Below is the first paragraph of a story that I have started writing recently. As I am not a writer but more of a fisherman and hunter, I would like some opinions from other people just to see if anyone else might think this story could be interesting.
P.S.; Please, be gentle,:D.
?You need a good, sharp hook to get a good hook-set.? He said. That was the first thing Bill Rice ever said to me. It was also the best advice I would get in my early life. I was only twelve years old when I met Mr. Rice (Bill, as he would rather I call him), but he never made a difference when it came to age or skill or the quality of equipment being used. He was that way with all three of us to be truthful. And, so it was that in the early summer of 1992 that I started to learn about fly-fishing, and more importantly, about life.
but the puncuation is perfect on the word program but when I copy and pasted it, it messed up. Thanks for the kind words, I have more of it if you like.
In submiting recipies for whats cooking I have just sent an msword file attached to an email. I sent my pictures in JPEG format. As you are submiting a story they may want somthing else, but they will tell you what they want.
JC and Ladyfisher are good to work with and will help edit your writings.
Quade,
I like the way you started your story. The first paragraph should be a trigger to create interest in the reader to continue reading. Your first paragraph does that. It made me wonder what you learned from sharp hooks. It made me wonder what else you learned from Mr. Rice. It also made me wonder what I could learn from Mr. Rice, and from your education. Great start!!! Please finish the story, I’m still wondering.
We lived in a small town in north central Texas at the time. If you were driving through and you blinked you would miss it, and that was the way we liked it. School had just let out for the summer, and as we all know you cant keep young boys at home with a stake and a chain, let alone a harsh word from mom or dad. I had gotten up early the next morning, grabbed my little spin-cast rod and reel from the corner of my bedroom, my tackle box from underneath the coffee-table and out the door I went.
?Be careful!? my mom had hollered at me as I ran out across the field. My father just sat in his chair and grumbled something to him about ?wasted time?. My obsession with fishing had gotten me into trouble with my dad on more than one occasion. Its not that he didn?t like fishing, loved it actually, but I guess the pressures of adult life had started getting to him. I always knew when it was bad by the tempo at which his keys jingled on his belt-loop as he walked.
My dad had introduced me to bait-fishing at a very early age, two or three I think. So, in essence, it was really his fault that I had this obsession. He tempted me with hunting and fishing from the start, like some-one teasing a dog with a bone and only letting the dog have it when they are ready for him to. My father was good man, but life takes its tolls, as I have found out for-myself. ?Experience is a harsh but efficient teacher.? My dad always said. He was right.
