By Larry Wilson
Writing to me is a lot like fishing.
I pick a lake, bait, and the perfect rod and reel combo, watch the weather, venture out with a plan to catch my limit of walleye, perch or even a meal of bluegills.
I head out with high expectations, ready for anything.
And I get skunked. Nada, Zip. Not even a bite.
Some days Lucy yanks the ball away, again.
I did do a little better than that on a recent trip to Fox Lake. The water was just a little green with August algae. Heck on some days it looked like pea soup.
The guy at the bait shop informed me “…getting Northern, a few Panfish but no Walleye to be found.”
The best-laid plans.
Likewise, a story outlined, researched, rough draft, second draft, edited, revised, re-written, and reviewed, then offered for critique, edited again and again, and submitted for publication.
Only to be rejected.
Why bother at all?
It’s like the mountain to a climber. It’s like chasing the fish. Because I need to.
It doesn’t take much to keep going. A bite here a nibble there. Catch a positive review from someone — encouragement from a peer.
I caught a bullhead-that’s something.
Some days I had to force myself to face the dawn, climb into the boat with coffee and bait and venture out in search of perch.
It’s the same with writing.
Put butt into chair. Bring coffee. Do whatever it takes to put words onto paper. Share with someone.
I need to savor the process, whether it’s waves lapping the boat, or tapping at the keyboard. Watching a bobber or reading the latest revision.
Breathe the fresh air or listen to old-time rock ‘n roll.
Right now I’m looking out the window watching the waves from an easterly wind blowing through gray clouded skies.
“When the wind is from the East, fish bite the least.”
So I might as well write.