Selah and the Apocalypse Desert

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These are 5 of my 7 books on Amazon.  The one to the far right is my fantasy novel, “Selah of the Summit.”  On the cover, I am Selah, posing in an outfit I wore to the Big Bear Renaissance Faire.  Selah is a slave girl trapped in a desert prison.  One day, a stranger appears at a banquet where she must serve her cruel Master.  He gives her a snowflake, and everything changes.  Follow Selah’s journey to the top of the Summit, as she finds freedom, friends, enemies, and love–along the way.

Now I am writing a new Selah book, set in the California High Desert (which I call the Apocalypse Desert).  A thousand years after the first Selah lived, a new Selah works in a desert prison.  Five days a week, she drives across the Apocalypse Desert to teach inmates.  At Christmas, one of her students gives her a sweet Christmas card, and everything changes.

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“You can be walking down the same hallway you have trod for years.  Then, one day, you turn the corner, and everything changes,” is my favorite quote from my Selah books.  Do you think you are stuck on a sad, never-ending, doomed old road?  Do miracles still happen in our modern world as they did in the old days?  May you find help from The Maker, as Selah did!

Geo Prison

Here is Chapter One from “Selah of the Desert”

A Prison in the Desert

            The sun was not up yet.  Faint wisps of pink and orange clouds like feathers drifted above the eastern horizon.  Selah looked up at them as she stepped out of the house and braced herself for cold air. Wind blew down from snow-covered mountains that surrounded the high desert.  Selah wrapped her jacket around her and pulled on her gloves as she balanced 2 bags, a travel coffee mug, and the scarf she had not yet wound around her neck.  Her red-gold hair, annoyingly curly, peeked out beneath a black knit cap.

“It might snow today,” she mumbled to no one as she locked the door behind her and approached a white car that was covered with ice.  “Funny that they call this a desert when it snows sometimes!” she exclaimed, as if the silent auto could hear.  “Now I’ve got to warm you up and melt off all that ice so that we can drive to work.”

She unlocked the door and pushed her bags and coffee mug inside—then sat down on the cold driver’s seat, placed the key in the ignition, and started the engine.

“Good car,” she remarked.  “You don’t let the cold stall you.”  She adjusted her seatbelt, turned up the heater and windshield warmer, and drank a little from the mug.

“I still can’t make a good cup of coffee,” she mused, staring at designs the ice made on the windshield in front of her. It was beginning to melt.  She watched dark streaks overtake white crystals. Why am I so fascinated by ice? She wondered, leaning forward a little, taking off one glove, and touching the cold glass.

What’s wrong with me? 

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Apocalypse Desert

Please watch my new 6-part video series called “Apocalypse Desert.”  It tells about my job teaching in a California High Desert prison and how I found love in that most unlikely place, between the prison bars.  My story ties in with my Selah fantasy novel which is set in a desert prison.  Thank you, and God bless you!

If you liked my videos, please check out all my books.

What I Learned in Prison

Geo Prison

I have been living in the California desert for awhile now, renting a room in a family’s home.  My almost seven-year marriage to a Turkish man broke up, and he is living somewhere on the streets of Los Angeles, stuck in his paranoid delusions that everyone is after him.  He leaves voice messages on my smartphone, though I had to get a restraining order against him, and he should not contact me.  I hope he goes home to Istanbul for medical help.  I feel alone, as the desert wind howls across rocks and sand, and autumn sun cools beneath clouds.  Better to be alone than yelled at, used . . .

Who would have thought that I, a free-spirited writer who has traveled much across this globe, would land in a regular job, from 07:30 to 16:00 Mondays through Fridays, 40 hours a week–teaching inmates in a prison?  I got the job after a 5-week background check (I had to list everywhere I lived since I was 16), a physical exam, and drug tests.  I drive to work across a desert Apocalypse landscape.  It is littered with rock queries, railroad tracks, and old industrial warehouses with broken windows and metal pipes.  Homeless people scarcely populate it, pushing metal carts or baby carriages without a baby.  I lost my three-level, wood-carved home in the mountain forest near a lake.  My children are young adults now, and I don’t see them much.

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My 2 oldest children have completely shut me out of their lives (and my grandchildren’s lives).  An enemy has much to do with this (an ex-husband who once laid me on a bed and strangled me, which I wrote about in my book “Fire and Ice”).  I don’t know what he’s said or why they listen and refuse to meet so that I may answer charges laid against me . . .  My few friends call me “Sweetie.”  I am not a serial killer or assaulter, some crazy grandma gone wild.  I can not understand how my own daughter, my firstborn, could take away my little remaining family . . . I lost my father at age 4 and my mother and only brother (that I knew about) not long after.  I never had a sister.

So . . . the best part of my life is the “Special Needs Yard” prison where I teach male inmates their high school GED course.  We cover mostly English reading, writing, social studies, and science (my inmate clerk helps with the math).  Most of the inmates are sex offenders who could not be in the general population; some are ex-gang members or ex-cops.  My classroom is the last one on the left, near the moving white-barred gate and blue door that leads to the desert yard.  I must have my special ID and my keys on a chain to enter the prison.  If I lose my ID or keys, the whole prison would be locked down until we found them.  I must wear professional clothes (like black slacks and a collared shirt, sensible shoes, my hair clipped back, with no identifying jewelry showing).  I walk through a metal detector, surrender my clear plastic bag for inspection, and pass through 9 gates.  A young guard in his khaki uniform with silver badge says, “Morning, ma’am,” as he holds the heavy door for me at Central Control’s Sally Gate.  I peer into the dim room filled with camera surveillance screens and many keys.

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