A Teacher Encourages: A Writer is Born
I cannot remember what the story was called but I can remember its opening line. “Pooh! Not those smelly socks again.” It was a short memoir from the point of view of an old, disgruntled washing machine and I was surprised to be asked to read it aloud.
I was ten years old and painfully self-conscious so it was easier for me to write about inanimate objects than to delve into my own life and share it with my peers in a small Irish school. I looked at lifeless things and gave them feelings and spun a yarn with humour. I remember that this poor old washing machine was struggling with the reality of becoming a crock and although I should be able to relate to it more now, in later life, somehow I had known empathy even then.
The end was near for this domestic appliance. His cry was a mixture of bitterness and fear. There was the useless harping on about his youth, those days of appreciation and glory which he dwindled away in ignorance. He had been pushed to the limits and was literally washed up.
What was giving him greater pain than anything was the knowledge that the love he had once known was now transferred to a new, younger model. How many times since then have I learned that this can indeed be the case in life, whether it be a car, a romance or a colleague at work?
Back then I must have known it too. The accompanying picture, which I drew at the bottom of the page in colouring pencil, showed a before and after shot of the washing machine to ensure my teacher was appropriately shocked at the abuse suffered by my protagonist and required visual evidence of its devastating decline. Its round door was hanging off. There was rust in all its corners and green dirt everywhere. Water leaked from underneath and the knobs, which appeared in the ‘before’ shot, were missing.
My teacher smiled throughout my reading as I shared this tale of outrageous neglect and injustice, however, as I stood there at the top of the class I myself, in contrast, felt respected and prized.
As a rule, we were never asked to read out our stories in class. It was only in very exceptional circumstances that this occurred and when it did, we knew it would knock our socks off.
My teacher, Mr. Murphy, had very high standards and any old story about a dog in the summer would only have registered between a yawn and a sigh on the Richter Scale of Brilliance. That is, unless the dog had super powers and the summer was on Jupiter. But for some reason, having read my homework, of which the story was a part, Mr Murphy felt its mixture of angst and humour deserved an audience.
He, therefore, encouraged me to read it to the whole class so that they may enjoy it too. Though this memory is precious to me alone, and it may have long since faded from the minds of anyone else present (probably on the same day) I still count it as one of the greatest times of empowerment in my life.
Despite the fact that I was standing at the top of the class, as red as a poppy, with an authority figure beside me, I was secretly delighted. There was ego enough present in me for the terror of the occasion to be softened by the compliment. It was one of the first times that, outside a few family members, I felt the respect of an adult.
This teacher had shown genuine interest in my tale and laughed at the funny parts. He encouraged me. He believed in me. By being asked to share something that I had created, I was allowed to feel pride and confidence in my own abilities as a storyteller and communicator.
There in that classroom, a seedling, unaware of its own existence was being nourished and it felt good. Back in my school days, as I compared myself to my class mates, to their sporting achievements and their family’s social standing in the community, I had often felt a sense that I was ‘less-than’ others. But I didn’t feel it the day I read out my story. That day was different because on that day, a kind man enabled me to feel equal to my peers, to himself and to all the great storytellers of the world.
It took forty two years before the seedling pushed through the earth but in 2017 my first novel, a humour title, The Longbourn Letters – The Correspondence between Mr Collins and Mr Bennet, received international acclaim on publication. My second book, the completing of Jane Austen’s unfinished novel, The Watsons, is currently being reviewed by publishers and I am now working on my third novel, a mystery set in an enclosed convent in 1930s Ireland.
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https://twitter.com/roseservitova
Bio – Irish woman, Rose Servitova, is an award-winning humour writer, event manager and job coach for people with special needs. She has published widely and is currently shortlisted in the WowWomenOnWriting essay contest. Her debut novel, The Longbourn Letters – The Correspondence between Mr Collins & Mr Bennet, described as a ‘literary triumph’, has received international acclaim since its publication in 2017. Rose has made author appearances at literary events and festivals in Ireland and the UK, the most recent being the Jane Austen Festival in Bath. She has been interviewed on national television, regional radio stations and in print and online media. Rose curated Jane Austen 200 – Limerick, a festival celebrating Limerick’s many links to Austen while nodding at its extensive Georgian heritage through literature, architecture, screen, theatre, fashion, talks and, of course, tea!!
Rose’s second novel, the completing of Jane Austen’s unfinished novel, The Watsons, is currently out on submission.
THE LONGBOURN LETTERS
Where Pride and Prejudice ends, a new relationship begins.
Good-humoured but detached and taciturn, Mr Bennet is not given to intimacy. Largely content with his life at Longbourn, he spends his evenings in the solitude of his library, accompanied only by a glass of port and a good book. But when his cousin, the pompous clergyman Mr Collins, announces his intention to visit, Mr Bennet is curious to meet and appraise the heir to his estate.
Despite Mr Bennet’s initial discouragement, Mr Collins quickly becomes a frequent presence in his life. They correspond regularly, with Mr Collins recounting tales of his follies and scrapes and Mr Bennet taking great pleasure from teasing his unsuspecting friend.
When a rift develops between the men, Mr Bennet is faced with a choice: he must withdraw into isolation once again or acknowledge that Mr Collins has brought something new and rich to his life.
Tender, heart-warming and peppered with disarming humour, The Longbourn Letters reimagines the characters of Pride and Prejudice and perfectly captures the subtleties of human relationships and the power of friendship.
Praise for The Longbourn Letters
Author Donal Ryan (Booker Prize & IMPAC Award Nominee & winner of Guardian First Book Award)
“I loved it…brilliantly done, clever and witty, a real literary treat.”
Jane Austen Regency World Magazine
“..a glorious epistolary novel that mixes laugh-out-loud hilariousness with serious social comment and often quite touching sentiment.”
The Irish Times
“Sure to delight die-hard Austen fans.”
Woman’s Way Magazine
“A Literary Triumph’
Category: Contemporary Women Writers, How To and Tips
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