One Shining Soul by Wayne L. Wilson

One Shining Soul is a moving work of magical realism and women's fiction from Wayne L. Wilson, following Olisa—a divine African American healer born in Los Angeles—as a single miraculous act thrusts her into a fame she never asked for.

On a fateful Fourth of July, the famed Venice Beach Boardwalk erupts in a violent clash between rival gangs. As the crowd scatters, one fearless young woman kneels to cradle the head of a fatally stabbed gang leader—and when he slowly rises, unharmed, a stunned bystander's cry of “It’s a miracle!” is caught on film and broadcast around the world.

Overnight, the quiet, demure Olisa becomes “The Good Witch of Venice.” Is she an angel, a curandera, a shaman—or something society would rather fear? As the world debates her true nature, the pressure mounts to label her, exploit her, and remake her into an icon, a diva, a commercial brand.

Narrated with warmth by Herrick Destin and told through the loving, protective eyes of her father, Olisa’s epic journey explores how a multicultural society receives a genuine healer in its midst—and quietly suggests that the world’s survival may rest on her delicate shoulders.

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Excerpt from One Shining Soul © Copyright 2026 Wayne L. Wilson

Chapter 1

Fatalism—a doctrine that events are fixed in advance for all time in such a manner that human beings are powerless to change them.

Sooner or later, it was bound to happen. I guess I should be grateful that nothing occurred while my daughter, Olisa, was out of the country. However, it did transpire at Venice Beach on the Fourth of July days after she returned home.

It was early evening, and our soul food restaurant was packed. A twenty-minute wait increased to sixty minutes as couples and families with restless and hungry children waited for a table.

My sister, Wilma, scolded one of the new waiters in the kitchen about his billing mistakes, while I was absorbed in my own concerns. It didn’t look like I’d ordered enough chicken for the night. Meanwhile, the phone begged to be answered. Valerie, our hostess, called in late, so we were also shorthanded.

Gently lifting the phone I wanted to rip out of the wall, I affably answered, “Soul of Venice.”

“Unc, is that you? Aww, man . . . you didn’t answer your cell phone! I’ve been trying to reach you!”

“Gumbo? Anybody tell you it’s the Fourth of July? We’re shorthanded and things are insane! What’s up? You need to talk to your mother?”

“No, no, Uncle Joe, I gotta talk to you.”

“You sound like you’ve been running the decathlon. Everything all right?”

“Yeah, well, no . . . Uh, I mean everything is all right now, except . . .” He trailed off.

“Alton, I can’t understand a word you’re saying. Speak louder! What’s going on?”

Wilma stood impatiently next to me, a hand on her hip as she waited for the authorization machine to clear a Visa card. She mouthed, “What’s wrong?”

I shrugged my shoulders and covered my ear with the other hand to muffle the cacophony of voices, and clanking plates and silverware.

“Unc, you still there?”

“Yeah, Alton, ’cept I can barely hear you. Where are you now?”

“Your house . . . with Olisa.”

Right away I felt riddled by a surge of panic. “She okay?”

“Oh yeah, she’s fine. She’s asleep right now.”

“At seven?”

“Well, that’s why I called, Uncle Joe . . . Some stuff went down at the beach today.”

“Like, what stuff?”

He sighed. “Uncle Joe, this ain’t something I can talk about over the phone. Any way you can come back to the house? I know it’s crazy there. Should I try Aunt Grace at the hospital?”

“No, no, you’ll be waiting on that phone forever. I’m on the way. Give me about fifteen minutes.”

“Hey! Uncle Joe, before you hang up . . .”

“Yes?”

“Don’t talk to anyone.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Don’t speak to any reporters.”

“Huh? Reporters? It’s like that?”

“Yes, sir. Don’t say nuthin’ to nobody until you talk with me, okay? I’ll explain when you get here.”

I hung up the phone. Wilma immediately handed me the keys.

“I’m sorry. Something’s up. Gumbo wants me to come home.”

“Then you better leave. My son wouldn’t ask unless it’s important. We’ll be fine. Valerie came in while you were on the phone.”

“Okay, thanks, sis. I promise I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Uh-huh . . . I got a feeling that ain’t a promise you’ll be keeping. And judging by that frown on your face, it certainly won’t be tonight.”

I split out the back door, pausing for a second before climbing into my black Lexus GX 460. The underbelly of the clouds looked like pink cotton candy as the sun set. Something big was up. Wilma was right. Gumbo was too conscientious to bother me at the restaurant unless it was serious. All I could think about was what Gumbo said: “Some stuff went down . . .”

My hand trembled as I turned the ignition switch and raced the engine. I had been waiting for this. I could sense whatever happened was going to significantly change the course of our lives forever.