Writing, fishing and the joy of anticipation

This isn't me, but see how she's sitting, balanced on the front of that boat? That's how I love to fish - relaxed, focused and close enough to the water to watch the action when a fish goes after my hook.

I love fishing. Trolling for perch, casting for northern pike, ice fishing in the winter. Growing up, I'd beg my dad to take me with him, and then he and his friends would draw straws because nobody wanted me in their boat.

I didn't have an expensive rod (mine had duct tape on it), my reel squeaked, and my fishhooks were speckled with rust, but it wasn't my gear that was the problem -- it was me. I'd get a bite, my heart would slam around my ribs, and I'd start to hyperventilate. I'd stand up, then sit down, then abruptly stand up again, making the boat wobble all over until whoever I was with yelled at me. (Even the most patient person would). Aside from the hyperventilating, I had no finesse (imagine a fish whipping through the air as I yanked it from the water, equally horrified to be smacking someone across the face as the person getting smacked).

Still, I took it as a compliment when my dad's friends said having me with them was an 'event' and nothing ever diminished the joy I got from the experience itself. I was tenacious and determined and unable to turn away from the 'who-knows-what-might-happen' feeling that came over me each time I climbed into a boat.

I get the same feeling each time I sit down to write a novel. I love letting a story that's been percolating for years come alive and spread itself out across the page. Then comes the fine-tuning which brings everything in line and makes it less a 'diamond in the rough' and more 'the novel that was meant to be.' It's not easy, but I have the best job in the world.