ALL-PURPOSE
BAD TRAVEL STORY
I have been judging quite a few writing competitions lately, both professional (i.e., National Magazine Awards) and semi-amateur (i.e., CBC Literary Competition).
I can't do anything about the professionals. Some editor must have liked their stuff (or been blackmailed into submission) or else they never would have been published. But, for the benefit of the newbies out there, below is an all-purpose bad travel story I've written based on hundreds (yes hundreds!) exactly like it. Not to say the model below can't be forged into something beautiful. It would just take the fires of hell to do it.
All-Purpose Bad Travel Story
I had just hit middle-age, beat cancer, my parents had died and I was divorced. So I decided to take my two kids, one of whom was still ferociously attached to 56 teddy bears on a pilgrimage to my grandparents homeland England/Montreal/ex-Yugoslavia (OR: I finally gave in to my dream of visiting Tuscany).
[Insert long segment, no paragraphing please, about the mode of transport, ideally boat or bike. I.E.: I quit my job so we only had enough money for a three-speed bike/beat-up old car/boat that kept having flat tires/crashing/sinking but we got into the Zen of it and realised every trip is really an inner voyage and a flat tire/crash/sinking in a foreign land not only puts us in touch with ourselves but also others.]
When I arrived, I was immediately reminded of an old photo/a quote by [insert name of pretentious author]/something my grandmother always used to say. Very appropriate since [insert long historical digression/description of landscape or architecture obviously plagiarised from a guidebook ].
Undaunted, seeking a new tire/ethnic mechanic/bilge pump I launched myself into local life and had cultural Samadhi when it struck me their tires were metric/cars were rust-free 50s classics/boats were made of wood. Something bad almost happened when I stayed late at a bar where there was a beautiful local girl or guy/smoked some dope/walked into a dark back alley. But it didn't. Travel is education, and while you can never return home again, I will never forget this journey as long as I live! It was magical!
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• All-Purpose Bad Travel Story
