As some of you may remember, I submitted one of the essays I wrote in June to Bowhunter Magazine as part of my senior project. Well, I finally heard back from Dwight Schuh, editor of the magazine.

"Thank you for giving us a look at your story, and congratulations on your bowhunting success. You write very well, and I believe you have a bright future in the outdoors industry. At the same time, your story doesn't fit our current needs."

While they didn't accept myessay as an article for their magazine, Mr. Schuh was very encouraging and wished me luck in my continued success in bowhunting and writing.

For those of you who may have missed my essays back in June, I'll post the one I submitted again for your enjoyment.

[align=center]Reflections[/align][align=center][/align][align=left] A stream runs below me some 20 feet away. Pine needles lazily drift down from above and are rapidly carried away by the swift current. Turkeys gobble in the distance announcing the approach of evening. A small bird lands on the end of the arrow protruding from my bow. Squirrels jump and rollin the leaves and pine needles that litter the ground, fighting over bits of pine cones that can be saved, stored away for the winter months ahead. Unbeknownst to them, clad in camouflage from head to toe, I am perched above, watching, waiting.[/align][align=left] A rustling at the tree line in front of me alerts me to the presence of an animal. Ever so slowly I reachabove me and grasp my bow, lifting it offof its hanger. I pause, listening for movement, probing the foliage in front of me with both my eyes and ears, trying to spot something out of place. Lowering my bow to my lap, I clip my release onto its string, prepared now.[/align][align=left] Several silent minutes pass as I wait for my prey to make some sort of mistake. More rustling now and a nose is soon visible through an opening in the thick green wall of pine needles in front of me. With the knowledge of the events that will take place in the next several minutesthe floodgate that once controlled the distribution of adrenaline throughout my body is opened. As my nerves begin to work overtime I have to force myself to stop my hands from shaking.[/align][align=left] With each step the deer takes my heart rate quickens. What was once a nose now becomes a head, a neck, and then a torso. As I watch the animal feed on grass protruding from the soft earth below, I do my best to disengage myself from the beauty of God's creation. I will myself to concentrate on executing a clean shot.[/align][align=left] Just as the deer's head is screened by brush I raise my bow, drawing the string as I lift. With my bow drawn, what were once quick seconds seem to drag on for long minutes. I wait patiently and am soon rewarded as the deer continues forward, stopping this time in an opening that offers a clear shot. Raising it from the bottom up, I settle my bright yelow 20-yard pin in the center of the deer's chest, just behind the shoulder.[/align][align=left] I inhale deeply, knowing that the next few seconds will seal this animal's fate. Exhaling slowly, I squeeze the trigger of my release and watch as my arrow sails true. It hits solidly and becomes one with fur, bone, and meat. As quickly as my arrow passes through the deer, it begins its final sprint, back in the direction from which it came. From my position high above the ground I can hear as the deer crashes, exhales its final breath.[/align][align=left] All is silent now. The creatures of the forest seem to know when one of their own is taken from them; the birds have stopped chirping, the squirrels have stopped fighting, and the turkeys have stopped gobbling. The only sounds are those made by the stream below me, moving on its endless journey down the mountain.[/align][align=left] It is in this silence that I am able to take time to stop and reflect on the events that have just transpired. The realization that I just took the life of a living being hits me hard and I am filled with remorse, but I know that this animal's death was a necessary part of the life cycle. It is also in this silence that I take time to offer a short prayer, thanking God for allowing me to take the life of one of His creations, thanking Him for allowing me to use this animal to feed my family.[/align][align=left] After the reflection and the short prayer, I lower my bow to the ground and climb down to retrieve my animal. There is still much work to be done.[/align]

good story but sounds kinda like a poem either way it is good

The reason it may sound something like a poem is because it was a thought piece more than a feature article.

If any of you read Bowhunter Magazine on a regular basis, you'll notice that M.R. James writes thecolumn in the back of the magazine, Short Shots. His style of writing for hiscolumn is a lot like how I wrote this piece.

Why I wrote it this way is beyond me, honestly. The words flow from the pen however they want, most days. The majority of the pieces I've written came out like this, I don't know why. Possibly because when I write about the outdoors I try to paint a picture for the reader, so that hopefully you'll feel like you're in the stand with me.

In any case, thank you for the kind words, Oneshot.

Wash, I felt like I was there. Very descriptive.

Washington Hunter, nice work!I enjoyed it and could visualize the scenery and emotions.

As someone who does a lot of writing for a living (in the business world) and has an occassional article placed on a freelance basis, I know how tough it is to get published like this.

You did your homework on writing the type of piece the magazine publishes in one of its sections but the likelihood was that they just didn't have room for it because of M.R James work.

Keep at it. If you love this and are willing to work hard at it, success will come because you are talented. It just will take a lot of sweat equity and trying to get there. Good luck!