[stylist] feedback/critique request

[Jacobson, Shawn D]

Chris

I liked the piece immensely.  It reminds me of trips I've made to Colorado and Arizona to see things.  Sedona is as close to Mars as I will ever get, though the salt desert in Utah is even more alien looking than is Sedona.

My one criticism of your piece is that it seems to start slowly and is a bit awkward at the start.  You may consider starting at the travel office and flashing back to losing your sight.  You may also want to cut your diatery behavior as a child in the name of speeding the entry to the piece.

I had briefly considered entering my piece on our trip back to Iowa in the contest, but now I'm glad I didn't.  Yours is much better.

Shawn

-----Original Message-----
From: stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of Chris Kuell
Sent: Thursday, May 24, 2012 12:21 PM
To: stylist at nfbnet.org
Subject: [stylist] feedback/critique request

Greetings.

Below is my draft 1200 word (exactly) travel essay for the Writer Magazine contest. I'd appreciate any feedback and/or comments and/or ideas for improvements you may have. Are the sentences clear? Choppy? do you see where I can trim words? Does the end make sense?

Thanks in advance.

A Grand Perspective
 

By Chris Kuell

 

I stepped outside the ophthalmologist's office and squinted in the sunshine. People walked briskly by as I stood dumfounded. Another surgery. Nothing could have scared me more.

 

I became diabetic at age nine, and hadn't been very careful about what I consumed growing up. Mountain Dew, Ring dings-I ate whatever the other kids ate. At twenty-eight, I developed diabetic retinopathy in my right eye. I began a strict diet and daily exercise, but still needed surgery. Despite the efforts of the best retinal specialists on the East Coast, I lost all sight in that eye. Two years later, it was happening again in my left eye.

 

I ambled down the sidewalk, trying to keep my emotions under control. My dilated eye focused on a neon sign which read 'McCarthy Travel'. The window showed off colorful pictures of Cozumel, Hamburg, Prague. A bell jingled as I went inside.

 

Back home, my wife asked about my appointment. "Not good," I said. "Think you can take off work Friday?"

 

 Suddenly concerned, she asked, "Do you need to go back to the doctor?"   

 

"No. I bought us tickets to Phoenix, departing Friday morning. I want to see the Grand Canyon."



Our ten-month-old daughter cried through most of the flight, and our son, who was five at the time, didn't understand why we were even going. "Isn't the Grand Canyon just a big crack in the earth?"I said yes, but it's a really big crack, and promised he'd be impressed.

 

In Phoenix, we ditched our jackets and headed north onI-17.  Our first stop came after only   twenty minutes, at a cheesy tourist trap called 'Frontier Town'. There were several old, crooked buildings, some folks dressed in old-west garb, and even a simulated gun fight every other hour. The most excitement came when my son kicked a small barrel cactus and ended up with a sneaker full of thorns and newfound respect for the native flora. We also paused to take a family photo in front of a twenty-five foot saguaro cactus with a base the size of a telephone pole. One particularly good shot became our Christmas card photo that year.

 

We continued a hundred miles north to Sedona, which was as close to Mars as I'll ever get. We climbed around the brick-colored terrain, amazed at the beauty of a world so different from our native New England. No trees or vegetation, it appeared as though the hand of God had reached down from heaven and ripped everything off, exposing the rocky red innards of our planet.     

 

We spent the night in Flagstaff, heading for the Grand Canyon the following morning. As my wife drove, we saw a beautiful, snow-capped mounting peak rising up from the desert to our right. It looked to be ten or fifteen miles away. The desert is deceptive, though, because the mountain stayed off in the distance for more than an hour before we passed it.

 

We arrived at the South Rim of Grand Canyon National Park and went to the first scenic overlook we came to. As we left the parking lot, the wind increased significantly. The temperature was somewhere in the mid-eighties, and though the sun was shining brightly, the powerful wind provided a strong cooling effect. My wife carried our daughter and reminded me to hold my son's hand tightly. We made our way to a railed overlook extending thirty feet into the canyon. The view was magnificent, the rock wall a yellow gold color with many striations visible across on the North rim. Nothing but awe-inspiring space to the East and west of us, this was definitely one hell of a big crack. The slope was such that we couldn't see the Colorado River below, so I followed my son's lead and stuck my head through the railing to get a better view. The wind was so strong I could barely hear my wife's shouts to get our heads back in.   

 

We spent the day walking the Rim Trail, which much to my wife's dismay, ran without any railing just feet from the edge of the canyon. When she stopped to take a drink of water or change the baby, my son and I would go 'off trail' and climb out onto rocks that jutted out into the canyon, thrilled as much by the danger as the breathtaking view. 

 

We drove and explored the various vistas along the South Rim, enjoying occasional views of wildlife as well as the canyon. The park is home to mule deer, which are very different than the type of deer we see in Connecticut, elk, rock squirrels and small lizards. At one point my son pointed skyward and asked, "Dad, is that an eagle?"

 

I looked up but my vision was so bad I couldn't see a thing. "I'm not sure," I said. "Could be." 

 

The sunset at Mohave Point was spectacular. As the light grew low, the canyon walls turned amazing shades of red and orange. After eating buffalo burgers in the village, we checked into our lodge, which was more like a hotel than some national park cabins we'd camped in. Exhausted, we all slept like bears, and in the morning were greeted by a shocking surprise.  



While the previous day had been sunny and in the mid-80s, we woke to an inch of fresh snow on the ground, a few flakes still meandering earthward. The view from the rim was completely different, a sheen of white everywhere, vortexes of snow blowing around like stationary tornados within the walls of the canyon. 

 

My son found deer tracks and we followed them while my wife packed up our gear. A half hour later, the deer tracks disappeared as the snow melted and we helped load up the car. 

 

When all our belongings were packed, we walked to the rim for one final look at the Canyon we'd traveled 2700 miles to see. I held my wife's hand, grateful for her love and support.         



"Ready to go?" she asked.

 

"You go ahead. I'll join you in a minute."

 

I stood and gazed into the vastness of the Grand Canyon, humbled by the work nature had performed. An ancient river carved this masterpiece over the course of 70 million years. It was beautiful, it was awe inspiring, and it would likely be the last time I ever saw such a wonder. A mist of tears clouded my waning vision. As I blinked them away, I heard a soft snap to my right. There, not five feet from me, was a deer. I stood, motionless, not even breathing, as it bent its head, nibbled on a plant, and paid me no mind.  

 

I had two surgeries on my left eye, but ended up losing all my sight. I've adapted to blindness and now live a happy, fulfilling life. The universe still sends me an occasional wonder-a new experience, technology, or relationship-- and I receive each and every one with gratitude. I'm glad we took that trip to the Grand Canyon because I got to see it visually, and I had fun with my family. I saw that the world, like my life, is cracked, yet it's a beautiful thing.

   
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