Kirsten Pursell | Updates

Amber Unscripted Pub date is June 2, 2026

Kirsten Pursell — Tue, 5 May 2026 00:00:00 +0000

Amber Unscripted has a pub date: June 2, 2026. Amber gets her story in the final book of the Scarlet's Harlots Trilogy.

Reader's Favorite has already given it two five star reviews.

"Kirsten Pursell brings readers yet another deliciously captivating novel...a fitting end to The Scarlet's Harlots Trilogy...funny, witty, and packed with drama and romance, the narrative entertains you from beginning to end."

"Pursell does an amazing job of slowly unfolding the layers...[her] talent for descriptions is amazing...readers who enjoy character-focused fiction about reinvention, relationships, and splashes of public visibility will love this book."

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The BookFest First Place Award - Women's Fiction

Kirsten Pursell — Sat, 11 Apr 2026 00:00:00 +0000

Such an honor to have this book recognized in the Women's Fiction literature category.

THIS...Of all the books I've written, this one hit me the hardest. I challenged myself as a writer, pushed myself to tell a story that was about a woman owning her story on every level - the good, the bad, the weird, the crazy (IYKYK), and the absolutely beautiful parts of being imperfect. Finishing up Amber Unscripted edits. I'm a little sad to be done telling the story of Scarlet's Harlots. To say they are a big part of me is mildly understating fact! Thank you @the_bookfest for recognizing Missy's story! #thebookfest #firstplace #womensfiction

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Fresh Fiction Podcast Interview

Kirsten Pursell — Fri, 27 Mar 2026 00:00:00 +0000

What a fun opportunity to be part of the Fresh Fiction Book Club. We discussed Missy Kinkaid, my memoir, and how life sometimes gives us what we need to tell a powerful story. I especially appreciated how much the stories I write resonate with women. Definitely felt how my words can resonate with others.

https://www.amazon.com/Amber-Unscripted-Scarlets-Harlots-Trilogy-ebook/dp/B0GX2RYWQ9/

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The Last Story He Gave Me

Kirsten Pursell — Sun, 15 Mar 2026 00:00:00 +0000

The amazing human that was my father passed peacefully a week ago. It was not an easy road to get there. But when he was finally gone, he looked at peace, like he was finally done fighting and okay with letting go. He looked perfect in death. It was a beautiful end to a life well lived.

He had finally made the decision to go off dialysis. After nearly seven years, he’d had enough. He was coming home exhausted and irritated. He didn’t want dinner anymore. He’d try to sit at the table but found that difficult too. He just wanted to go to bed.

Before retiring to bed without dinner last Wednesday, my mom and I talked with him about continuing. And he very clearly decided he no longer wanted to do dialysis. He was tired. And he was done.

It was bold for him. He’d never said he was done out loud before. He’d wondered what it meant many times. He would always conclude it was quitting to stop.

He stopped kidding himself. He wasn’t quitting. His body was done. Kept alive by dialysis, a pacemaker, and drugs.

I heard him several times early Thursday morning ask, “Who do I tell?” or “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.” It ate at him. It was like he’d decided and it was supposed to just happen.

Friday he went to dialysis. It was the right thing. We knew it was his chance to truly decide if he was done. Or if he wanted to keep fighting.

He left dialysis that day announcing he had said goodbye. The big black former Marine who often cared for and adored my dad shed tears over the news. My dad had been a fixture. And a fellow Marine.

Semper Fi. I think it honestly means never die.

He really had committed to the end.

My brother’s family came Saturday to say goodbye. My kids flew in to say their goodbyes. It was his last wish.

My oldest daughter arrived early. She got to sit with him while he could still talk. His body had not begun the official shutdown process. After all, Monday would have been just another day of dialysis, his body in its usual state of toxicity.

Monday afternoon I encouraged my mom to get out of the house. She had been steadfastly by his side, often afraid he would choose those few moments to die. But my daughter and I were there. He’d be napping. A Costco run would be good for her.

It would not be good for me.

In the latter months of my dad’s life, he had become consumed by bowel movements. He was excited by big ones and disappointed with small ones. Sometimes I could hear him ask my mom why they weren’t bigger. Or why it was so hard to go.

He took a laxative regularly. He pooped at least a couple of times a day.

So why would that day have been any different?

It wasn’t.

