Blossom Street May 2010 On Sale: May 1, 2010 Featuring: Lydia Hoffman 384 pages ISBN: 0778328805 EAN: 9780778328803 Mass Market Paperback (reprint) $7.99 Add to Wish List Romance Contemporary Buy at Amazon.com A Good Yarn by Debbie Macomber Lydia Hoffman owns the shop on Blossom Street. In the year since it opened, A Good Yarn has thrived—and so has Lydia. A lot of that is due to Brad Goetz. But when Brad’s ex-wife reappears, Lydia is suddenly afraid to trust her newfound happiness. Three women join Lydia’s newest class. Elise Beaumont, retired and bitterly divorced, learns that her onetime husband is reentering her life. Bethanne Hamlin is facing the fallout from a much more recent divorce. And Courtney Pulanski is a depressed and overweight teenager, whose grandmother’s idea of helping her is to drag her to seniors’ swim sessions—and to the knitting class at A Good Yarn. Excerpt “Making a sock by hand creates a connection to history; we are offered a glimpse into the lives of knitters who made socks using the same skills and techniques we continue to use today.” —Nancy Bush, author of Folk Socks (1994), Folk Knitting in Estonia (1999) and Knitting on the Road, Socks…

On the month that my 30th novel comes out I’d like to talk about dealing with being gifted. Over the years, when beginning writers come to me and say, “Do I have what it takes to be a writer? Am I gifted?” I always remember the night I followed my writing teacher out of class. I’d just read my first chapter of my first novel. Handwritten on yellow legal paper. I knew nothing of plotting, viewpoint, characterization or even manuscript format. I’d just signed up for a community class at the college and had dreams of hitting within months. While we walked to her car, I asked her one question after another. I’m sure she was wondering if I could be some kind of writer/stalker by the time we reached her car. With the door open, I blurted out my last question. “Do you think I can be a writer? I mean a real writer.” She smiled (or at least I think she did for we were standing on a dark parking lot) and said, “If you work really, really hard you’ll make it.” I danced back to my car thinking my writing teacher had seen something in me that…