Catch of the Day

When I began this blog several years ago I titled it Catch of the Day, despite the strong cautions from fellow authors. It was my attempt to brand myself as a "Self-Proclaimed Storycatcher" as I say on the home page of my website.

"It's too much like fishing," they said.

"It will give the reader the wrong impression," they said.

"Your blog is about history, not fishing," they said.

But I held firm to the title, steadfast in my decision to share my adventures in catching stories. I took a class on writing nonfiction and after submitting a chapter, received this comment from the teacher:

• Don't be afraid of your own voice! Any powerful historical account has a narrator weaving through it, negotiating and bringing to life all kinds of personalities. A story catcher still has to extract the story to get it out of her net. 

So I morphed into a being a storycatcher.

Fast forward five years and Ron Beane appears at my door with a box of manila folders in his hand. "Fly fishing," he begins.

"Okay," I begin. Make that a slow, drawn out, two syllable "O---kay."

And the fly fishing story begins. He had already caught most of the stories, he just didn't know what to do with them. Would I help him turn them into a book, he pleads.

Would I ever.

And that is the rest of the story.

Except that, isn't it peculiar that my blog title is Catch of the Day? Odd things, coincidences. Maybe there's more to the cosmos than I first thought.

Catch of the day,

Gretchen

A Rooster in a Fly Fishing Book!

"Write what you know," my high school writing teacher told me over and over. "How can you possibly write what you don't know anything about?"

Decades later, I have an answer for her. Easy. You learn.

Case in point, fly fishing. Before I began this project I knew nothing about fly fishing beyond a pole and a creek. My misunderstandings about the sport far exceeded my knowledge. In fact, if I were to make a list of books I would write one day, fly fishing would be so far down the list I wouldn't work my way to it until I turned two hundred years old. Me and Methuselah.

Reality has a way of laughing, though. And I've laughed a lot these past few months.

To show you how much I didn't know about fly fishing, I thought it peculiar that one man submitted a picture of a rooster to include in the book.

Isn't he a dandy!

As beautiful and majestic as he is, he didn't make the final cut, so I'm posting him here, to give him his proper due. He's probably dead now anyway, a victim of circumstances. And no, it's not necessarily the elegant colorful feathers the man tying the fly is needing. It's the hackles, those neck feathers.

This fly fishing book is not a "how-to" book. It is a book of life stories of fishermen of the North Carolina county where I live, twenty-eight fly fishermen to be exact. Each man wrote his own chapter. The family of deceased fishermen wrote their chapters. Ron Beane and I complied them into a magnificent book of real life, introducing the reader to not only the sport of fly fishing, but the men behind the rod.

As I worked through the submissions I ran across several rooster references and gradually I became aware of why this rooster's picture showed up at my doorstep. From a fisherman's family:

• We always had chickens and he kept the roosters. If he was out at work and he saw a rooster that had a pretty neck for the flies, he’d stop and try to buy it. If they’d sell it, he’d bring it home in the truck and he’d kill it, save the neck for its hackles and we’d have chicken and dumplings for supper.

Or from a fisherman himself:

• We knew some guys who fought chickens, and several times after a “cock fight” they would bring us a dozen or two of the “losers.” We would skin the necks and dry them on boards. These necks had some of the best hackles we ever used in tying flies.

Or from another fisherman, as part of an interview I did with him, a picture I took of his hackle jar.

And his comment, that I sort of, kind of, maybe understand, but still wrote about:

• I create a tail using the hackle off the side of a chicken feather and secure it with a second half hitch, running the string up the hook and back enough to cover the hook. 

I'm still in the process of learning about fly fishing. One thing I've learned beyond why a rooster picture was in the mix, it is possible to write what you don't know as long as the information is authentic. And in this book, YES. The information is as authentic as it gets.

I can't wait to share it with you.

Catch of the day,

Gretchen

Wilson Creek

In case you haven't noticed, I've changed my feature photo from the schoolhouse to the creek. When I first began this blog, I was deep into the process of writing a book about Pilot Mountain School, so naturally I used the schoolhouse as the opening shot of my blog.

That was then.

This is now.

Today I'm up the creek, Wilson Creek to be exact. Isn't it beautiful! This photograph was taken by Bill Kincaid and now graces not only the top of my blog, but also the back cover of my upcoming book, the one that should be on the market within a month, the one that I would have never imagined I would be a part of.

More on that in future posts. Today's is about Wilson Creek, with another view in this photograph by Gene Swanson:

According to the Friends of Wilson Creek website, the creek has a storied past through floods and fires, and even industrial development that failed due to those floods and fires. In the end, it defied development. It remains what you see in this photograph.

