Hey, All. Sorry I'm late. But I have a perfectly good excuse. I spent yesterday fishing.
Okay, so maybe that's not the best of excuses, but woman cannot live by writing alone. (Especially if she expects to stay sane.)
So, anyway, I like to fish. Not exactly the hobby one might expect from a suspense writer, but it works for me. And, hey, it's suspenseful. Seriously. Think about it.
You sit on the bank or the shore or the rocks, with your bait gently floating 3-6ft under a bobber, waiting. Will something strike? Will you set the hook in time to catch it in the mouth? Will you successful reel it in or will it shake its head and get off? Or will it head for the cover of the rocks or the underbrush and foul the line?
For that matter, if you get something on the line, what will it be? Bluegill, sunfish, pumpkinseed? Rock bass? Spotted bass? Something that one wouldn't expect to catch on a worm like a largemouth bass?
Will it be large enough to keep or too small?
Whatever it is, it strikes and the fight is on.
The suspense is delicious.
Yesterday, I caught a bunch of fish - keepers and not - and then I caught the rigging set up from someone else's lost venture. I don't know what they were trying to catch, but the artificial lure and the hook were way bigger than anything I've ever used. (Hubs threw away the lure and the lines and kept the hook, etc.) Treasures abound.
The only thing that I don't like about fishing is the utter disregard some other people have for the spots they fish in. Hubs and I always pick up our garbage, but we also pick up whatever garbage we see around us. Unless it's monumental. Like one spot we tried yesterday. Seriously. Gross. Just because some area isn't 'government maintained' doesn't mean it has to be trashed. I'd hate to see the pigsties these people live in if they can't manage to clean up after themselves in the wild. Feh.
But enough about that. Fishing. It's my thing. What's your thing?