The only difference was that my mom wasn’t there. And she was the one who made sure he was cleaned when he finished. I imagine there were plenty of other things she did for him. I try to erase those mental images from my mind.

I remain steadfast that I never, ever want someone to wipe my ass. And vice versa.

My dad was sound asleep when my mom left. I was enjoying some time with my daughter when I heard him call. He could no longer get up from the bed without assistance.

I went in the room to check on him.

“I need help,” he said.

“I can help, Dad. What do you want to do?”

He pointed to the commode that sat in the corner across from his side of the bed. I cringed.

I helped him get upright.

“Just help me get to the toilet,” he commanded.

“The toilet?” I asked pointing to their bathroom with the actual toilet.

“No,” he nodded to the commode tucked in the corner. “Just get me that.”

“You can’t wait until Mom gets back?” I asked, desperate for him to change his mind. “You know I don’t wipe asses.”

He knew this. At least, he used to. Later he would remind me of it, so he clearly did.

Was this some last test of loyalty he had for me? Was I supposed to prove my undying daughterly love by wiping his ass? Helping him shit?

“Just move the toilet.”

I did.

I pulled it from the wall, moving it directly across from him.

“Now move it eight inches this way.”

He was so exact. I wanted to laugh. Still so precise. I moved the commode an estimated eight inches.

I miscalculated.

He corrected me.

“A little more toward me,” he said. I did as instructed.

Once he felt satisfied with the commode’s positioning, he told me I could go and that he could manage from there. I didn’t question. I didn’t want to see him sit to shit.

I left the room. He told me to shut the door as I walked out. I did. But not all the way. I knew I needed to be able to hear him.

I popped my head in several times to make sure he hadn’t fallen. Each time he was hunched over, arms crossed overhead, his head resting between them on the mattress. His eight inches had strategically placed his body so that he could hunch forward and rest while he pooped.

After many minutes, he finally called. He needed to get up. I looked and saw poop on the carpet. There was a mass of poop on the rim of the commode, in the creases where the seat and cover connect.

I would later try and clean it and almost threw up. I failed, leaving a clump of poop for my mom. I know it sounds horrible, but I couldn’t process any more shit at that time.

He mocked my inability to wipe his ass. But I told him we can get him back to the bed and Mom will help with the cleanup. I put down a potty mat on the bed just in case there was poop residue. Fortunately, he didn’t actually need wiping.

I couldn’t get him up myself. When I suggested asking my daughter to help, he said in a tone that suggested I should have just walked in with her, “That would be smart.”

I enlisted her help. I told her I hope what she is about to see doesn’t ruin her on ever having sex again. The visual would not be pretty. His butt was literally just a tailbone with some skin covering it. We did not see any of the front, which my mom assures me is nothing anyways.

I went around to his right side. My daughter takes the left. We lifted him. Then we slowly - “not in a hurry” - pulled up his boxer briefs that sat at his ankles. We inched them up slowly, carefully, making sure we didn’t “slide” along his skin as we pulled them up the bones with a fragile flesh covering.

The boxer briefs hung on him like actual boxers.

We held his weight. We helped him balance. Then he froze. He was confused about what to do next. He knew he couldn’t turn and get on the bed.

Then he fell forward. It was so sad. He was like a quadriplegic. No arms. No legs to support him. He fell face first into the bed, moaning. He panicked but couldn’t move.

“I need a little help,” he mumbled.

It was awkward. It was pathetic. My warrior dad could not move.

I told him we would lift him.

I pulled his upper body while my daughter lifted his legs onto the bed. We had total control of his body; he had none. After several attempts to find the right position, we got him there. Then he told me to pull the covers up to his chin. It was dictatorial. It was not kind or appreciative. It was just anger.

I recognized it wasn’t who he usually was. But I think my mom does this all the time.

He called a few seconds later. By then, I had discovered that I was tracking his poop through the house. I hadn’t realized I stepped in it. It had been frenetic and chaotic rescuing him from the toilet and getting him back to bed.

The poop was disgusting. I came back irritated and told him I had to clean off my shoes. He told me if I would have done it right and cleaned up his shit on the carpet earlier, I wouldn’t have stepped in it. I thought: he wouldn’t have let me. His need to get off the toilet had been urgent.

“If you would have had a plan for this and done it before,” he said.

“Dad,” I snapped, “no one should have a plan for stepping in their parent’s shit. Ever.” I actually raised my voice.

