Thursdays, due to the publication cycle, tend to be a bit odd. Moving the publication to Thursday was a good idea, that’s for sure, evened out the server’s load. But it also hammers my normal routine, as there’s just not enough to time to get everything done. Road trip, upcoming to San Antonio. Check it out.
The routine involves trying to get material finished in a timely fashion and in a work-person-like manner. Can’t hurry a good thing. My personal goal is to knock a completed set of scopes in day. That’s a high goal, runs about 3K words, might be more, because I have to par away at some of the material, when I get long-winded. I got to a point where at least six signs were acceptable, depending on the fishing (for fish and for dollars), sort of halfway point, and that still equaled, a minimum of 1K words. Just an arbitrary goal, one ground into my head by certain writing professor. He used to do four manuscript pages every day. Or so went the myth and the lecture.
So instead of finishing up scopes, I was preoccupied with a number of other chores. I’m trying to hurry the scopes up so I can get the material all together for a December publication date to get this year’s annual out before January First. There’s a Mercury Retrograde in December, so I’ve got to get it all done before then. The pressure is mounting.
I had a little eighth ounce darter jighead, and put a root-beer-colored grub on it, then suspended it underneath a heavy bobber, with about three feet of leader. I was watching the action and depth of the jig, to see how it was working, so I was on the dock, leaned over, watching the grub gyrate through the water as it approached the shore. Up from the depths strikes a little guy with a big mouth, he engulfs the lure, and I get another proof of concept. Plus it means I needed to switch the root beer for the rest of the day.
The funniest point in that picture, the little bass? Looks like he’s got a mean eye, like he’s really pissed-off. Considering how long he and his buddies have been teasing me, I only think it’s fair. I do have one neighbor who would fry that little guy up, but I prefer to set him free. Now, if his parents would come around, we’d have us a fine time.
Older sister, I suspect, on a cotton-candy jig.
Two fish with less than an hour of my time invested in fishing. Not bad. Plus, while I was scanning the horizon, I noticed, high overhead, a V-formation of waterfowl. Not exactly headed South, more like southwesterly. Means it’s getting cooler out.
Unrelated:
“By the end of the film, Berg may have been a bit too excited. But who can blame him? The movie isn’t about life and death. It’s not about war and peace. It’s bigger than that. It’s about Texas high school football.” Closing quote from AZ Republic review.
