As we all know, the flagging economy is forcing businesses to make tough decisions and the book industry is no exception. Book stores are closing. Publishers are laying off people, cutting back on production, and pulling titles from distribution.
What’s an author to do?
Get those sales up.
So, Fellow author and Friend, Pamela S Thibodeaux, is having a Valentine’s Day contest Where Everyone Gets a Gift!
Between Jan. 31st & Feb. 13th
Everyone who enters will receive Thib’s Teaser (a pdf with blurbs/excerpts/discount coupons/short story) AND their name will be entered into a drawing for the GRAND PRIZE – simply email Pertinent Promotions at ppromocntst@aol.com with Sweetheart Contest in the subject line.
No Purchase Necessary to Participate
~HOWEVER ~
Purchase any (1) Tempered novel and, along with Thib’s Teaser you will receive a Special Surprise Gift and your name will go into the drawing twice for the Grand Prize! Simply forward a copy of your receipt or proof of purchase to ppromocntst@aol.com (include your mailing address for the surprise gift).
Purchase 2 Tempered novels and in addition to Thib’sTeaser you will Receive a Special Surprise Gift, Your pick of a FREE download of either Choices or Cathy’s Angel and three chances to win the Grand Prize! Simply forward a copy of your receipt or proof of purchase to ppromocntst@aol.com (pick your short story and include your mailing address for your surprise gift)
Purcahse the first 3 Tempered novels (Tempered Hearts, Tempered Dreams & Tempered Fire) and in addition to Thib’s Teaser you will Receive: A Special Surprise Gift, Your pick of a FREE download of either Cathy’s Angel or Choices a FREE autographed copy of Tempered Joy and 4 chances to win the Grand Prize! Simply forward a copy of your receipt or proof of purchase to ppromocntst@aol.com (pick your short story and include your mailing address for your autographed copy of Tempered Joy & your surprise gift)
Together we can take the Tempered Series to Amazon’s Best Seller List!
**Amazon Purchase NOT Your ONLY Option**
If you purchase Any of the Tempered Series according to the rules above from your local book store, MAIL a copy of your receipt to Pertinent Promotions c/o Pamela S Thibodeaux, PO Box 324, Iowa, LA 70647 and your prizes will be the same as those listed.
Same rules apply if you purchase DIGITAL copies of The Tempered Books *Note* If you purchase digital copies of Tempered Hearts, Tempered Dreams, and Tempered Fire according to the rules above, you will receive a digital copy of Tempered Joy. *Digital copies also available @ All Romance Ebooks!
Winner will be announced on Feb 14th
*All entrants will be added to Pertinent Promotions and the Author’s personal mailing lists.*
Grand Prize: CD of my TWRP titles which includes 3 short stores (Cathy’s Angel, Choices, & A Hero for Jessica), 1 full-length novel The Inheritance and an advanced copy of my Upcoming Release Winter Madness (short story) and a Valentine Gift Basket!
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Touched by an Angel Available!
Touched by an Angel is now available!
The Wild Rose Press
www.thewildrosepress.com
or visit my website
www.sharonadonovan.com
And to celebrate my release, I am offering two contests
For a chance to win a basket of goodies with an angel, coffee cup, chocolates and a bottle of scented lotion from Bath&Body,
Visit my website for rules
www.sharonadonovan.com
And for a chance to win a SONY E-Reader, purchase Touched by an Angel at
The Wild Rose Press
www.thewildrosepress.com
This SONY contest runs from January 15-March 15. Good luck!
Here's a blurb and excerpt to peak your interest.
On the eve of his wife’s death anniversary, Charles is as restless as the coming storm. Surrounded by the stillness of the Mojave Desert, he contemplates suicide. But just as he is about to jump, he hears the sweet voice of his wife, telling him it’s not his time. But when Charles meets Emma, whose resemblance to his wife is hauntingly striking, he is drawn to her. And when they discover their spouses have died on the same day and are buried side by side in the same cemetery, a spiritual bonding occurs that neither can deny. Is this fate—or is Cupid shooting arrows from the sweet hereafter?
As the sun set over the Mojave Desert, the
Sierra Nevada Mountains were roughly defined
against a dramatic sky of crimson and lavender blue.
The warm breeze undulated through the ponderosa
pines, sounding like the wise old whispers of the
Indians buried thousands of feet below in the
windblown sands. A vulture hovered high above the
foothills, an eerie screech foreboding as it circled the
canyon.
Easing his midnight blue SUV around the
horseshoe bend in the sloping ridge, Charles thought
about his wife. Jill had died two years ago of cancer
and the following day was the anniversary of her
death. Frustrated, his eyes filled with tears. His
vision blurred and he swiped at his eyes with the
back of his hand. He was angry at the whole world
and at God.
