A Broadway actress, Jasmine abandons her career and moves to her hometown of Edgefield to forget memories of her stalker, who’s supposed to be in jail. She’s content at her community theater until strange events occur, putting her in danger. Who is harassing her? Has Dexter escaped from prison? Find out in my long short story, “Blurred Lines,” now on Amazon.
In Lighthouse on Tortola, Andra–pronounced Ahndra–arrives in Tortola for an assignment, but immediately succumbs to the slow rhythm of the Islands, and the release of stress that she’s been needing. She makes friends with the hotel staff and a man who obviously isn’t a native, but why he’s there is shrouded in mystery. Romance blossoms as they tour the area by way of a jeep and his boat. Little does Andra know, but there is local treachery afoot, and her new boyfriend is somehow tied up in it. When he reveals his secrets to Andra she has the choice to turn and run home to safety, or risk her own life to help clear his. This novel is a perfect beach read–and it’s hard to put down. Lively adventure abounds; lose yourself in Tortola!” -Jennifer Haskinjenniferhaskin.com
Need a vacation, but can’t get away? Maybe a bit of mystery, suspense and romance are what you’re craving?
Look no further. This novel has it all!
This enticing, exotic and engaging read is the absolute perfect escape.
The first thing I noticed was how skillfully Ms. Rogers described the island setting. From the opening pages I was transported to the luscious palm trees and tranquility of Tortola. Using her words to paint a pristine portrait…
“Islands in the distance twinkled with the white lights of cottages, some reflecting on the smooth ocean surface, while a conglomeration of stars glowed a variety of colors, completely unhindered.”
Ms. Rogers knows how to ground her passages with enough detail to take her readers on a delightful visual journey.
As for the main characters, Andra and Michael, I was immediately drawn into their burgeoning relationship. I enjoyed that the author allowed the couple to evolve individually, and juxtaposed the story from their differing viewpoints.
I was careful not to be lulled into too much of an idyllic state, since I knew there would soon be danger and intrigue on the horizon. While other writers delve heavy-handedly into drama, Rogers presents the darker scenes with a thoughtful approach.
Though elements of corruption, kidnapping and crime are woven throughout this tale, I was impressed with the cadence of how these depictions were tempered with lighter segments that kept the read evenly enjoyable.
Also noted was the inclusion of a faith-based narrative that felt authentically placed, rather than awkwardly added. Such as at times when either of the protagonists were in trouble and deeply worried for their safety. Ms. Rogers handles these occasions with natural finesse.
I was also appreciative of the book’s length and pace, making it one that can easily be read in just a couple of sittings.
I highly recommend this lively and lovely novel and look forward to Ms. Rogers’ next release!
Tea Time
When I was a teen, I met two brothers who, although their facial features were similar, were different in almost every other way. The older (let’s call him Tim to protect his privacy) was athletic, tall, and strong. He played football for our High School State Championship Team, and enjoyed sports in general. His younger brother, Rob, on the other hand, stayed inside much of the time, playing the piano and doing other non-physical activities. (He was a fabulous pianist, playing at churches and even large conventions.) I wasn’t aware of many of their activities together, but I did hear one story I deemed worthy of sharing.
At a lake one day, Tim and Rob decided to go canoeing. I imagine things went as they usually do as they paddled around, until they came upon a waterfall or dam. Unfamiliar with the area, they didn’t realize they were being pulled toward the drop-off until it was too late.
I’m sure Tim thought he could jump out of the canoe or right it somehow, but Rob is a little faint of heart. As they reached the point of no return he declared, “Oh, I give up!” He promptly lay back in the boat. Little did he know that, by lying down, he caused the canoe to remain level as it plummeted the short distance to the water below, and they didn’t have any problems!
So, even though Tim was the athletic one, he had to give his brother credit for getting them out of that jam.
I’d wanted to go skiing ever since I saw “I Love Lucy” set at a ski resort, and I finally had my chance after Rick and I had been married several years. It was a five-hour drive from our home in South Carolina to Beech Mountain, North Carolina, and we could tell we were in unfamiliar territory as the terrain became hilly and patches of snow covered cow pastures.
