[nabs-l] To Be, or Not to Be, A Blind Character

[Joe Orozco]

Hello,

It's no mystery I thoroughly enjoy writing.  This year I've decided to quit
fiddling around and finish that novel that's been festering in my head for
several years.  Without divulging too many details, I can tell you that it
will most likely be a piece about two street gangs that fight for more than
just respect in a classic war between good and evil.  Think Stephen King
meets S.E. Hinton in a more aggressive version of The Outsiders...

Now, here's my question:  What has been your response to blind characters
portrayed in books and movies?  I have mostly been disappointed.  They're
either too Super Hero or too wimpy.  I've progressed far enough in my
writing to come to the pivotal point where one of my protagonists can either
go blind or not.  Actually, featuring a blind character was not part of my
original thought process.  I did not want to fit into the easy fallback of
the blind writing about the blind, but it would be a very good means of
educating the public, assuming anyone outside my family bought a copy of my
ramblings, right?

I'm curious to hear your thoughts.  If you think a blind character should be
featured, what would you want him or her to portray?  Mind you, this person
would have just lost their sight, so they would not be able to come out
swinging as a hyper independent role model.  They'll need to experience the
typical stages of acceptance, a daunting process that may in itself rule out
a blind person in my plot, but it would be a good means of emphasizing
Braille and other forms of essential training.  I'm looking for a balanced
prospective between educating in a positive light and realistic reactions in
someone who lost their vision from one moment to the next, something to
which I cannot relate since my own vision loss has been and continues to be
very slow.  If you think blind characters run the risk of reaffirming
stereotypes according to how people interpret the character's actions, I'd
like to know this as well.

Naturally I have no idea if my little book will make it anywhere, but by
golly it's going to be finished, and in exchange for your participation in
the brainstorming phase, I will offer you a teaser which I previously shared
with the writer's list.  It is very much a raw draft, so please feel free to
tear it up so long as the main discussion is about my original question so
that the discussion stays on topic and I keep David Andrews off my back.
(grin)  Thanks in advance.

