Author: Kathryn Atkins

Death on Earth

Posted on by Kathryn Atkins

Death wakes up. Disoriented.

“Where am I?” she whispers to the cracked dingy walls.

From the open window, the aroma of freshly baked bread wafts in from the nearby bakeshop, followed immediately by stale urine odors rising from the alley three floors below. She stretches and then remembers. She’s no longer a female. She’s no longer a powerful part of the team in Heaven. And she is no longer Death. She’s a human on Earth, her body reeks of New York summer humid, and her mouth tastes the bitterness of her predicament.

Sitting up and running her palm across the scratchy morning chin stubble, she says for the millionth time, “Why did I ever let the Trinity talk me into this?”

Ariadne Publicizes the Deathlist on the Internet

Posted on by Kathryn Atkins

Hi. I’d like you to meet Ariadne. She’s the one on the lower left of the book cover. Curly red hair. Yup. And a little surprised. She’s the only character who is not a heavenly being. Or at least she’s the only non-human because the devil is not heavenly. He’s a jerk and hasn’t been in heaven in a long, long, long time. The story was that he was one of the angels but he did something so bad that he was banished from heaven. Don’t you like that word? Banished. It’s so final!

Anyway. Ariadne in the book was named after the mythological character famous for having helped Theseus escape the Minotaur by getting through the labyrinth where Theseus was being held captive. In this 21st-century story, Aridane is a website designer who helps Death with the Deathlist, and at one point actually has lunch at a very expensive restaurant with God. That was a hoot!

 

Ariadne has her faults. (Don’t we all?) She’s on a court order for AA, and she makes some mistakes along the way.  We wonder if we should trust her. But we aren’t sure if there’s anyone we can trust. Not even God, it seems.

I’d like to tell you more, but Death has set up an interview for me. Gotta run. I’ll share some Ariadne stories after I give you the whassup with the Holy Spirit. He’s the one on the right on the cover up there. Yes, he smokes. And plays golf.

They all do. And that’s part of the problem. See ya.

Deathlist FAQs

Posted on by Kathryn Atkins

The novel Deathlist is on its way to an early 2022 launch. It’s a visionary & metaphysical book written as a satire with some pretty irreverent and funny depictions of the Holy Trinity. That said, it is not a lightweight book by any means. We caught up with author Kathryn Atkins and have transcribed our interview here to get you as excited about her book as we are.

1. What was the inspiration for this novel?

ANSWER: Every time I saw someone in the news or heard of a person dying that seemed especially odd (like a child, or someone sitting on a bench, maybe) I began to form a theory that everyone had a specified death date. Our deaths are not chance because God has it planned out, as he does our birth! He has to keep track of it all and I think it’s in a huge database that the characters in the book and I dubbed the Deathlist. I still believe there might be one somewhere. Next, I began to imagine that humans were somehow allowed to know what their death date was. How would knowing it change how we live? That was the germ of the book.

2. How long did it take you to write the book?

ANSWER: Eighteen years on and off. I found an early draft of this book in a drawer dating back to 2003. It came in and out of the drawer and many times the characters changed, but the Deathlist was always the driving force behind the plot.

 3. Who are your favorite authors and why?

ANSWER: I love Neil Gaiman. Terry Pratchett, who’s gone now. I like their quirky style, but with thoughtful, multidimensional characters, even if they’re not human, which comes through, I hope, in the Deathlist. I also like Christopher Moore, a satirist. I think the Deathlist stands up as a satire. But also, Amor Towles is a favorite because of his writing style. Rich. Deep. Experimental. There are so many it’s hard to pick!

4. You have published two collections of shorter works – stories, poems, and essays. What made you want to write a novel this time?

ANSWER: I wrote a novel this time because I couldn’t fit all the themes of it into a short story. Good and evil. Trust. Hope. Friendship. Life and death. Free will. It needed a longer character arc, and the scenes just kept coming. Plus, I feel very strongly that there is a Deathlist of a sort somewhere, and I had to write and finish this novel before my name popped up on the list.

5. In the story, Death (a female who loves designer clothes) is the main character. We learn right away that she hates her job and is not very fond of God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit. Why did you make her the main character?

 ANSWER: The main character at one time was a young man, not a woman, and not a celestial being. At one of my many rewrites, a novel coach whom I respect very much said Death was stealing every scene. That’s how she became the MC.

6. We also find out that the Deathlist was meant as a memory crutch for God. Why did you make this somewhat of a satire of some important beings? And how does God not know all this?

ANSWER: The book is fiction. But on the other hand, there might just be a limit to what God wants to remember. Or, he might have other things he’d rather be thinking about. Like playing golf or something. And about making this a satire, Oscar Wilde said, “Life is too important to be taken seriously.” I felt the themes would more accessible and be easier to swallow if the book wasn’t too heavy-duty and preachy.