When we finally reached our destination, car sick and exhausted, we discovered that our hotel was set in a curve of the main road running up the mountain, which meant traffic passed the lodge on both sides, practically encompassing it. We tried not to focus on this as we settled into our room, which included a sitting area and a kitchenette. With a treated log in the fireplace and heat strips running around the entire suite to make it extra warm, another perk of the establishment was free hot chocolate.
Needless to say, our first evening was cozy, sitting before the fire and tasting the best hot chocolate of our lives. The electric heat was tremendous. I’m cold natured, but even I thought it was a little overwhelming, so we turned it down. The buildings in the area were well-heated in general, which surprised me. I guess everyone wants to warm up after a long day on the slopes.
The next day, we started preparations for our first ski adventure, not knowing it would take hours. Snow fell at an alarming rate, and we heard that chains were required for anyone driving up Beech Mountain. We stopped at a ski shop to buy some, and they offered to put them on our tires. Thinking we could get our ski gear while we waited, we agreed, not realizing how long it would take, or that the woman at the shop couldn’t help us with our skis and other paraphernalia. By the time we purchased goggles and rented skis and all the clothing deemed necessary for our lesson, we’d spent a small fortune. (We had coupons we could have used at a nicer shop farther up the mountain, but we needed chains to get there.)
Armed with everything a skier could possibly need, we started up Beech Mountain. The road hadn’t been cleared, so we slipped and slid, hoping we wouldn’t plunge to the bottom as we rounded unprotected curves. When we finally made it to the ski area, trudging through the snow to sign up for a lesson, I was amazed at how comfortable I felt, despite the twelve degree reading on a thermometer. (Those ski clothes really work!)
The snow still fell incessantly as we joined our instructors and other would-be skiers, so I wore goggles as I listened attentively to advice concerning turning around, slowing down, and stopping. The goggles seemed to throw off my balance as I struggled to maneuver brand new, slippery skis, and I suddenly slid to the ground without warning. At least it was a comfortable fall, since there was about a foot of snow on the ground.
Next, we were told to follow our leaders down, then up a small incline to mechanical arms flying by, conveyor-belt style, waiting for each of us to grab one and be pulled up the hill. I was doing okay, but the young lady in front of me was barely moving. I didn’t want to seem rude by passing her, so I was forced to slow down, which made it difficult for me to get up the hill. By the time I reached the arms, I felt rushed, so I grabbed one before I was ready. (I should have paid attention to my instincts.) The monster flung me part of the way down the hill, wrenching my knee in the process. I didn’t want to go through that again, so one of the instructors, let’s call him Mike, walked with me to the top, and I prepared for the descent.
When my turn arrived, I took off, zooming down the hill like a pro. Maybe I should’ve been in a race, because I found it impossible to slow down as I approached an orange barrier. Plowing didn’t help. Nothing helped. Delving into the far reaches of my mind, I remembered the way Olympic skiers stop, so I tried their method, turning my skis to the side, hoping for an easy, complete stop. It worked, and Mike called out, “Good!”
I felt pleased with myself until I fell directly into a snowy drift. I tried to release my skis, but sprained my left thumb instead. Mike came to my rescue, but he had trouble with the lever too. He commented on how slick my skis were. These revelations made me feel better about having so many problems, but it’s frustrating that I didn’t have the equipment I needed in order to ski properly. I informed Mike that I’d had enough. With two injuries and a stinging sensation starting in my thumbs because of the frigid air, I just wanted to get warm and dry. I received my wish after Rick took his plunge down the hill, stopping the same way I did.
Arctic air continued to move into the area, and by the time we went to bed that night, the wind chill was well below zero. The log we burned the night before hadn’t been replaced, and our free hot chocolate seemed lower in the cups the longer we stayed at the resort. We made the mistake of not turning the heat back up, and it really made a difference. About midnight, with windows to the parking lot just above my head, I was freezing in bed. I heard cars pulling in, then the screams of young girls as they hurried to the building with sub-zero wind whipping around them.
All in all, it was an interesting trip to what seemed like another planet at times, or at least the top of the world. We had grown so accustomed to the snow, it seemed odd when we drove toward home and it disappeared. We hope to try another resort someday and use those goggles we bought.
