About Katherine Pritchett

I vividly remember when I first considered writing. I was less than five years old, galloping about our yard at the farm, probably pretending to lead a cavalry charge or round up a stampede. On one of the few smooth limestone slabs that made up our sidewalk, I paused and turned to face the east, where the yard sloped down into a grove of evergreens that led to our garden and the highway. I focused on something far beyond the highway, even 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. Like many people, I began writing in my teens. Unlike others, though, the stories within would not allow me to stop. Ideas clamor “Pick me, pick me!” to be let out of the files and into a completed story. A thirty-year career in state government has afforded me insight into the layers of motivation that keep the world turning—and authors writing about it.

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