7. There are some odd things about Death. For one, she loves beautiful designer clothes, but for another, she has this horrible stench around her. Besides the fact that she has few friends, she also doesn’t know how she got the job of being Death or who her parents were. How did these come about? And why are these points so important to the story or the character?

ANSWER: Death dresses in expensive clothes to keep her from feeling so horrible about her job, which is depressing enough, but she rarely gets a vacation. She loves art, too. It’s another way to have nice things to offset her gloomy job. As for the smell, it has always been with her. It’s the stench of death and it drives her nuts. It’s a metaphor for a flaw that she sometimes has control over, but most times not. It’s part of her character arc, as is her quest to find out who her parents were and why she had been assigned such a thankless job.

 8. The story takes place in Heaven, Hell, the Garden of Eden, and New York City. And it’s in the future. What made you choose these unusual settings for your novel?

 ANSWER: The story starts in Heaven. Death and the Trinity are there as is the Deathlist. When the devil enters the scene later in the book, another POV character, Ariadne finds herself in hell as the result of her actions. The Garden of Eden is where Death goes to make some huge plot-driving decisions. New York City is where Death meets Ariadne, a website designer and the other POV character in the book. NYC is also the location of the book’s climax. It had to be New York. Everything happens there. The book is set in the future because, well, it could still happen, but also, it gives a slight authenticity to a dystopia that we could face if science progresses as it’s heading now. 

9. The devil is pivotal to the story. Hasn’t the idea of God and the devil, good and evil been done too many times?

ANSWER: It’s been done a lot because the battle between good and evil has taken place since time began. The tension between the two at the edges of life and death and within and among literature and the arts, sports, and politics, war and peace cannot be overdone. It’s life. As a religious person, God and the devil exist. For other people, God and the devil are convenient personifications of good and evil. Each has the letters of the words in each name. Go_d and the _evil.

10. Do you have a favorite character?

ANSWER: I love them all. Death is me and she’s not. The Holy Spirit is another favorite. He’s a clotheshorse and cares for Death and Ariadne both. I like Ariadne because she’s got attitude. I do not like the devil. I do like Forceps, a nerdy tech angel in Heaven with a lopsided wing who is scared of Death, but he ends up being a good guy and helping her.

BONUS QUESTION: What are you working on next? 

ANSWER: I’d like to write a non-fiction full-length work the next time. I’m thinking of a biography of a woman who is a role model for me. On the other hand, I would also like to write a musical. I don’t know—something on the order of “West Side Story.” Or a book about coffee! 

Death on Earth

Death on Earth

Posted on by Kathryn Atkins

Death wakes up. Disoriented.

“Where am I?” she whispers to the cracked dingy walls.

From the open window, the aroma of freshly baked bread wafts in from the nearby bakeshop, followed immediately by stale urine odors rising from the alley three floors below. She stretches and then remembers. She’s no longer a female. She’s no longer a powerful part of the team in Heaven. And she is no longer Death. She’s a human on Earth, her body reeks of New York summer humid, and her mouth tastes the bitterness of her predicament.

Sitting up and running her palm across the scratchy morning chin stubble, she says for the millionth time, “Why did I ever let the Trinity talk me into this?”

Large Life Lessons from a Small Stupid Splinter

Posted on by Kathryn Atkins

When was the last time you got a splinter? I can’t remember mine, but having spent the better part of the last precious hour I didn’t think I had in trying to remove one, I was blessed with seeing the life messages it presented me.

I used to get splinters all the time when I was little and my dad called them a splinter in your “finner.” I remember mom and I would bend over the dumb thing, almost drooling with concentration.

We were both younger. I could see what I was doing without magnification. Mom celebrated these intimate moments, I think, almost as much as squeezing my blackheads. Funny what you remember.

Mom and I were both determined to remove the splinter. And we fought to wield our weapon of choice. She liked tweezers. I chose a sewing needle. Not a pin. Heavens, no. We used to burn the needle and tweezers to sterilize them back then. I wonder if they had peroxide in those days…?

So many thoughts poured through me and the parallels to our lives kept shoving through my consciousness as I pretty much bullied the thing out of my finger. Blood flooded the gouge. My glasses got fogged over with my hot breath urging the thing out but to no avail. Could I ignore it? Not a chance. It was a battle of wits. A fight to the finish. Good versus evil. My honor was at stake. I was a splinter remover of note, having removed dozens over my young, reckless childhood. Yay for reckless childhoods. Do we even allow those now?

A splinter is a metaphor for life’s challenges. Some people take them head-on, and won’t give up until they’re overcome or removed. Some people put up with them. Letting them fester and get infected. Others don’t want to take on the excruciating pain (you know it’s still in there because it hurts like hell when you touch it) of digging underneath and pushing, pulling, or sucking it out. (I was never successful at that last one). Softening. the skin by soaking.

