About katherinepritchett

I'm a writer reaching out to readers. I want to engage in dialog with readers, hearing what responses my writings evoke in them, what they would like to see next, what they like and don't like about my books and blogs. When I first considered writing, I was just a kid, galloping about our yard at the farm, probably pretending to lead a cavalry charge or round up a stampede. On one of the few unbroken limestone slabs that made up our sidewalk, I paused and turned to face the east, where the yard sloped into a grove of evergreens that led to our garden and the highway. I focused on something far beyond the highway, past the hay meadow and the locust-forested pasture. “Maybe I should write books,” I thought. “Someone has to.” I pondered this momentous choice for a while. Then I decided that it would be more logical for people who could read to write books, and galloped off again. However, I took up writing, as many people do, in my teens. As the years passed and life in the form of marriage and children intervened, I tried repeatedly to give up writing, but it would not give me up. With three grown children, grandchildren, and nearly 30 years of working for a cabinet level state agency, I've seen enough to understand the rich complexities of human interaction. Losing my fiance to leukemia just a few months after ending my over fifty year search for my soulmate brought me many new insights into the dimensions of our human reality.

Sonrise Does Not Appear Imminent

Re-sharing something I wrote several years ago.

Easter morning the alarm yanked me from a comfortable sleep far too early. Deep darkness still pressed against all my windows. “Sunrise does not appear imminent,” I thought, as I stumbled across the room to shut off the insistent alarm. Sunrise had to be further away than an hour. The odd thought repeated itself in my head, like a chorus — Sunrise does not appear imminent. Why didn’t my mind simply say, “It’s still dark?” I yawned and swayed between staying up and resetting the alarm. Trust in wisdom beyond mine (the wisdom of the pastors who had set the time for the sunrise service after consulting solar-lunar tables) held me up, and I set about waking my daughter and her friend, who had agreed to attend with me. We made coffee, and even stopped for cappuccino on the way to the island in the center of our county lake. Still, even though pale light now surrounded us, the thought came back — Sunrise does not appear imminent.

The service had already begun as we walked along the low causeway that allowed access to the island. Other people followed us. We joined the crowd, huddled close for both fellowship and warmth. I glanced at the treeline as the congregation, combined Methodists and Friends, sang and worshiped. A great blue heron rose majestically from the lake, while a trio of ducks dipped and rolled in an acrobatic show above us. A chorus of wildlife joined our hymn. Sunrise does not appear imminent. As my pastor stepped to the podium to begin his sermon, rays of light broke through the low cloud bank that hovered just above the treeline. Like a fanfare of trumpets, these rays heralded the coming of the true dawn. Within seconds, as he spoke of the risen Lord, a radiant sun, too bright to behold directly, rose to shine its light upon us.

Sonrise does not appear imminent! Suddenly, the message was as clear to me as the brilliant day. Sonrise does not appear imminent. As we go about our daily lives, absorbed in the many details of modern life, how many of us notice the heralds of the dawn? I know that most mornings I arise in the dark, then realize that, while I went about my business, daylight has come without my taking note of it.

Will we treat the Christ the same way? Sonrise does not appear imminent. Do we listen for the trumpets? Do we watch for the heralds? Do we heed the wisdom of those who read the signs? Or do we arise in the dark, thinking, Sonrise does not appear imminent? Will we be suddenly faced with the presence of the radiant majesty of God, too bright to behold directly, and realize that a new day has come?

Sonrise does not appear imminent, but it may be closer than we think. Will we be ready?

What Authors Do

What do authors do when they are not “authoring?” Personally, I find that when I am doing mechanical tasks, like folding laundry, washing dishes, or yard work, my mind works on plot twists for my books. But I also spend lots of time reading, often while watching news or a drama on TV. We eat, of course, and shower, shop, laugh with friends, and sleep. Personally, my partner and I take almost daily walks. Lately, we have been walking around our local lake, learning goose and heron habits, and counting the deer in a herd near the road.

