Thread: Omachiw - Hunter

Non Fiction - Draft
500 Words



The most chaotic time of my life was my childhood. My Mother sent us to stay with family in Montreal while she fled our criminal father to Canada's West coast in British Columbia. Much happened before this; that I was not aware of. Including my Mother meeting a Czech man who she thought looked like Omar Sharif. This man would eventually become our step-father, but not before they would be kidnapped and almost murdered by my father. They would be saved in a police take-down that would see my father jailed and my mother set free to try and make us a new home.

My brother and I arrived a year later. We lived very modestly and spent much of our time exploring the wet trails and rolling rivers of the lower mainland. The cedars and firs towered over us, set against the glistening jagged mountains that were often blanketed with a brilliant carpet of thick spongy green moss.

It was here, in these woods, I would pick wild blackberries and talk aloud to God or whoever would listen in the solitude of the forest. British Columbia was so beautiful, but it was also a place where turmoil swirled about my childhood stronger than the rapids of the Chilliwack River.

We had little money to spend and got in all sorts of trouble trekking along trails, always shadowed by the dripping trees, in search of new adventures. I often wore bread bags over my socks to keep my leaky boots from soaking my feet, but I was a happy kid, always in awe of the British Columbian landscape.

Many of my newfound friends swapped stories about Bigfoot and invented tales of running into the great beast along the foothills. I so wanted to find this great beast, while inside I was terrified at the prospect of success. Still I walked, for miles at a time filling my head with tales I would tell. Trudging along, my mind imprinted snapshots that would stay with me my whole life. It was then I would set the landscape for my first novel endeavour.

Now 40 years later, my mother is gone, my father a bad memory and my step-father remarried lies in wait to be re-united once again. I have returned home to this landscape where the trees still stand as silent witnesses to the secrets of the forest. My life is no longer in turmoil, but I am venturing into a new venture which I hope will set my wife and I down a new path of happiness.

Until I get settled and we have gotten over the disruption moving often brings, I look out at the snow covered mountains and listen to the sounds of rain dripping off the firs. I am again in awe of the majesty of this place. There is a tug I feel in my heart when I look to the beckoning trails. Maybe Bigfoot still lurks out on those trails waiting for me take up chase once again.

My brother and I arrived a year later

This could confuse, it can be another way of saying "Were born", maybe ... arrived at the house she and my step father had established ...

glistening comma jagged mountains


"We had little money to spend and got in all sorts of trouble trekking along trails, always shadowed by the dripping trees, in search of new adventures."
This could be construed as the trees seeking adventure, put things together that go together, thus,

We had little money to spend and got in all sorts of trouble in search of new adventures, trekking along trails, always shadowed by the dripping trees.

It was there I would set the landscape for my first novel endeavour.
Apart from then for there, a novel endeavour is not the same as an endeavour at a novel, one is a try at something you have never done before, the other a try at writing a book.

Thanks Olly you're bang on. I never noticed that.

Non Fiction - Draft
500 Words



The most chaotic time of my life was my childhood. My Mother sent us to stay with family in Montreal while she fled our criminal father to Canada's West coast in British Columbia. Much happened before this; that I was not aware of. Including my Mother meeting a Czech man who she thought looked like Omar Sharif. This man would eventually become our step-father, but not before they would be kidnapped and almost murdered by my father. They would be saved in a police take-down that would see my father jailed and my mother set free to try and make us a new home.

My brother and I arrived in British Columbia a year later, re-uniting with our Mother and meeting our future step-father. We lived very modestly and spent much of our time exploring the wet trails and rolling rivers of the lower mainland. The cedars and firs towered over us, set against the glistening jagged mountains that were often blanketed with a brilliant carpet of thick spongy green moss.

It was here, in these woods, I would pick wild blackberries and talk aloud to God or whoever would listen in the solitude of the forest. British Columbia was so beautiful, but it was also a place where turmoil swirled about my childhood stronger than the rapids of the Chilliwack River.

We had little money to spend and got in all sorts of trouble trekking along trails, always shadowed by the dripping trees, in search of new adventures. I often wore bread bags over my socks to keep my leaky boots from soaking my feet, but I was a happy kid, always in awe of the British Columbian landscape.