My husband and I discovered Grove Park Inn in Asheville, North Carolina many years ago. Built entirely of stone, it was once a playground for presidents and celebrities. (Their portraits are displayed in the hotel’s hallways.)
Although we first visited the famed inn when a relative recommended it for their after Christmas buffet, we discovered there was so much more. From the lobby with its polished stone floors and enormous, six-foot high fireplaces, to endless hallways and hidden sitting areas, we were blown away. It’s easy to get lost, even on the first floor, but it’s a great place in which to disappear. It’s also a good way to find gems such as a small waterfall isolated in a quiet spot.
After our initial trip there, we returned several times. One year we opted for an historic room. Instead of using the regular elevators, we were sent to a small one set into the stone wall and guarded by a steward. The old-timey compartment took us to the top floor, under the eaves. The whole room seemed to be carved from oak, and the thick furniture made me think a giant once lived there. We didn’t have the amount of space we were used to, but we did have a magnificent view of the mountains and part of Asheville through our tiny window. And, although it was interesting, we thought we’d rather stay in one of their modern rooms during subsequent trips, complete with floor-to-ceiling windows and all of the updated amenities.
Something unique about Grove Park Inn is the Gingerbread Contest. It wasn’t well-known as the time, but a few years later I spied it on television, and it had become a really important national competition. Perhaps that’s one reason so many people started showing up during the Christmas holidays–and now it’s the place to be.
But do you ever wish pretend could be real?
Reviews
Perhaps inspired by the catchy tune, “The Best Things in Life are Free,” Southern writer Dale Rogers has demonstrated that finding joy in what may, at first appear to be the most mundane gifts of nature–often taken for granted, have the power to make us realize and truly treasure their priceless impact on our well being.
Dottie Ashley, former play critic and freelance writer
Grammar Problem? Fix it With Addition and SubtractionGrammar is complex, and it takes years to learn it correctly. But what if someone has to make a split-second decision and there’s no time to pull out grammar books for an in-depth study of the English language? I know we’re talking about grammar, but the answer is addition and subtraction.
My mother taught English for years, and she expected her children to use proper grammar. We learned little tricks that make it simple to add pronouns to sentences. There’s no need to complicate or overcompensate. Simply think about how the sentence would be without the new pronoun. Just because one is added, that doesn’t mean the first one changes. Below are examples of the most common mistakes.
“Henry and I.” “Henry and me.” Which is it? It depends on the sentence.
Some people think it’s always better to say “I” rather than “me,” when there are two pronouns in a sentence, but that’s not the case. I’ve even heard people on television being admonished for saying, “Henry and me,” when it’s correct. The person is overcompensating while trying to avoid the slip-up, “That’s for me and Henry.” No one says, “That’s for I,” so why would anyone say, “That’s for Henry and I?” Without getting into subjects and direct objects, let’s simplify the process. Subtract “Henry” for a moment, and you have your answer: “me.” “That’s for Henry and me.”
“Henry and I want to go.” “Henry and me want to go.”
It’s pretty obvious that “I” is proper this time. You would say, “I want to go,” rather than, “Me want to go.” In your mind, add what is understood. “want to go.” Who wants to go? “Henry and I.”
“Him and I.” “Him and me.” “He and I.”
You wouldn’t say, “Him is going,” or “Me is going.” It’s “He is going,” and “I am going.” Who is going? “He is.” “I am.” By adding the portion of the sentence that’s understood, you have your answer. “He and I are going.” “He and I.”
It’s unusual, but I actually heard someone say, “Henry and I’s tickets.” It’s also not, “Mine and Henry’s tickets.” You wouldn’t say, “Mine tickets.” It’s simply, “Henry’s and my tickets.” Subtract Henry or the personal pronoun, and you have your answer.
So the next time you’re in doubt, add it in or leave it out.
A debut novel filled with suspense as Photojournalist Andra seeks to clear an innocent person’s name and find evidence against a wealthy adversary. But she isn’t isn’t expecting the biggest twist of all… falling in love.
When Andra goes to the British Virgin Island of Tortola on a magazine assignment, she never expects to become involved with a tour guide bent on revenge. Pulled into his world of intrigue, she must learn who she can and cannot trust while striving to prove the truth concerning the Ahoskie Diamond Necklace.