Last week, we rounded a turn and spotted a bald eagle in a big cottonwood. It watched many insignificant humans, including us, with haughty disregard. Though its presence did explain the dead fish we found on the roadway with deep gashes in its side. Haughty eagle dropped his lunch. I later learned they nest in the area near a fish hatchery and a river. They can choose to hunt for lunch on the river or take the easy route and grab fast food from a hatchery pond.

When the lake is frozen, the geese sit on the ice, a hundred or more in a group. About an hour before sundown, a group of a dozen or two will start honking, turn the same direction and start walking away from the group. As the honking grows to a din, they take flight heading for a nearby crop field. A few minutes later, another group will start discussing where they are going for dinner. After a lively debate that is near deafening, they, too, take off usually choosing a different field. Finally, all of the geese have taken off for their local diner.

We take lots of pictures and head home for our dinner.

Christmas Wish

Though these pieces were written years ago, I pray that this year, the warring guns fall silent forever. May the world know real peace.

The Lesson of the Evergreen Grove

by Kathy Pritchett

They stand near a busy intersection in Pratt, America. Just north of the empty, snow-dusted swimming pool, they serve as a stepping stone in a path of parks stretching from the highway that borders the south edge of town to the capstone park adjoined by Highway 54 as it cuts Pratt in half.   They must be visible from some of the hospital windows, just above them on the hill, these seven stately evergreens, each wrapped in a different color of festive lights.

As I drove past them last night, intent on just where on the racks and shelves of the busy stores I would find each item on my list, I was stopped short in my mental rush by the simple beauty of the arrangement. Each tree is unique in its own right. Though all are old and tall, some tower above the others. Some are full and round, others tall and spindly. Some cluster together, but two stand aloof at opposite ends of the grove. Some have branches that drape down, others’ branches sweep upwards as if in praise. Each is a testament to the glorious diversity of evergreen trees.

Then the lights — white, yellow, red, orange, pink, green, blue. Some are spaced precisely around the trees, others splashed on with a hurried hand. The orange lights blaze out for all to see. The blue ones are so subtle, they can’t be seen until night is well advanced. Together they present the same colors that make up the spectrum and the rainbow.

Shopping finished and more at peace, I drove back past the lights — and there it was. Glorious diversity. God made each of us as unique as this grove of evergreens, the tree that symbolizes the never-failing quality of His love for us. Some of us are round and full, others tall and spindly. Like the trees, some of us gather together, while others stand aloof. Some of our shoulders droop, while others of us lift our hands in praise. We are covered in many colors of skin, just as the trees wear different colors of lights. Yet each of us is a testament to the glorious diversity of the world we live in.

As this Christmas season rushes by us so fast that the bright colors begin to blur, I hope we can take the time to appreciate the world God made for us — the glorious diversity and the marvelous complexity of it. Each year near midnight on December 24, the entire world does seem to pause, to hold its breath for just a moment. Warring guns fall silent, and people around the world stop. Some give thanks that a baby was born nearly 2,000 years ago, just so He could die for us. Some people may even look heavenward, wondering when that bright star may come again.

Until it does, maybe from time to time we can remember the lesson of this grove of evergreens. Although each of them is different, they draw their nourishment from the same source underground, where their roots intertwine to help each of them stand. They all draw warmth and life-giving light from the same sun. They’re not so very different from us, this grove of trees. And as they stand together to celebrate this season, their lights send a message to all of us.

                                      The Evergreen Grove — Lesson Two

                                               by Kathy Pritchett

Three years ago during the holiday season, I was impressed by the Christmas light wrapped evergreen trees in what used to be called Pelican Park, just north of the swimming pool. To me that Christmas the variety of the trees and the lights called to mind and celebrated the diversity of humanity.

