available books
(read our wonderful reviews below)
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God's Colors: After Chess writing was dedicated to my lovely goddaughter, a very gifted writer, her cousin asked me, "What book is dedicated to me?" Being a sweet, angelic soul, I sat down and wrote God's Colors one afternoon when I was inspired by the Spirit. This book is a short, simple story with great vocabulary for children, God's Colors is a story to read numerous times, as readers may identify differently with the story at various times in their lives, even as parents.
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Why Chess Writing? I believe one of the best forms of learning is direct mentoring. This technique is perfect for collaboration, guiding, and teaching throughout the writing process, avoid writer block. Chess writing is for all ages and genres, whether the topic is creative writing, novels, research, or just telling a story for fun. This writing technique elevates because it involves strategy, in the same venue of chess playing - great teaching tool for experienced authors as well as novices.
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Why Titanic Moments: The Titanic’s story didn’t end when it sank beneath the surface of the ocean April 15, 1912; nor did it end when the last survivor was laid to rest in 1997.
The authors’ personal stories offer a glimpse into some of the reasons for the enduring significance of the great ocean liner and its passengers, and why their stories continue to influence lives today - answering WHY, the Titanic disaster story is enthralling after more than 100 years. |
Imma Unconsoled
a short story, by Rose Rohloff
The mystery of why she was not a heap of flesh and clothes upon the soil could only be answered by the frozenness of her nerves. She felt depths of numbness never conceived before. Her immobile gaze fixed on the far distance as if she were seeing a different world; her brain refusing to register what was before her. Time seemed to cease.
Her breast began to ache as she remembered the sweet smell of baby wafting up as she nursed. The peaceful joy of those moments was forever etched in her brain. A faint smile almost penetrated her vacant countenance. Her hands began to rise slowly, as if to hold him once more, only to display the covering of dried stains of a life taken. Spontaneously, she looked down. The vision of soft skin and curling hair was replaced with the blood-soaked smears across her robe; the smell of copper now replacing the fragrance of new life.
Her shattered mind remembered his fall from the ladder as he helped his father, the blood flowing from his scraped knees and hands, as tears appeared in his eyes. She bathed his wounds with the towel in her hand as she soothed him with gentle words. Her reward was his tender smile as he gazed up at her, warming her heart. And just as quickly, the gaze reversed, now looking down upon her as his blood continued to flow from his legs and arms as well as his face and chest. Her thoughts kept asking, “Where did my towel go? I needed a towel.”
His laughter rang out in her memory as a teen, although he was showing the wisdom of a man. His infectious joy was always unfettered and easily invoked. And her playful chiding only encouraged him to banter more. Now, what should have been a chuckle only expressed as a low, painful moan as her constricted throat refused to allow any joy to pass. Her hands clenched into fists as the numbness was transforming down her chest into a stricture, as if a snake slowly coiled around her to take her life. Heaves of despair began pulsing from her chest, as all her will focused on simply breathing. Air barely passed through her parted lips, with her lungs refusing to expand.
My son, my beautiful, precious son!
A large, white dove flew before her, breaking her trance. His melodic coos filled her ears as her eyes traced his path upward. The labor of her breathing slowly eased as her hands relaxed, her arms slowly descending to her side. “No,” she thought, “not solely my son.”
The sun had disappeared over the horizon. The twilight allowed her to see a man with dark hair and sun-bathed skin walking toward her at a distance. She fantasized for a fraction of a second, asking if it was him returning. Of course it was not: John was coming back to escort her … escort her where? She had no home here.
The uncertainty of where she was going paired with the onset of weakness spreading throughout her limbs from the lack of nourishment and the sustained stress over the last two days. Hesitantly, she took two uncertain steps forward. Lightheadedness invaded; nevertheless, she forced herself to continue with unsteady steps down the path. Within minutes, John’s arms circled her, preventing her from falling. Without thought and seemingly coming from far away, she heard her voice, “Your brother is gone from us,” as the pent-up tears finally found their escape.
The mystery of why she was not a heap of flesh and clothes upon the soil could only be answered by the frozenness of her nerves. She felt depths of numbness never conceived before. Her immobile gaze fixed on the far distance as if she were seeing a different world; her brain refusing to register what was before her. Time seemed to cease.
Her breast began to ache as she remembered the sweet smell of baby wafting up as she nursed. The peaceful joy of those moments was forever etched in her brain. A faint smile almost penetrated her vacant countenance. Her hands began to rise slowly, as if to hold him once more, only to display the covering of dried stains of a life taken. Spontaneously, she looked down. The vision of soft skin and curling hair was replaced with the blood-soaked smears across her robe; the smell of copper now replacing the fragrance of new life.
