[stylist] feedback/critique request

Thu May 24 19:43:48 UTC 2012

I agree with Barbara on all counts.  I do not use  JAWS but the image of it 
'getting over himself' is  priceless!
It is a great piece  and one I very much enjoyed  reading.

Myrna

In a message dated 5/24/2012 2:28:34 P.M. Central Daylight Time,  
poetlori8 at msn.com writes:

I'm not  the punctuation guru here or the grammar police.  LOL!  But the  
content is wonderful.  JAWS didn't like some of your words but he  needs to 
get over himself.
I think it's a great piece.  (Brought  tears to my eyes.)
Barbara

Poetry is an echo, asking a  shadow to dance. -- Carl Sandburg
-----Original Message----- 
From:  Chris Kuell
Sent: Thursday, May 24, 2012 11:20 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.

_______________________________________________
Writers  Division web site
http://www.writers-division.net/
stylist mailing  list
stylist at nfbnet.org
http://nfbnet.org/mailman/listinfo/stylist_nfbnet.org
To  unsubscribe, change your list options or get your account info for  
stylist:
http://nfbnet.org/mailman/options/stylist_nfbnet.org/poetlori8%40msn.com  

_______________________________________________
Writers  Division web site
http://www.writers-division.net/
stylist mailing  list
stylist at nfbnet.org
http://nfbnet.org/mailman/listinfo/stylist_nfbnet.org
To  unsubscribe, change your list options or get your account info for  
stylist:
http://nfbnet.org/mailman/options/stylist_nfbnet.org/kajuncutie926%40aol.com