Follow Detective Trudy Wagner as introduced in Road Rage and reprising her role in North of the Border. Contact me @ tallenwinn@mail.com or @ tallenwinn via Facebook, if you desire signed copies of either or both. "Great Summer Reading"

If you have read either, I welcome your comments.

Check out the Beach Author Network blog: http://beachauthornetwork.blogspot.com
We're presently featuring Robert (Bob) O'Brien's novel, The Toppled Pawn, another Prose Press classic.
I've read this dozzy and it's tough to add to the great review Mary Anne Benedetto has already written and posted on my blog so I'll add my spin.

May, two years ago, shortly after I arrived home from work one afternoon, the doorbell rang and my wife said someone was at the door to see me. I recognized the man standing there clutching a book, having seen him walking his dog in the afternoon. He introduced himself as Bob O'Brien and looked puzzled. He commented 'you're not Mister O'Neil.' We had bought the house from the O'Neils a year ago. He apoligized and was about the excuse himself, saying he had just published his first novel, The Toppled Pawn, and said O'Neil had been interested in writing a novel so he just wanted to show him it was possible. I told him that was interesting; I dabble in writing. He asked if I had a manuscript. I told him I had ten. He then said that he and I needed to talk. He had started a publishing company, Prose Press and stated we needed to get me published.
Okay, not one to ignone signs, I looked over at my wife and said what are the odds of a publisher coming to your front door, looking for another man who also was interested in writing a novel and finding me instead. You can't ignore things like this. Road Rage saw the light of day several months later. He left the copy of the Toppled Pawn with me and read it cover to cover and was impressed by his, as he called it, scribling.
I became a published author from that chance meeting but more priceless, I made a lifelong friendship.


Bob's novel can be purchased  @Amazon or Barnes and Noble.

 http://www.amazon.com/The-Toppled-Pawn-ebook/dp/B00516I9LA

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Prose-Press/125628647517883

  And if you have a story worth publishing, contact Bob. He has assisted us hungry authors in publishing about twenty books so far.

http://www.prosepress.biz

Prose Press    843-237-9929

Email: prosencons@live.com

Detective Trudy Wagner, with the Road Rage serial killings in her rearview mirror, she prepares to tackle the next evil doer stalking folks along the grand strand.

Detective Trudy Wagner, with the Road Rage ser

Another good review for The Caregiver's Son, Outside the Window Looking In; Thanks Pat


I got my books and could not put the "caregiver" down.  Finished it in one day.  It is so interesting reading about people you know and of course knowing the author.  I have experienced so many of the same feelings dealing with my parents sickness and death, especially my mom.  She had Alzheimer's also and My aunt Mag ( Bowie) lived with her and took care of her.  I have a lot of guilt because I didn't do as much as I should have.  My brother, Dennis, lived in Abbeville also and I justified my not going as often as I should because he was already there.  I could relate so well to your feelings.  I think that is one reason I could not put the book down.  Also, of course I remember your parents but I remember mr. John and mrs. Ruby as well.  I did not know the deaths were so close together.  I talked to De last night and he remembered it well.  You need to keep writing so I can keep reading.

From Whomping the Golf Ball keg, draft from the cellar...drink up and enjoy...

Cold Beer!!!

Adult beverages and golf seem to go hand in hand, especially for the Whomping adults. I must admit, in my younger days I would partake of a couple or six cold ones during a round. I somehow convinced myself that I required a couple of beers to settle me down so I’d play better. The scorecard didn’t indicate that this strategy worked very well. Finally I realized that it did nothing to improve my striking ability nor reduced my scores so I seldom drink anything stronger than a Gatorade now. Older and wiser I suppose.

             I have discovered that the price of admission equals the entertainment value because many of my Whomper buddies do indulge themselves. This can make for an interesting round, at least for me. Their creed, it is beer-thirty somewhere rings true because they can pop a top at 7:30 AM as easily as they can reach for a cold one in the PM venue. They put a new spin on designated drivers.

