Writing is Fishing

And I don’t know how to fish

My mysterious muse mirrors my mind most magnificently. I don’t know what that means but it sounds neat.

Ugh, I’m such an idiot.

When I write, I’m trying to get you to take a step with me. Some of you do, and then we end up creating a shared experience together. One that we can take and remember and build from. A relational foundation, if you will.

When I write with you, I’m going fishing. Not fishing for readers — fishing for connection. Not just any connection, either.

So, fishing. Writing fishing. Friting. Wrishing? Frishting? This is going south. Let’s call it….melding. That’s a sucky name but we have to move on.

I’ve caught…I mean, melded with a few amazing friends this way. I know it won’t take me anywhere near the top of the writing mountain, but that’s fine by me. Those of you who understand some of the words between my words have taken that step, and that means everything to me. More than reads or claps or a pile of money.

It’s as if we’re on two sides of the bridge. I start reading and writing on one side, you start reading and writing on the other. I begin to tell you a weird story about something on my mind at the moment, and part of you wants to turn away knowing you have more important things to do. But the other part of you is intrigued at some goofball who’s willing to tell you about his strange thoughts. From that bridge we can do more fishing together.

As we approach the middle of the bridge, you give me a good once-over and think, “this is just a regular person. Why is he willing to tell me all this? He seems weird but harmless. I hope he doesn’t push me off this bridge.” And maybe I’ve taken the bridge metaphor too far, but you know what I mean.

And then we talk. We exchange ideas. We engage and interact, and maybe I say something that makes you think. That means that we took a step together. We’re thinking about the same interesting thing. We…

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