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.
“Shh.”
“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
installation.”
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
again.”
****
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
memory.
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
gasped.
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?
“Stop.”
Available now!
www.thewildrosepress.com
www.whiterosepublishing.com
Book Trailer:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vG1q0VWfD60
Sharon Donovan
Romantic Suspense with a Twist of Faith
www.sharonadonovan.com
sharonad@comcast.net
Lasting Love
An Easter story
www.thewildrosepress
www.whiterosepublishing.com
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.
“Shh.”
“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
installation.”
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
again.”
****
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
memory.
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
gasped.
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?
“Stop.”
Available now!
www.thewildrosepress.com
www.whiterosepublishing.com
Book Trailer:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vG1q0VWfD60
Sharon Donovan
Romantic Suspense with a Twist of Faith
www.sharonadonovan.com
sharonad@comcast.net
Lasting Love
An Easter story
www.thewildrosepress
www.whiterosepublishing.com
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
http://whiterosesinbloom.blogspot.com
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
www.sharonadonovan.com
sharonad@comcast.net
The Claddagh Ring
A St. Patrick’s Day story
On sale this month
www.thewildrosepress.com
Lasting Love
An Easter story
www.thewildrosepress.com
www.whiterosepublishing.com
Happy St. Patrick’s Day! To kick off White Rose Publishing, the White Roses are having a Lucky Shamrock contest today at
http://whiterosesinbloom.blogspot.com
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
www.sharonadonovan.com
sharonad@comcast.net
The Claddagh Ring
A St. Patrick’s Day story
On sale this month
www.thewildrosepress.com
Lasting Love
An Easter story
www.thewildrosepress.com
www.whiterosepublishing.com
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: http://www.pamelathibodeaux.com
Blog: http://pamswildroseblog.blogspot.com
WRIB Blog: http://whiterosesinbloom.blogspot.com
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: http://pamelathibodeaux.com Blog: http://pamswildroseblog.blogspot.com Email: pthib-7@centurytel.net
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.
Website address: http://www.pamelathibodeaux.com
Blog: http://pamswildroseblog.blogspot.com
WRIB Blog: http://whiterosesinbloom.blogspot.com
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: http://pamelathibodeaux.com Blog: http://pamswildroseblog.blogspot.com Email: pthib-7@centurytel.net
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:
THE WEARING OF THE GREEN
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.
THE SHAMROCK
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.
THE SHILLELAGH
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.
CROCK OF GOLD
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.
LEPRECHAUN
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.
ST. PATRICK BANISHING SNAKES OUT OF IRELAND
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?
Excerpt
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?”
“Huh?”
“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!
www.thewildrosepress.com
To see the book trailer, visit my website:
www.sharonadonovan.comm
CLADDAGH RING CONTEST
February 25-March 17
Visit my website for contest rules
Winner to be announced St. Patrick’s Day!
And will receive…
A CLADDAGH RING!
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:
THE WEARING OF THE GREEN
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.
THE SHAMROCK
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.
THE SHILLELAGH
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.
CROCK OF GOLD
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.
LEPRECHAUN
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.
ST. PATRICK BANISHING SNAKES OUT OF IRELAND
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?
Excerpt
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?”
“Huh?”
“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!
www.thewildrosepress.com
To see the book trailer, visit my website:
www.sharonadonovan.comm
CLADDAGH RING CONTEST
February 25-March 17
Visit my website for contest rules
Winner to be announced St. Patrick’s Day!
And will receive…
A CLADDAGH RING!
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Writers Adventure Group
I go outside and look at the sky. It’s dark. It’s light. It’s a menagerie of flashing lights. In the center, it could be the sun, a bright ball of fire peeking through the horizon, an unfocused shape silhouetted by dark hills and wait—a streak of what looks to be lightning…forks of brilliant white light. Then it fades to a glimmer of twinkle lights. Poof…it’s back for a grand finale…an explosion of lights, a kaleidoscope of colors. Yellow, red, blue and bright orange, spheres of fire like the tips of a sorcerer’s flame. Then off they swoon to the edge of darkness and to the edge of my mind. Until tomorrow. Tomorrow’s another day.
