Reunion Beach Elin Hilderbrand (best selling autobiographies .TXT) 📖

a signature dish for each episode. They also talked about a cookbook called “The Southern Belle and the Gray Lady.” Elin’s summer of 2020 novel, 28 Summers, is dedicated to Dottie and Dottie makes a cameo appearance in Elin’s summer of 2021 novel, Golden Girl. “I will never again have a writer friend like Dottie,” Elin says. “Those of you who knew her understand what I mean, and those of you who didn’t will just have to trust me. After Dottie, God broke the mold.”

Also by Elin Hilderbrand

Stand-Alone Novels

Golden Girl

28 Summers

Summer of ’69

The Perfect Couple

The Identicals

Here’s to Us

The Rumor

The Matchmaker

Beautiful Day

Summerland

Silver Girl

The Island

The Castaway

A Summer Affair

Barefoot

The Love Season

The Blue Bistro

Summer People

Nantucket Nights

The Beach Club

Paradise Series

Trouble in Paradise

What Happens in Paradise

Winters in Paradise

Winter Series

Winter Solstice

Winter Storms

Winter Stroll

Winter Street

Postcards from Heaven

Dorothea Benton Frank and Adriana Trigiani by the Virginia Dispatch

Adriana Trigiani

Introduction

When you love a friend, you can’t imagine your life without him. He’s the person you call when something makes you laugh, or something awful just ruined your day. If you’re lucky, that friend understands the complexities and challenges of what you do for a living. He can relate to the frustrations and setbacks that go with the job. He will celebrate with you when things go well. He will be the one to gently suggest that in success, it’s important to keep your wits about you, and in failure, to do the same because both extremes have their traps. The loneliness of solitude, pressure of deadlines, and the fear dance at four a.m. that the words won’t come in time are a few of the pitfalls of the writing life.

When we’re talking about two friends who write for a living, mutual support and understanding are important while availability is essential. The daily conversation on the phone can be a lifeline. It seems only a writer can shore another writer.

Pat Conroy was that friend for Dorothea Benton Frank, and she for him. They talked an awful lot in their years of friendship before he died on March 4, 2016. He did not leave her behind though; the bond remained strong even after his death because in his fashion, in his own particular and original way, he kept in touch. He sent postcards from heaven.

Chapter 1

To: Dorothea Benton Frank

From: Pat Conroy

Hey Dot. Settling in here. Good thing I like wide open spaces with plenty of sky. Bliss is everything they said it was and more. I used to believe serenity was for monks but turns out it’s for everybody, including writers. I like the zen. No characters roiling around in my head. No sitting at a desk with my body in a chair for hours on end, every muscle tensed like a freaked-out Halloween cat, no book tour hoopla, and zero exhaustion from distant cousins guessing who they might be in my latest novel. Just peace. Serenity is completely satisfying.

How are you holding up? You’re in that frenzy before pub, right? To be fair, it seemed you were always in a frenzy before pub. Give it a rest if you can. Books have a way of finding themselves in the hands of the right readers. Don’t push. We are not Fuller Brush salesmen. Everybody needs a brush, but not everyone will like our books.

I’ve been visiting Cassandra in her dreams. It’s almost as good as being there. I could visit you in your dreams but you scare too easy.

Love ya, Pat

To: DBF

From: PC

It’s true that your grief and my absence from your life keeps the connection between us intact. I believe I can alleviate some of the pain and confusion on your end with these postcards. I know what you’re thinking, postcards, not great. Instagram is the new postcard I guess: messages from people you know having fun in places without you.

I wish I could come up with a better way to communicate. I miss our long phone chats, especially the ones after dinner. Our emailing was fun, too. This reaching out to the living by the dead resembles a bad Wi-Fi connection. There are moments of perfect reception followed by nothing. Intermittent communication, they call it. You sure do seem a long way away from your old friend.

Love ya, Pat

To: DBF

From: PC

Dot, you called my name. The message got through!

I’d like to help.

I see the problem. Full disclosure: I can’t render an opinion about your latest book jacket because I am no longer there, and on this side, cover art doesn’t come up for discussion. I caught a brief glimmer of you shuffling through the art boards opining, “Oh Pat,” followed by your head hitting your writing desk like an anvil, which led to a lot of weeping. Yours. Thanks for taking my name in vain.

There’s only one thing to do since histrionics do not become you. Call your agent and tell her, in your sweetest drawl, that you can’t possibly approve the cover art. Tell her nicely that your opus is more complicated than a photograph of a woman with her back to the reader, sitting on the beach wearing a one-piece bathing suit, gripping a sun hat by the brim with one hand and clutching a mai tai with the other. Tell them to lose the cocktail. You can live with the rest. Say it casually, as though you’re checking on the royalty rate in Bulgaria. No screaming, no crying, and do not attempt rage. If you do, I guarantee that you won’t get what you want. The trick is: when they remove the mai tai from the cover art, suddenly the artist will not like it. He or she will create anew. New lady. New beach. New hat. You’ll love the new approach. But if you want a new cover, keep your cool. Stay in the lane marked reasonable because you’re a terrible actress. Really. No acting. Don’t go into that field.

Love ya, Pat

To: DBF

From: PC

I feel like shit about that last postcard. You would have