Many of my newfound friends swapped stories about Bigfoot and invented tales of running into the great beast along the foothills. I so wanted to find this great beast, while inside I was terrified at the prospect of success. Still I walked, for miles at a time filling my head with tales I would tell. Trudging along, my mind imprinted snapshots that would stay with me my whole life. It was then I would set the landscape for my first novel endeavour.

Now 40 years later, my mother is gone, my father a bad memory and my step-father remarried lies in wait to be re-united once again. I have returned home to this landscape where the trees still stand as silent witnesses to the secrets of the forest. My life is no longer in turmoil, but I am embarking upon a new life which I hope will set my wife and I down a new path of happiness.

Until I get settled and we have gotten over the disruption moving often brings, I look out at the snow covered mountains and listen to the sounds of rain dripping off the firs. I am again in awe of the majesty of this place. There is a tug I feel in my heart when I look to the beckoning trails. Maybe Bigfoot still lurks out on those trails waiting for me take up chase once again.

My brother and I arrived a year later.
Arrived where, you don’t mean ‘were born’

glistening jagged mountains that were often ...
try:-
glistening, jagged mountains, often ...
Two less words, two extra commas




We -- got in all sorts of trouble trekking along trails, always shadowed by the dripping trees, in search of new adventures.
The trees did not seek adventure, keep things together when they belong together:-
We -- got in all sorts of trouble trekking along trails in search of new adventures, always shadowed by the dripping trees.
I often wore bread bags over my socks to keep my leaky boots from soaking my feet,
No, it was the water soaked your feet, leaky boots allowed it to.


It was then I would set the landscape for my first novel endeavour.
There not then I think, and a novel endeavour is not an endeavour at a novel

and my step-father remarried lies in wait to be re-united once again.
Commas round remarried, reunited once again is either tautology or you have been reunited before and not told us.
I am venturing into a new venture
No comment.


Strange how tough times can be good times, obviously from the heart, that makes the best subject matter, but be careful, it can make us a bit blind to the technical side of the writing. Thank you for sharing.

Duly noted Olly.

First draft, I will keep plugging along and polish it more.

I just realised I posted most of that twice, sorry, I went to look at something and thought I had lost the message when I came back so re-wrote it without realising you had posted inbetween. You must think I am right on your case, i'm not, merely incompetent.

Originally Posted by Olly Buckle

I just realised I posted most of that twice, sorry, I went to look at something and thought I had lost the message when I came back so re-wrote it without realising you had posted inbetween. You must think I am right on your case, i'm not, merely incompetent.

Haha Olly. I just thought it was a case of sometimers.

A little delayed on a response, but I love how you were able to fit the anecdote along with a flash forward to the present in 500 words. That's often hard to do, especially when trying to fit a good description of nature into a piece — something that's hard to fit into 500 words all by itself.

~G

MJ Preston, getting into, and out of, trouble is often the meat in a story; this -

We had little money to spend and got in all sorts of trouble trekking along trails

- is just gloss, and a bit confusing.

It is a rare kid who doesn't have little money (or indeed no money at all) to spend - that in itself has almost no relevance to trekking along trails, and therefore needs a reason to be relevant.

"got in all sorts of trouble" - apart from not being the best way to construct the phrase does beg the question - what sorts of trouble? Does this trouble involve broken limbs and rescue helicopters? Or does it involve irate furry things, items that belonged to someone else, sinister shadows with modified hunting rifles? Or various uniforms and handcuffs? Or are we merely lamenting the lack of a watch and compass?

It was then I would set the landscape for my first novel endeavour.

I doubt it. I would accept that "It set the landscape for my first novel." I would accept that the moment stayed with you, and the desire to capture it in words might even have been ignited. But I seriously doubt that you sat down on a damp trail at that time (which is the meaning of "then") and starting writing the scene or scenes.

A "novel endeavour" has too many double meanings, but is most commonly used to express a "new and different adventure", which may not have anything to do with novels.

Quite seriously, I believe this is too big a story to gloss over in 500 words. Leaving pars 1, 6 and 7 foreshortened, I'd like you to flesh out pars 2 to 5 and submit the revision to Motley Press.

There's a world of unspoken pain here. Not just pain in the past, but the pain of being an adult-orphan. A lot of us understand that.