What I liked best about the story was the counterbalance of the tour of the Islands with the intrigue of Michael’s passion for restitution. Striving to outwit Roscoe, the villain who portrays far too close to reality the vile and insidious kind of human too many of us encounter in our lives, pitches Andra and Michael on the precipice of death.
The author built the tension to the very end of the story, keeping the action going and handing us a few twists that kept me reading in one sitting. Best, of course, was the underlying thematic structure that none of us get out of this life without God’s help/divine interventions.
-Catherine Lanigan,
Author Romancing the Stone/The Jewel of the Nile/The Shores of Indian Lake series/ANGEL WATCH Series-non-fiction. catherinelanigan.com
From the author, Dale RogersAvailable in both paperback and ebook at https://www.amazon.com/Lighthouse-Tortola-Dale-S-Rogers/dp/1946920940/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1590447358&sr=8-1
Also available on Barnes&Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/lighthouse-on-tortola-dale-s-rogers/1137018798?ean=2940163791774
I used to hear that everybody has a twin somewhere in the world. Whether or not it’s true, my husband, Rick, and I have both seen ours. For me, it was on a barrier island in South Carolina when I was about ten or eleven. My family was staying there, and we’d pulled our car off the road for a few minutes. Before we took off again, a girl on a bike rode right past my window, and we glanced, then stared at each other. I’d never seen anyone I thought looked like me, but I almost felt like I was looking in a mirror!
And I wasn’t the only one who felt that way. Everyone in the car was amazed at the resemblance, and later on they talked about how the girl was looking at me. I’ve often wondered about my “twin.” Did she live at the beach, or was she on vacation? Does she still look like me, now that we’re grown? Does she tell people she’s seen her twin? I wish I knew.
Now, on to Rick’s twin. After we’d been married about ten years, we were watching the Olympics on television when we noticed a man helping someone get ready for the ski jump. When he turned so we could see his face, he looked just like Rick! Even his mannerisms and the way he moved were extremely similar to my husband’s. I hope the skier never realized the man was shaking was head, which wouldn’t inspire confidence in anyone, but that seemed like Rick too! We believe the man is German or Austrian, and I wonder about him, too. I guess both instances were a part of the interesting things in life one never forgets.
My husband and I discovered Grove Park Inn in Asheville, North Carolina many years ago. Built entirely of stone, it was once a playground for presidents and celebrities. (Their portraits are displayed in the hotel’s hallways.)
Although we first visited the famed inn when a relative recommended it for their after Christmas buffet, we discovered there was so much more. From the lobby with its polished stone floors and enormous, six-foot high fireplaces, to endless hallways and hidden sitting areas, we were blown away. It’s easy to get lost, even on the first floor, but it’s a great place in which to disappear. It’s also a good way to find gems such as a small waterfall isolated in a quiet spot.
After our initial trip there, we returned several times. One year we opted for an historic room. Instead of using the regular elevators, we were sent to a small one set into the stone wall and guarded by a steward. The old-timey compartment took us to the top floor, under the eaves. The whole room seemed to be carved from oak, and the thick furniture made me think a giant once lived there. We didn’t have the amount of space we were used to, but we did have a magnificent view of the mountains and part of Asheville through our tiny window. And, although it was interesting, we thought we’d rather stay in one of their modern rooms during subsequent trips, complete with floor-to-ceiling windows and all of the updated amenities.
Something unique about Grove Park Inn is the Gingerbread Contest. It wasn’t well-known as the time, but a few years later I spied it on television, and it had become a really important national competition. Perhaps that’s one reason so many people started showing up during the Christmas holidays–and now it’s the place to be.
 | lydiaschoch on Biggest Surprise Ever in a… |
 | dalesittonrogers on Orange Snow! |
 | Jere Coker on Orange Snow! |
 | thebookmuster on Lighthouse on Tortola |
 | A Rancher To Remembe… on A Rancher to Remember |
Watching big orange leaves fall from the trees in her schoolyard, Lucy begins wondering what it would be like if snow were orange. Her mother thinks it’s an unusual idea, but it’s not long before Lucy convinces her to play along, letting their imaginations take over as they discuss the pros and cons of orange snow. And when they arrive at home, they turn an ordinary day into something special!