I had never had to manage anything like this before. Never in my life did I imagine my dad would miss the toilet and shit on the carpet.

How do you even begin to plan for that? It’s awful. It is not something there should be a plan for.

My daughter stayed calm. She cleaned my trail of shit from the hallway. I wiped down the stains on the carpet. I picked up from the floor the bits of poop.

The mass on the toilet stayed. At least no one would step in it.

He could smell it. I told him, “Mom will get it.”

“That’s right. You don’t do that.” It was snarky.

I finished getting ready for the commitment I had planned before the shit hit the proverbial floor. I thanked my daughter– and apologized – profusely. At least, it will always be a story we share.

I called my mom when I got on the road. She didn’t even say hello. “I’m almost home,” she said. I told her the story. She laughed. She did forget that I’d mentioned the poop I’d left. Later she told me she wondered what that smell was. We laughed about that too.

The last coherent words my dad said before he died were, “Love you all.” That was a much better gift than the last story he gave me. But my mom has made me tell the story on repeat. It was funny in hindsight. And will forever be part of his ending.

I miss my dad.

I continue to be in awe of my mom. While I have taken over making sure everything runs smoothly after his death, she can finally cry, grieve, and share stories on repeat in his absence. He lived a big life. And I’m grateful for all the parts and pieces I got to share with him.

But I absolutely, positively will not miss hearing about his bowel movements.

*If you don’t know my story and why I’m here with my parents as a card-carrying member of the AARP, you can read that story here. It was the impetus for a book I am currently writing about the last year of his life.

It started with a shitty story. And it’s ending with one. Which feels fitting. Exactly as he would have wanted it.

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Cradle to Grave: Living with My Aging Parents at 58

Kirsten Pursell — Mon, 1 Dec 2025 00:00:00 +0000

An Expose on Poop

Life has been weird this year. I lack a better word. A breakup. “Temporarily” moving back home with my parents. For some, it is a normal part of life. I left out the part where I was 57 when it happened. Now 58, I’m still here. That wasn’t the plan. It was only going to be temporary. Then my mom asked me to stay until my dad passed away.

My dad, my hero. The man I adore for his resolve, his determination, his giant presence. My dad has end-stage kidney failure. It’s been end-stage for six years. Six years of dialysis have kept him alive, along with the pacemaker that’s been keeping his heart ticking for twenty years. Two bouts of melanoma. Korea and Vietnam. Heck, he even survived raising my brother and me.

So being in a house with him every day is difficult, even when everything else feels like it did when I wasn’t here. Now, I see his daily struggles. I have said goodbye to him on more than one occasion. But damn that stubborn resolve. At 93, he worries he hasn’t done enough in his life. His life is not happy. He can’t hear. He can barely walk. He gets constipated. And there are days when he acts like a two-year-old. He is mostly kind though.

My mom, on the other hand, is Wonder Woman. Her patience is remarkable.

As for me, I take the days with them as mostly gifts. I have become more patient, softer, more compassionate. It grosses me out when he hacks up who knows what, or there’s snot he didn’t quite get or dripping from his nose. I have learned to simply hand him a tissue for that. Sometimes I leave the room and gag.

Today, though, he held me hostage. My mom had gone out, grateful for some time to herself. I checked on him after walking my dog, asked if he was okay. When he enthusiastically popped up from the bed to share a story, I knew I was in trouble. He was so excited, giddy really. I haven’t seen him be that elated in months.

The source of his joy? He took a poop.

It was not just any poop. It was solid. One that was long, but “broke in half when it hit.” I knew he was dying to show it to me as it sat in the portable toilet next to the bed, lid on, thankfully, with a note for my mom that it was full. (I will not, cannot, do that. And I own that.) He used both hands to give me a visual representation of its size. The smile never left his face.

When I would grimace and motion to walk away, he’d say he wasn’t done. He then told me how he knew his system was working again because, “When I was lying down, I let out the biggest fart I have ever had in my whole life. It was wonderful.”

Little kids get excited about poops. I raised three. I would clap, cheer, and encourage in those moments. I’d listen as they relayed stories of their potty successes. It’s so much cuter when a small child with a limited vocabulary is trying to explain things. When a 93-year-old toddler tries, it is not so cute. But I listened. And I said, “Yay, Dad,” when he finished sharing and said I may be excused. Cradle to grave. Could there be a truer testament to the cycle of life?