            Most courses now prohibit personal coolers. Not to worry, most golf bags come with a built in cooler compartment. Technology will overcome the challenges; sort of like radar and radar detectors. The system is destined to be beaten! Everyone profits. Golf = adult beverages = more beer sales = golfers making bad shots = purchasing more golf balls = more beer purchases = more rounds of golf = more beer, you get the picture!

            I have a cousin, aka Cuz, who can be heard yelling “Cold Beer” as he maneuvers down the fairways. Cuz can chugalug with the best of them. Does it impact his game better or worse? Who can say? He’s having a good time and that’s important to him. It doesn’t impact my play so that’s important to me.

            Adult beverages, as One of our Whomper buddies transforms into Mike Tyson  and tries to pick fights, instigate conflicts with other foursomes, especially if they’re ahead and playing too slowly or its tournament play and he thinks the other team may be cheating. This can be most embarrassing but does add entertainment value.

            I witnessed one of my buds go Tin Cup down in the Dominican Republic after too many El President Beers. He sliced his first tee shot on number eighteen across the resort entrance drive. Determination instilled by not so clear thinking, he teed up at least six or seven more balls slicing all but one into the exotic landscape. Mission accomplished when one finally stayed in the fairway.

He retired to the resort’s pool for the remainder of the afternoon. I think the water stabilized his stumbling as he made frequent visits to the swim-up bar.  Drinks were included in the all inclusive stay so should a say more? Funny, I drank bottled water during the round and ended up being the one who got deathly sick that night; too much sun and not enough adult beverages!

            Why does cold beer seem to convince people they can all of a sudden sing? A couple of my Whomper buddies after consumption of a beer or five will begin singing very strange tunes, “In heaven there ain’t no beer…”  One sings about coal miners doing weird stuff. Their antics seem sort of red-neckish but both are actually transplanted Yankees. Go figure. It can drive one to drink just to cope with the attempted tunes.

            Wagering and beer, know that you have at least a chance of winning before you throw down the bet. One of our little green horn Whompers of let’s just say typical three digit range scoring, tied another bud on the first nine. To put it in perspective, bud number two wasn’t having his best front nine and had shot a fifty. Green horn matching that fifty felt a little frisky apparently. Cockiness is not very pretty unless you can back it up. He wagered he’d kick our buddy’s rear end on the back nine for a case of beer. How’d that go you ask? Not so good!  Green horn didn’t realize that beer was a motivator and lost the back nine by ten strokes. Beer consumption may or may not have played a factor in the original wager.

            Never let a beer drinker hold the closest to the pin pot when chipping in a buck per person. This mistake was made when the league recruited one of our female competitors to hold the money for the 5 foursome’s competing. Running out of beer half way through the round, she used the kitty money to further the beverage girl’s career.  Remember, the beverage girl is not cheap. Award time arrived after the last group completed the round and only thee bucks remained of the twenty dollar prize. She smiled and shrugged her shoulders.

            I’m been tossed from cart before with cooler in tow when my not so designated driver made a radical left maneuver. I’ve witnessed one Whomper whiff so many consecutive times at a ball that he resembled a windmill. He responded by falling on his duff and erupting into a contagious spurt of laughter.

 I too have contributed to my share of ungentlemanly like behavior on the links but what happens on the course, stays on the course especially when I’m the culprit. Since none of my Whomper buddies are writers and you don’t know their names, guess these will remain my little secret. COLD BEER…..

Whomping the Ball, from the vault...

Hey Mr. Ranger, Where’s Yogi?

The golf ranger on any given course typically oozes a persona, better or worse than the average bear, right, Boo-Boo? Mr. Ranger might be the time keeper from hell, relentlessly reminding ones group to keep up the pace or he may possess excellent people skills making it simply a joy to play the course. I’ve experienced both Jekyll and Hyde.

           A good starter sets the tone of the round ahead. Mr. Ranger, now the enforcer of the rules, does the checks and balances after you depart the first tee box.  So now we have Mr. Ranger making rounds as does the beverage wench.  Why not combine these jobs and call her the Rescue Ranger. She can cater to your needs and ensure you are in compliance with the rules, speed of play. Unfortunately, if she’s a hard body little co-ed, she’ll contribute to slower play because many whompers will make a purchase just to expel some testosterone, whether they actually need anything or not.

