I’m busy gearing up for the HARD CANDY CHRISTMAS release, clearing off everything that piled up on my desk during edits, and settling into my next book. HERE YOU COME AGAIN is the second Talbot & Andrews Investigation. I’m having so much fun with Liz, Nate, and the Stella Maris crew! I had forgotten how easily I get lost in their world.
Before we get to April, though, there’s Christmas. HARD CANDY CHRISTMAS, the very first Talbot & Andrews Investigation, arrives October 27, and preorders are open everywhere.
Signed and personalized paperbacks come straight from my store. Did you know you can also order ebooks and audio books directly from me? The folks at BookFunnel handle the delivery, and it seems to work seamlessly. And of course, ebook and audiobook preorders are open at all the usual online retailers.
Now, about the donkey. Back in June I showed y’all the cover for HARD CANDY CHRISTMAS and asked what we ought to call him, and whether anybody had notions about the chickens. Y’all did not disappoint. I do have a confession, though. The donkey actually already had a name. I’d settled it in the manuscript before the votes came in, and he is Balaam, called Bally for short, after the fellow in Numbers 22 whose donkey turned out to have considerably more sense than he did.
But oh, the suggestions. Cletus Burrito took six votes, and I’m told burrito means little donkey in Spanish, a thing I did not know and will now never forget. Jack, short for Jackass, got two. So did Leon, which is Noel spelled backwards, and I think that’s clever. Somebody put forward Mister Higgins, from Magnum P.I. Somebody else said Lucifer and noted that this is what Mamma would have named him, and I’m sure that’s probably true.
Two of you voted for Frank, which I take to mean two of you wanted the donkey named after Liz’s own daddy. I laughed out loud. And one reader wanted him introduced the way James Bond introduces himself. I will not be repeating that one.
The chickens are still wide open, and I will be picking from your list. Henrietta and Harriet each pulled three votes. Reba, Maybelline, and Blanche got two apiece. Then there was Loretta, Wilhelmina, Magnolia, Fricassee, Nugget, Abbott and Costello, a pair called Thelma and Louise, another pair called Shrimp and Grits, and somebody’s Biscuits and Gravy. Whichever ones I settle on will be named in the next book. Thank you for playing along. Y’all are a delight.
My mother’s fried chicken was legendary. When it was on the menu, we organized our lives around it. My sister jokes that she lured her husband into our family with Mamma’s fried chicken, and I’m pretty sure she thinks there’s some truth to that. That man asked for it every year for his birthday. Not cake. Not a steak. Fried chicken, and plenty of it—lots of drumsticks, please.
I was sure I had shared this recipe with y’all years ago. I thought it was one of the very first. Mamma’s fried chicken turns up in nearly every book I have written. Liz talks about it. Daddy schemes for it. Joe’s eyes light up at the sight of a platter. So I went digging through my whole newsletter history, then my website, then my photographs, and it is nowhere. I never gave it to you. I apologize for that, and I am fixing the situation today.
Liz’s family is not my family. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. But I do borrow some of the sweet little stories—and the hilarious ones—that have happened around our table and hand them over to the Talbots. That is life turning quietly into fiction, and I only ever do it with the sweet parts. I never tell the messy ones. Not that we have messy ones. We don’t. We are a perfectly normal, unmessy family.
That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.
I went looking for Mamma’s own recipe first, and this is where the story takes a turn. Years ago my mother chaired the committee that put together her church’s cookbook, Cooking with Grace. She wanted a real cookbook, a thick one, so she gathered recipes from every woman in the congregation and of course used several of her own.
But she didn’t want to use too many of hers, because how would that look? So, she used some of my recipes, her sister’s, friends who weren’t even Methodists….and when she still ran short of her target, she filled in the gaps by quietly using a few more of her recipes and putting other people’s names on them…my sister, who does not cook. (Which was an inside joke to anyone who knows her.) My daughters, who were too young at the time to have recipes of their own.
Mamma was not going to have a church cookbook with her own name on every other page. That book has been our family’s go-to for family recipes for decades and it is still the first place I go looking.
So I opened it up expecting Mamma’s fried chicken, and it isn’t there. It isn’t anywhere. My mother never wrote it down. She probably never made it exactly the same way twice, and I don’t believe it ever once crossed her mind that there was anything special about the way she fried a chicken. She was completely oblivious.
Now I’ll let y’all in on a secret. It has been years since I fried chicken. Frying chicken is messy and exhausting. For a good while now I have bought mine at Publix. I like their fried chicken just fine and I am not the least bit ashamed.
But…it is not my mamma’s fried chicken by any stretch of the imagination.
And because I could not find Mamma’s recipe, this month I decided to rally. I went back to the version I put together the last time I stood over a cast iron skillet, and tried to recreate Mamma’s chicken, sort of… (I ALWAYS make my own tweaks, even to perfection. It’s a character flaw) …and I updated it for 2026. The translation for that is: I added even more fat and every calorie possible. That is simply the way I roll. Then I fried a big mess of it this weekend, and I have the pictures to prove it, chicken and kitchen both.
If you give it a try, I would love to hear what you think.








