Fishing is one of those things that seems so romantic as an activity and then I can never seem to commit myself to enjoy it, although all of the appealing ingredients are there:
the isolation, the commune with nature, the meditative wait. All of that and more, the self imagining as a Norman Rockwell painting even. Martin, I enjoy the economy of language in your stories, what simple vignettes they are, and the understated message underlying them. Such a simple line to me, but landing this rhapsodic vignette on checking the phone for "what was missed" is such a poignant note in our current screen-engulfed zeitgeist. Well done sir! This pairs nicely with the owl feathers story. Keep reeling in these stories, you're luring in a new fan my friend!
Martin, I used to fish a lot more than I do now, but it was an escape of sorts no doubt. Sometimes for most of a morning, or late afternoon into the evening until it was too dark to see my line. Occasionally I fished at night for catfish. The time of day or evening didn't matter but the time itself did. The time spent in solitude, clear thinking-or no thinking, peace, reflection. It mattered. Thanks for the short story, it made all of the sense in the world to me. - Jim
Fishing is one of those things that seems so romantic as an activity and then I can never seem to commit myself to enjoy it, although all of the appealing ingredients are there:
the isolation, the commune with nature, the meditative wait. All of that and more, the self imagining as a Norman Rockwell painting even. Martin, I enjoy the economy of language in your stories, what simple vignettes they are, and the understated message underlying them. Such a simple line to me, but landing this rhapsodic vignette on checking the phone for "what was missed" is such a poignant note in our current screen-engulfed zeitgeist. Well done sir! This pairs nicely with the owl feathers story. Keep reeling in these stories, you're luring in a new fan my friend!
Thanks, Bruce! I appreciate you reading my stuff!
Martin, I used to fish a lot more than I do now, but it was an escape of sorts no doubt. Sometimes for most of a morning, or late afternoon into the evening until it was too dark to see my line. Occasionally I fished at night for catfish. The time of day or evening didn't matter but the time itself did. The time spent in solitude, clear thinking-or no thinking, peace, reflection. It mattered. Thanks for the short story, it made all of the sense in the world to me. - Jim
The thing about fishing is that sometimes it’s not about the fish, at all. Thanks for reading, Jim.