Bestselling author Sharon Kreider, a former mental health therapist turned writer, weaves the emotional and psychological fabric of the human condition into her writing and prose to help shed light on many relevant issues facing society today –its conflicts, its tragedies, and windows of hope.
Born and raised in a small northern Canadian town, she left home at an early age to travel the world, and eventually settled in Colorado where she penned her first book, Sylvie: a women’s fiction novel examining a family’s love for one another, acceptance, and letting go. The siren call of the Pacific Northwest lured her to a new writing home on several acres of wild, natural land to live a quieter life with her husband.
Sharon’s second book, Wandering … a long way past the past, is a remarkable travel memoir; an exceptional account of courage, love, overcoming adversity, and forgiveness, spanning her three-year solo adventure from Canada to Asia in the late 1970s.
Her latest book, Silver Tip, is a collection of thought-provoking poems capturing the celebration of being alive, the tenderness of love, and the beauty of the natural world. She is currently working on her second women’s fiction novel.
When Sharon is not writing, you can find her hiking the hills or kayaking the lake near her home in summer, cross-country skiing in winter, and as a long-time yoga instructor, teaching a yoga class from time to time.
I wrote this poem, Waiting for You, in gratitude. For the beauty of nature that inspires me every day. For the joy of writing. For the remarkable simplicity of loving someone special for a long time. As I wrote in the introduction of my poetry book, Silver Tip, I aspire to choose my words carefully and thoughtfully. Whittle and shape
Generally, we feel better when there is more sunlight, which triggers the release of serotonin in the brain, a neurotransmitter associated with a good mood and well-being. Most of us in the Northern Hemisphere are likely embracing this time of year with the coming of spring and the increase of daylight. The return of warmth and blooming flowers, marking the
Last September, as we were hiking down a mountain trail in the Pacific Northwest, my husband suddenly stopped and put a finger to his lips, indicating we shouldn’t talk. The underbrush was lush, still verdant green with hints of the autumn color to come –tinges of gold and crimson red. I couldn’t see anything, so I gingerly glided to where
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