Sharon's INSPIRATIONAL Short stories of Faith and Romance can be found HERE or visit her
Facebook Page, which also has the links in the comments.)

Tuesday, March 31, 2009

WAG 5 writing assignment

“WAG #5: Life In Motion”
Sometimes it’s good to approach writing like taking a photograph with words. On
the other hand, it’s important to remember that a scene is always in transition.
For this week’s adventure, sit in a good observation spot and notice how the scene
in front of you changes from one minute to the next. Has the light changed? The sounds?
The people? What’s different now compared to when you first arrived? Is there anything
you can see (or hear, smell, etc) that is changing right in front of you? Be creative

So that’s the writing assignment for this week. Truer words were never spoken. Nothing is more consistent than change. Life is constantly in motion and if we don’t roll with it, we’ll be left behind. And I speak from experience. As many of you know, nine years ago I lost my vision after a long bout with progressive blindness. You wanna talk change?
I was a legal secretary, used to reading small print, typing orders for judges, preparing affidavits to establish child support payments. I spent my weekends horseback riding and painting, my passion. For two solid decades, my vision came and went. “Now you see it--now you don’t.” Life became a deadly game of hide and seek, fighting for my vision as well as my sanity. And after one final operation. Poof! Lights out…
Devastated, I enrolled in a sixteen week program for the blind and visually impaired where I was taught mobility, personal adjustment and the use of a computer with adaptive software—converting text into synthesized speech.
How could my life have come to this, I wondered, my first day at the rehab program. I sat glued to a chair, hands clenched so tight on the wooden arms my fingers went numb. I was afraid to move for fear of killing myself. There were steep cement steps all over the building. I visualized tumbling down those steps in slow motion, arms floundering, hysterical screams spewing from my mouth until I landed at the bottom with a heavy thud. Then I’d die a slow and tortuous death from a broken neck. Icy fingers of fear skittered down my spine. Crazy flashes raced helter skelter through my brain like a freight train out of control. Just as I was about to scream to escape these nightmarish scenes, I heard a loud tap followed by a hard smack on the wall, heavy footsteps and the unmistakable sound of a white cane sweeping the floor. And the footsteps vibrating off the wall were heading my way.
The next thing I knew my feet were stomped on, the cane thrashed across my legs and the footsteps came to a halt. “Did I step on someone?” his voice was loud, but what I perceived to be young.
“Ah…yeah,” I said, curling my still-smarting toes far under my chair.
“Sorry,” He said, picking up right where he left off, same ritual. Tap, hard smack on the wall, dragging of heavy footsteps, the swoosh of the cane sweeping across the floor. My stomach lurched. Is this what my life had come to? Would they do that to me? Make me use one of those dreaded white canes? I felt the walls closing in on me. No way could I accept such a life of isolation and segregation. No way.
But as the sixteen weeks passed, I learned to roll with the punches. Part of the reason I was reluctant to enroll in a program for the blind was because I thought clients would be uneducated. I was a professional after all. What could I possibly have in common with these people. I was wrong. They were ordinary people…with extraordinary people…just like me, thrust into circumstances beyond their control. I met doctors and teachers, paramedics and engineers. We bonded in a way words could never express. It was a challenging journey filled with heart-wrenching pain. We laughed and we cried. Through this program, I found the courage to move on. I learned what I was made of. What didn’t kill me made me stronger.

Sharon Donovan

Monday, March 23, 2009

Do You Hear What I Hear?

A low wind swooshes through the undulating pines. Faint chimes in the distance, tinkle like shattered glass. Eerie silence, calm before the storm. Wind picks up, stirs the heady smell of dank earth with freshly budding roses. Tree limbs slap brick façade. Wind howls, white hot fury, chimes spin in a wild frenzy, steel blades slashing swords. Low rumble of thunder, high winds, whistle snakes through cavernous grounds. Rain drops plop on steel awning, strong wind ripples flag, flaps and billows with a snapping hiss. Wet air dank, rot and decay rise from soil, strong and pungent. Clouds open, sending pellets of rain crashing to earth. Thunder and lightning rage through the sky, fierce warriors slashing swords, colliding in battle, exploding into sonic boom. And The Master reigns. The elements of earth, wind and fire in all their glory.

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Lasting Love released today

Hi Friends and Roses!
I’m so thrilled to announce the release of Lasting Love today!
It’s an Easter story. Here’s a brief blurb and excerpt and a peek at the trailer!

