I can?t believe it?s June already. Last year by this time I?d probably caught thirty or forty fish out of the New River. Finally this past Saturday I had the opportunity to spend the day floating down the New. I only snagged five Bass, but one of them was the biggest I?ve ever caught. I know you?re all wondering how many my husband, Jerry caught because he always beats me. Well, I can?t lie. He reeled in twenty! Yes, that?s what I said, twenty. But it wasn?t my fault; someone had to keep the canoe steered in the right direction!
Fishing is a lot like life. You start out empty handed with nothing but a pole and some bait and you venture out into the dark waters not knowing what you?ll return with. The same can be said about writing stories. You start out with only a keyboard, a few thoughts, and a blank sheet of paper and before you know it the pages are filled with words. A story is born.
Then what do you do? Well you can do like I do with the fish I catch. I look them in the eye and thank them for letting me hook them then I throw them back. But, if I do that with the stories that I write, you know, toss them in a box, or up on a shelf, what good are they?
Being a writer takes courage. You have to be able to release your words into the wild. If you never wet a hook I can assure you you?ll never catch a fish. If you never submit your work to a publisher or agent then you?ll never lure one of those either.
My next novel, The River Keeper is ready to start submitting to agents and, yes, I am a little anxious about throwing my ?hook? into the swirling sea of literary agents, but I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that an agent is not going to come knocking on my door. I?ve got to go fishing. Maybe I?ll get lucky and snag one. You know the Lord always has been partial to fisherman.
Matthew 4:18, 21
And Jesus, walking by the sea of Galilee, saw two brethren, Simon called Peter, and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea: for they were fishers.
And going on from thence, he saw other two brethren, James the son of Zebedee, and John his brother, in a ship with Zebedee their father, mending their nets; and he called them.
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I can’t wait to read The River Keeper !!
(I was very close friends with Bob Pate and rode the New with him and Dot in our Folboats many many times)
The Color of My Heart was beyond wonderful and as much as I wanted to know what happened, I sure did not want it to end…
Thank you for such meaningful stories.
Molly (Dorothy Brown-Horvath)