His heart was breaking. What kind of a God
would take away the love of his life, his reason for
living? How was he supposed to go on living when
the best part of him was gone? More tears spilled
down his cheeks. He wanted Jill back. He needed
her and wanted her with him, where she belonged.
He envisioned her out in her rose garden,
clipping and pruning them to sheer perfection. How
she’d loved the yellow rose, and as much as he used
to love them, he didn’t any more. Baskets and
baskets of yellow roses had been crammed into the
funeral home, permeating the air with the funereal
smell of death.
She was so pretty. Her serene green eyes were
the color of the sea. He pictured her digging her
hands in the rich fertile soil, looking so peaceful and
content. Bathed in sunlight, she had the face of an
angel. She had a mega-watt smile that totally
beguiled him. No matter how hot or humid it was,
she always looked fresh and lovely. She had a habit
of toying with a strand of her long blonde hair,
twirling it between her fingers until it waved. Under
the amber glow of the hot desert sun, it flickered like
wildfire. Lord, he missed that woman.
As Charles drove deeper into the foothills, the
terrain became noticeably rougher, more
uncultivated. The air hummed with just a hint of
danger. The pioneer spirit of the Wild West was still
palpable as burros and wild horses galloped amidst
the sloping landscape. How he missed those long
afternoon drives through the wilderness with Jill,
imagining what life must have been like in the days
of the Wild, Wild West.
More memories of Jill flashed through his mind,
filling him with a deep sense of foreboding sadness.
Tears streamed down his cheeks. The desolate road
weaving in and out of the canyon was flanked with
sagebrush and tumbleweed, and deep in the
underbrush, mountain lions and bobcats roamed
free. A coyote yipped in the distance, its howling
wail slicing through the thick humid air.
As the sun disappeared behind the Sierra
Nevada Mountains, the sky blended into a
menagerie of pale peach, rich magenta, and deep
indigo. Charles thought of all the sunsets he’d seen
with Jill. All those good times, better times. She
should be here to watch the sunset with him. Why
wasn’t she? Why did she have to die? He felt so
betrayed. Life wasn’t fair.
White hot fury bubbled up inside him until it
erupted like a quaking volcano. Pulling off to the
side of the road, he hopped out of his vehicle. He
stared up at the heavens and shook his fist at God.
He wanted answers. He needed answers. Angry and
frustrated, he bellowed at the top of his lungs.
“Why did you take my Jill from me?” his voice
echoed across the canyon. “How could you take the
love of my life away? How could you? How could a
loving God do something so cruel? I love her! I want
her here with me! I want her back!”
The air carried with it the scent of a coming
storm. Thunder exploded in the distance. A desert
storm was closing in on the Mojave. The wind
rippled through the surrounding Joshua trees. The
mournful cry of a desert thrasher sliced through the
night. Charles was as restless as the approaching
storm. He looked down. The hillside gave way to
steep ravines, tumbling down over rugged cliffs to
the valley below. The only thing separating him from
a drop of several thousand feet was a mound of
crumbled rock. He took a step closer.
Just as he was about to jump, a flash of
lightning illuminated the sky. He thought he saw
Jill. Pellets of hard rain pounded on his back,
soaking him to the bone. He blinked several times,
but whatever he’d seen was gone. Thunder exploded
in the sky, the sound ricocheting through the
heavens. Over the rumbling, he heard Jill’s sweet
melodic voice. “No, Charles. Don’t jump. It’s not your
time.”
The Wild Rose Press
www.thewildrosepress.com
or visit my website
www.sharonadonovan.com
And to celebrate my release, I am offering two contests
For a chance to win a basket of goodies with an angel, coffee cup, chocolates and a bottle of scented lotion from Bath&Body,
Visit my website for rules
www.sharonadonovan.com
And for a chance to win a SONY E-Reader, purchase Touched by an Angel at
The Wild Rose Press
www.thewildrosepress.com
This SONY contest runs from January 15-March 15. Good luck!
Here's a blurb and excerpt to peak your interest.
On the eve of his wife’s death anniversary, Charles is as restless as the coming storm. Surrounded by the stillness of the Mojave Desert, he contemplates suicide. But just as he is about to jump, he hears the sweet voice of his wife, telling him it’s not his time. But when Charles meets Emma, whose resemblance to his wife is hauntingly striking, he is drawn to her. And when they discover their spouses have died on the same day and are buried side by side in the same cemetery, a spiritual bonding occurs that neither can deny. Is this fate—or is Cupid shooting arrows from the sweet hereafter?
