Ian Fišermanis

It was the summer of 1980 and looking back, my lifelong interest in describing the things around me, the environments, the objects, the flushes of emotions, and the faces of those who took steps with me, was noticed. Not by me, but by Mr Parks the Primary School teacher. It was perhaps my extremely descriptive depiction of the moment that I had truly believed nine of my fellow “sailors”, all under the age of ten, had faced the certainty of their death, with such calm and pride, that had swung things my way. Seemingly, I had described a moment in a way fitting of the Titanic, reminiscent of violins and awkward farewells, as my fellow childhood passengers accepted their fate, in a lock somewhere on the river Nene. Probably about two miles from home, and not far from the corner shop Spar, where they sold Dib-dabs, these brave individuals needed to be memorialised.

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The cherished hardback of 'Revolting Rhymes' by Roald Dahl, that I was awarded for writing about the narrow boat disaster, not dissimilar to the Hindenburg, we had endured over a summer weekend, is still pride of place in my meagre book collection. However, I found myself quite put out by Mr Park's comment when he laughingly referred to my unique ability to ‘make something out of nothing’ when presenting my prize in front of the survivors. Meeting him years later at a reunion, he took pleasure in informing me the boat had merely tipped slightly to one side, possibly by just a few degrees – well that’s not how I remembered it!

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My adventure continued with a selection of failures, never allowing me to quite reach the same praise the barge disaster had awarded me. A hastily scribbled entry to a writing competition in my sister's 'Jackie' magazine, resulted in me winning the first prize of a Holly-Hobby hairdryer, cooking play set, & beauty box. On the technicality that her name was on the box, my sister stole the credit and lavished in the praise. When I was finally published, at the age of fourteen, it was my own, written and illustrated comic strip for a famous movie franchise, which is still remembered today in online forums. When I created it, I used an adaptation of my name – I didn’t want the press at my door after all, I was only fourteen and that would make it difficult to catch the school bus. When I showed my proudly published work to my mother, she quickly told me off for taking credit for other people's work!

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My most flattering moment of praise came when I attended the funeral of an elderly gentleman I barely knew, but who had lost his partner of many years. When speaking of his love, he read out a poem, which spoke of his terrible loss. It was a piece of work I had written many years back, when I had lost a loved one. My work had a life of its own, grown wings and had flown from me to others, who cherished it.

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Then, I wrote a semi-autobiographical novel, for which I was offered a publishing deal. It was based on my own experiences when a cherished person vanished from my life one day with no warning. I foolishly bowed to pressure from others, and did not feel able to pursue the project further down the publishing route, and it was moments and decisions like all the above, that have pushed my journey toward today. Never give up, never stop doing what is your passion. You will find a way to make it work, to make it pay, and to make it a success.