Nine years ago I lost my vision after a long bout with diabetic retinopathy. I was a legal secretary, but my passion was painting. When I could no longer see, my world fell apart. But a new dream resurrected. Today, instead of painting my pictures on canvas, I paint my pictures with words.
My doctor’s explanation for the bright lights is because I was born with perfect vision and had it for many years. The brain is not receiving the message my retina is not picking up light and image. This brilliant show of lights I see every minute of every day is my brain trying to send me the message to see.
I am a member of Nixy’s writing group.
Writers adventure group
http://www.nixyvalentine.com/index.php/2009/02/writing-adventure-group/
Sharon Donovan
Romantic Suspense with a Twist of Faith
www.sharoonadonovan.com
sharonad@comcast.net
The Claddagh Ring
Available now
book trailer on website
www.sharonadonovan.com
Buy now
The Wild Rose Press
www.thewildrosepress.com
Nine years ago I lost my vision after a long bout with diabetic retinopathy. I was a legal secretary, but my passion was painting. When I could no longer see, my world fell apart. But a new dream resurrected. Today, instead of painting my pictures on canvas, I paint my pictures with words.
My doctor’s explanation for the bright lights is because I was born with perfect vision and had it for many years. The brain is not receiving the message my retina is not picking up light and image. This brilliant show of lights I see every minute of every day is my brain trying to send me the message to see.
I am a member of Nixy’s writing group.
Writers adventure group
http://www.nixyvalentine.com/index.php/2009/02/writing-adventure-group/
Sharon Donovan
Romantic Suspense with a Twist of Faith
www.sharoonadonovan.com
sharonad@comcast.net
The Claddagh Ring
Available now
book trailer on website
www.sharonadonovan.com
Buy now
The Wild Rose Press
www.thewildrosepress.com
The Claddagh Ring Available now!
THE CLADDAGH RING is now available. To celebrate, I am having a contest!
Do you believe in the magic bestowed in the Claddagh? According to legend, the wearer of The Claddagh Ring will be blessed with love, friendship and loyalty forevermore
This ancient tradition has been going strong for over three hundred years. Want to win a Claddagh Ring blessed with the wink of St. Patrick himself?
Visit my website for rules and you will be entered in my contest. A winner for this gold ring with an emerald stone will be announced on my website on St. Patrick’s Day!
This contest runs from February 25 to March 17th. Good luck!
And don’t forget to visit my website for a peek at the book trailer.
www.sharonadonovan.com
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?
Excerpt
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?”
“Huh?”
“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!
www.thewildrosepress.com
Sharon Donovan
Romantic Suspense with a Twist of Faith
Do you believe in the magic bestowed in the Claddagh? According to legend, the wearer of The Claddagh Ring will be blessed with love, friendship and loyalty forevermore
This ancient tradition has been going strong for over three hundred years. Want to win a Claddagh Ring blessed with the wink of St. Patrick himself?
Visit my website for rules and you will be entered in my contest. A winner for this gold ring with an emerald stone will be announced on my website on St. Patrick’s Day!
This contest runs from February 25 to March 17th. Good luck!
And don’t forget to visit my website for a peek at the book trailer.
www.sharonadonovan.com
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?
Excerpt
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?”
“Huh?”
“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!
www.thewildrosepress.com
Sharon Donovan
Romantic Suspense with a Twist of Faith
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Sweetheart of a Contest
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!
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!
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
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Oh Holy Night
Eight years ago I lost my vision after a long bout with progressive blindness. Devastated and despondent, I enrolled in a 16 week rehabilitation program for mobility, personal adjustment and the use of a computer with adaptive software. Part of the reason I was reluctant to enroll in a program for the blind and visually impaired was because I feared these people would be ignorant and uneducated. I was an artist, a legal secretary, a professional. What could I possibly have in common with “those people?”