As the sun set over the Mojave Desert, the
Sierra Nevada Mountains were roughly defined
against a dramatic sky of crimson and lavender blue.
The warm breeze undulated through the ponderosa
pines, sounding like the wise old whispers of the
Indians buried thousands of feet below in the
windblown sands. A vulture hovered high above the
foothills, an eerie screech foreboding as it circled the
canyon.
Easing his midnight blue SUV around the
horseshoe bend in the sloping ridge, Charles thought
about his wife. Jill had died two years ago of cancer
and the following day was the anniversary of her
death. Frustrated, his eyes filled with tears. His
vision blurred and he swiped at his eyes with the
back of his hand. He was angry at the whole world
and at God.
His heart was breaking. What kind of a God
would take away the love of his life, his reason for
living? How was he supposed to go on living when
the best part of him was gone? More tears spilled
down his cheeks. He wanted Jill back. He needed
her and wanted her with him, where she belonged.
He envisioned her out in her rose garden,
clipping and pruning them to sheer perfection. How
she’d loved the yellow rose, and as much as he used
to love them, he didn’t any more. Baskets and
baskets of yellow roses had been crammed into the
funeral home, permeating the air with the funereal
smell of death.
She was so pretty. Her serene green eyes were
the color of the sea. He pictured her digging her
hands in the rich fertile soil, looking so peaceful and
content. Bathed in sunlight, she had the face of an
angel. She had a mega-watt smile that totally
beguiled him. No matter how hot or humid it was,
she always looked fresh and lovely. She had a habit
of toying with a strand of her long blonde hair,
twirling it between her fingers until it waved. Under
the amber glow of the hot desert sun, it flickered like
wildfire. Lord, he missed that woman.
As Charles drove deeper into the foothills, the
terrain became noticeably rougher, more
uncultivated. The air hummed with just a hint of
danger. The pioneer spirit of the Wild West was still
palpable as burros and wild horses galloped amidst
the sloping landscape. How he missed those long
afternoon drives through the wilderness with Jill,
imagining what life must have been like in the days
of the Wild, Wild West.
More memories of Jill flashed through his mind,
filling him with a deep sense of foreboding sadness.
Tears streamed down his cheeks. The desolate road
weaving in and out of the canyon was flanked with
sagebrush and tumbleweed, and deep in the
underbrush, mountain lions and bobcats roamed
free. A coyote yipped in the distance, its howling
wail slicing through the thick humid air.
As the sun disappeared behind the Sierra
Nevada Mountains, the sky blended into a
menagerie of pale peach, rich magenta, and deep
indigo. Charles thought of all the sunsets he’d seen
with Jill. All those good times, better times. She
should be here to watch the sunset with him. Why
wasn’t she? Why did she have to die? He felt so
betrayed. Life wasn’t fair.
White hot fury bubbled up inside him until it
erupted like a quaking volcano. Pulling off to the
side of the road, he hopped out of his vehicle. He
stared up at the heavens and shook his fist at God.
He wanted answers. He needed answers. Angry and
frustrated, he bellowed at the top of his lungs.
“Why did you take my Jill from me?” his voice
echoed across the canyon. “How could you take the
love of my life away? How could you? How could a
loving God do something so cruel? I love her! I want
her here with me! I want her back!”
The air carried with it the scent of a coming
storm. Thunder exploded in the distance. A desert
storm was closing in on the Mojave. The wind
rippled through the surrounding Joshua trees. The
mournful cry of a desert thrasher sliced through the
night. Charles was as restless as the approaching
storm. He looked down. The hillside gave way to
steep ravines, tumbling down over rugged cliffs to
the valley below. The only thing separating him from
a drop of several thousand feet was a mound of
crumbled rock. He took a step closer.
Just as he was about to jump, a flash of
lightning illuminated the sky. He thought he saw
Jill. Pellets of hard rain pounded on his back,
soaking him to the bone. He blinked several times,
but whatever he’d seen was gone. Thunder exploded
in the sky, the sound ricocheting through the
heavens. Over the rumbling, he heard Jill’s sweet
melodic voice. “No, Charles. Don’t jump. It’s not your
time.”
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Writing quotes to inspire the writer
A favorite William Hamilton cartoon shows a young writer confiding to a friend over a glass of wine
”I haven’t actually been published or produced yet. But I have some things professionally typed.”
“To live in the hearts we leave behind is to never die.”
Thomas Campbell
“I write to discover what I know.”
Flannery O’Connor
“Writing free verse is like playing tennis with the net down.”
