Select Page

Tamelia Aday


Tamelia Aday loves books which led to a life-long desire to write her own. She started writing in grade school and hasn’t stopped. She’s had various jobs, some disastrous, like banking, but is happiest when at home, putting together stories, and raising her family. When she’s not writing or doing things like dishes and laundry, she attempts to knit and crochet. Add some coffee and chocolate to the day, and it’s a winner.

She is content making words into sentences and sentences into stories. She likes to weave the power of God into her novels, referring to them as “Miracle Fiction.”  Also, a fan of mysteries and cats, she is beginning to work on a cozy series.

She has been married for over 35 years to her husband, Jon. They have three sons, two are adults and the youngest is in middle school. Their favorite place to visit is the beach. Traveling to some of the warmer ones, like Hawaii, is a bonus, but most of the time their getaway is to roam the local coast in Oregon while wearing coats.

Featured Title


The Filbert Ridge Miracle

Christian Fiction

Contemporary Fiction

Rose didn’t know where she intended to go—maybe after all this time the way to crazy was a well-lit path. She’d been on the road for a long time, hadn’t she? And the idea of checking out welcomed her. The pain crushed her heart and soul, moving her farther from home and Patrick. The temptation to be irresponsible and sink into a heap of rain water, not knowing anything about her life sounded appealing.

Back when Stephen disappeared, time roared as her fear had built up with each tick of the clock. Waiting while others searched the woods. One minute, two minutes, ten, thirty then an hour. Where were they? Why hadn’t she heard anything? She walked back and forth, desperately trying to not make each foot click with the second hand. The woods weren’t that big.

She followed her heart through the trees and the creek bed that flowed this time of the year. Rain spattered, and the drops grew, falling faster. She dodged to a larger fir, taking cover. At last, somewhere she could hear God.

She came to the black iron gate of the cemetery and trekked deeper across the stretch of graves, the water soaking her hair, drenching the long black coat she wore over her faded jeans. She might be mistaken for a ghost in this place. A stone bench under a large oak caught her eye. It was partially dry, not near the covering she’d had under the fir tree earlier, but a bit of rest appealed to her regardless.

From this vantage, the mountains, a focal viewpoint, blended in with the sky and the old stones rising from the grasses. The expanse of markers stretched across to the edge of the woods, some flat, some upright, shimmering through a silent gate to find the living. The grass shuddered and she gripped the cold bench. How many dead separated her from the only other living being nearby? Her thoughts grew morbid. She should leave.