Rosalind Noonan grew up in suburban Maryland on the outskirts of Baltimore and Washington. One of five children, she enjoyed the comical, energetic vibe of a noisy Irish household and remains close with her four siblings. Noonan spent her senior year of high school in Ludwigsburg, Germany, and used that time to travel extensively throughout Europe.
Noonan is a graduate of Wagner College in Staten Island, New York. Coincidentally, the campus was used as the primary location for the film School of Rock, one of Roz?s favorite comedies. She recalls her four years on ?the Hill,? living in a dormitory with a breathtaking view of New York Harbor and lower Manhattan, as a time of vast growth and possibility.
After graduation she remained in New York City and found a job as an editorial assistant at Simon & Schuster. Working with authors including Nancy Bush, Lisa Jackson and Debbie Macomber, she was promoted to Senior Editor. She has created and edited various young adult and middle-grade book series, one optioned by Walt Disney Films. Two books from her Shadow Zone series, My Teacher Ate My Homework and Undead Express with Ron Silver, were produced as films for Showtime.
Rosalind Noonan lives in Portland, Oregon, with her husband Michael, children Carly and Alex, and a small King Charles Cavalier Spaniel named Ruby.
One September Morning The moment Abby sees two soldiers approach her front door, she knows her husband is dead. John Stanton, who gave up his career as an NFL running back to serve in the army after 9/11, has been killed in Iraq.
Suddenly Abby’s kitchen is overflowing with casseroles brought by the army wives’ club to which she has never really belonged. And her in-laws arrange a lavish funeral at Arlington National Cemetery, in spite of Abby’s misgivings. John had grown to hate the war even though he loved his country, and Abby can’t reconcile the complex man she knew with the version being portrayed by self-serving politicians, military leaders and the media.
Shell-shocked, Abby strives to cope with her own heartache while comforting John’s loved ones, including his mother Sharice, his staunchly anti-war sister Madison, his bitter younger brother Noah, and his father, a Vietnam veteran and career soldier now retired from the U.S. Army.
While others focus on preserving John’s fame, Abby becomes more and more convinced that John wasn’t killed by the enemy, but by someone he knew and trusted. ONE SEPTEMBER MORNING is a gripping and thoughtful story of loyalty and betrayal, a tale of one shattered family’s journey toward healing, and an examination of the courage it takes to confront the truth not just about our enemies but also about those we love.
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Christmas has come early to our house. I've made it to the New York Times bestseller list with the SNOW ANGELS anthology! Thanks to all the readers who made this book a success! Just ran into a wishing tree at the mall, which reminded me of a Christmas when my kids were little. One Sunday in early December my children noticed that a pine tree decorated with paper ornaments had been placed at the front of the church. Being huge fans of Christmas, they asked if we could take a closer look after the service, and we found that each paper ornament contained a name and a desired gift from their Christmas wish list. A woman from the church staff explained that the gifts were being collected for elderly and developmentally challenged people the church worked with. My daughter Carly was fascinated by these paper “wishes.” At the time she had just learned to read, and she was intrigued at the secrets each ornament revealed. Some wish lists revealed other personal information like size, favorite color or hobby. Carly read every ornament within her reach, gobbling them up like candy. I was still explaining how this gift fulfillment system to my five year old son when Carly showed me Bob’s ornament. “Look at this, Mom. He likes basketball, too, and he needs a warm sweater. Can we get him one?” According to the card, Bob was a male of undetermined age whose hobbies were basketball and watching TV. His desired item was a warm sweater, size extra-large. “Each of you can get a gift,” I said. “Is this the one you want? She nodded. “All these people want something, but Bob needs a sweater. I really want to find him something warm and comfy.” We went shopping that afternoon, and the questions began. Cardigan or pullover? Wool was warm, but would it be too itchy for Bob? Fleece okay? “I wish we could ask Bob,” Carly said as we decided against a wool and acrylic blend in a color that made my eyes water. One of the department stores was having a sale, but there wasn’t much variety in size XL, and Carly would not settle. When I showed her a stylish but thin sweater, she shook her head. “It needs to be warm,” she said, and we moved on. When at last we found the right sweater – a soft pullover in a blue and turquoise pattern – Carly hugged it all the way to the register. “It’s so soft.” She smiled. “And it will keep Bob warm.” Through her eyes I could imagine Extra Large Bob opening his gift on Christmas morning. I could see him shrugging it on, rubbing the sleeves. I wondered if he would sense the philanthropic connection he’d stirred in my daughter. If only Bob could see the six year old girl smoothing the sweater on the counter, instilling love in it. Years later, I like to think Bob felt the love, part of the magic of Christmas. Good will toward men.
