Never Too Late: A debut novelist finds the courage to publish her stories
From the Publisher: We proudly welcome this guest post from Sue Farwick, the author of The Eternal Song. This post is the first in a series of posts by Sue that highlight her long-term trajectory as a writer (the present post), the inspiration behind her novel “The Eternal Song” (Post 2), and what she learned about writing after completing and publishing her first novel (Post 3). Our hope here at Tribus is that this series can both give you a behind-the-scenes peek at one of our authors and perhaps give you some insight and motivation to move forward with your own project.
Sue gives us a snapshot of her shift from writing for herself and small audiences to taking the courageous leap to act on her dream of writing and publishing a novel. To do so, she shares excerpts from an early publication in a photography magazine and a blog post from several years ago. The message for us is clear and to the point: It truly is never too late to publish that novel, paint that picture, learn that instrument, or pursue unfulfilled passion. Sue Farwick’s writing trajectory is a testament to the power of new beginnings at any age. Join us as we celebrate Sue’s recent publication of The Eternal Song and her first contribution to the Tribus Press blog. We are thrilled that Sue Farwick has joined the Tribus Press family.
I always enjoyed writing when I was at school. One piece that I handed in to the English teacher elicited the remark ‘How macabre!!!’ scrawled across the bottom of the page. I forget now what the essay was about, but the critique has remained in my mind ever since.
I suppose it’s not surprising that my stories took on macabre undertones. The first piece of adult fiction that I ever read was Dracula by Bram Stoker. My parents were appalled! But, as I pointed out to them, it was classic literature. They probably imagined that I was still reading books like Rupert Bear or Noddy. They probably would have been even more shocked if they’d known that I had been sneaking a peek at my grandfather’s copy of Lady Chatterley’s Lover.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past twelve months, it’s that it is never too late to begin a new adventure. Although I always used to tell people I was a writer, the most that ever lay open to public scrutiny was a monthly article that I wrote for our local camera club newsletter and an extensive biography of our family’s history that was really only meant for family eyes.
The photography articles were by no means technical. Even after all these years, I still can’t tell an F-stop from a bus stop and rely almost solely on the automatic setting on my camera. Never taking myself too seriously, I put a lighthearted spin on my picture-taking experiences, such as in a 2006 piece I published in Through The Lens, a publication of the Arlington Camera Club:
Excerpts from Bugs We Have Known
I have, over the years, been the recipient of numerous phone calls from all three of our daughters, mostly late at night, that have gone something like this:
Me: “Hello.”
Daughter: “Mum?” (On the verge of tears.)
Me: “Hello dear. What’s wr—?
Daughter screams, shrieking down the phone in decibels guaranteed to pierce the ear drum.
Me: (Frantically) “What’s wrong?”
Is there an intruder in the apartment? Has she accidentally cut off an extremity while slicing vegetables? Has she received this month’s phone bill?
Daughter: “IT’S CLIMBING UP THE WALL!!!!!” (More screams)
Me: (Frantically) “What? What?”
Has she given the houseplant too much liquid fertilizer? Could it be the neighbor’s boa constrictor on the loose again or, good heavens, even the neighbor? Or is it some grotesque alien monster that has landed on Earth and made my daughter’s apartment its first port of call?
Daughter: “A BUG!!!!!”
Now I’m the last one to be judgmental in matters of this kind. Goodness knows I have my own phobias so I completely understand where she’s coming from on this one. I therefore offer maternal sympathy and helpful advice.
Me: “Hit it with a shoe or something.”
Pause as sounds of something substantial crashing into the wall come down the line.
Daughter: (More screams) “IT WON’T DIE!!!!!”
Good heavens! Is it some mutant strain of earwig, able to withstand the merciless beating of a size nine Dolce & Gabbana platform shoe? Perhaps I could take pictures; flog them to National Geographic.
Me: “Well, alright. Just come home and I’ll sort it out in the morning.” Or words to that effect.
Usually, by the time I arrive the following day, the offending item has packed its bags and left, probably saying to itself, “I’m not staying here with all this racket going on,” although the last time I was called in, to witness an infestation of termites, the little beggars were still there. I took pictures on that occasion (I thought the landlord would be interested to see them).
Later, I started several blogs on WordPress, writing about everything from nature to places of interest and thoughts on life in general. All of my blogs have an overarching emphasis on photography.
Excerpt from “Thoughts on Walking” from my blog, Incidentally
To begin with, our family never owned a car. We relied on public transportation and our own two feet to get us from place to place. Up until the age of 7, I lived in London and every Sunday morning my father would take me for long walks, usually to places of historical interest including local cemeteries. The memory of those walks has stayed with me because they were always so interesting and because it permitted me to see the happier, more relaxed side of my father. He was a very private person and didn’t have an awful lot of patience at home but he loved walking and sometimes he would sing while we were going along. I particularly remember a song called ‘Mollie Malone,’ which, at 5 years of age, I found rather sinister and most intriguing.
Of course, I did a lot of walking with my mother too, mostly back and forth to school and also to the local parks, but sometimes we would hop on a bus or tube train and go further afield to walk around Regent’s Park Zoo or The British Museum. We also did a lot of walking when we visited her parents who lived in Kent, strolling for miles along country lanes, picking wildflowers and listening to the birds singing.
Summer holidays at the seaside usually involved quite a bit of walking either along the prom (where the brass band played tiddly-om-pom-pom) or crunching over the shingle beaches with the seagulls screeching overhead. Sometimes we would walk down the Leas Cliff path to the next town along the coast. When I think of all the walking I did when I was a child, it makes me laugh now to hear the kids today complain about having to walk around the block.
But, hidden away in a drawer for many years, there were stories, written in moments of creative contemplation and quiet desperation, that I couldn’t bring myself to finish. I could never, in my wildest dreams, have imagined that one day they would actually make their way into print.
I have to admit, self-confidence has never been my strong point, and it wasn’t until the wonderful people at Tribus Press read through one of these stories that the possibility of a whole new outlet for my creative endeavors presented itself.
Thanks to the publication of The Eternal Song, the first book in The Connections Series, I have found an exhilarating new lease on life.
I hope you will join me as I delve into the stories of many of the characters that have already been introduced, including Marianne, Jasper, Rose, and Corrine.
With the advent of this new chapter in the 76th year of my life, I can’t help recalling, now, the words of my dear, late mother:
"Never give up! It's never too late to begin a new adventure."