The GREAT BEGINNING of SHARON STRUTH

A great book has a GREAT BEGINNING. 

Meet Sharon Struth as she joins us on GREAT BEGINNINGS with her fresh new release.

Guess which classic book begins like this and you're in with the chance to win a free copy of "Share the Moon".

Scarlett O’Hara was not beautiful, but men seldom realized it when caught by her charm as the Tarleton twins were. In her face were too sharply blended the delicate features of her mother, a Coast aristocrat of French descent, and the heavy ones of her florid Irish father. But it was an arresting face, pointed of chin, square of jaw. Her eyes were pale green without a touch of hazel, starred with bristly black lashes and slightly tilted at the ends. Above them, her thick black brows slanted upward, cutting a startling oblique line in her magnolia-white skin — that skin so prized by Southern women and so carefully guarded with bonnets, veils and mittens against hot Georgia suns.


Did you really need the hint? They even made a Barbie of her.

Did you really need the hint? They even made a Barbie of her.


Hi Sarah! Thanks for having me here today. You’re interview questions were lot so fun to answer. Loved your “Great Beginning” opening lines. I think I got it in one.


1.     Give us your Great Beginning, where were you born and where are you now?

 

I was born and raised in Poughkeepsie, NY—IBM-ville! Back then, everyone in that area work for the then world famous computer giant. Now I live in Bethel, Connecticut, birthplace to P.T. Barnum and where actress Meg Ryan graduated from high school.

 

2.     One word to describe yourself from:

·      You: Determined

·      Your Significant Other: Lively (occasionally not a good thing)

·      Your Best Friend: Funny

·      Your Mother: Capable

·      Your children: likeable (most days)


}3.     How did the idea for Share the Moon come about?

I love my town—Bethel, CT! We’re small-ish—maybe a step above small, but we think like Petticoat Junction. A trip to the store means you’ll see someone you know and local news reaches us before it hits the papers. So I wanted to write a small-town novel series, one that conveyed both my love of Bethel and Connecticut. In my free time, my hubby and I visit the state vineyards or strap the kayak to the car and head to the beautiful northwestern part of the state for the day. Then one day, fictional Northbridge, CT appeared in my head and the rest of the plot for Share the Moon. By the way, those vineyard stops we make are all book research…

 

4.     Tell us how your journey in publishing began?

After spending close to 20 years as an accountant and systems analyst (wake up, I can see your eyes glazing over), writing is a new career for me. It all came about when I faced the agonizing reality that I had reached “middle-age” and wanted more from my days. Then I took a writing class and never turned back. I wrote for a year, then started to submit small pieces and when I landed in a national publication early on, I took it as a sign.


5.     And now give us that Great Beginning.

A peek at page one of Share the Moon:

 

The sabotaged kayaks beckoned. Sophie Shaw trod a thin layer of ice pellets on the lawn as she headed to the lake’s edge, where eight boats waited to be returned to the storage rack. The fickle New England weather had offered sleet-dropping clouds an hour earlier. Now, a wink from the sun reflected against Blue Moon Lake.

She dragged the first boat up a small incline, annoyed some bored teenagers had considered destruction of property entertainment. Growing up she and her friends had respected the local businesses.

A UPS truck screeched to a stop in front of a row of shops on Main Street. The driver hopped out and ran into Annabelle’s Antiques with a box tucked under his arm. Sophie glanced both ways along the road for signs of Matt, whose new driver’s license and clunker car played to every mother’s fears. Fifteen minutes earlier, she’d texted him for help with the boat mess. He’d replied “k.”

 Sophie’s flats glided along the slick lawn. She gripped the cord of a bright orange sea kayak and, using two hands, struggled backward up the slope. Her foot skidded. The heel of her shoe wobbled for security but instead, her toes lifted off the ground and flashed toward the clear sky. The burning skid of the cord ripped across her palms just as her other foot lifted and launched her airborne. Thud!

 Air whooshed from her lungs. Pain coursed through her shoulder blades, neck, and spine. The ground’s chilly dampness seeped into her cotton khaki pants, raising goose bumps on her skin. Seconds passed without breath before she managed to swallow a gulp.

 Lying flat on her back, she stared at the cornflower blue sky and spotted a chalky slice of the moon. The night Henry died, a similar crescent had hung from the heavens, barely visible nestled among the glittering stars. She prepared for the scrape that threatened to tear the gouge of her scarred heart. Seven years. Seven painful years. She closed her eyes and after a few seconds, the weight of sadness lifted off her chest.

 Tears gathered along her lower lashes. She pushed a strand of unruly long hair from her face. Footsteps crunched on the ice pellets and headed her way.

 “Matthew Shaw…” Fury pooled in her jaw as she resisted the urge to yell at her son. “You’d better have a good excuse for taking so long.”

 A man with cinnamon hair, short on the sides with gentle waves on top, knelt at her side. She studied the strong outline of his cheeks and the slight bump on the bridge of his angular nose that gave him a rugged touch, but he wasn’t familiar.

 

Give us the opening lines of your RITA acceptance speech. (Don’t leave me hanging here, haven’t we all had that fantasy?)


            “Wow! I can’t believe it…” I mumbled into the microphone. My fingers trembled as I tried to unfold my speech, a speech written the day I’d received the nomination. Who was I kidding…I had that speech pounded out five minutes after completing the first draft.

I glanced up, blinked into the bright lights. Jesus, there are more eyes on me than I’d find in a field of potatoes!

Concentrate! I fumbled with the paper and unfolded my speech. As I glanced down at the page, I noticed a piece from the chocolate cake I’d just shoved into my mouth had fallen and teetered on the edge of my satin gown’s bust line. Just one step from slipping into that warm and cozy place right between the “girls.”

I lifted my hand, as dainty as possible, and brushed it off, but misjudged the proximity of the microphone. Whop! I stared in horror as the microphone nose-dived off the podium, crashed to the floor and let out ear-splitting screech. I could see the tweets now…#clumsywritervideo.  

Okay, the truth is, I do okay in front of a crowd, but the scene I described is my worse nightmare. I tend to spill—more than an adult should—and nobody ever called me graceful.


Blurb:

 

"Heart-tugging small town romance with real emotion.  Struth is an author to watch!"

—Laura Drake, author of RITA-award winning The Sweet Spot

 

Sometimes trust is the toughest lesson to learn.


Sophie Shaw is days away from signing a contract that will fulfill her dream of owning a vineyard. For her, it’s a chance to restart her life and put past tragedies to rest. But Duncan Jamieson’s counter offer blows hers out to sea.


Duncan still finds Sophie as appealing as he had during boyhood vacations to the lake. Older and wiser now, he has his own reasons for wanting the land. His offer, however, hinges on a zoning change approval.


Bribery rumors threaten the deal and make Sophie wary of Duncan, yet she cannot deny his appeal. When her journalistic research uncovers a Jamieson family secret, trust becomes the hardest lesson for them both.


Author Bio:

Sharon Struth is an award-winning author who believes it’s never too late for a second chance in love or life. When she’s not writing, she and her husband happily sip their way through the scenic towns of the Connecticut Wine Trail. Sharon writes from the small town of Bethel, Connecticut, the friendliest place she’s ever lived. For more information, including where to find her other novels and published essays, please visit her at www.sharonstruth.com


Book Trailer: 



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Twitter: @sharonstruth


But Barbie doesn't come close to the real thing. 

But Barbie doesn't come close to the real thing.