If you hear me, Holler Back

Writing is a lot like fishing, I suppose.  I don't fish, but my husband does.  He says fishing and catching are two different sports altogether.  Writing and thinking-about-writing are two completely different things, also, but only serious writers know this.  Just like only serious fishermen know that if they told their "old lady" that they went fishing all day, that DOES NOT mean "go fire up the grill." Sometimes you could be out there in your boat, faithfully holdin' that pole, doin' everything right, and the darned fish just don't bite.  If you went out to catch, you could easily get upset over it, but if you're out there just to fish, and you LIKE fishing, you're just stoked to see the sunrise, feel the warm rays of the sun, and be far from your old lady.  Sometimes, fishing DOES actually result in catching some fish, too!

So that's why I'm writing here, on PNN, an internet ocean of other eager writers like myself who write for the love of writing.  I AM the "old lady", but I still have to give the "old man"  a count at the end of each day.  Sometimes I've had nothing to bring him but a smile.  Sometimes I catch a few big ones.  Once in a while I'll bring home a whole shark and  it'll snap off his head. Sometimes I bring home the net, hang it up outside in the trees and watch a sunset in it w/ my old man. Other times, I take my net apart and string it up like a noose, just to have something to look forward to doing tomorrow.

Luckily, I learned to procrastinate professionally and I'm learning to patiently await my turn at death.  It's like the 'big one' that keeps getting away.

My brain's a fertile ocean, swimming furiously with thoughts.

My body is the dingy boat sinking steadily with rot.

My heart is the little steering wheel, understanding is my map,

the reader is my coast guard, if you hear me holler back.