New York author talks about inspiration, advice for new writers

The CBS New York Book Club is introducing you to a Long Island woman who has worked for years behind the scenes helping authors spread the word about their books in the tristate area.

Carol Hoenig is an author, publishing consultant, book event marketer and former book store owner. Mary Calvi talked to her about her new book "Before She Was A Finley," and the inspiration that she found in her attic.

"My grandmother had a victrola," Hoenig said. "I had no idea that when it was going to end up in my hands, that it was going to basically haunt me and it was going to be a very big part of 'Before She Was a Finley.'"

The book follows Hoenig's previous novel "Without Grace." Hoenig says when she wrote that book, she didn't know the real reason why Grace, the main character, left her family. "She told me as I was writing 'Before She Was a Finley,'" Hoenig says. "It was for a very dark reason."

The plot unfolds as a young journalism student is assigned to write a story. "She goes to a nursing home and she finds Grace, who was very reluctant at first to tell her story," Hoenig explains. "But then she eventually unwinds this story that goes back to the 1920s, 1930s, and this young journalist is like, some people need to hear this story."

Mary asked Hoenig if she had advice for new writers as they tell their stories. Hoenig says, "Just because you can self-publish or rush your work, hone your craft."

"Before She Was a Finley" is being released on Tuesday, Sept. 10. You can read an excerpt below.

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From the publisher: Now in Before She Was a Finley, it is years later when Adele, a reluctant young journalism student is assigned to "get" a story from a local nursing home where she comes across elderly Grace Finley. Over time, Grace slowly takes Adele back to the 1930s and subsequent years that follow as she provides bits and pieces that eventually reveal the dark truth as to why she walked out on her family carrying only a guitar and suitcase. Adele knows that the class assignment was simply to write about a local person, and even though journalists aren't supposed to be a part of the story, she cannot shake what she discovered and wants to do more to set the record straight. But is there anyone still alive who would care?

"Before She Was a Finley" By Carol Hoenig (Paperback) $15

It had been about a week since that young girl first barged into the room and began nosing around and she hadn't stopped since. When Mary had been quick to ask, "What kind of mother would do something like that?" Grace wasn't sure why she'd volunteered such a reply in the first place, especially when she hadn't been spoken to; not right away, anyway. She never talked of her past and tried to avoid thinking about it. So she turned around to face the window again, but it wasn't enough to make the girl leave her alone.

"Ma'am?"

Even at her age, Grace never considered herself old enough to be called "Ma'am." However, maybe it had been the need to unload the guilt she'd been carrying all these years, so when the girl kept returning day after day prodding, "May I ask you a couple of questions," Grace started to wonder if her answers would be her penance. Perhaps that's why she hadn't died yet. Maybe she wasn't going to be allowed to go to her grave without first acknowledging her sins.

She turned her wheelchair around. "What did you say your name was?"

"Adele. Adele Thibeau."

Thibeau was a surname she'd recognized. She probably knew of Adele's family, or the ones who'd passed on, anyway. "Adele," she mumbled, "what do you wanna know?"

Adele edged down onto a chair that was in the corner. She turned a page in her notebook, and said, "So, you, um . . . left your family?"

Grace looked away. She'd never given voice to the real reason and still wasn't sure she could.

Mary called over from her side of the room. "That's another name for a bar that has live music."

Adele acknowledged Mary's reply with a nod, then noticed a scratched-up guitar in the corner, on Grace's side of the room.

Grace said, "Some better than others." She saw the young girl start to scribble, noticing some hesitation, or was that judgment of her?

Adele cleared her throat and didn't make eye contact when she said, "So, you had two children?"

Grace paused, blinked, and said in barely more than a whisper, "A son and a daughter. More, if you count . . . ," she trailed off.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Adele scowled, turning the pages of her notebook. "I thought you'd said two children and a husband."

Grace nodded. "I did." She looked over her shoulder to see that Mary was sitting on the edge of her bed at full attention. "Maybe we should stop here."

Adele looked up, wide-eyed. "Stop?" Grace turned back toward the window.

"How about I ask some easier questions? I mean, for instance, how old are you?"

After a long pause, Grace said, "Somewhere in my eighties."

"You don't know your exact age?"

Grace shrugged. "My aunt raised me and didn't provide a whole lotta information for me back then. I eventually found proof, but I suppose I just stopped counting at some point or another."

"Your aunt raised you? So, where were your parents?"

Grace never much liked talking about that part of her life.

"Don't call me that." Barely above a whisper, she added, "You can call me Grace."

Adele paused, then said, "Okay, Grace, where were your parents?"

"I need a smoke," Grace said, turning her wheelchair around and heading out of the room. She passed Mary, who shouted, "Supper will be coming soon. Maybe you shouldn't leave just now."

Ignoring Mary, Grace headed to the solarium, and rolled up to a glass door. On the other side was a patio. She looked up at Adele, motioning toward the outside.

Adele ran over, opening the door. Grace rolled through and parked. The old woman took out a pack of cigarettes and a book of matches from her pocket. Once she had lit a cigarette, she took a deep pull before the smoke swirled from her thin lips.

"They don't let us smoke inside," she said, sounding disgusted. "It's hell in the winter. Could catch a death of cold out here." She held out her pack of cigarettes, offering Adele one.

"No thank you," Adele said.

Grace looked up at the sky, blue without a cloud. There was a field that bordered the nursing home property, then a copse of pine trees beyond that.

"How old are you?" Grace said.

"Seventeen," Adele replied, dragging a chair next to Grace.

Adele started jiggling her foot. "I think they like pretty petite blondes better. And that isn't me." She waved a hand across her body. She wasn't heavy, more big-boned, with a round full face. Without an ounce of makeup, she didn't look as if her appearance was all that important to her.

Grace turned her gaze out toward the field. "Of course, she was just a baby when I left her." Then she stopped talking, her face scrunched up as if she were in pain. She mumbled, "I said too much already."

Tapping her pen on the notepad, Adele said, "So, you were going to tell me about your parents." She flipped to an open page.

"Not much to tell, really. I can't say that I knew them." "Why?" Adele said.

"I didn't want to go into it in front of miss nosy pants back there in the room."

Adele hesitated as if respecting the weight of the reply before continuing. "How . . . how did they die?"

"Gunshots," Grace blurted. "My father killed my mother then put a bullet in himself." Grace tightened her grip on her bathrobe and looked directly at Adele. "Bet you didn't think you'd hear any kind of story like that, huh? Is that drama enough for you?"