Had I not moved back home, I would not have witnessed the true love between my parents, their absolute adoration for each other, my mom’s unwavering support of him. She jokes about how much I have to look forward to. I tell her she’s not convincing me.

But, truthfully, I don’t want to be that old. I don’t want someone to wipe my ass or to clean out the shit from the toilet by my side of the bed. I don’t want to ask my children to go to the pharmacy for suppositories and to engage in conversation with eager pharmacists on the best products to help constipation. And most of all, I never ever want to discuss the size and scope of my bowel movements. It stinks.

This is not the part of my parents I will remember. I am learning to compartmentalize my memories. I am grateful to them for a lifetime of love. But the dad I will remember isn’t here anymore. Pieces of him are. He still makes me laugh, tells me he’s proud of me, tells me he loves me, tells me I’m a “knockout” when I wear something nice. His hearing is gone, but his love is not.

When I reflect after he’s gone, when I know my mom is okay, and I am finally wherever it is I’m supposed to be, I’ll remember this time as a gift. I know his stories will always be with me. I will likely share some of the harder ones with a touch of humor because he deserves to be remembered for all the different parts of his life that made his story. Even the shitty ones.

https://medium.com/human-parts/cradle-to-grave-living-with-my-aging-parents-at-58-49a296520f31

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When the First Reviews Come In

Kirsten Pursell — Sun, 26 Oct 2025 00:00:00 +0000

I write because I love to write. I have stories I want to tell. I certainly don't do it for the money. I spend way more than I make. Indie authors especially rely on reviews from readers and literary sources. They are such an important part of garnering support. But there's also that tiny little need for validation, that what you've written is received as you'd hoped. Even feeling good about the end product doesn't mean there isn't a sense of worry when the notification an editorial review is in arrives. I blogged about it recently after receiving the first amazing review for The Unabridged Life of Missy Kinkaid.

https://medium.com/@kirstenhegbergpursell/when-the-first-reviews-come-in-7622acd1199d?sk=bf11a83a56d635e8123a8a0bf9446005

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Podcast Interview with LabelFree

Kirsten Pursell — Wed, 22 Oct 2025 00:00:00 +0000

I had the privilege of chatting with Deanna Radulescu about my writing. We talked about how Finding Scarlet and The Unabridged Life of Missy Kinkaid encourage women's empowerment, taking ownership of their lives, and being unapologetically themselves.

https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/unapologetically-you-kirsten-pursell-on-empowering/id1473450378?i=1000732073666

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Missy Kinkaid earns Editor's Pick from booklife

Kirsten Pursell — Tue, 14 Oct 2025 00:00:00 +0000

Editor's Pick: The Unabridged Life of Missy Kinkaid by Kirsten Pursell

As its title suggests, Pursell’s novel follows Missy Kinkaid, a daughter, wife, divorcée, mother, and friend who’s lived in Sullivan’s Island, South Carolina most of her life. When Missy’s mother passes away, the spirited redhead is surprised to find herself falling to pieces in the cereal aisle. Her mother’s death forces her to revisit childhood trauma as well as past heartbreaks, tumultuous friendships, and everything that has worked to smother Missy’s free spirit, reminding her that “memories are not always so kind, actually more tortured than anything.” Through Missy’s complex journey of self-discovery, readers glimpse a poignant tale of coming to terms with the past, accepting the present, and daring to hope for a brighter future.

Though sprinkled with somber moments, Pursell’s writing also teems with passion and humor, transforming heartbreak into a study on how love can wrangle one’s soul into strange shapes. Friendships form the narrative’s beating heart, but these aren’t neat, perfect friendships: they’re messy, hurtful, and sometimes downright spiteful. Still, at the end of the day, those friendships serve as the scaffolding in Missy’s life, allowing her to rebuild and embrace new beginnings. As readers learn that Missy’s mother spent her later years in a psychiatric institute, they also grasp the push-and-pull of those early experiences, as Missy probes the memories of her mother’s hate, her father’s unwavering love, and her own self-perceived failures as an adult woman.

