ABOUT LINDA WOOD RONDEAU

Is it possible that God will use our worst mistakes toward building our best future? I believe this to be true and this truth is the heart of all my books, whether fiction or non-fiction.

I have found this to be true in my personal life as well. Though my first marriage ended in disappointment, I have been married to my current spouse for nearly forty years. Not only did God right my mistakes, but through the struggle of single parenting, God led me to a long career in human services. Now he has called me to share this truth with you, my readers.  

I am a cancer survivor and a recovering food addict, a mother, grandmother, aunt, sister, cousin, and friend, among a host of life’s adventures. In each instance, God has turned my disappointments, struggles, and failures into something beautiful. Life lessons I might never have learned otherwise.

While strolling through this website, be sure to visit my blog where I feature Fiction Fridays, reviews of other authors’ books, and Tuesday’s Treasure, a new devotional or review of a nonfiction book. Snark and Sensibility. 

My book page will give you excerpts and added information regarding other publications. I am always looking for reviewers. If interested, feel free to message me or email me.

WHAT READERS ARE SAYING ABOUT
LINDA WOOD RONDEAU’S BOOKS
… magical gift of words.
… not your usual romance writer.
… wise and gentle way of explaining how God moves in
people’s lives
… makes the reader part of the story
… using metaphor, description, and humor, this author is
wonderful at setting a scene.
… characters that come to life
… creates quirky characters with finesse
… grabs and keeps your attention right from the beginning
… strong vibrant characters and great storylines
… doesn’t fit neatly into any niche but one: Inspiring
Christian Fiction!
… great mix of love, relationships, suspense & mystery.
… perfect in writing style, story theme, and characters
… not your typical cookie-cutter romances
… themes of mystery, romance and restoration, sprinkled
with humor
… one of my favorite writers of Christian fiction
… liked the Upstate NY setting, especially in the Adirondacks,
one of my favorite places.
… surprising twists and turns in her storylines
… satisfying endings are worth every tear
… be prepared to have your attention riveted
… draws you into the story early on and keeps you there

I welcome your comments. Follow me on any of my social media listed at the bottom of this page. If you send me an email, I’ll follow you back. Have a prayer request? Email me, and I will pray for you. 

SPEAKING

A former Toastmaster, I am available to speak to your group. For suggested fees and topics of interest as well as contact information refer to my speaker page.

This site also contains information about my writings, where you may purchase them, what they are about, and sample pages. 

GOD LOVES YOU

As you peruse this site, I hope you will gain an understanding of God’s love for you. In His mercy and with His Grace, your worst past will become your best future.

Need assistance with your manuscript? I am a freelance writing consultant. The First Hundred Pages

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READ A CHAPTER OF MY LATEST RELEASE HERE FOR FREE (Ghosts of Trumball Mansion)

PROLOGUE
Fifteen years earlier
Sylvia Moore Fitzgibbons steadied herself against the balustrade surrounding the upstairs promenade. Henry stood at the door, much like Scarlet O’Hara’s Rhett. In her mind, Sylvia could hear Scarlet say the words, “Oh, Rhett, whatever will I do without you?” She expected the same final condemnation to pass from Henry’s lips. “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a …”

Sylvia screamed her petition. “Henry, don’t go.”

He paused—his gaze sorrowful as he opened the double-paneled door. “I’m sorry, Sylvia. I told you last night. I can’t live here.”

She pushed away from the rail, her knees wobbling, wanting the floor to swallow her whole. Should she pray? She hadn’t needed or thought about God since childhood. Instead, she summoned the author within, the strength she’d always leaned on. If she were to survive, Lana Longstreet must take over. “Then go.”

He glanced toward the marble-floored ballroom. “I tried, Sylvia. For a brief while, I thought I might eventually learn to manage the commute.” He pointed toward the infamous ballroom. “But whatever’s in there hates me.”

Of all the excuses she’d ever written, Henry’s fiction surpassed Lana Longstreet’s most creative pages. “Will I still see you Wednesday?”

“As agreed—a weekly business meeting at Chez Phillipe.”

With that, Henry was gone, leaving Sylvia to mourn the life she’d lost. Only Lana could help her make a new one. What now? She surveyed the staircase and the portraits of the ancestors. Lana Longstreet would not let sentiment stand in the way of enjoying this mansion, a piece of New
Haven history, shaking her head at Henry’s idiocy.

Sylvia surveyed the lower rooms, the lure to the old Trumball Mansion, now hers. Every room, even the servants’ quarters on the left wing beyond the ballroom, remained as the edifice was when Trumball built the place. Of course, she’d modernize the kitchen for Rosalie. She couldn’t expect her cook to manage with a wood stove. 

Anger heated her cheeks as she surveyed the perfect symmetry and Georgian architecture. How could Henry have resisted the breathy charm filling each room, the engraved woodwork, and the plaster of paris that etched ceilings? Last night’s sharp criticism still stung. “Of all your
impetuous schemes, this is the craziest thing you have ever done,” Henry had said.

Lana Longstreet thought her decision to buy Trumball Mansion, the smartest move she’d ever made. She walked through the living room to the kitchen, then looked out the window at the rose gardens—the only feature Henry found alluring, though he couldn’t name a single species. She’d laughed while Henry referenced each bed by its color and location rather than use their common name. Apparently, not even the roses were enough to keep him here. He’d rejected her gift and thrown their marriage to the wind. He made his choice—now Lana Longstreet would make hers. The once-bustling Trumball Mansion would live again through twenty-first-century galas, and Lana Longstreet would emerge as New Haven’s sauciest socialite.

A last tear trickled down Sylvia’s chin. She pulled out a hankie from the sleeve of her knitted long-sleeved tee and wiped her eyes. No more regret, no more conniving. She’d salvage what she could from her broken marriage and find contentment within Lana Longstreet’s independence. Though Henry refused to call the mansion his home, he would not divorce her. Her books brought in the bulk of the profits for Fitzgibbons & Associate Publishing. If love didn’t motivate Henry’s faithfulness, the fear of poverty would.

And, they would have Wednesdays at Chez Phillipe’s. A small part of him better than none.

She gazed at the beveled archways gracing the entrance to both the ballroom and sitting room. She’d fashion a life for herself and the children here. Let Henry keep his predictable Manhattan existence. Lana Longstreet’s genius needed surroundings that juiced the creative spirit, one richly fed in this historic home.

She scanned the open ballroom, the cornerstone of Trumball’s influence on a nation in the making—the place where Henry claimed ghosts danced.
Ridiculous.

She joined Julie in the ballroom. A residual pungency coated Sylvia’s throat. “Let’s get out of here. Smells like rotten eggs. Tomorrow, I’ll hire a cleaning service to purge these odors.”

Julie stood with cocked head, her gaze fixed on the angel-engraved marble fireplace. “They’re gone, Mother. They jumped back into the walls when Daddy left.”