Young Writers Society

I love this for one specific reason: it reminds me so much of the writing style of famous Australian authors! I was reading it and thinking about the book I just read for class, and how the style is so similar and so well-done!

You started off with a strong hook, and never deviated from the tone. My biggest pet-peeve is exposition dumps, but you never did that, and I was still able to understand and comprehend the characters.

It really feels like these characters are alive. Like they exist. The dialogue is top-tier. It can be difficult to properly pull off first-person pov, but you did it! Marvellous job!

Good day! Here's a review. Name's Olivia, you can call me Vi though.

First impression wise: I honestly had no idea what I was expecting. I've read a lot of stories with fishing metaphors or themes, but I actually really liked this one a lot.

The casual language and prose works well with the story of the narrator reaching out to the lonely old man and pretending to know nothing of fishing so he could spend time with the man out of kindness.

It could be expanded to be something greater and better.

So I'll just start my stuff.

I knew how to fish.

This is what I didn’t tell Joe. I knew how to fish. My dad bought me a tiny child’s pole when I was just four. I think it had Micky Mouse on it. He cast it for me, hooked the worm.

I knew how to fish.

I didn’t need it; I knew all the fish in these parts. But I ran three houses down and grabbed it from the rocking chair on the old man’s porch. I tried to wave at him in the garden, but he turned his back and threw a clump of weeds over the fence.

“Be ready at five tomorrow,” he hollered when I’d reached the end of the driveway.

I got home and cracked the Encyclopedia to the first page.

Good Morning/Afternoon/Evening/Night(whichever one it is in your part of the world),

Hi! I'm here to leave a quick review!!

First Impression: Well...this was certainly a rather fun little story. I really like the overall idea behind this thing and I think you can make it into a rather fun little story if its continued on properly.

Anyway let's get right to it,

I knew how to fish.

This is what I didn’t tell Joe. I knew how to fish. My dad bought me a tiny child’s pole when I was just four. I think it had Micky Mouse on it. He cast it for me, hooked the worm.

I wasn’t a pro, by any stretch of the imagination, but I’d caught a few smallmouth bass in my day, a few pikes. I’d read on the sidelines, sometimes hold a pole, but I could do it. It had taken me a while to touch the worms myself – because fake bait was for chumps, said dad – but I did it eventually. I’d fold it, wrap it around the lure. Sometimes it came off and fell off the side of the boat, swimming, sinking.

“I see you steadied the boat real nice,” my cousin joked, pointing at the boat in the garage. We all looked. The boat was almost completely on its side in the garage, as if they’d purposefully rocked the boat before lifting it.

I laughed. We all sit around a high fire, which crackled with tiny explosions.

“We were too tired from our jackpot day of fishing,” my uncle said, sipping his beer. He had flakes of sunburned skin coming off on his forehead.

“Speaking of, did you see Joe’s sign out front?”

I didn’t know who Joe was, but I’d seen a sign on a walk with my dog. My grandparent’s cabin sat on a bay with a dozen other houses on the same road. I always walked the mile down to the mailboxes.

Fishing partner needed,” Joe’s sign said, with a phone number underneath. The sign was neon and thick, the kind you bought at those special craft stores.

My aunt cackled, shaking her head. “Who puts a sign on the road asking for a fishing partner.” She folds her arms over an expansive belly. “I mean, doesn’t he have any friends?”

“No,” grandma said from the other side of the fire. “Not much family, either.”

“Like, have some pride, man,” uncle said.

“It’s pathetic.”

I looked at the firelit faces of my family and wondered if this was one of those rare times that they were wrong. Because all I could think was how I would do the same if I was an old man who loved to fish but had no partner.

And so, I’d called him. I’d called him and offered to be his fishing partner.

“Never learned how to fish?” Joe said, as if I just professed to never pissing in the woods. I held the thick landline to my ear and clumped its twisty chord in my fingers, waiting for him to say something else. “Well,” he just sighed. “You’d better come borrow my Fishing Encyclopedia, cause we don’t wanna waste time while we’re out there, ya hear?”

I didn’t need it; I knew all the fish in these parts. But I ran three houses down and grabbed it from the rocking chair on the old man’s porch. I tried to wave at him in the garden, but he turned his back and threw a clump of weeds over the fence.

“Be ready at five tomorrow,” he hollered when I’d reached the end of the driveway.

I got home and cracked the Encyclopedia to the first page.

This is pretty intriguing! I liked how you portrayed fishing as a family event.

We all sit around a high fire, which crackled with tiny explosions.

This is a good start! It could be about patience and the rewards of having it despite how hard it can get. It could also be about how hard work starts with action, not luck. You can decide what you want the message to be but here are a few examples to hopefully get you started on some more writing, whether it be here or another story. Happy writing!