[stylist] feedback/critique request

Thu May 24 19:29:20 UTC 2012

Good point, Robert.
Barbara

Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance. -- Carl Sandburg
-----Original Message----- 
From: Robert Leslie Newman
Sent: Thursday, May 24, 2012 12:31 PM
To: 'Writer's Division Mailing List'
Subject: Re: [stylist] feedback/critique request

Chris

I'm not going to give you anything on the sentences and words --- didn't
have anything there jump out at me (JAWS was in continuous read mode) and
I'd have to go through it sentence by sentence and I'm pushed for time.

But on the blindness philosophical side- I like how you started and ended
with a thoughtful lesson. And it is the end part that I'm thinking is
missing something, an opportunity to convey that blind guys do travel and
enjoy it. In that final paragraph you somewhat hint at this when you include
the phrase "new experience," but really do not say that would/does include
travel! Like Dude, this whole piece is about travel and, this is a travel
related contest and you use of blindness is --- knowing you an educational
essay and we want the readers and the travel professionals to know that
blind guys travel and enjoy it! Like ah --- life and travel is more than a
picture! (Consider either scrubbing the "crack" crack, and rework in the
provockitive notion that "life is more than a picture."
-----Original Message-----
From: stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On
Behalf Of Chris Kuell
Sent: Thursday, May 24, 2012 11:21 AM
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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