I was wrong. They were all ordinary people with extraordinary problems, just like me. We were all thrust into a living nightmare due to circumstances beyond our control. I met doctors, nurses, teachers and paramedics, all with some type of eye disease that had or was robbing them blind. Many had the added burden of facing marital problems because a spouse could not accept the pending blindness. Through this program, we formed an unbreakable bond. We laughed and we cried. Together, we faced an incredible journey filled with endless challenge and heart-wrenching pain. Words can never describe the feeling of being fitted for a white cane, the fear of being in the onslaught of traffic without sight, traveling the long and bitter road from denial to acceptance.
As fate would have it, I was at the program during Christmas that year. We pitched in and had a party, all of us taking part in the celebration. In a huge kitchen, we made cookies and appetizers. But through it all, there was a silent humming that echoed off the walls…depression. For the most part, this was the first Christmas we were facing without vision. Some broke down, others lost their tempers and stormed out of the room, unable to cope with the dark depression and feeling of being segregated and alienated. But then something happened. One woman stood and walked over to the pianist and began singing like an angel, “Oh Holy Night.”
The result was miraculous. Her melodic voice sliced through the depression. When the song ended, there was a moment of silence where you could truly hear a pin drop. And then the applause rose to the heavens, bringing the house down in glorious exultation. Nothing will ever compare to the sheer beauty of that moment. Every time I hear O’ Holy Night, I tear up and remember a time in my life when what didn’t kill me made me stronger.
Oh Holy Night!
Oh Holy Night!
The Stars are brightly shining
It is the night of the dear Savior’s birth!
Long lay the world and sin in error pining
Til He appeared and the soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn!
Fall on your knees
Oh hear the angel voices
Oh night divine
Oh night when Christ was born
Oh night divine
Oh night divine
Led by the light of faith serenely beaming
With glowing hearts by His cradle we stand
So led by a star so brightly gleaming
Here come the wise men from Orient land
The King of Kings lay thus in lowly manger
In all our trials born to be our friend
Truly He taught us to love one another
His law is love and His gospel is peace
Change shall He break for the slave is our brother
And in His name all oppression shall cease
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,
Let all within us praise His holy name.
I was wrong. They were all ordinary people with extraordinary problems, just like me. We were all thrust into a living nightmare due to circumstances beyond our control. I met doctors, nurses, teachers and paramedics, all with some type of eye disease that had or was robbing them blind. Many had the added burden of facing marital problems because a spouse could not accept the pending blindness. Through this program, we formed an unbreakable bond. We laughed and we cried. Together, we faced an incredible journey filled with endless challenge and heart-wrenching pain. Words can never describe the feeling of being fitted for a white cane, the fear of being in the onslaught of traffic without sight, traveling the long and bitter road from denial to acceptance.
As fate would have it, I was at the program during Christmas that year. We pitched in and had a party, all of us taking part in the celebration. In a huge kitchen, we made cookies and appetizers. But through it all, there was a silent humming that echoed off the walls…depression. For the most part, this was the first Christmas we were facing without vision. Some broke down, others lost their tempers and stormed out of the room, unable to cope with the dark depression and feeling of being segregated and alienated. But then something happened. One woman stood and walked over to the pianist and began singing like an angel, “Oh Holy Night.”
The result was miraculous. Her melodic voice sliced through the depression. When the song ended, there was a moment of silence where you could truly hear a pin drop. And then the applause rose to the heavens, bringing the house down in glorious exultation. Nothing will ever compare to the sheer beauty of that moment. Every time I hear O’ Holy Night, I tear up and remember a time in my life when what didn’t kill me made me stronger.
Oh Holy Night!
Oh Holy Night!
The Stars are brightly shining
It is the night of the dear Savior’s birth!
Long lay the world and sin in error pining
Til He appeared and the soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn!