A group of concerned citizens led a successful campaign to have it designated as a Wild and Scenic River. One of them is the co-author of our upcoming book, Mr. Ron Beane. Here's an excerpt from a chapter in the book:

• During my tenure as a commissioner, one of the main projects was getting Wilson Creek designated as a Wild and Scenic River. Together with County Manager Bobby White, Commissioners Herb Greene, Alden Starnes, Larry Taylor, John Thuss and myself, we helped make it become a reality. The Wild and Scenic Bill for Wilson Creek was signed into law by President Bill Clinton in August, 2000. That process took twenty months to complete and sign into law, a very short time for such a project. We were told that the process could take from three to seven years to complete, and that our timetable for completion was unheard of. After the designation, we sought and secured funds to purchase approximately seven acres of property on Wilson Creek for a visitor’s center. The Wilson Creek Visitor Center opened in October, 2002. I was so happy to see the Wild and Scenic designation because I knew that it would protect this “Caldwell County Treasure” beyond my lifetime, and it would be something that many will enjoy years in the future. Wilson Creek has always been special to me and to many others who fish and swim and hike in the gorge area. 

Oh, and here's an excerpt from the back cover (Wilson Creek in the background):

I can't wait to show you the rest of the book.

Catch of the day,

Gretchen

Easter Greetings

Greetings to my readers on the weekend of what I consider the most sacred of holy days, Easter.

I send Christmas cards. I send Valentines. I send birthday greetings via facebook. But I don't remember ever sending an Easter card. So consider it done. Today. Via this blog. And thanks to my husband's grandfather, who in 1917 sent this card to his Aunt Agnes:

This would be an Easter greeting blast from the past. After all, the true joy of Easter still holds strong almost a hundred years after this penny postcard was lovingly sent, so why not recycle to you.

This postcard fell into my hands, along with many, many more, because in the process of cleaning grandpa's house (I've mentioned that in previous blogs) we are also cleaning great-grandpa's house, the house that has not been touched for decades, the house where nothing (and I do mean nothing) was discarded through the ages. For days now, I have been existing in a time capsule. I've uncovered farmer's almanacs that have not seen the light of day since the early forties. I've held political letters begging for votes (and contributions) from pre-World War II candidates, and Viet Nam era candidates.

It's been rough being a history buff on a deadline. All I want to do is read, read, read. That is impossible, so instead I put things in the "Don't you dare throw that away" pile and dig into the next drawer. 

I can't read the postmark date on this card, but I can read the sentiment behind the greeting to Agnes and the invitation to "Come up here for Easter." A hundred years of Easters have come and gone since Agnes reached in her mailbox on the side of that country road and pulled out this card from her nephew. I know she was as thrilled to find it as I was.

I hope your holy days are blessed.

Catch of the day,

Gretchen

New Book HOOP HIKE

Breathe.

Whew.

What a week this has been! Because...Ta-Da! I have a new book to tell you about, my brand new, just on the market ebook. So it doesn't fit my blog's subtitle, The storycatcher looks at life in rural North Carolina in the 1940's, 1950's and 1960's. Not at all. But that's okay. I write what I enjoy writing.

This, my newest book, is a short little ditty with a contemporary setting, three children going on a hike - in the present tense of 2015, no historical nonfiction here. Not only that, my plan is to have it in ebook format only, not even publishing into print, a concept totally alien to the people of the years I usually post about.

Repeat: Ta - Da! Now presenting, my newly released kindlekid book, Hoop Hike. And, shhh! Don't tell my granddaughter, Reagan. I wrote this book for her next birthday, so it's a surprise.

The rest of the story is that I wrote it for her Christmas present, but time was too pressed and it just didn't happen until this week. But let me tell you the real rest of the story.

I wrote the manuscript last summer, although it had been rolling around my mind long before I ever opened a fresh page on the computer...long before. Back when I was teaching fourth grade, (in another century) I always took my students on a field trip to Tuttle Educational State Forest. One of the learning activities was to walk on the "talking tree" trail with hoops. The children threw their hoops into the woods and then listed (and charted or graphed) whatever they found inside their hoops. Answers often ranged all the way from worms and acorns to litter and rotten apple cores. 

So I imagined three children doing a similar hoop hike, but without the graphing requirements relating to school activities. Just for fun. I added my creative granddaughter, Reagan, using her imagination and finding what only she could see...well, when you read the book, you'll get the idea.

During a visit with my cousin, Gerald Gumbert, and his artistic wife, Roberta, aka, Bobbie, I happened to mention, as part of the conversation, that I had this manuscript but no illustrations. It was a peanut butter/jelly kind of moment, a melding of like minds, that moment when life hands you a special treat. We talked. We meshed. We developed a plan.

She came up with the characters and started the illustrations. Thank you Bobbie for your hard work!

Meanwhile I took a class on how to publish on kindlekids called Kindle Kids Mastery Course. Best money I've spent in a long time! I referred to it over and over as I practiced uploading the delightful pictures Bobbie sent me, and practiced again in formatting the text. This past Monday, when I settled in front of my techie cousin's computer with him at my side, I was ready. Well, sort of. It was a learning experience, to say the least, a seven hour learning experience which would have been made easier had I formatted the pictures correctly instead of waiting until I was ready to insert them. I spent most of the time cropping, checking on how it looked, cropping again, and replacing. We did it, and thank you, Gerald, for your much needed expertise. 