Her shattered mind remembered his fall from the ladder as he helped his father, the blood flowing from his scraped knees and hands, as tears appeared in his eyes. She bathed his wounds with the towel in her hand as she soothed him with gentle words. Her reward was his tender smile as he gazed up at her, warming her heart. And just as quickly, the gaze reversed, now looking down upon her as his blood continued to flow from his legs and arms as well as his face and chest. Her thoughts kept asking, “Where did my towel go? I needed a towel.”
His laughter rang out in her memory as a teen, although he was showing the wisdom of a man. His infectious joy was always unfettered and easily invoked. And her playful chiding only encouraged him to banter more. Now, what should have been a chuckle only expressed as a low, painful moan as her constricted throat refused to allow any joy to pass. Her hands clenched into fists as the numbness was transforming down her chest into a stricture, as if a snake slowly coiled around her to take her life. Heaves of despair began pulsing from her chest, as all her will focused on simply breathing. Air barely passed through her parted lips, with her lungs refusing to expand.
My son, my beautiful, precious son!
A large, white dove flew before her, breaking her trance. His melodic coos filled her ears as her eyes traced his path upward. The labor of her breathing slowly eased as her hands relaxed, her arms slowly descending to her side. “No,” she thought, “not solely my son.”
The sun had disappeared over the horizon. The twilight allowed her to see a man with dark hair and sun-bathed skin walking toward her at a distance. She fantasized for a fraction of a second, asking if it was him returning. Of course it was not: John was coming back to escort her … escort her where? She had no home here.
The uncertainty of where she was going paired with the onset of weakness spreading throughout her limbs from the lack of nourishment and the sustained stress over the last two days. Hesitantly, she took two uncertain steps forward. Lightheadedness invaded; nevertheless, she forced herself to continue with unsteady steps down the path. Within minutes, John’s arms circled her, preventing her from falling. Without thought and seemingly coming from far away, she heard her voice, “Your brother is gone from us,” as the pent-up tears finally found their escape.
book reviews
God's Colors |
Chess Writing |
Why? Titanic Moments |
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"As the appearance of the rainbow in the clouds on a rainy day, so was the appearance of the surrounding radiance.
Such was the appearance of the likeness of the glory of the Lord." Ezekiel 1:28 "Rainbowtastic"
Julianna, 9 year old reader, WI |
"I love this idea. It is too bad this technique was not around while I was teaching full time. Teachers will love this for elevating the quality of writing. A wonderful tool, perfect for creative writing. While teaching mythology and creative writing, I would have students writing together in groups. But, I think this technique of writing-off of each other is wonderful for elevating quality of work product. Thank you for thinking of this technique."
Mrs. Patterson, (Retired) Sparta High School Composition & Research, & Creative Writing Teacher - Grand Rapids, Michigan |
Many books and movies have been created with the theme of the Titanic. This book takes a unique slant, because the question of why it is still one of the most discussed tragedies are from the perspectives of multiple authors.
My chapter takes an even more unique approach of discussing impacts before the event, during the event, and a tragedy caused by the ramifications after the event. |
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"Received mine. Love it." Patsy Writesman, Speaker-Consultant, Healthcare Educator & Executive Trainer, TN
"This is a lovely book. The story is precious." A published Christian writer of over 20 books.
"A full circle story about God's love. One of those books that you keep in your back pocket for various situations. It applies to youngsters of all ages. I have read with all my children." Ellen, wonderful mother of 14, 12, 10 & 7 yr old, IN
"Your book is so beautiful. I thoroughly enjoyed it and so did out little one!" Lacey Thompson-Krul, FL
"I love how the book is a lovely, simple message and the way nature is so wonderfully weaved in the story. This book is one I will read again and again with my children." Laura, wonderful mother of 9, 7, & 4 yr old, WI
"What is not to like. I read to my grandchildren and they both gave a thumbs up,
and kids are honest; they thought the colors beautiful." Judy, RI "Nice to read the book about a rainbow, Rose. Very colorful pictures and a simple yet clear message. It reminds me of the story of Abraham and Sarah in the Bible welcoming three strangers, giving them special hospitality, then hearing that they would have a child in their old age - then finding out the identity of their guests. Genesis 18" Fr. Tom Smith, Holy Cross Retreat Center, NM
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Amazon customer reviews
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about the authorMs. Rohloff has authored for years in healthcare industry professional journals and magazines. Titanic moments was her first book publication; Chess Writing her first solo book, and God's Colors is her first book for children.
She believes in life-long learning, that education never ends. Ms. Rohloff continues to learn something new every day, and hopes her books inspire others to learn and hope. |
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Delphine HC Innovations, LLC,. All rights reserved, Rose M. Rohloff, 2025