Fall on your knees
Oh hear the angel voices
Oh night divine
Oh night when Christ was born
Oh night divine
Oh night divine
Led by the light of faith serenely beaming
With glowing hearts by His cradle we stand
So led by a star so brightly gleaming
Here come the wise men from Orient land
The King of Kings lay thus in lowly manger
In all our trials born to be our friend
Truly He taught us to love one another
His law is love and His gospel is peace
Change shall He break for the slave is our brother
And in His name all oppression shall cease
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,
Let all within us praise His holy name.
T'was the Night Before Christmas
Every year at Christmas, my church sponsors a Sharing Tree for the less fortunate. The tree is decorated with paper angel ornaments. Anyone who wishes to participate chooses an angel, buys a gift and brings it back the following week, beautifully wrapped. These angels have no family, and whatever gift they receive from the church is their only present. While this is a wonderful tradition, as you might imagine, it can also present quite a challenge. We are given very little information about our angels. Let me share with you my first experience with this tradition.
The first year I participated in the Sharing Tree, my angel was an elderly woman, a 90-year-old shut in. The first problem I encountered was trying to figure out precisely what a shut in was. After doing a little research, I learned a shut in is a person who is unable to leave the house. I also learned my angel was in a nursing home and hated Christmas because she had no one to share it with. The nursing home was relatively close to where I lived, so I asked if it would be all right if I delivered it in person. I thought it would be a nice gesture to show her someone out there cared. The staff thought it a marvelous idea and said it would make her day. But that still presented the problem of what to buy a 90-year-old shut in.
She’d have no need for a warm scarf or a pair of gloves. And clothes were out of the question since I didn’t know her size. A toasty pair of slippers might be nice, but again. HMM. What size? There were books, stories of inspiration. But what if she had cataracts? Or maybe she didn’t like to read. What to do? Out of options, I decided on a Christmas coffee mug filled with chocolate candy. Pleased with myself, off I went to meet my angel on Christmas Eve.
The elderly woman sat upright in bed, all dressed up in a pink bathrobe. She was all smiles, her cheeks glowing with excitement. I introduced myself and extended my hand. Nothing. My heart sank. Slowly but surely, I realized she had no use of her arms. And here I was, ready to hand her a coffee cup filled with candy.
Asking God for guidance, I briefly panicked. But within a few seconds, it became obvious it wasn’t the gift that mattered to the woman, my angel. She wasn’t a child waiting for Santa. She was a woman waiting for a visitor, a friend, someone to share Christmas with. I set the gift down and said nothing. Then I recalled something the nurse had said when I told her I was coming for a visit. She said the lady was an angel, a patient who never gave the staff any trouble. She said if she was guilty of anything, it was her love of sweets. Then it occurred to me. The nurses probably fed her.
Unwrapping the gift, I showed it to her. Her bright blue eyes lit up, spotting the chocolates. Not wanting to go against any nursing home rules, I wagged my finger and told her she’d just have to wait until Christmas morning before she could open the candy. She smiled, a girlish giggle escaping her lips.
I left the nursing home feeling like I’d just visited an angel. She taught me a valuable lesson. It’s not the gift that matters. It’s showing that you care. We are all God’s angels. Let’s spread the cheer this Christmas.
The first year I participated in the Sharing Tree, my angel was an elderly woman, a 90-year-old shut in. The first problem I encountered was trying to figure out precisely what a shut in was. After doing a little research, I learned a shut in is a person who is unable to leave the house. I also learned my angel was in a nursing home and hated Christmas because she had no one to share it with. The nursing home was relatively close to where I lived, so I asked if it would be all right if I delivered it in person. I thought it would be a nice gesture to show her someone out there cared. The staff thought it a marvelous idea and said it would make her day. But that still presented the problem of what to buy a 90-year-old shut in.
She’d have no need for a warm scarf or a pair of gloves. And clothes were out of the question since I didn’t know her size. A toasty pair of slippers might be nice, but again. HMM. What size? There were books, stories of inspiration. But what if she had cataracts? Or maybe she didn’t like to read. What to do? Out of options, I decided on a Christmas coffee mug filled with chocolate candy. Pleased with myself, off I went to meet my angel on Christmas Eve.