This year, the trees are showing me a different lesson — the fact that, despite our diversity, we all share certain commonalities, that the differences between us blur as life passes on. For instance, with the passing of time, the bulbs have faded, to the point that the pink and red are almost indistinguishable. You have to look close to tell the difference between the white and yellow, or the blue and green. As they burnt out, bulbs have been replaced on the strings of lights. When the proper colors were not available, substitutes were used. Therefore, this season, we have some white lights among the pink, some yellow among the orange, some green among the blue. This is exactly the way humans are becoming. Very few of us, especially in the melting pot we call America, are of pure heritage. In fact, some of us celebrate the diversity of our ancestors, serving the lutefisk of our Swedish heritage alongside the tamales of our Mexican forebears.

There are other blendings not so obvious. Some of us come from a farming background, but may share more of that childhood in common with a city child from Arkansas than we do with a child from today’s family corporation farm. That child may have more in common with the child of a Wall Street banker than with my father, who farmed from the twenties to the sixties. Those from around the world who are alumni of a particular school may be more similar, at least on game day, than they are to their neighbors. Single parents across the country, even across the world, share concerns that the married couple across the street will never experience. All parents, married or single, share common fears and hopes. All children, from toddlers to octogenarians, who have lost a parent feel a common loss.

And there is a deeper lesson, beyond the trappings of the now imperfect lights. Once those trees were just saplings, twenty or thirty feet apart. Now, not only have their root systems intertwined, the trees themselves touch. They are growing closer together, and they will continue to do so. As humans age, we also grow closer to those around us, if we allow ourselves to do so. As youngsters, we distrusted those different from us. They appeared different, therefore they could not be at all like me. Yet, as years go by and experiences shape us, just like the wind and rain and lightning and heavy snow shape this grove of trees, we grow closer together, no longer isolated individuals, but a cohesive group that draws shelter from our similarities and no longer fears our differences.

Just as it did three years ago, the same sun still shines on these trees, and the same Son still shines His light for all humanity. These trees still draw their nourishment from the source underground, and all humankind has the opportunity to draw on the same stream of Living Water. The Bible says that every man shall acknowledge Jesus as Lord. Until that day comes, I hope that we can all continue to grow together and find our common ground. And that is lesson two of the evergreen grove — harmony and hope.

Kansas Writers Association Anthology available free

Each year, the Kansas Writers Association produces an anthology of works (short stories, essays, poetry) by its members. This year’s collection is entitled Writers and Werewolves. It’s available on Amazon for free download through September 11.

Here’s the link. https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0BCZNHBKV?ref_=dbs_m_mng_rwt_calw_tkin_8&storeType=ebooks

I have a piece in it as have 16 other members. The stories are engaging and show just how much talent is out there in Kansas. I encourage you to download and enjoy.

The Cover Reveal

The Wild Rose Press has completed the new cover for the edited version of The Judas Seat, above. What do you think? Would this cover make you pick up the book and read the back cover? Thumb through a few pages? Maybe buy it if you haven’t already read the first edition?

When a South Korean defector takes the reins of North Korea, the world teeters on the edge of a nuclear abyss. The only man all parties will agree to lead the negotiations is the man who doesn’t want the job-former American diplomat Richard Matthews. And someone at the table wants the negotiations to fail. Can Richard unmask the Judas in time? In this sequel to More Than a Point of Honor, Richard Matthews faces new opponents-and some familiar ones.

I just sent off my first round of edits. Hopefully, all steps will be completed in time for a pre-Christmas release. There will be paperback and e-book versions, probably audio as well. And I am currently working on a sequel to What the River Knows. Scott finds himself in hot water again, helping someone dig into information someone powerful wants to keep secret.

Character Development

I will be presenting a session on character development at the July 17 meeting of the Kansas Writers Association. This got me thinking as to what readers look for in a character.

Do you look for a trait that you identify with? Or that you wish to develop? Do you look for a character totally unlike yourself?

What about villains? Do you hope for someone you love to hate? Or someone with a redeemable characteristic?

Please comment. I know what writers THINK readers want, but ultimately, if we don’t write characters you care about, you won’t love our books.