When Vermont florist Abbey Jordan’s nursery manager quits a few days before Easter, she is left up the proverbial creek without a paddle. But when she places it in God’s hands, she finds lasting love in a garden of roses.
Brady Jones has a daughter to raise, is out of work, and knows more about cultivating roses than anyone in rural Vermont. And when Abbey hires him as the horticultural manager of her floral shop, it seems like the answer to her prayers. But just on the brink of a budding romance, a fire destroys the nursery and buries all hope of love.

An amicable silence hovered between Abbey and
Brady as they walked toward the restaurant hand in
hand. They knew they’d just crossed a major
milestone. The quiet was broken by Abbey’s cell
phone. Annoyed at the interruption, she sighed and
answered. It was one of her employees. “Come quick,
Abbey. It’s the nursery. There’s a fire. It’s spreading
like wildfire. Things look bad. Get here soon.”
When Abbey and Brady reached the nursery, it
was a burning inferno. The glass walls had collapsed
and it was going up in a snarling hiss of smoke and
flames. Firefighters struggled to get the blaze under
control. Police and paramedics had arrived and Eye
Witness News was on the scene, snapping photos.
“Oh my!” Abbey was out of the car the minute it
came to a screeching halt. Her face was as ashen as
the thick clouds of smoke billowing up into the night
sky. Tripping over the gravel and cinders as she
rushed toward the fire chief, she screamed. “What
happened? I’m Abigail Jordan and I own this
nursery. What happened? When I left, everything
was fine. Please tell me nobody was in there!”
“No one was in there,” the fire chief placed a
hand on her shoulder. “Things could be a lot worse.
Dead plants can be replaced. People can’t.”
Riveted with shock as reality filtered through
her, Abbey screamed, “My roses! All my precious
roses. All those hanging baskets of lavender. My
exotic orchids and Easter lilies. Gone, all gone!”
“It’s all right,” Brady folded her into his arms.
“What started it?” Abbey stared at the fire chief.
“How did it start?”
“It’s being investigated. At this time, the cause
is unknown. Could be a gas leak. A neighbor
reported hearing an explosion, and in a few minutes,
your greenhouse went up like a house of cards.”
In less than an hour, the fire was under control,
but all that remained of Abbey’s nursery was a bed
of ash. The floral boutique across the covered bridge
was unharmed but the rest of the damage caused by
the fire was insurmountable.
“Do you have any idea how long it took me to
choose and cultivate each of my prize roses?” Abbey
finally let the tears roll. Leaning on Brady, she
sobbed in between hysterics. “My Lasting Love rose,
demolished. And to think I’ll never smell the spicy
aroma of my Sentimental rose again. And at prom
time, I never had enough of the Falling in Love rose.
They all wanted a corsage made of the pink roses,
timeless and romantic. And not to forget the Arctic
Flame rose, popular for keeping the romance alive.
All my hard work, up in smoke.”
“Ms. Jordan,” the fire chief interrupted. “We
know the cause of the fire. It was caused by a
recently installed heating table. Some of the cable
wiring possibly touched each other due to improper
Abbey shoved Brady away and stared at him,
her eyes glinting with anger. “It was you. You said
you knew how to install the heating table and I
listened to you. You ruined my dream. Get away
from me.”
“Abbey,” he tried to reach her. “There’s gotta be
some mistake. Let me—”
“There was a mistake all right,” Abbey hissed.
“Hiring you and trusting you with my roses. Get out
of here and never come back. I never want to see you
On Easter morning, Abbey pulled up to her
floral shop, her heart heavy with grief. Feeling as if
she had the weight of the world on her shoulders,
she crossed the bridge to where her garden nursery
had been. Even before she got there, the thick scent
of smoke lingered, a pungent reminder of what had
happened the night before.
She wanted the world to stop spinning. How
could Brady have been so careless? How could she
have been stupid enough to trust him? Somewhere
deep in her subconscious, she knew she should have
had an electrician install the heating table. So why
hadn’t she listened? Because she’d been attracted to
him and had been well on her way to falling in love
with him. She recalled how infatuated she’d been
only yesterday when she watched him touch the
roses with such tenderness. And the kiss they’d
shared last night. Tears spilled down her face at the
She kicked her foot in the rubble and screamed
at the top of her lungs. Sobs ripped through her until
she couldn’t breathe. On Easter morning of all
mornings, a time of rebirth and resurrection.
Hurling herself on the bed of ashes where her
nursery had been, she kicked and screamed, not
caring if the world came crashing down on top of her.
Hearing footsteps behind her, she looked up and
An old man with flowing white hair stood over
her, his gnarled body stiff and bent. He poked at her
with his walking stick. “Get up, girlie,” he
commanded. “Quit feeling sorry for yourself.”
“Who are you?” Abbey stood up and backed
away. Other than the birds, there was no one
around. She reached for her cell phone, only to
remember it was in her purse in the car. Her heart
pounded with adrenaline. “Who are you and where
did you come from?”
“I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to help.”
Abbey started across the bridge. She wanted to
get far away from this nut. Who was he?