Robert Frost
“At times our own light goes out and is rekindled by a spark by another person. Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those who have lighted the flame within us.”
Albert Schweitzer
“Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, it turns chaos to order, confusion to clarity. It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a stranger into a friend. Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow.”
Melody Beattie
“If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is thank you, it will be enough.”
Meister Eckhardt
“There’s no winning without beginning.”
Bernie Wilt
“Just because you get something doesn’t mean you deserve it. And just because you deserve something doesn’t mean you will get it.”
Condoleezza Rice
“The things I want to express are so beautiful and pure.”
M.C. Escher
P.G. Wodehouse once dedicated a novel to his young children. “Without whose constant love and affection, this book would have been finished in half the time.”
“We will not cease from exploration. And the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.”
T. S. Eliot
“The work never matches the dream of perfection the artist has to start with.”
William Faulkner
“I’d rather be a could-be if I cannot be an are; because a could-be is a maybe who is reaching for a star. I’d rather be a has-been than a might-have-been by far; for because a might-have-been has never been, but a has-been was once an are.”
Milton Berle
“Even if you’re on the right track, you’ll get run over if you just sit there.”
Will Rogers
“Ecstatic is the soul when heart and mind in unison desires to write, to write for self, for others and above all for God, from whom this gift of writing indeed is.”
Vanita George
“Better to write for yourself and have no public, than to write for the public and have no self.”
Cyril Connolly
“Writing loves us. Did you know that? I didn’t! Writing wants to be written. First, though we must be willing to listen. We do not control the writing—the writing controls us. It moves us, frees us, becomes us. We have to be ready to hand the reigns over to it, though. Our job is to PAY ATTENTION and write what we HEAR. Are you LISTENING?”
Hope Wilbanks
“The role of the writer is not to say what we can all say but what we are unable to say.”
Anais Nin
“One of the easiest things in the world is not to write. If it were easy, everyone would do it.”
William Goldman
“Don’t sweat the petty things, and don’t pet the sweaty things. Outside of a dog, a book is a man’s best friend. Inside a dog, it’s too dark to read”
Groucho Marx
“Talent is helpful in writing, but guts are absolutely necessary.”
Jessamyn West
“I am always interested in why young people become writers, and from talking to many, I have concluded that most do not want to be writers working eight and ten hours a day and accomplishing little; they want to have been writers, garnering the rewards of completing a best-seller. They aspire to the rewards of writing but not to the travail.”
James A. Michener
“It is not enough to merely love literature, if one wishes to spend one’s life as a writer. It is a dangerous undertaking on the most primitive level. For it seems to me, the act of writing with serious intent involves enormous personal risk. It entails the ongoing courage for self-discovery. It means one will walk forever on the tightrope, with each new step presenting the possibility of learning a truth about oneself that is too terrible to bear.”
Harlan Ellison
“I am enough of an artist to draw freely upon my imagination. Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited. Imagination encircles the world.”
Albert Einstein
“Keep away from people who try to belittle your ambition. Small people always do that, but the really great make you feel that you, too, can become great.”
Mark Twain
“You are never given a wish without also being given the power to make it true. You may have to work for it, however.”
Richard Bach, “Illusions”
“Effort only fully releases its rewards after a person refuses to quit.”
Napolean Hill
“The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams.”
Eleanor Roosevelt
“Editing is human, free-writing is divine!”
Milli Thornton
“A year from now you’ll wished you had started today.”
Maureen Finn
“You may be disappointed if you fail, but you are doomed if you don’t try.”
Beverly Sills
“Dream as if you’ll live forever. Live as if you’ll die today.”
James Dean
“It is by spending oneself that one becomes rich.”
Sarah Bernhardt
“It is never too late to be what you might have been.”
George Eliot
“Friends are angels who lift us to our feet when our wings have trouble remembering how to fly.”
Anonymous
“If you do not tell the truth about yourself, you can’t tell it about other people.”
Virginia Woolf
“Every secret of a writer’s soul, every experience of his life, every quality of his mind is written large in his works.”
Virginia Woolf
“No one understands the writer like another writer.”
Anonymous
“If you don’t have the time to read, you don’t have the time or the tools to write.”
Stephen King
“I would rather be a failure at something I love doing than a success at something I hate to do.”
George Burns
“Wishes come true for those who believe. Dreams come true for those who follow their heart. May you find your happily-ever-after at the end of the rainbow. Never give up on your dreams. Keep dreaming until you ride off into the sunset to the sweet hereafter.”
Sharon Donovan
”I haven’t actually been published or produced yet. But I have some things professionally typed.”
“To live in the hearts we leave behind is to never die.”
Thomas Campbell
“I write to discover what I know.”
