Dear Readers, please let me
introduce you to an amazing new friend, Patty Sherry- Crewes. We met online
because we are both in the same anthology, COME
LOVE A COWBOY. I’m so grateful that we are now friends. I think you’ll see
why in this interview:
Welcome, Patty. Please tell us something about growing
up and your family.
Thank you, Caroline for
letting me visit with your readers today.
I grew up just north of
Chicago on the shores of Lake Michigan in Evanston, IL. Both sides of my family
have been in this town for generations, and as this is a town where many people
from other parts of the country end up, I’m proud to say we found this place
ages ago and dug in. Sometimes the residents here refer to where we live as
Heaven-ston. Other times we call it Winter.
My husband, Bob, is also an Evanstonian. We
raised three children less than two blocks from where he grew up. I have a
stepson who is a father himself now, a daughter who is a sophomore at the
University of Illinois, and a son who is still in high school.
I grew up in a tiny
two-bedroom house with my parents and younger sister. My father’s parents lived
next door in an identical tiny house. My mother’s parents lived two blocks
away. One time I counted about forty blood relatives within the four block area
around my house, which I think is unusual—at least in this part of the country.
My father and grandfather were firemen and my
uncle was a police detective, so discussions about “what did you do at work
today?” often left us children bug-eyed with horror—different styles of
parenting back then.
I wish I could say I had a
magical childhood, but that is not the case. I was often housebound with asthma
and migraines from a very early age. I was also cripplingly shy and buck
toothed.
To compound matters I could
not learn to read. I also could not figure out how to tell time. I remember
staring at a clock and thinking, “this makes no sense.” Grade school was painful.
I even had to repeat fourth grade.
I now know I’m dyslexic, but this went
undiagnosed. I had to figure it out on my own, which I eventually did and learned
to love school--and reading.
I still struggle with
dyslexia sometimes and I thank technology for digital clocks. My friends and
family know I am the last person to ask for directions. I can read for pleasure
easily because I’m relaxed, but filling out forms and following written
instructions are a problem. I suppose that is because the latter two tasks add
a layer of anxiety, and then the words go for a swim on the page.
My family’s stories about my
terrible form filling ability are legion. One time I was sending Bunkone Notes
to my daughter at camp. It wasn’t until she secreted away a phone and called me
to ask why I wasn’t sending her anything when we realized something was wrong.
I was sending everything to a camp of the same name--only in another part of
the country.
But all those early struggles
are what have shaped who I am today. Hours spent confined at home and the need
to escape reality, gave me a rich imaginary life. I always had stories running
around in my head. Feeling on the outside of things as a child has made me a
keen observer. People fascinate me. I love to store away odd bits of
conversation I hear or strange characters I see. (But then, my children are the
same way and they haven’t experienced a traumatic childhood as far as I know, so
maybe it’s just how we’re wired.)
My favorite toy when I was little was a pink
bag full of cowboys and Indians, which hung on my bed. I’d spend hours playing
with them with the covers tented up to make caves where all sorts of dramas
unfolded.
Not surprisingly, I’ve turned my hand to
writing a number of historic westerns. As an adult when I’ve had a bad day I
tell my friends, “I’m going to go play with my cowboys and Indians.” Only now I
play on a laptop.
To relax I like to go for
walks, either by myself or with friends. And being a fireman’s daughter, I love
to cook to unwind. My father was a huge foodie who read cookbooks at night the
way other people read novels. He did most of the cooking at home, making a big
production out of it, sometimes spending all day driving around for the best
ingredients. He taught me how to cook, not just how to throw ingredients
together, but how to celebrate food on a daily basis. The first text I usually
receive from my children is “What’s for dinner?” And they send that shortly
after leaving the house with their stomachs full of breakfast.
What are your hobbies?
I read everyday. I have
varied tastes. I admire writers like Colm Toibin and William Boyd, because they
have amazing range as writers. No two books of theirs are alike. Sometimes, especially
with Toibin, you can’t believe the same author wrote all those books. I wait
for new books by Kate Atkinson to come out. I also like Mark Haddon, especially
his book A Spot of Bother.
There are times I want to
read nothing but a good mystery. I was into Scandinavian Noire long before
everyone found Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. What I liked about that genre is
it’s familiar and alien at the same time. The characters are all people we can
relate to, but their lifestyle is very different—and they’re so gloomy! The
lead detectives are always fighting a cold, drinking loads of coffee, and
making note of the weather, which is always bad. I like the mysteries by, Tana
French. She’s an amazing writer with books set in Ireland.
