Fishing in the great pool of life

Greetings, diehard readers!

I went fishing yesterday at my in-laws. They have a pretty well-stocked pond containing bluegill, widemouth bass, and catfish, so there was the possibility of catching something really exciting! My beautiful husband and I took our rods out there, and I reacquainted myself with how to cast, which was pretty frustrating at times. Hadn't done it in over 15 years, so I was out of practice.

And it showed. I hooked clump after clump of moss, which got annoying pretty quickly, or nothing at all. Yay. It finally occurred to me that becoming a writer is a lot like learning to fish again--starting out, you catch virtually nothing but rejection letters or no response at all. You keep throwing stories out like lures on the line, hoping someone will finally take the bait and you'll get rewarded by being published (and maybe making some bucks, even better). Learning to write better, "tighter," or in more exciting ways is like casting out further, or lowering the angle on your pole, so the lure looks like a tasty little minnow, wiggling on the end of the hook. And above all, you must cast your line out there, or you'll never catch anything at all. Ever.

I did finally catch one fish, though, a good-sized bluegill. Looking at it, I felt kind of sorry for it, gasping for air with a hook through its mouth. I thought I'd feel triumphant, but all I felt was a bit shameful, doing it for sport. I doubt I'll feel the same way with my writing, because every time I "catch a fish" in the future, someone will be reading my story, thinking about things, and maybe feeling something. I believe that at least one person will, in a sense, take it home, fry it up, and swallow it down, which is what I suppose I'm aiming for.

So today I'm getting ready to cast out again onto the publishing pond, and keep casting till I get a bite. Hey, it's all good--I look awesome in fishing gear!