           As mentioned, Mr. Ranger’s main objective is to keep us moving. Quipping 15 minutes per hole as he passes, he encourages us to speed up play. Now, I almost always have at least one anal retentive player in my group, and sometimes two. Sorry, 15 minutes ain’t going to happen. We were instructed by Mister Ranger during a recent round to speed it up when the group behind us trailed us by at least 1 ½ holes. Mr. Ranger, I fear, sometimes just had to feel his oats. Oh yea, and what are you writing on that clipboard of yours?

           Becoming frustrated with slow play because of the group ahead of us, we corralled MR. Ranger, Sir, during his next drive by and complained. He stated he could do nothing because they were course members and always played slow. We rebutted, if things got any slower, we’d be an eight-some. There are exceptions to The Rules, the membership clause #3.2.1. The beverage wench reinforced our wear-it-on-our-sleeves aggravation on her next round stating, bless your hearts guys, you’re behind them. They hold up everyone. May I offer you an adult beverage to offset your stress?

           One of the nicer courses we have played, The Myrtle Beach National, Kings North has huge Big Ben clocks mounted on post at every tee box to help pace your round. Kind of like those signs stating You Are Here. Do they really work? Not without Mr. Ranger riding rough shot.

           During a round at Island Green Golf Course, Mr. Ranger, we remarked about the group playing ahead of us from the Blue tees being worse hackers than us and we were playing from the Whites. Our comments immediately triggered flash backs as he shared experiences rounds past. A previous Blue Man Crew hacked their way from one tee box to the next. Observing this phenomenon, Mr. Ranger intercepted them on the next Blue tees and abruptly explains the terms of their continued play.

           “If you can’t strike the ball any better than that off the blues, move up to the whites and you better be on the whites when I make my next round. If you suck there too then I moving you to the gold tees. Flounder there and the Reds are all that’s left and that will require a quick surgical procedure that I am both obligated and qualified to perform on each and every one of you. Now, please enjoy the course and have fun.”       

           Mr. Ranger approached, never gave an inch and forced both carts off the cart path to avoid a head on. Nodding he passed as if we were the lowest on the food chain. Guess what Mr. Ranger, we’re just paying customers. Why should we move out of your way? Cart path only apparently only applies to Mr. Texas Ranger, Sir, and we were forced to utilize the 90 degree rule. Hindsight, we had two carts to his one and should have played chicken with him. By the way, why didn’t you warn us about that twelve foot gator in the pond on that last par three?

           The rangers are always trying to get more of my money with these Par Three contest. Hit the green and double your money. Doubling your money interpreted; we’ll give you Monopoly money to purchase merchandise from the club house. No second mortgage required on any purchases. First, I haven’t hit a green all day unless you count that green townhouse on number twelve. My earnings wouldn’t equate to the purchase of a bag of log tees. Hope you just give me a sleeve of balls and let’s call it even?

           Why aren’t there any rangers on a Par Three golf course? Speed is a bigger deal because you’re walking most of these. And believe me, some folks are not built right to walk nine holes carrying their clubs or pulling them. I can almost hear him yelling, “Hey fat boy, you’re going to have to pick up that pace or we’ll going to have to restrict you to the putting green!”

           Driving ranges; where are the Rangers. What’s a range without a ranger? What would life be with Mr. Ranger riding the range? “If you can’t hit the ball further than ten feet, you’re forfeiting that bucket to the next paying customer. Hit one more condo and you’re banded for life, buck-a-roo.  No, you can’t retrieve those balls. Tee pad only! 90 degree rule, do not, I repeat, do not hit your fellow practicing mate.”

           Mr. Ranger, there’s a Jelly Stone Park Resort out there somewhere screaming your name. And I heard him exclaim as he made his rounds, “Sorry, no pick-a-nic baskets allowed on the course, slows down the play”.