I decided to select from the kindlekid cover templates using a cropped corner taken from one of the pictures Bobbie had sent me. Easier said than done, because I had to work around the background picture to insert the wording. I wanted to use a pinkish color on the cover, Reagan's favorite, but again, working around the background colors, that was a no and I went with the more neutral shades.

There's nothing neutral about the colors of these illustrations.

I've inserted another picture here to tease you. That's Lou, finding crayfish in his hoop. And yes, I used the word crayfish, not crawfish or crawdad. Growing up with a creek in my backyard, I heard the "crayfish" word, most often used by my mother screaming when I appeared at the backdoor with one pinched between my fingers.

I'm a little sad whenever I finish a project. I spend a lot of time with the characters, this time with Sue and Lou and Reagan Roo. They have become my friends and I will miss them, but now they are yours. In the end, that's what publishing a book is all about, creating and sharing.

Catch of the day,

Gretchen

Book Club

When I was a youngster back in the late fifties, early sixties, my mother belonged to a book club, the Athenean Book Club to be exact. I loved the name even though I could never pronounce it or spell it. That's the official spelling...I checked. She just called it "Book Club" and so did I. 

I always was in awe watching her on meeting days, dressing to the nines. This was her social outlet, the meeting of like minds, the escape from drudgery of day to day motherhood and teacherhood. Oh, how she enjoyed it. She relished the thought of sitting in someone's living room talking about book related issues. She cherished the friendships she developed. I do believe the dream house my parents built was designed around her need to host book club once a year. They were sure to include a formal living room, "the preacher parlor" my father called it even though the preacher rarely came calling. It was book club that came calling instead.

She fretted over having a clean house and our spring cleaning revolved around her designated Saturday, no matter what the season. The person hosting didn't serve the refreshments, only the beverage. The co-host supplied the food, which was good news for my non-chef mom.  Even yet, this was my mother's chance to be proper. We ironed the linen napkins. We brought out the best heirloom china we had and carefully washed each cup and saucer, removing all dust that had accumulated since last book club. Paper plates weren't that popular in those days and even if they were, not in our home, not that day. Plastic spoons to stir the coffee, never!

Let me assure you, all that preparation didn't detract from the purpose - reading. Different book clubs have different approaches, I've come to find out. Some have members all reading the same book so they can discuss it together. Some have themed years zeroing in on a particular author or genre.

The Athenean book club of that era had a simple format. Each January, or was that September, every member donated one book to be passed around. Members selected a book from the stack, took it home, read it and brought it back the next month.  At the end of the year, the books returned to the original owner. Since there were more than twelve members, there were plenty of books to select from each month. As I grew older, I helped her decide which book to submit. That was our bonding time, I suppose, as we discussed literature. She took it very seriously, but for me, it was also an easy gift that made shopping a lot easier.

I write all this to say that today, I am the guest speaker at my mother's book club. After all these years it's still going strong. I moved away when I went to college and never moved back. Mama passed away in 2003, so I lost connection with my hometown, Walkertown, a little community outside of Winston-Salem, North Carolina. This promises to be a much overdue reconnection that I am so needing. 

Wonder how things have changed since the sixties. The format, the formality, the books they read, what will be different, what will be the same? This I do know, the love of reading lives on.

Catch of the day,

Gretchen

Happy Pi Day

To all you math lovers out there, Happy π Day!

This calls for a celebration, an extra big celebration because this is a once in a century π day year. March 14, 2015, when scripted in full numbers, π style, reads 3.1415, to the first four places. Once upon a time I memorized further than that, but 3.14 served me well through my various math classes, so I eventually forgot all about the next two digits, much less the long string after.

Too bad it's on a Saturday when teachers can't exploit the day. Yesterday, unlucky Friday the 13th, was a teacher workday here in my county with no school for students, so they couldn't do a "Happy π minus one day." I'm guessing π minus two just didn't have the same effect.

Did the children at Pilot Mountain School celebrate π day? No. According to a news article in this morning's paper, π Day began in 1980, several years after the school closed. Besides, the teachers there were no nonsense, drill, drill, drill kind of teachers. That was the pedagogy of the times. Those children learned the good old way, by getting noses into books and practicing. Never mind those children who learned through a different approach. They were held back year after year, until they learned the way schools taught. Or until they dropped out.

Filling the classrooms with circles and pies and strings to measure around the circles three point one four times didn't happen.

Or did it?

From my interviews I found teachers at this school who were innovative, who went to great lengths to convey concepts. They taught in parables, applying what these farm children already knew to what they were learning.

I have no doubt one of the first jokes the children there learned was the same one I learned:

• Pie are square. No they're not. Pie are round.

I also have no doubt one of the teachers came to school with string and pie pans and did a little π lesson. Maybe not on π Day. Maybe just on an ordinary, time to learn a lesson day. 

Teachers do that.

Oh, and tomorrow is March 15. English teachers beware.

Catch of the day,

Gretchen