The elderly woman sat upright in bed, all dressed up in a pink bathrobe. She was all smiles, her cheeks glowing with excitement. I introduced myself and extended my hand. Nothing. My heart sank. Slowly but surely, I realized she had no use of her arms. And here I was, ready to hand her a coffee cup filled with candy.
Asking God for guidance, I briefly panicked. But within a few seconds, it became obvious it wasn’t the gift that mattered to the woman, my angel. She wasn’t a child waiting for Santa. She was a woman waiting for a visitor, a friend, someone to share Christmas with. I set the gift down and said nothing. Then I recalled something the nurse had said when I told her I was coming for a visit. She said the lady was an angel, a patient who never gave the staff any trouble. She said if she was guilty of anything, it was her love of sweets. Then it occurred to me. The nurses probably fed her.
Unwrapping the gift, I showed it to her. Her bright blue eyes lit up, spotting the chocolates. Not wanting to go against any nursing home rules, I wagged my finger and told her she’d just have to wait until Christmas morning before she could open the candy. She smiled, a girlish giggle escaping her lips.
I left the nursing home feeling like I’d just visited an angel. She taught me a valuable lesson. It’s not the gift that matters. It’s showing that you care. We are all God’s angels. Let’s spread the cheer this Christmas.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Christmas Post
Lead us to the Perfect Light
With the frigid weather and the snow falling outdoors, it is beginning to look a lot like Christmas. At my house, we begin our Christmas Eve dinner by breaking wafers with each guest seated at the table. Not only is this said to bring good luck, but it is our way of sharing what we have with one another.
What makes Christmas special to me is the traditions passed on from generation to generation, instilling in me a strong sense of hearth and home. After the breaking of the wafers, the well wishes and cheers, and the feast prepared by many hands, we reminisce over coffee and dessert. Sooner or later, one of us will bring up the good old days when we were kids and put up our train set in the basement, our own little Santa village.
It all started on Thanksgiving weekend, the entire family trooping downstairs like little elves, each with a designated task. My dad and brother put up the platform, carefully nailing the track down, hammering away like Santa’s helpers. My sister and I were in charge of going through box after box of houses, telephone poles, street lamps and tunnels, dusting them off and making them shine for “Light up” night.
After a few hours, the insatiable aroma of sugar cookies wafted from the kitchen, and before long, Mom brought down a platter of the oven-fresh cookies, our family dog hot on her heels. We’d dust off our hands, turn off the lights and watch our little village come to life while sipping on hot cocoa and holiday treats.
A week or so before Christmas, the freshly cut tree went up, filling the house with the heady scent of pine. We strung popcorn and trimmed the plump tree with bright lights and shiny ornaments, icicles and the angel tree top. The Nativity Set was placed below the tree, the cardboard lid staying closed until Christmas morning when the Christ child was exposed, along with the Holy Family, The Three Wise Men and manger animals. Before we opened our gifts, we’d kneel down and wish the Baby Jesus a Merry Christmas.
One Christmas Day, we went to my aunts for dinner. To our amazement, she brought out a birthday cake with no candles. Her entire family sang “Happy Birthday Dear Jesus, Happy Birthday to you.”
This memory has burned a lasting imprint in my brain, one I often reflect on when holiday stress gets the best of me. How easy it is to get caught up in the madness of the season, the shopping, the baking, the business. Year after year, the true meaning of Christmas is lost in the shuffle.
I’d like to start a new tradition this year in honor of my aunt. In these trying times, let’s find it in our hearts to remember why Our Savior was born—to lead us to the perfect light.
“Happy Birthday Dear Jesus, Happy Birthday to you!”
Have a comment? Come leave one at my persoanal blog at:
http://sharondonovan.blogspot.com
My favorite comment will win a prize, so stay tuned for the date and details. Wishing you a wonderful and blessed Christmas.
