The other day, I found myself faced with a writing problem. You'll laugh – Elektra did. She made hideous mock of my literary efforts. I let her. I'm a cheap date. Besides, I wasn't engaged in writing to win a literature competition. It's what the client needed.

The task at hand was to come up with a 'myth or legend' about a silver carp. Silver carp, aka Asian carp in the US, are a funny kind of filter-feeding fish that has the disconcerting habit of leaping out of the water when startled. Several meters, in fact. Since the fish can weigh up to 45 kilos, there is a lot of piscine momentum involved. You do not go waterskiing in a river with silver carp in. One woman had her nose broken in a fish collision.

They leap into the boat, too. Want to see? Try this amusing video. It enlivened my bibliography. This twitchy fish is an unwanted, invasive species that's got lawmakers and wildlife people in the Great Lakes region exercised. You see, the silver carp is what they call an ecosystem engineer. Sounds good, right? Well, yeah, until you realise that it’s eating the local fish population out of house and home. Measures are being taken. 'Nuff said.

Frankly, I found the Asian carp pretty fascinating, and fun to write about. But is it legendary? Well, not really. Now, if we were talking about a European carp…that fish is quite literary. Heinrich Böll, the Nobel-prizewinning author, wrote a classic story called Der grosse Karpfen. The dramaised version is a holiday staple in Germany. But I needed a legend about an Asian silver carp. I also needed to turn it into a 300-word story that was exciting to teenage readers. Without using any relative clauses, by the way.

Where else would you find a legend about an Asian fish, except in Asia? I googled around. The first item I found turned out to be a piece of economics gloating by some Chinese writer, who compared the 'legend of the carp' to the current Asian takeover of US markets. Ignoring the Commie chauvinism, I latched onto the fact that there was a carp legend. I'm gonna get you, little fishy, I sang to myself, as I let my fingers do the walking.

Further googling revealed a tiny gem: The Legend of the Dragon Gate. Carp are related to dragons? Who knew? I had hit pay dirt, so to speak. The thing was, the whole reference was only a few sentences of lackluster factoid. Apparently, the carp was considered a sort of Boy Scout fish in China. It was courageous, persistent, and industrious. Good for it. But if a carp swam up the Dragon Gate, well, that was a whole 'nother kettle of fish…

I had my story. Inspired, I wrote and wrote. Then I checked the dreaded Word Count. Instead of 300 words, I had 450! Aargh. That meant my most extreme flights of fancy were going to fall to the delete button. But I am nothing if not ruthless when it comes to my own work. In the words of an editor friend of mine, I 'took a chainsaw to it'. I was satisfied with the resultant carving.

What I had now was the touching and uplifting tale of a young carp with a dream. In his dream, he was no longer a mere fish – no, indeedy. He had become a vast, shining creature. Off he went to seek his fortune in the Great River.

The fish has a certain number of adventures on the way, which I will spare you. When I explained to Elektra that I had reluctantly left out the most poetic bit – the part where the carp saw the Chinese building boats, and reflected philosophically on how much better he travelled than a man, etc…when I told her all that, I am saddened to say, she burst out laughing. I was miffed. Tolkien might have his Middle Earth, but I had the Great River

Now, the fish takes years to get to the foot of the magic mountain, but get there he does. At this point, any resemblance between this fish tale and the epic Jonathan Livingstone Seagull is purely intentional. Up the river the carp struggles, scaling the rapids, leaping and flying up the waterfall, until he reaches the summit…

…and is transfixed at the sight of the huge rainbow. He can feel those colours. He wants to reach out and touch them. He gives one final leap into the sky…

…and senses the beginning of a transformation. He grows wings. He sprouts legs. His head is transmogrified. He belches out fire. His fishy coverings have become the glistening scales of a magnificent dragon! Off and away he flies, over the great land of China.

Okay, what I composed was a pared-down version of this flight of dragon fancy. But I got all that out of a short folklore reference. My family always said I had a runaway imagination. They usually said it with a sigh.

By the time I was finished reading, I was caught up in the moment, so to speak. I really felt for that carp, with his heavenly ambitions. Not Elektra, alas. The hard-hearted thing was too busy guffawing at my hubris in turning a piece of minor folklore into a full-blown epic even to bother complimenting me on my elegant turns of Level 1 phrasing. Phooey.

The life of a work-for-hire writer is not often rewarding. One takes one's satisfactions where one may. But that's the long and the short of it. You can use your imagination however you choose. They may laugh, but they can't stop you. Just remember: when you're done playing around, edit it down to what is needed. You can repurpose the outtakes for another audience. (I just did, thanks for reading.)

Writing Right with Dmitri Archive

Dmitri Gheorgheni

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