Available now!
Book Trailer:

Sharon Donovan
Romantic Suspense with a Twist of Faith

Lasting Love
An Easter story

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Lucky Shamrock Contest

Top o’ the mornin’ Friends and Roses!
Happy St. Patrick’s Day! To kick off White Rose Publishing, the White Roses are having a Lucky Shamrock contest today at
For a chance to win a “Pot o eBooks” come on over and answer one simple question. May the wink and blessings of St. Patrick be with you. Happty St. Patty’s Day!

Sharon Donovan
Romantic Suspense with a Twist of Faith

The Claddagh Ring
A St. Patrick’s Day story
On sale this month

Lasting Love
An Easter story

Monday, March 2, 2009

Winter Madness with Award-winning Author Pamela S. Thibodeaux

Author Bio: Award-winning author, Pamela S. Thibodeaux is the Co-Founder and a lifetime member of Bayou Writers Group in Lake Charles, Louisiana an a member of White Roses in Bloom Authors. Multi-published in romantic fiction as well as creative non-fiction, her writing has been tagged as, “Inspirational with an Edge!” and reviewed as “steamier and grittier than the typical Christian novel without decreasing the message.”

Website address:
WRIB Blog:

Today I am interviewing fellow white rose and friend Pamela S. Thibodaux about her latest release WINTER MADNESS.

Welcome, Pam. Could you tell us a little about this story, the characters, the setting, the theme? Hi Sharon! Thank you for having me here today. WINTER MADNESS started with a couple meeting up in a coffee shop on a cold, winter morning. She thinks the first snow is beautiful, he thinks its madness.

Now in your blurb for Winter Madness, you mention an instant attraction between an optimist and a pessimist. There’s an old saying that opposites attract. What are your views on this old cliché and do you speak from personal experience? I believe opposites do attract though that’s not always fodder for a great relationship. My husband and I have A LOT in common and enjoy many of the same things which makes for much more harmony in the house.

I know what a busy woman you are and have often wondered where you find the time to write. Do you set aside a block of time reserved for writing—or do you write when you can find the time? I am a morning person so early am tends to be my most creative time. When I’m actively writing I use that time to write. If I’m not working on anything in particular, I use that time to promote. I also have a few hours in the evenings and on weekends, but basically I follow this same pattern to get things done.

The first thing I thought of when I heard the title of your latest release was March Madness. Did this have any bearing in choosing Winter Madness as your title? No, not really. In the beginning I had the idea for a book of 7 short stories, the 4 seasons + holidays (Christmas, Valentines Day & Thanksgiving). Then when the hero, William appeared on the scene and turned everything Sienna said was lovely or exciting into ‘madness,’ the title just seemed to work. The fact that it is being released in March with the ‘March Madness’ thing is merely coincidence as it was either a March release or wait until winter 2009. I chose March.

What is your favorite season and why? I am definitely a summer person but my favorite Holiday Season is Christmas – people just seem to be a lot more willing to share goodwill during this time of year.

Coffee shops are very popular places in today’s world for meetings, socializing, and for sampling a new cappuccino while lolling over a new book. Do you like coffee and if so, do you have a preference? I LOVE coffee. My preference is strong and hot - just like I like my men LOL! Seriously, I drink my coffee black, no cream or sugar. Now, when I want a treat – I’ll indulge in a French vanilla/caramel latte.

How do you promote your books? Any and every way I can think of. I blog, do chats and interviews, contests, and sales, like my March Madness sale going on right now! For info on the sale check out My Website or Pertinent Promotions website.

What is the message you would like readers to walk away with after reading Winter Madness? That no matter what you are going through, there is ALWAYS hope. Not the kind you find in drugs, alcohol or other vices, but in a relationship with Jesus Christ. And, that there ARE people who truly live what they say they believe.

How would you like to be remembered after you leave this earth? As a kind, generous person, someone who gives a lot of herself to help others and as a good wife/mother/grandmother, an anointed writer, but MOST IMPORTANTLY, a faithful servant of Christ.

