in search of priceless antiques? Sigh. Where did I go wrong? Anyway, we hit seven or eight sales Saturday morning. And the only place I scored was at an estate sale I hit accidentally. I picked up a chenille bedspread, an old pickle jug with a wire bale and wooden handle, a repro Coke button sign (for The Breeze Inn) and some other goodies. At one point, Katie requested to be dropped off at home, so I struck out on my own. Back to the porch sale in Midtown, where I spotted four great Chinese Chippendale faux bamboo chairs. Wood, heavy as all get-out, and a matching octagonal table–complete with a leaf! The tabletop is some kind of wood-grained formica stuff, but the rest is very heavy wood, probably early 60s vintage, very DOMINO magazine-esque. Katie had been talking about wanting a real dining room set for her new house, so quick like a bunny I emailed her cellphone pix, and she called in her approval. I managed to talk the anemic-looking guy running the sale down to $125, and then I ran to the ATM for the required cash, and home to get the pick-up truck, along with Katie’s husband and father to help move the furniture. When we got back with the men and the truck, imagine my surprise when anemic guy suddenly peps up and volunteers to do the heavy lifting! Anyway, Katie and Mark love their new furniture, which was Katie’s early birthday present. Watch for pix as they move into their house and furnish it with all our junk finds. On Sunday, I got up and drove down to Tybee and The Breeze Inn, to try to get in some writing. The work was going well today, but after four or five hours, my shoulders and neck were so knotted up with tension, I could hardly move. I booked a massage appointment, and on the way home, I was cruising around the island, when I spotted an antique chest of drawers on the curb. Since tomorrow is trash pick-up day, I declared a junk emergency and called my friend Diane. “Are you up for a mission?” I asked. I told her what I’d spotted, and where it was. “Oh my gosh,” she exclaimed. “I bet that’s my dresser. I used to manage that house for my sister, and we sold it furnished.” Five minutes later, she pulled up to the house. Sure enough, the dresser was an antique solid pine piece Diane bought years ago at the old Lakewood Antique Market. The new owners of her sister’s former cottage apparently had no regard for good old stuff and put it out for the trash collectors. But now, the chest has been happily reunited with Diane. Junk karma for sure. And don’t you just love happy endings?

Spring Fling Audiobook Giveaway

It’s springtime–or nearly so, and I’m feeling in the mood for a giveaway. So for my loyal blog readers I’m gifting two free copies of the audiobook version of my New York Times bestseller DEEP DISH. Like a $30 value! You’ll want to make sure to enter to win and add your name to my newsletter mailing list. That way you’ll receive my spring newsletter with all the details about my cool book club beach basket contest.

In the meantime, here’s the jacket copy description for DEEP DISH–Chef extraordinaire Gina Foxton doesn’t expect anything to be handed to her on a platter. After years of hard work, the former runner-up Miss Teen Vidalia Onion is now the host of her own local Georgia public television show called Fresh Start, and she’s dating the show’s producer. But when her show gets canceled—and she catches her boyfriend in flagrante delicto with the boss’s wife—Gina realizes that she’s meant for bigger and better things. Namely, a gig on national television.
The Cooking Channel is looking for its next big star, and Gina is certain that she fits the bill. Trouble is, the execs also have their eyes on Mr. “Kill It and Grill It” Tate Moody, the star of a hunting, fishing, and cooking show named Vittles. Tate is the ultimate man’s man, with a dog named Moonpie and a penchant for flannel shirts. He’s also a tasty side of beef with a swooning female fan base. All Gina has on her side are a free-spirited, college-dropout sister and a mother who calls every single day. Little does Gina know, though, that she and Tate are soon to embark on the cook-off of their lives, spiced up by a little ingredient called love.
You want a copy don’t you? So here’s what you do…Leave me a grovelling comment about how much you’d love to have a free audiobook of DEEP DISH. Then click the Newsletter tab at the top of the page to sign up for my email list before midnight, Friday, Mar. 19. And yes, joining my mailing list is essential in order to win the audiobook. I’ll announce winners next Monday, and my lovely assistant Grace will mail them out. Easy-peasy, right?

Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand


Whenever I’m in Savannah, I always stop in at E. Shaver Books. The “girls” at Shaver’s get me. They’ve hand-sold probably thousands of my books over the years–hey, I’ve written 17, ya know–, so whenever I stop in, they always have me autograph books. Then I wander around and see what’s what. That’s one of the joys of independent booksellers. They don’t just stock the New York Times bestsellers. They stock books they love, or think their customers will love. Indies know what their customers like to read. They know and support local writers. And they’re not afraid to champion a book they love. The Shaver’s girls always have the latest decorator porn books. They know and love cooking, so they are great at recommending cookbooks. They are the ones who put me onto THE GUERNSEY LITERARY AND POTATO PEEL PIE SOCIETY last year. And when I was there week before last, I asked about a book that’s receiving lots of buzz, THE POSTMISTRESS. Yes, they agreed, that was a good book. Big hit on the NYT list. But the book they insisted I buy was MAJOR PETTIGREW’S LAST STAND. Here’s what the Random House website says about it:

You are about to travel to Edgecombe St. Mary, a small village in the English countryside filled with rolling hills, thatched cottages, and a cast of characters both hilariously original and as familiar as the members of your own family. Among them is Major Ernest Pettigrew (retired), the unlikely hero of Helen Simonson’s wondrous debut. Wry, courtly, opinionated, and completely endearing, Major Pettigrew is one of the most indelible characters in contemporary fiction, and from the very first page of this remarkable novel he will steal your heart.

The Major leads a quiet life valuing the proper things that Englishmen have lived by for generations: honor, duty, decorum, and a properly brewed cup of tea. But then his brother’s death sparks an unexpected friendship with Mrs. Jasmina Ali, the Pakistani shopkeeper from the village. Drawn together by their shared love of literature and the loss of their respective spouses, the Major and Mrs. Ali soon find their friendship blossoming into something more. But village society insists on embracing him as the quintessential local and her as the permanent foreigner. Can their relationship survive the risks one takes when pursuing happiness in the face of culture and tradition?

I finished Major Pettigrew recently, and am completely in love with this quiet, charming book set in an English village, and so grateful to the girls at Shaver’s for turning me onto it. Last summer, while I was on tour for THE FIXER UPPER, another bookseller at an indie store, Browseabout Books in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware, hand-sold me another jewel of a book, called EAST OF THE SUN by Julia Gregson, which I never would have found without her recommendation. If you live in a community with an indie bookstore, you’re a lucky so-and-so. The big box stores have driven a lot of the wonderfullest indies out of business, and this tough economy has put them on the endangered species list. Some of my other favorite indies? Eagle Eye Books, right here in Decatur, just a couple miles from my house. FoxTale Books in Woodstock. GA. Scott’s in Newnan, Ga. Dog-Ear Books in Madison,GA. G.J. Ford on St. Simon’s Island,GA., Cyrano’s in Highlands, NC, Park Road Books in Charlotte, NC, Haslam’s, in my hometown of St. Petersburg, FL. Bay Street Trading Company in Beaufort, SC, Page and Palette in Fairhope, AL., Murder by the Book in Houston, Mystery Lover’s Books in Oakmont, PA., Quail Ridge Books in Raleigh, N.C.–if you’re ever in the triangle area, do yourself a favor and get over to Quail Ridge. While you’re there, it’s very likely you’ll run into a well-known author. This is partly because you can’t swing a cat in Raleigh without hitting a writer.I once burst into owner Nancy Olson’s office there while she was chatting with Charles Frazier, the author of COLD MOUNTAIN. There are many more wonderful independent bookstores than I can mention here. But the point is, the economy is tough. We’ve had a nasty winter, which means foot traffic is down at lots of these stores, who depend on foot traffic so they can hand-sell books. So do yourself a favor. Set aside an hour or so and wander over to your local indie and come away with a book you’ll love. And yeah, it’d be good if you bought a Mary Kay Andrews title. But if not, no worries. I’ll get ya next time.

