Upcoming Projects

Sarah’s first novel… unpublished as of yet.

In the Coal Mine Shadows

About the Book:

The year is 1922. Coal mining is the way of life for the dwellers of the sleepy little mountain town of Bergton, Virginia. Long after her father’s death in an explosion, the cold darkness of the coal mines persists for Miriam Margaret “Mame” Blackwell. Her mother and their family of eight must learn to survive without a man. Mame finds herself thrown into a burdensome existence, a life she vows to escape.

When Mame meets tobacco magnate Clint Paddington for the first time, she imagines that he is her only way out of Bergton. She quickly decides to trick him into marriage. Soon she finds out that even the most ingenious plans of escape and revenge are not void of complications, especially when they set into motion generations of bad choices, lies, deceit, kidnapping, and even murder.

Mame’s twin boys are maddening, constant reminders of her one night with Jack Marsh, for one son is fair in body and spirit like Clint, and the other is dark like Jack. Who’s the father and how does it matter? This eternal theme unfolds in a gritty, original Southern tale where not even the vilest deception can extinguish loyalty and genuine love.

*In the Coal Mine Shadows is waiting for a publisher.

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Sarah’s third novel, Due to launch October, 2012.

The Color of My Heart


Dedicated to the oppressed of this world…
Galatians 3:28-29

28) There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free,male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.
29) If you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s seed,
and heirs according to the promise.

I always write a poem before beginning a book; this is the one for The Color Of My Heart.


The Color Of My Heart

Pitching and swaying the ship rolls over the hump-backed crests.
Inside I too churn, just as the sea.
The force piling us high, one on top of the other,
Woman, child…man and boy.
Dirty, starved, abused and shackled.
Can’t anyone see the color of my heart?

Herded, chains binding, they check our bodies…
Not seeing our souls.
Fingers prying, muscles tested, hands on flesh,
Who will have us, where will we go?
Loud voices drown out our cries…sold…sold…sold.
Can’t anyone see the color of my heart?

Dragged away, where’s my mama, my daddy, my brothers?
Someone help, take me back, I want to go home.
New place, obey the rules, yes ma’am, no ma’am,
Always yes sir!
Please don’t touch me like that… I’ve never before…
Can’t you see the color of my heart?

Years come, they go, babies are born, babies die.
One has coal colored skin,
The other olive, with blue eyes.
Some love, most hate, all hurt.
I yearn for the world to see…
The color of my heart.

Rejected, rebuked, shut out, shut in.
Proud, confused, controlled, judged.
Freedom does not always mean you’re free!
One maker…one man…one woman…
One creation…one color heart?
What do you see?

The Color Of My Heart, published by Ambassador International

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Another project I have going is a progression of children’s books, titled The Wayward Adventures from Skunk Cabbage Bog. The series is a spin-off from my second novel Guardian Spirit; it is a lively set of stories coming from mostly the animals of Skunk Cabbage Bogs point of view. The first two stories are waiting to be illustrated.

Here’s a clip from the first book titled, The Spying Critters.

Wayward Adventures From Skunk Cabbage Bog

The Spying Critters

By: Sarah Martin Byrd

“Oh my gosh…oh my gosh…lordy, lordy…what are we going to do…someone’s coming…someone’s coming,” Hannibul squawked to his sister Heidi.

“Oh Hannibul calm down, it’s just that young girl we’ve been watching these past couple of moon changes. And come out from behind that tree limb and quit being such a cowardly chipmunk. I’ve never in my seven season’s known anyone to be so faint-hearted. You’d think an army of humans was coming after you. We do however need to get word to Mr. Estes.”

Heidi and Hanibul skittered through the trees and along the ground past the stream that fed the creek.

“What’s the rush,” Bonnie the beaver called from the creek bank.

“Someone’s coming, we’ve got to get to the bog to tell Mr. Estes. You better hide.”

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The Manger Mouse

A children’s Christmas Picture book, waiting for illustrations to be finished.

What really happened the night Jesus was born? Did a small brown stable mouse save the King of Kings? Or did Jesus save him?

Matty the manger mouse doesn’t have a clue what his mother means when she tells him he will take part in the most important thing to ever happen in history. Why would just a meek and lowly stable mouse be chosen to perform a holy feat?

Children and adults will be touched by Matty’s brave little heart. Come join Matty and all the other stable dwellers as the story of that first Christmas unfolds. The Manger Mouse: Jesus’ first miracle.

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The River Keeper

A novel by Sarah Martin Byrd

Now in the process of being edited. Below is the poem I wrote for this novel.

The River Keeper

A poem by Sarah Martin Byrd


How do I see with no eyes?

Or hear without the drums of ears?

Do I know when the sun glows

And the moon changes phases?


Some think I travel the same path for eternity

Little do they know I change by the second?

A little to the left, a bit to the right

An inch deeper into the earth’s crust.


Over rocks, silt and sludge

I move onward to the ocean.

Can anyone or anything stop what so long ago began?

Who would want to I ask?


What, that someone or something could dam me up?

Making me consume all I touch?

The trees, the homes, the land… the flesh

Why not leave me to my own way?


I’m sorry, for when the rains come I swell

The frozen ice edges me up on the bank.

No one can stop the power, the push, me,

I overflow and I kill.


I weep, I grown, I cry out

I feel the wrath of myself.

You can’t stop me nor can I stop myself

Only one can save us all… The River Keeper.

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Only The River Knows


Excerpt from a short story by:
Sarah Martin Byrd

Through the years Shaila saw very little of Audrey. That was up until five years ago, then one day Audrey came home to her mama, to the chickens and the house that stands on the rock foundation above the creek and the springhouse.

“Gram.”

Shaila had been lost in her thoughts, but quickly answered Tina.

“She doesn’t have running water in her house, she has to carry her water from the spring.”

“No water? How does she wash dishes and take a bath… or pee?”

“Well she washes her dishes in a pan, takes a bath in maybe that same pan, and she pees in the Johnny house.”

Tina again looked at her Gram with a sense of disbelief. She then gazed out beyond the old house to the woods. The same rotten boards that were as on the house were nailed to a much smaller version of the shack, the Johnny house.