At times, Pursell (Finding Scarlet) veers into a kind of simplistic sentimentality, and in moments of dramatic exposition, the writing can feel slightly stilted. But that doesn’t detract from the narrative’s pull, particularly for readers who are learning what it means to grow up, fall out of love, and understand who they truly are. Missy is the quintessence of how age often softens edges, a reminder that life’s small moments of joy and connection can, with time, eclipse the pain and regret.

https://booklife.com/booklife-reviews/1

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Missy Kinkaid Finally Gets Her Story

Kirsten Pursell — Wed, 8 Oct 2025 00:00:00 +0000

When I first introduced Missy Kinkaid in Finding Scarlet, I had no idea she’d resonate with readers the way she did. She was spunky—bold, opinionated, and fiercely loyal. A firebrand, really. The kind of woman who walks into a room and somehow makes everyone feel her presence before she even says a word. Readers loved her energy, and I did too. But even as she lit up the pages, I knew there was more to her than quick wit and bravado. I wanted to know what made her tick.

That curiosity became the seed for The Unabridged Life of Missy Kinkaid. Because here’s the truth I’ve come to believe, not just as a writer but as a woman: beneath every strong presence is a story—a collection of experiences, heartbreaks, and triumphs that have shaped who we are. Missy was no exception. For all her humor and confidence, there were layers she kept hidden. I wanted to peel those back and see what was underneath.

This book is my attempt to do that. It’s her turn to stand in the light—not just as a member of Scarlet’s Harlots, but as a fully realized woman navigating the complexities of family, friendship, love, loss, and loyalty. Missy’s life on Sullivan’s Island is far from perfect, but that’s what makes it real. She’s at a crossroads, the kind many of us find ourselves facing at some point—when the roles we’ve played no longer fit and the people we love don’t always show up the way we hope.

I wanted to explore what happens when a woman starts to reclaim her story piece by piece. When she begins to examine her life, she learns to embrace all the messy, beautiful parts of who she’s become. Writing The Unabridged Life of Missy Kinkaid reminded me that resilience often looks quieter than we expect. It’s not always loud or defiant. Sometimes it’s just the act of showing up again—of choosing to believe in yourself after life has knocked you down a few times.

Missy isn’t perfect. She’s flawed and funny and sometimes her own worst enemy. But she’s real. She’s the woman you meet at book club or bump into at the grocery store—the one who looks like she has it all together but carries more than she lets on.

I think that’s why her story matters. Because in the end, we all have an “unabridged” version of ourselves—the parts we edit for the world and the truths we hold close until we’re ready to tell them. For Missy, this is that moment.

And for me, as her creator, it’s been an emotional juggernaut to give her the voice she deserves. The Unabridged Life of Missy Kinkaid is a standalone novel available everywhere on October 14, 2025. You can meet her in Finding Scarlet, which is available now on Amazon.

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Literary Titan Gold Book Award for Missy Kinkaid

Kirsten Pursell — Sat, 4 Oct 2025 00:00:00 +0000

Beyond excited to share that The Unabridged Life of Missy Kinkaid was recognized for a Literary Titan gold book award in fiction. This book challenged me in all the best ways. I know I wrote it, but I love this story. I hope you will too.

"The Literary Titan GOLD Book Award honors books that exhibit exceptional storytelling and creativity. This award celebrates novelists who craft compelling narratives, create memorable characters, and weave stories that captivate readers. The recipients are writers who excel in their ability to blend imagination with literary skill, creating worlds that enchant and narratives that linger long after the final page is turned."

https://literarytitan.com/2025/10/03/literary-titan-gold-book-award-fiction-18/

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Scarlet + Missy Bundle Available Now

Kirsten Pursell — Thu, 25 Sep 2025 00:00:00 +0000

I am excited to announce that I am offering advance copies of The Unabridged Life of Missy Kinkaid bundled with Finding Scarlet for $35, which includes signed copies, shipping, and a bonus gift. While supplies last. Order at my online store.

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★★★★★ "The writing had this strange magic."

Kirsten Pursell — Wed, 17 Sep 2025 00:00:00 +0000

The first reviews are in. Two five star reviews on Reader's Favorite and Literary Titan gives The Unabridged Life of Missy Kinkaid five stars.

Literary Titan says: "The writing had this strange magic. At times, it was witty and biting, other times, it felt like someone opening an old wound right in front of me... It felt messy in the best way, like life itself... The book isn’t afraid to show women being selfish, being cruel, and being brave, sometimes all at once. That’s what hooked me most, the refusal to paint anyone as simply good or bad. The emotional swings kept me on my toes. One page I was chuckling at sarcastic banter, the next I was heavy with grief. It felt real in a way most novels don’t."

