Sharon Keeble had barely unpacked her bags in America when she found herself in Birmingham, Alabama, covering the disappearance of Natalee Holloway.

It was 2005, and the British journalist had just been hired to head a new features department at the National Enquirer. After years of writing for newspapers and women’s magazines in England and abroad, she’d landed in the middle of one of the country’s biggest headlines.

But ask Sharon what makes a good story, and her answer has surprisingly little to do with fame, fortune, or scandal.

“I’ve always been a feature writer, really,” she says.

That people-first devotion has served her well since she landed her first newspaper job at 19 in England. Over the years, her work appeared in publications from Australia to South Africa. And when the opportunity came to move to America, a country she’d been itching to call home since a family vacation to the Florida Keys, she didn’t need much convincing.

She and her husband, Dave, eventually settled in Clermont, where they raised their three daughters. At the time, downtown was more boarded-up storefronts than bustling destination.

After years freelancing for the Clermont Sun, she became its editor in 2023, returning to the community journalism where she’d started. These days, her beat stretches from Clermont to Groveland, Minneola, Mascotte, and Montverde, where the stories range from city council decisions to the neighbors quietly making a difference.

Over the years, Sharon has become a familiar face around South Lake, and one people trust with their most personal stories.

“People definitely want to share, particularly if they’ve got an emotional story,” she says.

That trust extends to the newspaper itself, although readers aren’t shy about voicing their displeasure. When the weekly puzzle page was accidentally omitted, the office fielded dozens of calls. Apparently, you can change the face of downtown Clermont, but don’t mess with someone’s crossword.

It’s a small reminder of why local journalism matters. “They just want to know about the people, what the people are doing, what’s new, and what you can do at the weekends,” Sharon says.

But some stories demand more than a place in the weekly paper.

When a 23-year-old mother, brought to America as an infant, was detained by ICE following a traffic stop, Sharon began asking questions. The young woman, caught in a quagmire of ever-changing immigration rules, faced deportation, with a baby waiting at home. Sharon shared her story, the community rallied, and the young mother was released in time for Mother’s Day.

Then came the criticism. Some readers questioned why Sharon would sympathize with someone who hadn’t followed the same immigration path she had.

“It’s a hard system,” Sharon says. “It’s really hard, and I wouldn’t wish it on anybody.”

She should know. In January 2026, more than two decades after arriving in America, endless paperwork, and months of studying, Sharon became a U.S. citizen. She’s quick to acknowledge that her path was smoother than many, including the woman she profiled.

Even so, she says, “I am proud to be a citizen, regardless of everything. And I’m also really proud of that story.”

That compassion has shaped Sharon’s journalism for years. She once wrote a book about rescue dogs that rescued their humans, inspired by her own daughter’s experience with bullying and the shelter dog that helped her through it. One story, about a veteran whose dog gave him a reason to keep living, earned Sharon an award.

And then life handed her a story she never wanted to tell.

In November 2022, Sharon lost Dave after a long battle with ALS. Suddenly, the woman accustomed to telling other people’s stories was living through one she never would have chosen. She focused on their daughters, kept herself busy, and did what so many of us do when life falls apart: convinced herself she was fine.

Until she wasn’t.

With encouragement from family and friends, Sharon eventually sought therapy. She also wrote publicly about her grief, hoping her experience might help someone else.

“As journalists, we are the interviewers. We write people’s stories. We don’t do our own,” she says. Opening up wasn’t easy. But it taught her something about the vulnerability she asks of the people she interviews.

“If you can be vulnerable like that, then they speak to you more,” she explains. “You get much more out of the story, and I think you’re a better writer for it.”

After 21 years in Clermont, she still handles every one of those stories with care. “It’s an absolute honor to be able to share people’s stories,” she says.