The Write Stuff


At Hilton Head’s Cooks n’ Books with Patti Callahan Henry and Salty Dawg



I’ve been lost in a book for close to three weeks now. Wandering around in the territory of imagination without my GPS. So you’ll have to excuse my absence from this blog. I spent a week down at The Breeze Inn on Tybee, working away on SUMMER RENTAL, bookended by appearances at Hilton Head’s Cooks and Books event and the Jacksonville Library’s Much Ado About Books, followed by another week of writer’s retreat with my writer’s group from North Carolina. It was a fun combination of public events and private torture, er, writing time.

I started off by travelling to Dataw Island, outside Beaufort, SC to speak to a book club luncheon on Friday. That Sunday was the Cooks and Books event on Hilton Head, which is a fund-raiser for Literacy of the Low Country. Got to see writer friends like Patti Callahan Henry, Jackie Cooper and Karen White, and of course, meet lots of friendly fans. Then it was back to work on Tybee. The first week at the beach, I plunged headfirst back into the book. I have to set goals for myself to keep my momentum, and I’d promised myself that I would have 200 manuscript pages by the time “the girls” arrived. And I also wanted to be able to send those pages off to my new editor for her feedback. It’s been an unusually chilly gray winter this year, which was good news, as I was not tempted to do much other than burrow in and write. My husband kept calling and asking if I’d gone for a bike ride, or at least a stroll on the beach. I did take one 30-minute beach walk, and another couple brief bike rides, but for the most part, it was a productive work week. Although, yeah, I did get burnt out on writing one day. Told myself I was going “off-island” to get dinner at Publix, somehow ended up driving into Savannah and making stops at World Plus Market–where I spent an hour cruising the aisles for shiny happy cheap stuff. Then I decided it was vitally important to world peace that I replace the mattresses in Boomerang Boy’s beach bedroom. Somehow, I managed to spend more time choosing which flavor Italian soda to buy at World Plus than I did at the mattress store. Finally, $900 later, I made it to Publix to buy my rotisserie chicken.

My only walk on the beach at Tybee–but a beautiful one



Then it was off to Jacksonville, where I gave the keynote luncheon talk at the Jacksonville Library’s Much Ado About Books festival. Such a fun event! I had all day Friday to wander around Jacksonville, and those smarty-pants library folks even provided me with a junk itinerary which sent me to the Avonlea Antique Mall, where I picked up a trio of cool old black and white beach snapshots to add to my collection, and then to Five Points, where I browsed Five Points Antiques and Fans and Stoves, both great little antique shops. At Five Points Antiques I scored a pair of retro vintage concrete seahorse placques just like the ones I’d been jonesing for these since seeing a story in House Beautiful last year.

Concrete seahorse plaques from HOUSE BEAUTIFUL

Friday night was the Much Ado About Books gala, which featured a theme of Lights Over London. The event organizers managed to turn the library’s rotunda and courtyard into a London fantasy, featuring Union Jacks, bobby hats, and even a huge Tower of London. My date for the night was Ward Lariscy, a Savannah native who happens to be one of Jacksonville’s most talented interior designers. I teased him about being my “arm candy” but it was a match made in heaven as we gossiped about antiques and Savannah and such. I even got to make my curtsey to “Queen Elizabeth,” who was, in reality Jacksonville arts champion Betsy Lovett. After a quick turn on the dance floor–told you those Jax folks know how to party–it was off to a dinner with a bevy of New York Times bestselling authors, lead by Steve and Liz Berry, and including my new friends Andrew Gross, Chris Bohjalian and Michael Palmer. They even taught me the NYT bestseller secret handshake.

Paying my respects to Queen Elizabeth, aka Jax Library Patron Betsy Lovett

On the way back to Tybee Saturday night, I took a quick detour to St. Simon’s Island to catch up with old friend Laura Lippman and family. Laura had just turned in her next NYT-bestseller, and she and husband, television writer/producer David Simon have been living in New Orleans while filming David’s new HBO series TREME, which premieres April 19. Laura’s LIFE SENTENCES just came out in paperback last week, so you should rush out and buy dozens of copies.