Sharon Donovan
sharonad@comcast.net
www.sharonadonovan.com
TOUCHED BY AN ANGEL
COMING FROM THE WILD ROSE PRESS
JANUARY 7, 2009
THE CLADDAGH RING
COMING FROM THE WILD ROSE PRESS
FEBRUARY 25, 2009
LASTING LOVE
COMING FROM THE WILD ROSE PRESS
MARCH 18, 2009
With the frigid weather and the snow falling outdoors, it is beginning to look a lot like Christmas. At my house, we begin our Christmas Eve dinner by breaking wafers with each guest seated at the table. Not only is this said to bring good luck, but it is our way of sharing what we have with one another.
What makes Christmas special to me is the traditions passed on from generation to generation, instilling in me a strong sense of hearth and home. After the breaking of the wafers, the well wishes and cheers, and the feast prepared by many hands, we reminisce over coffee and dessert. Sooner or later, one of us will bring up the good old days when we were kids and put up our train set in the basement, our own little Santa village.
It all started on Thanksgiving weekend, the entire family trooping downstairs like little elves, each with a designated task. My dad and brother put up the platform, carefully nailing the track down, hammering away like Santa’s helpers. My sister and I were in charge of going through box after box of houses, telephone poles, street lamps and tunnels, dusting them off and making them shine for “Light up” night.
After a few hours, the insatiable aroma of sugar cookies wafted from the kitchen, and before long, Mom brought down a platter of the oven-fresh cookies, our family dog hot on her heels. We’d dust off our hands, turn off the lights and watch our little village come to life while sipping on hot cocoa and holiday treats.
A week or so before Christmas, the freshly cut tree went up, filling the house with the heady scent of pine. We strung popcorn and trimmed the plump tree with bright lights and shiny ornaments, icicles and the angel tree top. The Nativity Set was placed below the tree, the cardboard lid staying closed until Christmas morning when the Christ child was exposed, along with the Holy Family, The Three Wise Men and manger animals. Before we opened our gifts, we’d kneel down and wish the Baby Jesus a Merry Christmas.
One Christmas Day, we went to my aunts for dinner. To our amazement, she brought out a birthday cake with no candles. Her entire family sang “Happy Birthday Dear Jesus, Happy Birthday to you.”
This memory has burned a lasting imprint in my brain, one I often reflect on when holiday stress gets the best of me. How easy it is to get caught up in the madness of the season, the shopping, the baking, the business. Year after year, the true meaning of Christmas is lost in the shuffle.
I’d like to start a new tradition this year in honor of my aunt. In these trying times, let’s find it in our hearts to remember why Our Savior was born—to lead us to the perfect light.
“Happy Birthday Dear Jesus, Happy Birthday to you!”
Have a comment? Come leave one at my persoanal blog at:
http://sharondonovan.blogspot.com
My favorite comment will win a prize, so stay tuned for the date and details. Wishing you a wonderful and blessed Christmas.
Sharon Donovan
sharonad@comcast.net
www.sharonadonovan.com
TOUCHED BY AN ANGEL
COMING FROM THE WILD ROSE PRESS
JANUARY 7, 2009
THE CLADDAGH RING
COMING FROM THE WILD ROSE PRESS
FEBRUARY 25, 2009
LASTING LOVE
COMING FROM THE WILD ROSE PRESS
MARCH 18, 2009
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Fireside Appetizers
Chicken Enchilada Dip
Ingredients:
2 skinless boneless chicken breasts, grilled and shredded
1 8 oz. Package cream cheese, softened
1 cup mayonnaise
1 8 oz. Package shredded colby-monterey cheese
1 4 oz. Can green chili peppers
1 envelope taco seasoning
Directions:
Mix all ingredients and place in baking pan
Bake uncovered for 30 minutes at 350
Serve with tortilla chips
Ingredients:
2 skinless boneless chicken breasts, grilled and shredded
1 8 oz. Package cream cheese, softened
1 cup mayonnaise
1 8 oz. Package shredded colby-monterey cheese
1 4 oz. Can green chili peppers
1 envelope taco seasoning
Directions:
Mix all ingredients and place in baking pan
Bake uncovered for 30 minutes at 350
Serve with tortilla chips
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