Inside me is a book, whining to get out.
Like most whiners, he tries to make me feel guilty. "You love reading about other people's books more than you love writing ME!" Deal with it, WIPey. It's not all about you. Stop pouting. Or I'll give you something to pout about.
I can't live my life for you, WIPey. I have bigger fish to fry. And...well...first I have to research where to find the type of fish I want to catch. Then plan an expedition to that area. Buy all of my fishing gear. Seek out some professional fish-catchers to show me the ropes. Practice the proper techniques until I feel confident enough to make my first cast. Refine my methods. Take care not to overturn my boat or fall off the dock with excitement when I get a nibble. Re-bait when my worm has been chewed to bits. Try crickets, or a spinner bait. Yank my line to set the hook. Allow my little fishie to run until he wears himself out, until he's good and ready to be caught. Reel like the dickens to land him. Gut him. Fillet him into edible sections. Announce to the family that I have caught a fish. Allow my catch to marinate. Consult several cookbooks for proper frying fundamentals. Heat the oil to just the right temperature. Dredge the fillets in a salty, crunchy coating. Name my new dish. Try not to get burned while immersing my fish in boiling oil. Serve it up fresh, making sure not to set a plate in front of people who don't eat fish. Try not to be disappointed by diners who declare my meal to be too hot, too cold, too spicy, too bland, too inventive, too routine, overdone, undercooked, ambrosia, or poison. And above all, be prepared to perform the Heimlich maneuver on anybody who chokes, and make sure to have a lawyer on retainer in case somebody plants a bone in my perfect entree.
That, WIPey, is why I cannot devote myself to you 24/7.
WIPey is bordering on snipey.
ReplyDeletePerhaps Hick could invent a human feeder, much like the cat feeder, so your 3 boys could push on a handle and down will come food. That way, you could spend more time on WIPey.
Now, what sort of vittles could you fill the feeder with, that would satisfy all 3? Hmmmm...
One of these days you are going to be a big fish in a little pond and you are going to land the trophy.
ReplyDeleteA fun and appropriate metaphor for what it's like to write a book. I've been there and I'd rather be fishing.
ReplyDeleteJust make sure you keep that kettle of fish simmering on the back burner. Don't let the fire go out while you're busy putting out all the other fires.
ReplyDeleteGreat metaphor. Maybe you can hang up the "Gone Fishin'" sign when it's time to work.
ReplyDeleteSioux,
ReplyDeleteWell, the obvious answer is: SANDWICHES! That's a clever invention. I will take a fifty percent cut of your profits for showing you the need for such a feeder.
************
Linda,
I'm on board for the trophy. But I cross my fingers that I do not have the same fate as the big fish in Hick's garage-side fish pond. The pump keeps stopping. He scooped out those giant goldfish and kept them in a black garbage can for four days. With water, of course. Though how a garbage can is better than their pond with no pump is a mystery to me. By the time he got the pump fixed, one fish had succumbed to the barrel.
******************
Stephen,
Unless it's with a man named Frank in a boat that breaks down on the ocean, I presume.
http://thechubbychatterbox.blogspot.com/2012/04/stupid-men-of-sea.html
******************
Leenie,
I shall serve no fish before its time. Those other flames keep me hot-footin' all over the place.
******************
Tammy,
You act like the people who disturb me are gonna pay attention to that sign. I'll have to bypass your idea for Sioux's feeder full of sandwiches.