Writers retreat 2010 at The Breeze Inn

And then, it was time to buckle back down to work. I’d invited my North Carolina writer’s group–Diane Chamberlain, Margaret Maron, Sarah Shaber and Alex Sokoloff to come down to The Breeze Inn for one of our twice-yearly retreats, and they finally took me up on my plea/offer. We missed absent members Kathy Munger and Bren Witchger, but boy did we buckle down to work. Half “the girls” stayed at Castaway Cottage, which is right next door to The Breeze Inn, so everybody had their own working space. People often ask us what a writer’s retreat is, and we usually liken it to a writer’s bootcamp. All of us are multi-published veteran authors, so we are all serious and committed to our work, which is not to say we don’t have fun. We do. But work comes first! Our schedule usually follows a pretty set routine. We meet in the morning, and over coffee/Diet Coke, we talk about the day’s work. We write down our concrete writing goals for the day,–for instance, a plot point reached, or a page or word count achieved, and if anybody has an issue or problem with the work in progress, they ask for some brainstorming.The brainstorming is such a tremendous help! Together, we’ve come up with plot twists, titles, subplots, character names and much more for each other’s books. At lunchtime, we usually meet over a sandwich or leftovers, and talk about our progress so far, and then it’s back to work until we break for dinner. Not wanting to waste valuable work time by going out to dinner, we usually eat in, with each member taking turns supplying soup, stew, casserole, ect. Over dinner we assess the day’s progress and again brainstorm. Finally, after that, it’s usually some kind of diversion, usually a word game like Balderdash, Taboo or Scrabble, although we have also watched movies. The interesting thing this time around was that we were all at different stages of a WIP–(work in progress). Margaret is just starting her next mystery. Diane is facing a May deadline. Alex was mid-book and also starting to plot out her next book, Sarah was turning an old screenplay into a new novel, and I was mid-book, facing a summer deadline. While we were at the retreat, I received five pages of notes from my new editor, with suggestions on how to strengthen what I’d already written, and direction for the second half of the book. Those notes came at a perfect time, with my friends ready with ideas on how to achieve my editor’s goals. Together, we all hashed out tiny details (Diane’s female characters all had names ending in ‘a’), to big picture quandrys–how to add emotional depth to my lead protagonist. By Friday night, we were ready for a celebratory dinner out–at Sundae Cafe. And Saturday morning was getaway day for all. I think we all left satisfied with what we’d accomplished and excited with the prospect of our upcoming projects. We still need a name for our writer’s group, so if anybody has any suggestions, we’d love to hear ’em.

We Now Continue Our Regularly Scheduled Blog

My funny valentine and henchmen serve it up sweet n’ silly

Oh yeah. Where was I? When I’m wrapped up in a book–or in life, things fall by the wayside. Usually it’s laundry, bill-paying and grocery shopping, but this time around, I slacked off on blogging. The thing is, there were no monumental blog topics to put my arms around. Valentine’s Day came and went. We spent the weekend at The Breeze Inn, joined by two couples who are old friends. It was a cold, mostly gray weekend. We managed to watch the Tybee Mardi Gras parade, which was a hoot. Our favorite marchers were the Beach Chair Brigade–a group of fun women adorned in hilarious “bikini” beach cover-ups who did precision beach chair manuevers along the parade route. Saturday night the husbands fixed us a Valentine’s Day dinner, starting with yummy martinis and cosmopolitan cocktails, grilled shrimp and steak and a surprise dessert. The surprise was three grown men, serving pound cake and strawberries–dressed in red longjohns, which they’d hidden under their jeans and sweatshirts during dinner. Silly but sweet, just like our guys. On Sunday, before leaving the island, we were treated to a Valentine’s brunch given by Diane at Mermaid Cottages–the highlight of which was her Krispy Kreme doughnut bread pudding. Always good times at Diane’s.

Beach chair brigade struts stuff at Tybee Mardi Gras parade

I’ve been doing a few book club appearances this winter, including meeting with The Outlaws Dinner Club and Literary Society in Decatur. It sounds pretty high-minded, but really, they’re just a book- loving group of women who meet for dinner and book talk. After all that book talk, they played a cutthroat dice game to determine the winner of the door prize books I’d brought.

