Lit eZine Vol 8 | p-23 | INSIGHTS | Fishing for Words

ARTICLE

FISHING FOR WORDS
by Sara Etgen-Baker

My father was a devoted fly-fisherman who couldn’t seem to resist the almost masochistic urge to wake in the quiet predawn hours and stumble, blurry-eyed, out of the house with a loaded thermos of coffee and clamber into his rickety old pickup truck. He drove to a nearby river or lake where he lowered his boat into the water, cranked the reluctant outboard engine into action, and navigated through the occasional murky waters, taking note of the invisible currents and the direction of the wind blowing across the water. 

He eventually anchored his boat near the shoreline, disembarked, and stood at the water’s edge, casting his lure into the open water, never knowing what he’d reel in. Often, he gazed at the water for hours, believing he could get a fish to bite on the lure and then pull that fish from the realm of the mysterious water into the world of his reality. And when my father caught a fish, he removed the hook from its mouth and, more frequently than not, released it back into the water whence it came. Sometimes he nabbed a fish he called “a keeper,” for it was the perfect fish suitable for his family’s consumption.   

Growing up, I certainly thought my father was rather fanatical about fishing and often wondered what drove him to be the angler that he was. That is, until I became a writer. Suddenly, his fanaticism made sense to me. I, too, possess a similar masochistic urge to wake in the quiet predawn hours and stumble blurry-eyed with a loaded cup of coffee out of the kitchen into my office. I clamber into my chair, open my laptop, cranking it into action, and navigate through the scattered papers, journals, scrapbooks, and photographs strewn across my desk, taking note of the invisible currents and the direction of the ideas blowing across my mind.

I eventually anchor myself to my desk and stand on the precipice of creativity, casting my mind onto the blank screen, never knowing what I’ll reel in. Often, I stare at the glassy screen for hours, believing I’ll pull something from the realm of the mysterious into the world of reality I’m creating. I catch a phrase or two but, more frequently than not, I remove them, releasing them back into the realm from which they came. Sometimes I nab a paragraph or even a page or two that I dub as “keepers,” for they contain the perfect combination of words suitable for reader consumption. 

Indeed, anglers and writers share some similar behaviors. Both enter a staring contest with potential, a challenge devoid of guarantees. When an angler stands at the water’s edge, gazing at a glassy pool or a river proceeding with the freedom and discipline only the natural world can finesse, he’s scrubbed clean of life’s trivia and distractions. Watching the water, he’s confronted with the unconscious as surely as the writer who stares into the humming blank screen each morning, praying that from the fathomless gray, prose will rise. Both fishing and writing are largely acts of faith—a belief that there is indeed a rich run of fish or ideas lurking below. The angler’s false casts and hooked branches, as well as the writer’s convoluted first drafts, are all part of some cosmic ritual designed to seduce a shiny gem to the surface.  

So, why do anglers and writers persist in what seems to be such fanatical pursuits? I can’t speak for anglers; I can only speak for myself. I know if I don’t write consistently, I’m unhappy and suffer a type of melancholy defined only by its absence. So, I must have a need to write. Perhaps that need comes from the thrill of getting a nibble, playing with an idea, and reeling it in. When I gaze into that glassy screen, I’m much like an angler scrubbed clean of life’s trivia and distractions. Time collapses onto itself, leaving only the pulse and rhythm of the moment. In those rhythmic moments, my characters speak to me. I listen and write their stories. I don’t plan. I get out of the way, letting the story take me where it wants to go.

I suppose I just love the adventure of taking that seemingly fearless, intuitive leap of faith onto a higher ground rich with ideas and imagination, never knowing what’s going to happen or what I’m going to reel in. In the end, it’s the not knowing that keeps me writing and fishing for words.  

Previously published on Story Circle Network