One thing I’ve been slow to
identify about myself is that I love to read (and write) romances, especially
ones where the characters are smart and funny. I binge read books by Jojo
Moyes, Cecelia Ahern, and Marian Keyes. And even though I know there’s going to
be a happy ending (except maybe in Me After You…) those ladies give me moments
where I am so anxious for the characters, I can’t put the book down. And then I
smile when everything turns out just as I hoped.
How long have you been writing?
I started writing late in
life. Every year on my birthday I like to spend the day doing something new. On
my 50th birthday I decided to write that novel I’ve always wanted to
write. The words flowed and I discovered my true passion, though making the
commitment to writing was somewhat of a process. I had to give myself permission
to carve out time everyday to work at it.
Six years later I’ve written
seven novels and three novellas, some under the pen name Cherie Grinnell. My
historic western, MARGARITA AND THE HIRED GUN, comes out this spring with
Prairie Rose Publications, where I’ve also published stories in two of their
anthologies.
What is your writing day like?
Sticking to a routine is the
key for me. I like to go for an hour-long walk first thing. This is an
important time for me to not only get exercise but to mentally order the rest
of my day. While I’m walking I’m also writing scenes and dialogue in my head.
I read recently that there is
a correlation between walking and creativity. The sights and sounds in addition
to the opposable movement of the arms and legs stimulate the brain even hours
after the walking activity is over.
So, in the morning I go for
my walk, run my errands, and do my day job, which is caning and rushing chairs.
By the time I sit down at my computer in the afternoon the words spill forth.
Do you write with music, lap top, alone or with the
family?
Another important change, which
has helped me in my writing, is having my own space. I set up an office for
myself in an upstairs room with a great view. I write everyday from 1:00 to
4:00 and in the evenings when I feel so inspired and have time.
I used to work at a PC in the
kitchen. I was constantly interrupted by family members asking me where we keep
the mayonnaise. In the fridge. If you find an opened jar of mayonnaise
elsewhere in the house, don’t eat it.
Then when the PC became
almost unusable, crashing every twenty minutes (oh, the work I’ve lost). My
husband set me up with one of the kid’s old laptops. I wasn’t sure I could
write on a laptop and it did take some getting used to, but the advantage is
I’m now mobile! Out of the kitchen at last! I get a lot more work done up here
in what I call my Window to the World, where I look out over my neighborhood.
Music is important to my
process. I have my earbuds in when I walk and I have my playlist going when I
sit down to write. I feel that stimulates my brain in that while I’m walking
and have my inner dialogue going, I’m listening to songs. Then when I sit down
to work and hear songs again, my brain jumps into gear. I’ve had days where for
some reason I can’t access my music and the writing is more of a labor without
background sounds.
Are you a plotter or a panzer?
I am mainly a plotter but I
can swing panzer even in the midst of organization. I usually outline my story
before writing. But sometimes when I write, the characters develop in ways that
change the course of the story. They surprise me sometimes.
Right now I’m working on a
novel and being almost a total panzer about it. I’m loving the experience and I
think it’s going very well. It might even be the best thing I’ve written. I did
start with a premise, and I had an opening scene in mind, but that was all I
had when I sat down to write.
What is your writing routine?
I’m a fast writer. I enjoy
writing dialog. I don’t like writing (or reading) descriptions as much. My
process is to write from beginning to end in a linear fashion, writing heavily
in dialog and action first to propel the story along. Later I go back and fill
in descriptions. That way I don’t get hung up trying to describe a room or what
someone is wearing. I know some writers who write in chunks out of sequence and
then go back and fit them together. That would make me crazy, but whatever
works for you.
As far as research goes, when
I’m writing historic westerns I do the research first. I take notes and keep
Pinterest boards with articles and images. I’m a very visual person so I refer
to these boards often.
For contemporary novels there
is less research involved. Sometimes locations are something I have to research
because I want to get that right. I’ve written novels that take place in
Dublin, Wales, and Newfoundland. I’ve been to all those places but not in years.
I live in fear of someone from Ireland saying “We don’t do that in Dublin
anymore. That is so 1991.” So I do spend a lot of time on travel sites as well
as reading fiction set in those places.