Joe

***

	Christian Slater knew they would come calling one day.  He just
wasn't sure how they would make contact.  Perhaps a mysterious letter would
one day appear in their mailbox.  Maybe one morning he would open his e-mail
inbox to discover a message from an obscure sender, but given their
obsession with secrecy, it was more likely that someone from the old
fraternity would simply appear at the front door bearing news of the kind
Christian and his family could do without.
	They chose the telephone.  Christian would have never guessed the
fraternity would gamble with an unsecure line, but he had always been right
to assume that when they did reconnect with him, it would come as a total
surprise no matter how much he thought he'd prepared for the inevitable
encounter.
	On the morning the call came, he was deeply immersed in the first
chapter of his latest novel.  The idea had come to him, as so many of them
often did, without forethought, and by the time he'd seen his family out the
door, the kernel of an idea had grown into the makings of a promising plot.
With school out, he had the rest of the summer to devote to his writing
without the burden of teaching the craft to a bunch of high school kids who
would have already forgotten what they learned.
	Christian snapped a glance at the caller ID, saw that it was a
restricted number and dismissed it as a telemarketer.  In his feverish state
of mind he only wanted to be left alone with his story in progress.  The
call went to the machine, and after the obligatory beep, a voice Christian
hadn't heard in years came from the speaker.
	"Mr. Slater, this is Don speaking.
	Christian froze, fingers hovering over the laptop keyboard, eyes
slowly moving back to the answering machine and the clipped British accent
emanating from it.
	"I trust you are well," the cultured voice said.
	The energy left Christian in a stomach-turning lurch.  His blood ran
cold when doubt turned to certainty.  He slumped in his seat, eyes riveted
to the machine.
	"Mr. Slater, it is important that we speak at your earliest
opportunity," the man said.  "If you are there, please pick up the phone.
This is most urgent."
	Christian pondered it for a moment.  He could ignore the call,
pretend he was not home.  Then a memory of the man's ice blue glare
surfaced.  That penetrating stare had always troubled Christian.  Now it was
almost as though the man were in the room, daring him to be foolish.  He
slowly reached out for the receiver, willing his voice to sound calm and
collected.
	"Hello," he croaked.
	"Ah, good.  You are home after all," the caller said, sounding
genuinely relieved.
	"Wha, what do you want?" Christian stammered.
	"Come now, Mr. Slater that is no way to greet an old friend."  The
man's voice appeared to be amiable.  Christian, despite not having heard
this man's voice in nearly twenty years, knew this was only a facade.
	"We are not friends," Christian countered.
	"So you are still a bit sore about that old business," the man
mused.  "I dare say it has been far too long for you to hold a grudge."
	"You're unbelievable," Christian hissed.
	"Alas, it would appear time may not heel all wounds after all.  So,
let me get to the purpose of my call."
	Christian's hand tightened around the receiver.  He had never cared
for the man's false joviality, but he was sure it would be far preferable to
the blow that was no doubt coming.  "Please do," Christian said.
	"One of your brothers has met with an unfortunate...accident."
	"I have no brothers," Christian said in a voice that was just over a
whisper.
	"I'm sorry," the man replied.  "I thought we were done being coy.
Of course I was referring to the brotherhood in the fraternity."
	"I left the fraternity," Christian muttered.
	"You never left the fraternity," the man sighed as though exercising
immense patience with a stubborn child.  "You never left the fraternity.  No
one ever leaves the fraternity, Mr. Slater."
	"I was told I could--"
	"You were told you could what," the man interrupted, dropping all
pretense of pleasantries. "You thought you could just leave and pretend your
allegiance never existed?"
	Christian's eyes strayed to the family photo hanging over the
fireplace in his study.  In the picture his then three-year-old son, Aaron,
stood blithely between his parents.  Their daughter, Trish, was a newborn
cradled in the arms of a smiling Carolyn.  Posing for the photo, he had felt
that his life had truly taken a turn for the better, that his past would
fade into distant memory.  Now, despite the fear raking his stomach, he
almost grinned at his own stupidity.  Had he truly believed he could just
get away?
	"One of the brothers and his wife have met with an untimely death,"
the caller went on.  "They had a son, Theodore, who has been left behind
with no suitable guardians.  The High Council has met and decided your
family would be best suited to take responsibility for the young man."
	"I beg your pardon?"
	"A family has died.  Their son needs a home."  The voice was slow
and irritatingly precise, exhibiting all the patience of a teacher
explaining to his dimwitted student the basic principles of gravity.
	Christian was torn.  On the one hand he could not have felt more
relieved.  He had been certain the request would be far more despicable.
Exactly what he thought they might ask of him he did not want to begin to
imagine, but on the other hand, this business of a homeless boy was, well,
random!
	"What part of it is confusing, Mr. Slater?"
	Christian sat forward.  "You want me to just take in a boy I've
never met?  From a group of people I haven't even spoken to in more than
eighteen years?"
	After a pause, the man asked, "Do you foresee a problem with that?"
	"Do I foresee a problem with that?"  Christian was appalled.
"You're damn right I foresee a problem with that.  I think you're crazy to
just call me up this way.  What, did you just draw my name from a hat or
something?"
	"I do not pretend to understand the Council's decisions.  You have
an obligation to the fraternity," the man explained in a tone that was
almost brittle with disdain.  "Your respite is over.  Far worthier brothers
would be all too glad to assume this responsibility."
	"I'm sorry for the boy's loss," Christian hissed.  "But you just
can't call me and expect me to be overjoyed when I'm being coerced into
taking in a child from a family I never even met."
	"Coercion," the man pondered, savoring the word.  "You are right to
assume that you do not really have a choice in the matter.  The boy will be
coming to your home in two months, just in time for the fall term.  This
should give you ample time to prepare for his arrival."
	"And if I refuse?"
	"Mr. Slater," the man chuckled.  "Don't be silly.  I'll be in
touch."
	The line went dead.  Christian dropped the phone into its cradle and
then just sat staring at it.  There were too many questions colliding in his
head, too many competing thoughts.  The call had been a shock.  The nature
of the call had been just plain strange, and...  With dawning horror,
Christian looked around the room.  The fraternity was indeed obsessed with
secrecy.  It would never take unnecessary risks.  He suddenly wondered how
long they had been monitoring his family.

***

"Hard work spotlights the character of people: some turn up their sleeves,
some turn up their noses, and some don't turn up at all."--Sam Ewing