I can't really sleep since I got knee surgery even on pain meds. My whole body clock is absolutely shot but it's fine for now because I have been in bed all day. I don't really know what inspires me to write. Not saying it's good by any means, but I want a character in Erin that doesn't really care what people think, but at the same time is really genuine and thoughtful. And I'm curious if that comes across in this passage. I don't know if it will or if people will just think he's a prick. I've got about a million more of these to write before an actual story starts to piece together so I have time to make some adjustments. :) It's late, goodnight party people.
fi-SHH:
There’s a trickling stream up that sits in a gloomy ravine a short walk from the road. Jutting out is jagged rock I don’t mind perching on for the occasional afternoon if it's warm. I mindlessly toss a lure, expecting nothing, and still hawking over my pole.
I brought up going fishing one time at the Christmas party, and my old assistant Cara says “I don’t know how you go fishing, it takes so much patience!!”
“Well, I listen to you jabber on all day about bullshit so I think that I’ll be fine”
I don’t think that’s exactly why she quit, I actually thought she was really nice once you got over the fact that her Earth revolves around buying scarves and booties for her toy poodles.
I could go to a better fishing hole where you catch ‘real’ fish. I could buy a real pole, better bait, and a three pronged hook. But I prefer it this way, not catching fish every time. I want to drift into a sea of thought, clear my mind of the chattering and jabbering, and wait for a minnow to zap 500 cc’s of adrenaline into my fingertips.
You see, after a while you get bored. Not bored of fishing, but the same how do you do’s on the merry go round of conversation. But interestingly, what never fails is when I see an old friend. He tells me all about his kids and his wife and his job all in way too much detail, and still I am riveted to the core.
And yet when I see my assistant, and she brings up her dog almost dying during a police chase, I am well tuned out because the letters D-O-G had pursed her lips for the millionth time.
I don’t want to go to the place where you get bite after bite. I get the occasional bite and I am fucking excited to the core. And if I actually catch a fish, it has been a week sent from the heavens to give immunity to the plagues pestering week.
So go on, brag about your fishing trips catching trout and halibut and sturgeon, keep talking about your dogs and your kids and your jobs, I’ll sit here in silence, perched on this jagged rock on a trickling stream, mindless tossing a lure, expecting nothing.
Chances are I tuned out after your mouth regurgitated F-I-S-H-I-N-G yet again