Drip. . . drip. . . plop. . . drip. . . plop. . . limestone droplets dripping on my head, dripping down my back, my face, my arms. Dripping, dripping, in this cold, clammy, dark place. Odious smell of vermin. Shrieks. Bats? Rats? Creeping things. Palpable darkness. Water running down the pit. I can hear it dropping to the bottom, a deep sound. Can't see my feet, can't see the walls, can't see my hand in front of my face. Screaming, screaming. Oh, my God, it's my own voice and I'll never get out of here!
This is the opening to my first novel. The person in the above paragraph is the nemesis of the main character, Fawn Larson. Fawn is hald Native American and half white. She clings to her Native American faith while God is seeking her heart, wanting to give her inner peace. What will it take for God to get Fawn's attention? Available in paperback from barnesandnoble.com
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