Dataw Island book club member and door prize winner

Last Friday, I spoke to a group of book clubs on Dataw Island, near Beaufort, S.C. No dice games this time, we just drew names for the door prize. That night, I attended the kick-off gala for the Cooks and Books literacy fundraiser on Hilton Head. After spending the night on the island, I headed back for Tybee, but not before making a quick stop at a yard sale I spotted. I scored an adorable pair of bamboo twin headboards for peanuts, and quickly added them to my booth at Seaside Sisters.

Hilton Head yard sale–home of the bamboo headboards

Sunday’s Cooks and Books event at the Shelter Cove Mall on Hilton Head was great fun. Chefs from some of the best restaurants on Hilton Head offered their yummiest dishes for an Iron Chef competition, and eight authors–including myself, my friend Patty Callahan Henry, and lots of others, signed books. All the proceeds went to the Low Country Literacy Volunteers.

MKA and Patti Henry getting cozy with Salty Dawg on Hilton Head
And now it’s time to dig in and write. My writer’s group from North Carolina will be joining me here at The Breeze Inn for a week of writer’s retreat on Sunday, so I’ve got to have 200 pages of the new book, SUMMER RENTAL, done before they get here. But before that, I’m heading down to Jacksoville on Saturday to give the keynote speech for the Jacksonville library’s Much Ado About Books festival. You can still buy tickets here. See? I really have been busy.

What’s on my Nightstand

My nightstand–at least one little corner of it

What’s on my bedside table these days? Oh, you know. Some hand lotion. The earrings I wore to a party Saturday night. Some shelter magazines. Like the latest issue of HOUSE BEAUTIFUL, which is a total rhapsody in blue–my favorite color.

Mood Indigo–a gorgeous Hamptons beach house in House Beautiful

I do try to let go of magazines, but this issue is never going away. And books. Lawwwwd, I do have stacks of books. But here are three very new books which I enjoyed very much, and which I think you’d enjoy too. Coincidentally, they all have Southern authors or themes, although I certainly don’t limit my reading to any one region of the country. The first book I want to tell you about is SAVING CEECEE HONEYCUTT.

If you loved THE HELP, you’ll love CeeCee

A first novel by Beth Hoffman, this is the story of 12-year-old Cecelia Rose Honeycutt, who has been the caretaker for her mother, a psychotic former beauty queen. CeeCee’s father has taken a powder, her mother is nutty as a fruitcake, and her only friend in her small town “up north” is Mrs. Odell, the widow lady who lives across the street. But when an even greater tragedy strikes, CeeCee’s salvation comes in the form of her great aunt Tootie, who rides into town in a vintage Packard and carries her off to a new life in Savannah, Georgia. If you’re like me, February is the time you’re yearning for a good read, a book that will take you away to a different time and place, and fully engage you in the life of a character you’ll come to know and love. That’s CeeCee. In the spirit of full disclosure, I should tell you that the editor of SAVING CEECEE HONEYCUTT is the brilliant and beautiful Pamela Dorman, who also acquired and published a little book you might have heard of a few years ago, a book called THE SECRET LIFE OF BEES by Sue Monk Kidd. Pam also happens to be married to the brilliant and dashing Stuart Krichevsky, who is my literary agent. So you know she has impeccable taste, both in books and husbands. Also on my nightstand these days is a new memoir by a former colleague from my days at The Atlanta Journal-Constitution. Rheta Grimsley Johnson’s ENCHANTED BARBIE AND THE SECOND COMING.

Rheta Grimsley Johnson’s new memoir

Starting out life as a foot-washing Baptist growing up in small Southern towns, graduating from journalism school at Auburn University and a life spent chronicling the everyday and the odd for a string of newspapers fortunate enough to hire her, Rheta Johnson’s eye for detail and her ability to make both the comic and tragic come alive make for a wonderful memoir. Her tales of starting a weekly newspaper on St. Simon’s Island, of meeting and marrying a journalism professor, and her ill-starred stint at the AJC had me from the get-go. Hers is a clear-eyed but affectionate look at a region she loves. There’s lots to love in this memoir–except for the book jacket. But don’t let that put you off. This is really a Valentine to a life in the South that’s rapidly disappearing. Which brings me to the third new book on my bedside table.