Flannery O’Connor
“Writing free verse is like playing tennis with the net down.”
Robert Frost
“At times our own light goes out and is rekindled by a spark by another person. Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those who have lighted the flame within us.”
Albert Schweitzer
“Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, it turns chaos to order, confusion to clarity. It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a stranger into a friend. Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow.”
Melody Beattie
“If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is thank you, it will be enough.”
Meister Eckhardt
“There’s no winning without beginning.”
Bernie Wilt
“Just because you get something doesn’t mean you deserve it. And just because you deserve something doesn’t mean you will get it.”
Condoleezza Rice
“The things I want to express are so beautiful and pure.”
M.C. Escher
P.G. Wodehouse once dedicated a novel to his young children. “Without whose constant love and affection, this book would have been finished in half the time.”
“We will not cease from exploration. And the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.”
T. S. Eliot
“The work never matches the dream of perfection the artist has to start with.”
William Faulkner
“I’d rather be a could-be if I cannot be an are; because a could-be is a maybe who is reaching for a star. I’d rather be a has-been than a might-have-been by far; for because a might-have-been has never been, but a has-been was once an are.”
Milton Berle
“Even if you’re on the right track, you’ll get run over if you just sit there.”
Will Rogers
“Ecstatic is the soul when heart and mind in unison desires to write, to write for self, for others and above all for God, from whom this gift of writing indeed is.”
Vanita George
“Better to write for yourself and have no public, than to write for the public and have no self.”
Cyril Connolly
“Writing loves us. Did you know that? I didn’t! Writing wants to be written. First, though we must be willing to listen. We do not control the writing—the writing controls us. It moves us, frees us, becomes us. We have to be ready to hand the reigns over to it, though. Our job is to PAY ATTENTION and write what we HEAR. Are you LISTENING?”
Hope Wilbanks
“The role of the writer is not to say what we can all say but what we are unable to say.”
Anais Nin
“One of the easiest things in the world is not to write. If it were easy, everyone would do it.”
William Goldman
“Don’t sweat the petty things, and don’t pet the sweaty things. Outside of a dog, a book is a man’s best friend. Inside a dog, it’s too dark to read”
Groucho Marx
“Talent is helpful in writing, but guts are absolutely necessary.”
Jessamyn West
“I am always interested in why young people become writers, and from talking to many, I have concluded that most do not want to be writers working eight and ten hours a day and accomplishing little; they want to have been writers, garnering the rewards of completing a best-seller. They aspire to the rewards of writing but not to the travail.”
James A. Michener
“It is not enough to merely love literature, if one wishes to spend one’s life as a writer. It is a dangerous undertaking on the most primitive level. For it seems to me, the act of writing with serious intent involves enormous personal risk. It entails the ongoing courage for self-discovery. It means one will walk forever on the tightrope, with each new step presenting the possibility of learning a truth about oneself that is too terrible to bear.”
Harlan Ellison
“I am enough of an artist to draw freely upon my imagination. Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited. Imagination encircles the world.”
Albert Einstein
“Keep away from people who try to belittle your ambition. Small people always do that, but the really great make you feel that you, too, can become great.”
Mark Twain
“You are never given a wish without also being given the power to make it true. You may have to work for it, however.”
Richard Bach, “Illusions”
“Effort only fully releases its rewards after a person refuses to quit.”
Napolean Hill
“The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams.”
Eleanor Roosevelt
“Editing is human, free-writing is divine!”
Milli Thornton
“A year from now you’ll wished you had started today.”
Maureen Finn
“You may be disappointed if you fail, but you are doomed if you don’t try.”
Beverly Sills
“Dream as if you’ll live forever. Live as if you’ll die today.”
James Dean
“It is by spending oneself that one becomes rich.”
Sarah Bernhardt
“It is never too late to be what you might have been.”
George Eliot
“Friends are angels who lift us to our feet when our wings have trouble remembering how to fly.”
Anonymous
“If you do not tell the truth about yourself, you can’t tell it about other people.”
Virginia Woolf
“Every secret of a writer’s soul, every experience of his life, every quality of his mind is written large in his works.”
Virginia Woolf
“No one understands the writer like another writer.”
Anonymous
“If you don’t have the time to read, you don’t have the time or the tools to write.”
Stephen King
“I would rather be a failure at something I love doing than a success at something I hate to do.”
George Burns
“Wishes come true for those who believe. Dreams come true for those who follow their heart. May you find your happily-ever-after at the end of the rainbow. Never give up on your dreams. Keep dreaming until you ride off into the sunset to the sweet hereafter.”
Sharon Donovan
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