
I realized that I enjoyed writing in 3rd grade. I can distinctly remember the classroom in suburban Chicago where I learned about narrative and persuasion, introductions and conclusions. Like many people, my zeal was somewhat diminished as the scale of assigned words increased exponentially in high school and undergrad. But sometime in my first seminary program something clicked. Perhaps it was the content. Maybe it was this new expectation on concise quality over quantitative drudgery. It could also be that, at this time, I was beginning to write about fly fishing as well.
Living in Pennsylvania and serving as a director of a Trout Unlimited youth camp, I was asked to write about our program. Local newspapers, regional fly fishing outlets, and TU national asked for articles and blurbs about what we were doing. Putting this passion of mine into digital words was fun. Yes, there was a simple thrill in seeing my name on the printed page. More than that there was the joy that came through sharing something that I worked on, thought over, and cared about.
The requests slowed down significantly when I moved away from PA and the angling circles in which I was embedded. Full time ministry and a growing family made plugging into similar communities less of a priority. I was still writing, but it wasn’t about fly fishing. It was not as if there was something missing. More accurately, there was an itch I couldn’t ignore. And, as usual, there was my wife pointing out the obvious. “Why don’t you just write?”
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