I LOVE YOU, NOW HUSH, is what my husband tells me almost every night when I’m rambling on and he’s trying to go to sleep. It’s also the title of a witty collection of essays about the nature of men and women–as seen by Melinda Rainey Thompson and Morgan Murphy. She’s a dyed-in-the-wool Alabama magnolia–a Kappa Kappa Gamma from Tulane, who also happens to have a masters from the University of Alabama-Birmingham, he’s a bourbon-swilling, cigar-smoking bon vivant whose work has appeared in Vanity Fair, Esquire, Forbes and Southern Living. Check out the chapter on Southern cusswords!

Molly’s Special Day

Molly’s christening cup–with pink roses

This past Sunday dawned sunny and beautiful. And pink. Because it was Molly’s christening day. Pink tulips by the front door, pink quince blossoms on the sideboard, a big silver punch bowl full of pink hydrangeas on the dining room table and antique silver christening cups full of pink roses scattered around the house. There were pink iced cupcakes, pink jellybeans, even pink M&Ms. And a very pink-cheeked, radiant little girl named Molly who was christened into our faith. The star of the day, Miss Molly, seemed to know it was an important occasion. She laughed and cooed and gurgled all day long, allowing many, many kisses and admiring looks.

Molly’s “in the pink” centerpiece

Her Missouri grandmother’s dear friend Kaye hand-crafted the most amazing confection of a frilly, lace-frosted christening dress and cap, just for Molly. It will be a family keepsake, and Molly was honored to be the first to wear it.

Presenting Miss Molly, in all her christening day finery

Grandma Jane–(she is GiGi, I am KiKi), flew in for the festivities, as did Molly’s godfather Zack, who is Mark’s childhood friend. Katie’s cousin Sarah, who was her maid-of-honor, flew up from Florida for the big day, and one of Katie’s oldest friends, Kristin, who was also in the wedding, stood up as Molly’s godmother, which was only fair since Katie is godmother to Kristin’s daughter Lydia Grace. Katie and Kristin and Carolyn, the third member of their best-friend trio have been friends since parochial school days.

Msgr. Lopez, aka Padre, Molly, Kristin and Zack

One reason Molly didn’t get christened any earlier was that Katie wanted a very special priest to baptize Molly. Monsignor Lopez was the school chaplain at Katie’s high school, and a much-loved teacher by everybody who graduated from St. Pius X high school for the past many years. “Padre” as the kids call him, has an unbelievably busy schedule, so we just waited until he had a free afternoon to do the honors. And he was so worth the wait, performing such a warm and tender ceremony that there really wasn’t a dry eye in the little St. Pius chapel.

Molly, Mark and Katie apres christening
In preparing for the festivities, I managed to dig out a photo from Katie’s own christening, nearly 28 years ago, in Savannah. Our then parish priest, Father Boland, did the honors. Guess what, he’s the bishop of Savannah now. And as you can see, Katie and I favored pink even back then.

Tom and I at Katie’s christening 28 years ago–with Bishop Boland
Afterwards, of course, we had a party at our house. The menu was unabashedly girlie in Molly’s honor; our special chicken salad (Beyond the Grave Chicken Salad-from LITTLE BITTY LIES) on mini-croissants, cold asparagus with vinaigrette dressing, Aunt Jeanne’s pickled shrimp, fresh fruit skewers, devilled eggs, and the afore-mentioned cupcakes from our neighborhood bakery, Sweet n’ Sinful.

Three generations celebrate Molly’s happy day
Molly was passed from arm to arm, and cousins and aunts and uncles and neighbors and old friends gathered around and enjoyed the afternoon, while pink candles flickered on the dining room table, and a fire crackled in the living room fireplace. We couldn’t have asked for a nicer day, or a sweeter reason to celebrate!