Do you have a favorite quote you’d like to share with us? In all thy ways acknowledge Him and He shall direct thy paths….Prov. 3:6

Where can readers reach you? Website: Blog: Email:

Is there anything you’d like to add to this interview? Something you wish I might have asked? Nope, you’ve about covered it all – very well I might add. I do however want to take this opportunity to THANK my readers for their continued love and support and THANK GOD for His unconditional love and blessings in my life. May I ALWAYS glorify You, Lord in all that I do.

Thanks so much for joining me today on my blog, Pam! Good luck with sales on Winter Madness!

Thanks again, Sharon for having me and may God bless YOU with sales on your books.

Happy St. Patrick's Day

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!
The Irish are notorious for spinning a wee tale or two when it comes to legend and lore. And being Irish, I’ve been known to weave a little extra yarn into a story for a dash of color. Humor is the spice of life. Regaling over age old legends in front of a roaring fire with a cup o’ tea or Irish coffee keeps tradition alive from generation to generation. Some of the things associated with St. Patrick’s Day are the wearing of the green, shamrocks and pots of gold—and who could forget the mischievous leprechaun?

St. Patrick’s Day is celebrated on March 17th. And if there’s one thing we can count on, it’s the spinning of favorite myths while regaling the day. Here are a few fables we can count on:

Green shamrocks, green t-shirts, green party hats, green beer, green everything!
The color green in any form on March 17th will bring good luck.

But as much fun as we have with the color green on St. Paddy’s Day, the deepest origin represents the coming of spring when the earth is reborn with new grass, budding trees and flowers after a long, harsh winter.

Wear a shamrock on your left lapel and you will be blessed all year with the wink of St. Patrick himself
This is fun and we all partake in it, but the true meaning of the shamrock, the three-leaf flower of Ireland, was used by St. Patrick to demonstrate the Trinity.

Shake this stick and ward off bad luck and evil spirits
All fun and games aside, this club was used by the ancient Druids and thought to have the ability to shake it at the dead and bring them back to life.

Associated with the wee folk stealing the pot of gold and hiding it—and finding it over the rainbow.
But the pot of gold is associated with the goddess Cerridwen, worshiped by the Druids. And when Cerridwen’s gold was stolen and transported from Irish soil to Britain soil, it was gone but never forgotten.

Spot a wee cobbler on St. Patrick’s Day and good fortune will befall. Rub the belly of a leprechaun on St. Paddy’s Day and you will come into great wealth and fortune. Trick a leprechaun and steal his lucky charms and riches will bestow.
But in reality, the leprechauns were wee gods, mean little creatures with shaggy red beards, tart mouths, born with the ability to steal a pot of gold in the blink of an eye and never get caught. It is believed the leprechauns stole Cerridwen’s gold.

We’ve all heard the one about St. Patrick standing atop the Croagh Patrick and shaking a stick at the snakes, sending them all into the sea.
In reality, there were never any snakes in Ireland. Snakes are associated with evil Druids and black magic. The fable of St. Patrick chasing all the snakes out of Ireland refers to his chasing the Druids out and spreading Christianity throughout the land.

And that’s what St. Patrick’s Day represents, bringing Christianity to a land ruled by ancient gods and druids. And the man responsible for doing this is St. Patrick, born Magonus Sccatus, later christened Patricus Thought to be born in either Scotland or Great Britain, Patrick was kidnapped by pirates and sold to a sheep herder in Ireland where he was held in captivity for six years. But one night he escaped by boat, returning to his homeland. But deeply haunted by some of the things he’d witnessed in Ireland, human sacrifices made to ancient gods, many of which were children, Patrick returned to Ireland as a missionary where he lived until his death. And because of the tireless efforts of one man spreading the word of God despite the risk of persecution, Patrick won the war when he drove the druids out of Ireland.

A few years ago I was fortunate enough to visit Ireland, the home of my ancestry. The Emerald Isle is truly an enchanting land, rich in culture and tradition. Whimsical castles loom high above heathery mountains and rocky headlands, giving way to green rolling hills and long stretches of coppery beaches. And with the sheep grazing high on the hillsides of the misty mountains, it’s like stepping back in time.

A lot of writers come from Ireland, including James Joyce, George Bernard Shaw and Oscar Wilde. With its green hills and rugged landscape, major movies have been filmed here. The Irish take great pride in pointing out the farmhouse on the Dingle Peninsula where Ryan’s Daughter was filmed. Inch Strand Beach, shaped like a sandy half moon, is one of the most remote areas of the island. But the best part of the trip was learning the significance of The Claddag, which has an ancient history dating back three hundred years.

