If you were to write a classic fly fishing story you’d start with an existential statement. Maybe something about water or wind  or the challenge of catching a fish. You’d develop it a bit. Then, you’d launch into the metaphor.

Because this is real fly fishing writing, and everything is a metaphor for something else.

Once the metaphor was out of the way, the story would pick up with the main character: you. You’re doing something mundane. Driving, drinking coffee, watching the water. Whatever it is, you tie it ironically to the aforementioned metaphor.  Whatever you’re doing, it is nothing like that existential truth wrapped up in said metaphor (but really, it is exactly that… but you have to save that big reveal for the closing paragraph).

If you were to write a classic fly fishing story you’d emphasize the challenge. You’ve been fishing, but you haven’t been catching fish. You catch fish, but not the fish you want to catch. You’re fishing, but you’re trying to catch something else. You know, like a lost relationship or a greater purpose or the meaning of life. This is your second metaphor. Try to keep them separate.

You’re not going to keep anyone’s interest unless there is action. So do something. Hook a fish. Miss a fish. Fall in the water. Use a lot of adjectives. Potentially introduce some dialogue. Not too much of that, though. Any good fly fishing story takes place primarily in the head of the main character.

Quickly move from the first action of your story to a flashback. “This was just like the time I…” or something to that effect. The point you want to make is that you’ve been here before but you haven’t learned the lesson you want to learn. Change settings and tenses just enough to infuse some intrigue in the story. Just don’t confuse anyone. This is  fly fishing writing, after all.

If you were to write a classic fly fishing story you’d succeed this time where you had failed before. It might be that you land that fish. It might be that you don’t land that fish but you’re still content. It might be that your fishing buddy nodded approvingly, and all of your unsettled father figure issues all coalesce in that one moment. That one moment just coincidentally included a fish. So make sure you describe the fish in all its glory. Employ enough verbiage (muscular, shining, strong, bejeweled, magnificent, etc.) to obfuscate the fact that you’re really writing about feelings.

Now wrap up the narrative. Say that other things happened, but that they really didn’t matter. You caught a bigger fish? You caught one hundred fish? You got attacked by a bear?  Those achievements, although objectively superior to the story you’ve told, count for nothing because they don’t have a moral attached to them. But you did catch all those fish, so mention it.

If you were to write a classic fly fishing story you’d  start to wrap it all up with a  powerful sentence that synthesizes your existential statement with your analogy with your fish. It was exactly that thing all along! Explain how you feel. Explain how you’ve changed. Mention fish one more time.

Then, try to write something profound and memorable like “Eventually all things merge into one and a river runs through it.”