[stylist] Creative non-fiction writing excersize--Taking the Fall for Federationism

[Donna Hill]

Shawn,
I've been following both threads on this piece, and I wanted to make a few
comments. First, you hit a nerve with me -- so much so that I broke with my
routine yesterday and spent three hours writing about several similar
incidents. In my case, I view them as sign-posts that were ignored by myself
and others who didn't want me to be "blind" no matter what the doctors said.
I know other folks with degenerative eye conditions who had near misses
while still driving long after they should have quit. One gal I interviewed
a few years back got a wake-up call when crossing the street with her
toddler -- a bus had to slam on the breaks to miss her.

I gather for you that it is something you perceive as evidence that you
weren't paying attention. You make a valid point that having a cane is no
guarantee of not taking prat falls, as you call them, or colliding with
anything. When we lived in Philadelphia, people would tell me stories about
a blind man who used a cane to get to his job at the state office building.
He traveled by subway, and every day he would run straight into the same
column. It brings to mind that old Einstein quote about insanity being
continuing to do the same thing and expecting different results. It's also
possible to ignore one's guide dog and run into hanging branches, trip over
cracks in the sidewalk and the like. 

I think that part of the reason you get a bit of flack about what is clearly
your choice in getting around has to do with the pervasive public opinion
that whatever "accident" or problem we have, it is primarily due to
blindness. My old economics professor used to be fond of saying that
monocausal explanations for anything are ipso facto inadequate, but with
regard to blindness, that's what we're fighting. Sighted people walk into
things, knock things off the table and lose track of their keys, but if we
do, it's because we're blind. My sister is fully sighted, but that didn't
stop her from breaking a toe on the family toilet. The toilet, in its
defense, maintains that it had been in the exact same place for 40 years.

  The problem isn't just one of our public perception as adults. Blind
children are the most impacted. There are few expectations. Even the
standards for reading at grade-level don't apply to blind kids in most
states. Schools aren't as inclined to test blind kids for learning
disabilities like they do with sighted kids. With blind kids, whatever
deficit they exhibit is automatically assumed to be related to blindness and
therefore hopeless.

In terms of the piece, Chris did catch some typos, and I would have to agree
about the use of the present tense. Lynda mentioned the first person vs.
third person question, but that's a whole other animal, as they say, and I
don't know if that would be considered creative nonfiction -- perhaps, but I
don't know; I am only familiar with the first person in that regard. I'd
change tenses and see how that goes. 

It would be an interesting exercise to try telling the same story in third
person omniscient. You could also try telling it from the POV of someone who
was there (doesn't have to be a real person). That would open up
possibilities of turning it into a fictional piece and perhaps developing
the character of the narrator to enable some sort of flash of insight. 

As far as changing your request for help not being polite, ... I didn't
really take it that way. Also, what you said or what you want the reader to
experience you saying is what it is. I changed something in an article
several years ago because a blind person in a leadership position suggested
that my wording didn't present the person's experience in the most
independent light. The fact was that I told it like she told it to me. I
changed it to whitewash a small detail to make her look more "capable." I
wish I hadn't.

Anyway, I'll post mine soon. Thanks for the inspiration. I haven't been
doing anything except as it pertains to getting my novel out, so this was a
welcomed break.
Donna

-----Original Message-----
From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of Jacobson,
Shawn D
Sent: Monday, January 28, 2013 10:50 AM
To: 'Writer's Division Mailing List (stylist at nfbnet.org)'
Subject: [stylist] Creative non-fiction writing excersize--Taking the Fall
for Federationism

OK here's my entry.  Sorry for being late with this.

Shawn Jacobson
Mathematical Statistician
Phone# (202)-475-8759
Fax# (202)-485-0275

Taking the Fall for Federationism
by Shawn Jacobson
"Are you alright?" the man asks as I lay there on the pavement.
"Yes" I say reflexively, what I say whenever I take one of these pratfalls.
I look down.  This is one of those entrances to a parking garage.  The
driveway is divided starting halfway to the street.  The divide is nicely
delineated by yellow pavement, a color change I hadn't paid attention to as
I hurried to get IRS forms.
My quest for IRS form 1099-MISC (for miscellaneous) had really started five
years ago at an NFB meeting for state presidents and treasurers.  One of the
speakers, a gentleman from a business school in Utah, was explaining the
importance of keeping records.  He explained that a corporation was like a
child and failing to keep proper records was tantamount to child neglect.
'Was this guy for real?' I wondered.  Apparently, the big wigs in Baltimore
felt that he was or he wouldn't be there.  The business school guy droned on
about a lot of record keeping tricks that I have since forgotten, but he did
mention the need to fill out 1099 forms for people who work for us (readers
and drivers); so here I was, getting the paperwork I needed.
I pulled myself to my feet.  My right thigh hurt with a pain that wasn't
supposed to be there, not one of the aches and pains I had acquired through
getting older gracefully.  I took an experimental step, ouch, and continued
one step after another.  "Where is 77 K St. NW?" I ask an older black
gentleman you had seen me go down.
"It's right in front of you" he said.  I hobbled towards the entrance; must
not neglect the child after all.
I enter the building and limp across the cavernous foyer (pain makes all
things bigger) to a security guard.  "Where is the IRS office?" I ask.
"You've got the right building, but the wrong entrance" the guy answers.  He
then explains that I have to go out and around the corner.  I thank him and
stagger on my way.
I don't waste a lot of time wondering if I would have fallen if I had
carried my cane.  I've seen enough blind people with canes fall to know that
a white cane is not a magic wand.  I've also seen enough sighted people go
down in my time to know that the magic of eyesight is also limited.
I get to the IRS office and enter the building.  A sign on the door to the
office reads, in print big enough for me to see, "Employees Only".
"Can I get in here?" I ask the guard at the metal detector.
"Go ahead" he says.  I put my stuff on the conveyer belt going through the
scanner.  First, the coat followed by my shoe bag, then I empty my pockets
into the tray proved for such things.  I then pass through the detectors, no
problem.
Inside the office, I look through the racks of forms for 1099-MISC; no luck.
"Try in the other room" a helpful gentleman says.  I go in the open door,
move through the rope maze to a desk.  "Where is form 1099-MISC?" I ask. She
points me back out the door to a rack of forms just outside the door.  As I
limp to the rack, I notice that I am still holding the tray from the metal
detector.  I feel like Mr. Magoo; I hurt too much to care.
Finally, I leave with my treasure.  As I limp back to the subway station, I
remember other spills I have taken.  There was the time I was taking an
evening stroll with my tape player and stepped into a culvert.  I ruined a
good Wilson Phillips cassette and, incidentally, scraped my left knee to the
point I needed a large band aid.  Then there was the time I tripped in our
apartment and left a "V" shaped mark on my forehead.  And there was the
unforgettable time I rammed my forehead into the top of our shed splattering
blood all over my tea shirt.  This is now known as the OJ tea shirt in honor
of a famous football player with his own bloody adventures.
I did get home without further incident, and the day I took off work to lick
my wounds gave me time to fill out the required IRS forms.  I think the
corporate baby is doing well.  Think I need to stop neglecting myself.


_______________________________________________
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/penatwork%40epix.net