NaNo, Day 17

- Chapter one -> Twenty-one = complete
- Chapter twenty two = not yet begun

Word Count: 39,589 /25,000 *
Story = 158% complete
Art = 1%

Thoughts for today:

Spent far too much time researching trouth fishing techniques today and not enough time writing. Oh well, I learnt a bit.

One thing I cannot understand is the "catch and release" method of fishing. Surely if you have to be so careful to not harm the fish, you'd decide not to fish at all? I mean why give the poor thing so much stress? If you're not going to eat it and the lake population isn't large enough, surely you should just leave them alone to do their own thing? (ie: breed up lots more fish). Unless your'e wanting to tag them for research or something. Of course, I have the same problem with the "cage and spay" practise on feral cats in some states of the US. If you're going to catch the cat, why go to all the expense of spaying and releasing it? Either rehome it, or if that's not possible, put it down in a humane fashion. Of course, as a New Zealander, I've seen the damage cats can do - and spayed cats kill just as many birds as non-spayed. They just don't perpetuate the problem.

Looks like my weka has become a bit of a celebrity.

Extract:

(no wekas in this extract, they're watching quietly from under a bush).


The old man set the box on the porch and disappeared inside, reappearing with a knife, a board, a plate and a tub.

“Wish the missus would let me chop them up inside,” he grumbled. “But she can't stand the smell.”

He pulled the fish out by the tail and slapped it down on the board. “Now this, Thomas, is how you fillet a fish.”

The knife was shiny and sharp and he cut with the smooth skill of someone highly practiced. After slitting the length of the fish he thrust his hand inside the belly and pulled out a handful of gooey, red-brown fish guts. They were plonked onto the tin plate. He slit the fish along the spine, scooping out the blood with a teaspoon. These he poured onto the fishguts.

“That's your dinner, Thomas,” he said, pushing it towards the boy.

“Yerurgh, that's really gross, grandad!” Thomas pretended to be sick.

The old man rumbled with laughter. “Well,” he said. “You have been a good boy, I suppose you deserve something tastier than fishguts. Right now I need some water. Full up the bowl, lad.”

The boy filled the tub at a tap and struggled back carrying it. Water sloshed over the side.

“I”m gonna give the fish a good rinse now,” the old man said.