Read full review here: https://literarytitan.com/2025/09/14/the-unabridged-life-of-missy-kinkaid/

Reader's Favorite reviews say: "The author’s ability to blend humor with heartfelt emotion ensures that the story remains compelling from start to finish." And "The Unabridged Life of Missy Kinkaid was a sheer joy to read as author Kirsten Pursell skillfully unravels the many secrets, fears, and triumphs of the middle-aged, single characters. They are so perfectly portrayed and will be recognizable to all readers."

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Missy Gets Her Story...Coming 10/14/2025

Kirsten Pursell — Sat, 6 Sep 2025 00:00:00 +0000

I am so excited to share that The Unabridged Life of Missy Kinkaid is available for preorder! Readers fell in love with the sassy, unapologetic Missy in Finding Scarlet. But, there's always a story behind someone who radiates fire like that.

Official pub date of October 14, 2025. Preorder on Amazon and other retailers.

“Life is supposed to challenge us. So many things we wish were different, but the parts to get there were sometimes the greatest moments in our lives.”

Missy Kinkaid has always been the light of Sullivan’s Island—bold, unapologetic, and the beating heart of her family, friends, and Scarlet’s Harlots, the renegade divorced women changing the narrative. But when the death of her estranged mother sends her spiraling into a breakdown in the cereal aisle, Missy is forced to confront the pain of past loves, fractured family ties, and the weight of expectations she’s spent a lifetime defying.

With her closest friends—and a cousin carrying secrets of her own—Missy embarks on a journey of reckoning that tests the limits of forgiveness, resilience, and self-discovery. Along the way, she learns that true empowerment isn’t about posturing but the courage to own your story, scars and all.

Witty, raw, and emotionally layered, The Unabridged Life of Missy Kinkaid is a fiercely uplifting novel about friendship, loss, reinvention, and the strength it takes to become wholly yourself.

First introduced in Kirsten Pursell’s Finding Scarlet, Missy now steps into her own unforgettable story—one of heartbreak and humor, loss and resilience, and the enduring bonds that tether us home.

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The BookFest Awards

Kirsten Pursell — Fri, 1 Aug 2025 00:00:00 +0000

When I entered this contest, I had not yet decided to change The Scarlet D to Finding Scarlet. It was a huge surprise to discover The Scarlet D had been awarded 2nd place in women's fiction and 3rd place in romance. for The BookFest Awards for spring 2025. The content didn't change. Love that this book received some love!

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Finding Inspiration From Other Women Sharing Stories

Kirsten Pursell — Sun, 15 Jun 2025 00:00:00 +0000

Solo Travel for Women Over 50 inspired me to post on Facebook recently. The post went something like this:

I love the honesty and openness of this group. I divorced two years ago after a 29 year marriage and went straight into a long term relationship - sharing his home. That ended a few months ago and I felt heartache on a level I had never experienced...at 57 years old. I suppose I was simultaenously mourning my marriage and that relationship ending. Ugh. My biggest struggle became figuring out who I wanted to be after dedicating my life to raising my family and how to make it work financially. Decided my spousal support is my pension. Am temporarily very humbly living with my parents while I figure out my next "move." In ways, a blessing. My dad turned 93 yesterday and has been on borrowed time for a long time. I love to travel. And I love to swim. So yesterday I booked my first solo trip: I'm doing a SwimTrek in Dubrovnik and then will stay and play a few days on my own. It is a gift to myself. I am also an author working on my sixth book and hoping to have it completed before setting off in September. Thank you for the inspiration, ladies!

The post received nearly a 1000 likes (that's a huge number in my opinion!) and generated so many kind comments. More incredible was the number of women who thanked me for my honesty and sharing my story. I was struck by how many women had similar stories to mine. It is hard to share sometimes. Life gives us challenges we didn't necessarily sign up for. My heart is healing well. That is a huge step forward for me.

As an author of women's contemporary fiction, I find inspiration from real life. I may not sell a million copies of my books, but am grateful when what I write resonates with women. I am a believer in the happily ever after endings. I'm a sucker for romance like that. Finding Scarlet and Long Enough to Love You are my most recent books dealing with self-discovery, life after divorce, romance later in life, second chances, and the power of friendships.

