Recipe: Simple Sauce for Sunday

The easiest and best hot fudge sauce for ice cream, desserts (or even to eat with a spoon, as someone I know well tends to do).

1 can sweetened condensed milk
1 square baking chocolate
1 scoop peanut butter (more or less to your taste)

Melt the baking chocolate in a saucepan. Pour in milk and mix well over low heat. Add peanut butter for a creamy consistency and rich taste. Stores well in the fridge, I hear, but it never lasts long at my house so I can't speak to that! Put it in a pretty jar and it makes a great gift, too.

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Book Clubs Take Note: Discussion Guide: Sister Saint, Sister Sinner

When I sent Sister Saint, Sister Sinner to my editor, she was (as usual) helpful about pointing out areas that needed more development, parts that repeated information already given, and places where the logic temporarily failed. At the end, she made a comment that stuck with me: "People are going to be talking about the things you deal with in this book." To me, that meant the story was destined for book clubs. Having visited a few in my years of writing, I knew that they often begin with a list of discussion topics. Now, they often don't stay focused on them, and that's okay. Sometimes it's the wine. Sometimes it's a natural progression. But discussion leaders like having questions that can get the conversation back on track when it strays too far from the story. Every person who reads a book gets something out of it that no one else does. I had the experience once of visiting a book group where one reader didn't like the book and kept bringing up her

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My grandmother died on my birthday in 1968. We couldn't wish her back, since she'd been in a lot of pain for a long time. Later, I helped Mom clean out her house, and we came upon her sewing basket. For some reason I asked if I could have it, and my mother said yes. I still have it. I think of her every time I take it out of its cupboard, though I can't think of a single time I saw Grandma sewing. It's hers, and that's enough. My other grandmother was the type who asked her progeny what they wanted of her things long before she died. One day when I was visiting I told her about my new hobby, refinishing old furniture. Pointing to a table that had always sat in her living room, she explained that as a young woman she too had taken up that task. The classic-style table was cherry wood, she told me, and she had rescued it from somewhere and given it new life with elbow grease and varnish. "Maybe you'll want it when I'm gone," she said, and I readi

A Story for My Peeps--And a Sale for My E-books

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Peg Herring, Mystery Author

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