I also keep Pinterest boards
on things like occupations I think would be interesting for characters to have.
Then I read whatever job descriptions I can find, or when I’m lucky enough to
find someone in that field, I ask them questions.
Share something about you that’s surprising.
One thing that is surprising
about me is that I cane and rush chairs, which I mentioned earlier. I bet that peaked
some curiosity. My mother taught herself that skill so she could stay home
while we were little. She taught my sister, a couple of cousins, and me how to
cane and rush, and we’re still at it. I started when I was 13 and helped put
myself through college repairing broken seats.
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| Patti caning a chair |
Caning chairs is something I
can do at home. I loved it when my children were little. I tried to quit when
my children got older, but people find me anyway. The person who lives at my
old address told me they were baffled when people kept turning up at their door
with a broken chair, insisting they fix it. I don’t advertise anymore in an
attempt to slow down business. I admit it’s nice to have the extra income now
we have one child in college, but I live for the day I won’t have to rush
another chair seat. I’ll probably have to move really far away. Leave Evanston.
 |
| Rush work beside caned chairs |
What scares you?
My biggest fear is that
people reading this will not buy my book, but will instead ask me to repair
their broken seat. ☺
Tell us what you’re working on now.
I have two releases coming
out this spring.
MARGARITA AND THE HIRED GUN, which is tentatively scheduled for April 21.
When Margarita McIntosh’s
father announces they have to leave town immediately, the life of privilege
she’s known as the daughter of a wealthy cattle baron, takes an unexpected
turn. Before he flees, her father arranges for the only man he trusts, hired
gun, Rafferty, to escort his daughter from Flagstaff to the safety of relatives
in Durango—a journey taking weeks on horseback.
The sheltered young lady, who's spent much of her life out east, and the gruff Irishman, who's had as many names as "careers," make an unlikely duo as they face life on the trail. They start out on the wrong foot, but after enduring harsh conditions, dangerous passages, and encounters with outlaws, they come not only to rely on each other, but also to fall in love.
Except for Rafferty loving this woman is out of the question. They reward he'll get for delivering Margarita "safe and intact" is his ticket to a fresh start. A fresh start he especially needs now that "Rafferty" has a price on his head, thanks to the fact he's unwittingly been guarding more than McIntosh's precious daughter. Concealed in Margarita's saddlebag is something which explains why men are trying to kill them.
Available now is my novella, DESERT HEAT, in the anthology COME LOVE A COWBOY at http://amzn.com/B01D5876UK.
How about an excerpt of DESERT HEAT?
Sometimes it seems like
Angel Harper is going to spend the rest of her adult life making up for her
youthful transgressions—like running away with a two-timing, irresponsible cowboy
on the rodeo circuit.
Now she’s
trying to make things right. It isn’t easy for a single mother trying to run a
small hotel on her own. She’s always two steps ahead of financial ruin, but
determined to prove to herself and the memory of her parents she can do it.
A chance
encounter with handsome cowboy and firefighter, Boone Donovan, awakens a desire
she’d rather bury. But he isn’t going to let her get away that easily. Angel
has been twice burned by love, and it’s not only her own heart she has to protect
now. She has a son to think about.
Can she trust
Boone enough to let love into her life again?
Give us an excerpt from DESERT
HEAT:
Her face was flooded with
heat. When she fell back to sleep this morning, she’d overslept. Normally,
Angel would have been up a couple of hours ago and had the stables mucked out
by now. The flies were thick and buzzing in the air ripe with manure. She
fought back the urge to explain all this to him. She owed this man no
explanation, she reminded herself.
“When’s the last time you had
the fire inspector out here?” he asked, his back still to her, his hands on his
hips.
“I don’t remember. Maybe a
couple of months ago.”
He turned around to face her,
his hands still on his hips and his coat pushed open to show the tight t-shirt
underneath with suspenders riding up a lean torso.
“You want to try that again?
I can look it up, you know?”
“I’d have to check. It’s been
a while.”
“That would be my guess. I
can see at least five violations just from where I’m standing.”
With a tight throat, Angel
watched him walk around and inspect the horses one by one. “At least your
horses look healthy. I can tell you take good care of them.”
He walked back over and stood
in front of her. Too close. She stepped back. His eyes went to her chest. She
looked down and saw to her horror her nipples were not only very visible
beneath the thin t-shirt, but were standing at attention.