  • Perseverance
  • Lots of light
  • Magnification
  • Focus
  • Patience
  • Correct tools
  • Eating (I’d skipped breakfast)
  • Managing Pain
  • Relief
  • Satisfaction (I got it, finally)
  • Removal of an offending problem
  • Hurry is a hazard
  • Memories of Mom and Dad
  • Carving time
  • Softening by soaking

I’m not a soften-by-soaking person. nor am I patient. I don’t usually give into little things, but alas, I was felled like Goliath by a tiny David of a sliver.  The episode is over, but its teachings helped me understand more about myself.

Let me know about your last “sliver” and what you did. OR, let me know if you’re David or Goliath. Which one do you want to be?

Love to hear from you.

Growing Out of Anger

Posted on by Kathryn Atkins

Anger was born in Wichita, Kansas. She didn’t have a plan to be born, but she was. It just happened. So she grew up with the letter A, maybe a Scarlet Letter A on her pinafore. On the inside of her. She was a three-year-old when she felt herself wearing the A. It didn’t go away this A. It seemed to be stuck on the pinafore. I didn’t want to leave: not with scissors, not with love, not with a change of clothes. Anger grew into a teenager, a young adult. And as she passed through middle age, she found herself increasingly aware of the need to change her name.


In the early days of the next year after this inspiration to change her name, she went to the Oracle well. It was said to be the place where people went to change their names. It smelled like cinnamon and allspice and fairy dust.

“I’m here to change my name, please,” Anger said.

“What would you like to be called?” the Oracle said, handing her small dog a treat.

“I would like to be called Zen.”

“Why Zen?”

“I would like to be that kind of person from here on out.”

“Okay, Zen,” she said. “But your name does not define you. Your behavior is the key.”

SCENE: Zen née Anger left the Oracle, whose name was Blanche. The Oracle’s apartment was on the fifth floor of the cute building nestled in one of California’s famous wine regions. Behind the building, the vineyards spread back like marching bands in neat rows all the way to the low mountains, humming in the distance.

Zen left the main street where cars whizzed past, threatening to topple Zen back into her Anger persona. She quickly looked down at her chest. No. The Z for Zen was still attached to her starched white pinafore. “I’m looking for the caretaker of this vineyard,” she said to the first person she saw in the field.”

“No hablo ingles,” the man said.

“Sh –,” Anger started to blurt.

Zen interrupted Anger, smiled and said, “Gracias,” and walked on to another person she saw in the distance.

What was Zen doing? She had no idea. As a newly named person, she felt the Oracle’s advice had something to do with acting and behaving differently. What would be more different than working in a vineyard or at a winery?

“Hello,” she said to the next person she met in the vineyards, her feet now caked with dusty rose clay, mud, and dead leaves.

“Hello,” the person said. “Did you just come from the Blanche’s place?”

“Yes! How did you know?”


 “I wish I had a dollar for every person who comes wandering in this vineyard wanting change themselves.”          

“That’s weird. I thought it was a really unique idea.”

“Sorry. You’re not unique at all.”

Anger started push its capital A onto the front of the pinafore. “I think you’re wrong. In fact, I don’t want to work here at all.”

“I’m glad. We don’t need people in our vineyard like you. It makes the grapes unhappy, and we can’t have unhappy grapes. They make bad wine.”

The sun had started its descent onto the distant, now whispering, mountains. Shadows extended from the windbreak of trees across to the vines near where Zen was standing. The cars from the nearby street had slowed, and then largely vanished from the soundscape. Zen paused to listen as she inhaled the wet dirt smell, and heard vines creaking in a soft shifting against their stakes as they settled into a peaceful evening.

The vineyard person was gone when Zen turned to speak to her. Zen heard a voice in her head that said, “Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence…”

            She left the vineyard. Kept her name Zen. And went placidly to live the rest of her life at peace.

When Death Walked the Earth …

Posted on by Kathryn Atkins

… no one recognized her.

Some people thought they saw Death walking the hallways of hospitals during the COVID 19 pandemic. No. She didn’t let people see her, number one. But also, you wouldn’t recognize her. At least, not based on what you think she would look like. She is not a hag or a snaggle tooth with witch-y hair. She’s not a skeleton in a hard hat. No. Death is drop-dead gorgeous, wears designer clothes, always, and likes to work behind the scenes. Or in front of the scenes in plain sight with complete anonymity.

She does not walk anywhere. She is a being, but not. Maybe, you might have seen a well-dressed woman in a waiting room. Or you could have seen her like a shadow in an haute couture magazine. But probably not. Most people wouldn’t know that it was she. Most people think Death looks like a skeleton or some ugly dude. Isn’t it cool to know that’s not the case?

So, not only is Death beautiful, but she’s also actually on our side.  It’s probably hard to believe but Death is really trying to help us.

You’ll learn about her in The Deathlist, my speculative fiction novel coming out soon. I am excited for you to meet her.