[stylist] writing sample

Fri Mar 14 04:58:11 UTC 2014

Chris,

I can't say much about your writing as it's usually solid, and this
piece is no exception.

I do agree with Thea that within context of how that para is currently
written, me should be us.

I would like to see this be a bit more literary, but it's good and
strong.

I would try to push the bowling ball metaphor a little further. And I
also agree that the info about Louisa Murray feels a bit disjointed with
how this piece is currently written.

My only real critique is to consider playing with POV and the metaphor
angle a bit more. Can this piece be expanded anywhere, especially when
you bring your own story into it or the bit about Murray?

Otherwise, good, solid piece.

Bridgit

-----Original Message-----
From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of Chris
Kuell
Sent: Wednesday, March 12, 2014 12:54 PM
To: stylist at nfbnet.org
Subject: [stylist] writing sample

I'm currently working on a short story, but it's far from finished. So I
dusted off the following essay, which I submitted to the NFB contest a
few years ago (it didn't place). However, I still think it has merit.

Non-Fiction, 1000 words

Becky and the Bowling Ball

By Chris Kuell

On December 30, 2006, my friend Becky passed out and fell in her kitchen
after pouring herself a bowl of cereal. Her husband and son found her
some twenty minutes later and managed to revive her. she had no memory
of the incident. They rushed her to a local hospital, then on to Ruby
Memorial, the West Virginia University hospital in Morgantown. After
several days of testing, the doctors drilled a hole in her skull for a
biopsy, and determined she had Primary CNS Lymphoma. In layman's terms,
an inoperable brain tumor. The cancer hadn't spread, but that's little
consolation to someone who just received a death sentence.

One doctor wanted to start chemotherapy right away, but Becky decided
she needed to go home and be with her family to grieve for a few days
before the battle commenced. On Wednesday, January third, she spent her
forty-fifth birthday at home with the people who are most important to
her. 

As of this writing, she is on the fourth day of chemotherapy in her
first round of six treatments. She sounds good on the phone-not too
sick, and generally optimistic and positive. The day before yesterday
she met a guy with the same diagnosis who came in the hospital in a
coma. Now he's strolling the halls taking time to chat with people like
Becky.

Of course, there isn't a much tougher blow in life than being told
you've got a brain tumor. Becky has received a tremendous outpouring of
affection from the many people who know her. One friend built her a web
page, complete with photographs of Becky with her family, links to brain
tumor information, and a blog where friends can post messages. Across
the country, generous people   have contributed money, audio books,
prayers, and a tremendous amount of support.

I think there has been an awesome response because people know and care
for Becky, and want to help her and her family during these trying
times. She has friends in the writing community, in the blindness
community, and just about everyone in the small town where she lives. 

But her diagnosis tweaks a fear response in all our psyches. Our shared
humanity dictates that we do something, because God forbid, what if it
happened to me? 

The first few days after Becky's diagnosis, I could think of little
else. I kept wondering how somebody could walk that tightrope of hope
without falling into despair. Then I remembered something that happened
while I was in graduate school. I attended the University of Vermont in
Burlington, a beautiful town on the edge of Lake Champlain. 

One hot summer day in late August 1987, some kids were having a party
downtown in a multi-story apartment building. As things heated up
inside, somebody tried to open a window, only to find it wouldn't stay
up. So, they got the brilliant idea of propping the window up with a
bowling ball. Anyone familiar with the theorems of the late, great,
Professor Max Murphy can predict what happened next. As the party grew
in intensity, a lone female pedestrian waited outside a local deli
below, oblivious to the 16-pound ball of fate accelerating at 32 feet
per second.

And, that's just the way life is. We build fences, regularly put money
in our retirement accounts, get childhood vaccines, see our dentist and
primary care physicians regularly, never jaywalk or drive more than 5
miles per hour over the posted speed limit, take yoga classes and
practice mindfulness to reduce stress. We try all our life to build up
protections, to guard against our enemies, real and perceived. But,
there's no way to avoid that falling bowling ball, or that Titlist in
your brain if that is what the universe has in store for you. The idea
that we have control is just an illusion. All we can do is decide how we
react when it's our head that's in the ball's path.   

In his book, Man's Search for Meaning, holocaust survivor Viktor Frankl
determined that the single most important factor in deciding who
survived and who perished in the concentration camps was the belief that
one still had an important purpose in life. Becky still has plenty to
live for. First and foremost, her son and husband rely on her to be the
glue and stabilizing force that keeps the family together. Becky's son
Josh has Glycogen Storage Disease (GSD), a rare liver condition that
causes chronic low blood sugars. She   has made arrangements for Josh to
be seen by the country's most prestigious GSD doctor at the University
of Florida Medical Center, and I know how determined she is to be there
with him. She has a sister, parents, a nephew, and hundreds of people
who are in her corner rooting as hard as we can. She has an unfinished
novel that she's been working on for years, and she will see it in print
some day. 

Despite  receiving a  catastrophic blow when a bowling ball fell on her
head, Louisa Murray not only survived, but went on to graduate from
medical school. The human spirit is strong, and regardless of the
tremendous odds against us, we survive. I've hugged my wife and kids
every single day since the bad news, held them in my grasp for a few
extra seconds, and savored the feeling. Becky's diagnosis has certainly
raised my consciousness about the frailty of life, and I don't imagine
I'm alone in this new awareness. 

Becky's story has something for all of us, and I am certain of one
thing- she always delivers a happy ending.   

Authors postscript:

Becky did take her son to the GSD clinic at the University of Florida in
September of 2007. Unfortunately, he died on February 9, 2009. The grief
was too much for Becky, and although she beat the odds by surviving CNS
lymphoma for over four years, the cancer came back and took her on March
15, 2010. Her novel, Blind Fear, was published in June of 2010. 

_______________________________________________
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