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Watch the Finding Scarlet Book Trailer

Kirsten Pursell — Thu, 22 May 2025 00:00:00 +0000

Embedded Youtube video removed, see original post to watch.

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Finding Scarlet now on Amazon

Kirsten Pursell — Sun, 4 May 2025 00:00:00 +0000

After some soul searching, I decided I needed to change the name and title of The Scarlet D. The reviews on both Amazon and Goodreads, not to mention editorial ones as well, convinced me this book deserved a makeover in title and cover. I also am working with a marketing agency to help me. That's what you do when you believe in a story so much! Excited to share this with you.

PS If you loved Missy, she's getting her own story. I'm excited to be writing it.

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Firebird Book Awards Winner

Kirsten Pursell — Tue, 15 Apr 2025 00:00:00 +0000

I am excited to announce that The Scarlet D was a Firebird Book Award in three categories: Divorce, Romance, and Summer Beach Reads.

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The Scarlet D earns Book Excellence Award

Kirsten Pursell — Tue, 25 Mar 2025 00:00:00 +0000

I am incredibly excited to announce that I have been recognized as a Book Excellence Award Finalist for my book, The Scarlet D, in the Divorce Category.

Out of thousands of books that were entered into the Book Excellence Awards competition, my book was selected for its high quality writing, design and overall market appeal.

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Evocative, empowering read

Kirsten Pursell — Sun, 23 Feb 2025 00:00:00 +0000

Having immersed herself in romantic possibilities promoted by Nicholas Sparks' novels, Scarlet abandons a thirty-year marriage and staid life to search for love and drama that will lead to a new and better outcome. Unfortunately, life and love aren't that easy, so her foray into the wild world of South Carolina (as opposed to North Carolina, where most of Sparks' romances take place) leads to unexpected events in The Scarlet D. Scarlet is wise enough to know that a move further north would lead to untenable expectations about that type of romance.

However, she isn't wise enough to leave old patterns behind. As she becomes involved with a younger man and also encounters a better choice in one older but more seasoned, Scarlet comes to realize that there is more involved in new beginnings than selecting men who are edgy.

From the start, her first-person reflections lend a realistic, engrossing countenance to her evolutionary process: My decades-long marriage is over. My children were raised and live life mostly on their terms. I embrace that before I become too old or bitter or resentful for a life not fully lived, it's time to try the unfamiliar parts. I want green and the ocean. I want history at my doorstep. I want weekend trips to Europe. On my own. Divorced. God, that's such a strong word. I would say it was mutually earned, but, in the end, I deserve more credit for the demise of my marriage than he ever did, acknowledging that no marriage solely ends at the hand of one person. Both are complicit. Maybe we share credit. But the blame is on me.

Scarlet is wise enough to know that the attractive Ben will likely never be more than a passing passion. Beau, on the other hand, represents the very image of the type of man with whom she could develop a lasting relationship: Other than Ben and outside of my ACE hardware trip, he was the first man I'd met here. And he genuinely piqued my interest. There was something familiar about him, too. But I knew that wouldn't be possible. His accent told me he was a southern man, likely born and bred. Before I moved here, I had not known any authentic Southerners... Beau. Of all the men I never saw myself meeting or falling in love with. He was worth trying to let go of my self-perceived inadequacies.

As considerations of ageism, evil influencers who can quash good things, and family connections loom to make relationship difficulties come to light, readers are treated to not just a singular romance, but an important psychological consideration of how love changes everything -- including one's ambitions, choices, and perceptions. Kirsten Pursell is especially astute at pointing out the pitfalls and perils of good intentions gone awry, presenting these insights via memorable, realistic characters whose special interests both coalesce and clash at different times.

Libraries seeking an evocative, empowering read about a woman determined to change the nature of her life and relationship choices, who is savvy enough to be cognizant of many (but not all) of the pitfalls involved in so doing, will find The Scarlet D of special interest. It will attract women and book clubs interested in probing the nature of romantic expectations and their incarnation in more complicated real-world relationships.

Scarlet's experiences makes for heady, involving reading that imparts much food for thought along the way, making for a top pick for both leisure readers and those who seek stories that hold no easy solutions or singular avenues of discovery.

Diane Donovan, Editor

Midwest Book Review

https://www.midwestbookreview.com/calbw/feb_25.htm#generalfiction

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