His eyes grew dark, and he
swallowed hard. She could see a vein throbbing in his neck. Angel crossed her
arms across her chest, feeling weak at the knees with this big hunk of a man
standing before her.
Boone took a step closer,
eyes now lifted to hers, lips parted. She could hear the breath coming hard out
of his flared nostrils. He was so close, she could take in his scent. All man.
Her arms fell to her sides.
She took a step closer so their faces were inches apart. A familiar thrumming
moved through her body. Desire rearing its head.
“Mom! There are firemen in
the yard! They said I can climb on the truck if that’s all right with you.”
Boone took a big step back.
He practically jumped away from her.
Rory stood framed in the
door, still in his pajamas, dark hair, sticking out all over his head. There
was a dried patch of milk in the front of his top. On top of everything else
she now looked like a negligent mother. He pushed his glasses back and looked
at her.
“Yes, go on Rory, but then
get dressed.”
Angel looked back at Boone,
the look of lust in his eyes replaced by a blank expression. She was used to
that. Men were interested in her until they heard she had a kid. Her anger,
which had been at a slow simmer, went up a few notches to boiling.
“Not so interested in getting
to know me better now, are you? Kids have a way of taking the mystery out of a
woman.”
“I don’t have a problem with
kids. It’s husbands I have a problem with. Are you married?”
“If I had a man around here
do you think things would be in such a state? I’m trying to do this all on my
own, which is why I don’t appreciate you stealing business away from me. You
know that, right? The contract you signed with Star was formally mine,” she
spat out.
“Hey, first off I didn’t
steal your business away from you. I didn’t go out looking for it. Clint came
to me. And yes, Clint told me who you were after you left. Then when I was left
holding two bowls of ice cream last night, I guessed you had it all figured out
by then. I wanted to talk to you. To clear the air.”
“There’s no clearing the
stench out of this air,” she said, instantly regretting her choice of words,
because the un-mucked stalls reeked of urine and manure.
“I’m going to call the fire
inspector and make sure he comes out here next week.”
“You spiteful…You’d do that
to me because I stood you up?”
“I’m going to call him,
because I’m worried about your horses. If there’s a fire, you’re in danger of
losing more than a contract. Tomorrow when I get off my shift I’m coming back
out here and bringing this place up to code. The brush needs to be cleared away
from all sides of the stable, and these cobwebs are a fire hazard.
He gestured overhead. “You
don’t have cages around those bare bulbs. You have extension cords running all
over the place not to mention all the other things scattered around that would
make clearing the horses out in an emergency a problem. And when we pulled in
there was a low branch over the drive we weren’t sure the engine could clear.
You’re a disaster waiting to happen.”
With that he pushed past her,
brushing against her as he walked by.
“You don’t have to do that!”
she called after him.
“Gonna do it anyway,” he said
walking away, his back to her.
“I don’t want you…”
Without a glance back he
waved to her.
What was your inspiration
for DESERT HEAT:
While writing DESERT HEAT, I drew inspiration from
many places, but there are a few things that helped me put heart into my tale.
The setting of the novella is
based on a quirky guest ranch outside of Phoenix. I don’t remember how we found this place but
it was a treasure. The hotel and guest cabins had originally been built to
house workers who were building a damn on the Salt River. The couple who later
ran the place as a hotel hadn’t altered its décor from the day they opened in
the 1940’s. It was a charming place to stay, and the view of saguaro cactus and
red mountains was unmatchable. The chef did create many dishes based on what
she pulled from her garden.
A second inspiration for this
story is my experience growing up around firemen. Being a firefighter is a
dangerous job, and I remember a few trips to the ER to see my dad after he’d
suffered smoke inhalation and on two occasions a broken back.
I don’t know if there is a
paint factory near Phoenix but one of the biggest fires we had in Evanston,
where I live, was the fire at the Rustoleum paint factory. My father was on
call that night. I remember watching the odd pastel colors light up the sky
from all the chemicals burning—knowing my father was in the thick of it.
Lastly, the relationship
between the heroine, Angel, the hero, Boone, and Angel’s son, Rory, was
inspired by my own story. When I first met Bob he was a single dad. After the
initial flush of excitement upon meeting someone new, I had to accept my man
had another priority that came before almost all else—for a good reason. Twenty
some years later I’m still married to that man, and his son has made us grandparents.
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Patti and Bob
Don't you love this photo? |
How can readers find you?
You can find me at:
