Can you tell us a little about yourself?
I've 36 years old and have been telling stories
for as long as I can remember (and before I can remember, according to my
parents!). It used to be My Little Pony stories- the original ones, not the
odd-looking new versions- but since then I've graduated to speculative fiction,
the unholy trinity of science fiction, horror and fantasy (though I concentrate
mostly on fantasy and horror). It wasn't until I was in college that I realized
I could try to publish my work, and began submitting pieces in earnest. I've
had many short stories published in journals as varied as The Absent Willow Review to The
Lovecraft Ezine, have been in a handful of anthologies. Late Summer,
Early Spring is my first book that is all mine, though!
What is your book(s) about?
Late Summer, Early Spring began as a retelling of a Japanese folktale called "The Vampire
Cat". As I worked on it, I saw that including a romantic relationship
would add another layer to the story, so I ran with it.
The two novellas in this book tell a tale of
love, loss, longing and devotion to duty. It's about vengeance and the toll
that a thirst for revenge takes on a person.
What are you currently working on?
My second child was born last September, so
this year my writing time has been more fragmented than usual. That might be
why I've been on a short story kick all year; I've completed five and hope to
have a total of seven finished by the end of the year. I'm normally a very slow
writer so this is unusual for me! At the moment I am working on a short
follow-up story to Late Summer, Early Spring. I am also revising a
Victorian-style Christmas ghost story- a tradition I love.
What do you do when you’re not writing?
I am a stay-at-home mother to two young children,
so my days consist mostly of feeding people, the library, the park, and making
sure everyone gets where they need to be. I also work special events and cover shifts at
my former full-time job. I've been a bookseller with the same independent
company for almost 14 years; even after the kids were born I loved it so much I
couldn't bear to quit completely. They were kind enough to let me pop in and
out as I was needed- though these days I always feel a little left behind, as I
can't keep my finger on the pulse of the publishing industry every day like I
used to.
Is there anything you would tell aspiring writers?
You can sit around and wish upon a star, but if
you do that then the people who work hard toward their goal are going to pass
you up. Writing isn't some holy experience where you sit in silence for hours
and the Muse comes with awesome ideas that will pour forth from your pen. And
writing isn't about how much talent you have. Talent might help a little, but
if you want to write don't worry about how talented you are. If you want to
write, then write. And write, and write, and write. Keeping working at it and
eventually you'll end up with something you like. And read too- even the
greatest writers are always learning.
How often does your muse distract you from day to day
minutiae?
I rarely have a block of time to sit down and
write, so I sneak it in between daily tasks. I keep a story or two sunning in
the back of my mind at all times, so it's fairly simple to dip my pen in and
pluck out some scene I can put down in fifteen minutes. It's also nice to have
something to distract me from the boring parts of my day!
Writer’s block—real or hype?
I've had situations where I was stuck on a
story; usually putting it away for a couple days is enough to restart the
process, but I have a handful of pieces that started off promising and have
never been finished. I keep them around because maybe someday...
Even if I have to drop a piece, I always have
something else to work on. I've never had trouble coming up with ideas- my
problem is not having enough time to work on them all! I listen to the radio,
read the news, and eavesdrop on conversations in public (sssshhhh!). The world
is full of stories. A few days ago I listened to a radio interview with the
great-great grandson of H.H. Holmes. According to him, none of his relatives
knew about their ancestor until one day his grandfather announced over a family
dinner that they were descended from one of America's most notorious serial killers.
Now there's a story!
Do you prefer to extensively plot your stories, or do you
write them as they come to you?
E.L. Doctorow said of novel writing, "It's like driving a car at
night. You never see further than your headlights, but you can make the whole
trip that way." I'm humbled to know that such a great author
apparently wrote the same way I do- with a vague idea of the story arc, but
discovering the events of the tale along the way. I have tried to write
outlines, and every one failed miserably. But I rarely get stuck. I write
character-driven fiction, so when I can't see where we're headed I sit my
characters down and ask them what they'll do next.
What advantages or challenges does a writer in your genre
face in today’s fiction market?
The rise of the Internet gives specfic writers
both new opportunities and new challenges. Small presses have flourished, as
well as avenues to self-publish. These small presses are often willing to take
risks on new authors or on works that large publishers might not see as
commercially viable. At the same time, the market has burgeoned in recent
years, which can make it hard for individual writers to make themselves seen.
Self-promotion is a skill we've all had to learn, and wonderful blogs like this
are a huge help in reaching potential readers. Thank you for this opportunity!
Fantasy
DSP Publications
General Sho Iwata is devastated when the man he secretly loves, Prince Narita, is struck with a mysterious illness. Iwata's current lover, Hiroshi, is well aware of the general's unrequited passion. But that isn’t his biggest problem. His sister is Narita’s favorite consort, but Hiroshi believes she has been replaced by an imposter. When they discover the true cause of the illness, they will have to battle an ancient spirit and survive.
Fox Hunter
Lord General Iwata Sho sets out in search of the mysterious Fox Hunter. When he finds his former lover, Hiroshi, he discovers a changed man, scarred inside and out and consumed by vengeance. Together with Narita’s grown son Daigo, Iwata and Hiroshi pursue the malicious spirit as it leaves bloodshed in its wake. Iwata worries about what will become of Hiroshi when the fox is defeated—if Hiroshi’s revenge doesn’t kill him first.
buy links:
http://www.amazon.com/Summer-Early-Spring-Patricia-Correll-ebook/dp/B0112XCV1Y/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1440974400&sr=8-1&keywords=late+summer+early+spring
https://www.dsppublications.com/books/late-summer-early-spring-by-patricia-correll-144-b
Excerpt:
Hiroshi chewed his lower lip, thinking. “The prince has grown
steadily weaker since he took sick, hasn’t he? Would you say he’s grown weaker
every day?”
Iwata nodded. Then
Hiroshi’s meaning struck him. “You think it’s… draining him?
His strength?”
“His life.”
“I’m a soldier, not a
priest. I don’t deal with the spirits.” Iwata clenched his fist in frustration.
“An assassin I could fight. But this? If I could find the cat—”
“Do you remember what it
looked like?”
Iwata reached into his
memory. Every detail of the previous night was there… except the cat. He
recalled only a shadow, a shadow with mocking, gold-flecked green eyes. “No.”
“We need a priest.”
Hiroshi sipped his tea.
“Lady Mari.” Iwata
shifted his weight. The stitches in his leg pulled at his skin. “She’s remained
devout. It wouldn’t be strange for her to be seen talking with a priest. She
visits the shrines often.”
“I didn’t know she was a
shrine maiden.”
“A long time ago.” Iwata
and Lady Mari had never been friends; the prince and his regiment spent far too
little time in town for them to have become familiar. But she was grave and dignified,
and she ran Prince Narita’s household with a steady hand. Iwata respected her.
They lapsed into silence.
Hiroshi drank his tea, though in the summer heat it brought beads of sweat to
his face.
“I think we should look
at Momo’s rooms,” he said suddenly. “Maybe we’ll find a clue there to tell us
where she is.”
“No men are allowed in
the consorts’ wing except the prince. Do you propose we dress as serving girls
and sneak in?”
“You’d make an ugly
woman. But then, so would I.” Hiroshi smiled. Iwata suspected that wasn’t true;
with his delicate features, Hiroshi would have made a striking woman, scar or
not. “Perhaps Lady Mari will arrange something if I ask her.”
Iwata rubbed his temple.
Pain and fatigue blurred the edges of his vision.
“Perhaps. We should go
see her now.”
“Sho, no. You have to
rest.” Hiroshi was on his feet in a heartbeat. He stepped over the table and
put his hands on Iwata’s shoulders. “You’ve been up all night, and you’re
wounded as well. The prince is safe during the day. Get some sleep before you
go back.”
“When I return from Lady
Mari, I will. I’ll be keeping watch tonight too.”
Hiroshi’s grip on Iwata’s
shoulders tightened. “Again? What if the cat comes back?”
“I have another leg.”
Hiroshi frowned, anger
waking in his dark eyes. He mastered it quickly. “Let me help you change
clothes, then. You can’t go before the prince’s wife looking like you just left
a slaughterhouse.”
The ride to the inn had
set the dagger wound to bleeding again. With a gentleness that belied his
ferocity as a fighter, Hiroshi cleaned around the stitches. If Iwata stiffened,
he paused to rinse the cloth until the pain had eased and Iwata relaxed. He
tied a fresh bandage tightly and went to fetch a clean kimono from Iwata’s trunk.
Iwata closed his eyes as the sharper pain ebbed, disappearing into the dull
ache that had invaded his entire body.
He woke with a start. He
was still sitting up, but leaning slightly backward. Something was propping him
up. He looked down. Hiroshi’s fingers were laced together across his chest,
keeping him from slumping forward. Iwata had dozed off sitting up, and Hiroshi
had knelt behind him, holding him to save him from falling over like a fool.
Iwata squinted at the window; the sunlight had brightened considerably. “How
long did I sleep?”
“A few minutes.” Hiroshi
rested his chin on Iwata’s shoulder. “I was going to wake you if you slept any
longer.”
He was lying. The change
in light said he’d been asleep for at least an hour, probably more. He struggled
to his feet, breaking Hiroshi’s embrace. Iwata turned on him, angry words ready
on his lips. Hiroshi rose slowly, like an old man, flexing his stiff arms.
Iwata swallowed his anger.
“Come,” he said, holding out a hand to help
Hiroshi up. “It’s time we were off to the palace.”
About the Author
She lives with her husband, their sons, and a fifteen-pound calico cat. When she’s not writing, she spends her time being a stay-at-home mom, occasionally working at a bookstore, and trying to make her cat lose weight (which is almost impossible to do). She also eats lots of ice cream, pretends to be a gardener, and possesses staggering amounts of Hello Kitty merchandise.
http://patriciacorrell.blogspot.com/
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