According to legend, the first Claddagh Ring originated in a small fishing port off the coast of Galway. Truly a land of legend and lore, the Irish are known to spin a wee bit of the “Blarney” from time to time. Some say the original Claddagh Ring was blessed by St. Patrick himself. Others believe the first ring was dropped into the lap of a woman by an eagle. And others say the original ring was brought back to Galway by a man who was captured by the Algerians and sold to a Moorish goldsmith.

But whatever the case, the tradition of The Claddah has lived on for the past several centuries. And in today’s materialistic world where love and friendship are taken far too lightly, the significance of The Claddagh Ring has strengthened.

The Claddagh is said to bring eternal love and lasting friendship to its wearer. The design consists of two hands holding a heart and a crown on top of the heart. The heart represents love, the hands friendship—and the crown designates loyalty. But in order for the ring to cast its mystical spell, it needs to be worn in a certain way.
If worn on the right hand with the heart facing outward, this means the heart is open to love. If worn on the left hand with the heart facing outward, it means the wearer is taken. But when the ring is worn on the left hand with the heart facing inward, the wearer has found true love for all eternity and will be forever blessed.

Being part Irish, I was born with a superstitious nature. Totally awed by this legend, I was inspired to write The Claddagh Ring, a White Rose rosette of 34 pages. Because I had the pleasure of touring the Atlantic Breakers and the Cliffs of Moher, part of my book takes place in County Clare.

The Atlantic Breakers pound the west coast of the county, sculpting the grey limestone into a myriad of shapes, the most notorious the Cliffs of Moher. A rich plethora of birdlife as puffins and shags dominate these rugged cliffs, adding to the savage grandeur. Beneath the rocks, the waves have spread a thin dusting of golden sand, said to be sprinkled by angel wings. Standing on these cliffs with the wind at my back and the sun on my face, I truly enjoyed writing The Claddagh Ring. Here is a blurb and excerpt.

“To live in the hearts we leave behind is to never die.”
Thomas Campbell

Struggling with her faith after her mother’s death, Meghan O’Malley finds comfort in wearing her Claddagh Ring, said to be blessed by St. Patrick. And when Meghan meets Rork, she finds love, loyalty and friendship. But before everything comes full circle, Meghan must face the biggest challenge of her life.

Rork McGuire is ruggedly handsome, sings Celtic music straight from his soul—and has a deep secret. When he sees Meghan O’Malley tending bar at her club, he falls hopelessly in love with her and wants to give her his heart. Will the secret he harbors pull them together—or break them apart?


As Meghan mixed drinks from behind the bar of The Wild Irish Rose, the fiddle and violin captured the true essence of Ireland. The tantalizing aroma of Irish stew, corn beef and cabbage and Irish soda bread wafted through the room.

Suddenly, all activity came to a halt as the eerie wail of bagpipes keened through the bar. The lead singer took center stage with his rendition of Danny Boy, the haunting lyrics crawling into Meghan’s skin. Mesmerized by his hypnotic blue eyes, she stopped what she was doing and met his penetrating gaze. With the exception of her mother, she’d never heard anyone pluck the strings of the harp with such finesse. The Claddagh Ring on her right hand felt hot, the heart pressing into her skin. By the time the song ended, Meghan’s green eyes were misty with tears.

“Well now, darlin’,” he touched her cheek. “If I knew Danny Boy would make you cry, I’d a sung When Irish Eyes are Smiling.”
Meghan Shannon O’Malley lost herself in pools of midnight blue.
“I’m Rork,” the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled. He took her right hand and kissed the heart on her ring. “Single and looking, are ya?”
“The Claddagh Ring, darlin’,” he kissed it again. “On your right hand with the heart facing outward, means you’re single and looking for romance.”
“Ah…I have no idea what you’re talking about; it’s just a ring, a gift from my mother.”
“Ah, come on now, darlin’ girl,” he got a little closer, staring into her eyes. “Ya can’t fool an Irishman. My mother bought one for each of my sisters. I’ll have ya know they’re all married.”
Meghan felt lightheaded. “My mother gave me this ring the night before she died. It’s a family heirloom, said to be blessed by St. Patrick himself. Mama promised me by wearing the Claddagh, everything in my life would come full circle. So before you go thinking I’m wearing it to find a husband, think again.”
“Do you believe in love at first sight?” his blue eyes seared into hers like lasers. “What do ya say, Meghan, darlin’ girl of my heart.”

The Claddagh Ring Available Now!

To see the book trailer, visit my website:


February 25-March 17
Visit my website for contest rules
Winner to be announced St. Patrick’s Day!
And will receive…