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.
“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!
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?