[stylist] Writing from a blind perspective

[justin williams]

Well done.  Welldone.  Outstanding.  Thank you for allowing me the honor of
reading that.

-----Original Message-----
From: stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On
Behalf Of Bridgit Pollpeter
Sent: Wednesday, October 12, 2011 8:39 PM
To: stylist at nfbnet.org
Subject: [stylist] Writing from a blind perspective

I don't know why so many keep insisting we have to have visual descriptions
in our writing. If we don't have an experience of the visual world, why
would we write that way?

It's not wrong to include visual descriptions, but it's not wrong to use
other sensory descriptions minus the visual. If you don't include visual
descriptions, but your writing lacks depth and a sensory experience for
readers, perhaps you need to work on sensory descriptions in your writing.
FYI, I use "you" in a general way; not referring to anyone specific.

And writers are encouraged to provide physical descriptions. This is part of
the "showing" versuses the "telling." Isn't including a few descriptions of
how a blind person does something showing physical descriptions?

I've shared this short fiction before, and it received mixed reviews on
Stylist, but the class I wrote it for loved it, and I won first-prize in a
writing contest with this story at UNO. My main character is blind, and for
the first time, I don't use any visual descriptions unless my main character
is remembering something from the past as he once had sight. I keep the POV
in my main character's perspective. Oddly enough, when blind people read
this, I get mixed reviews, but I've yet to have a sighted person not like
it, and they haven't commented on the lack of visual descriptions or it
sounding like a training manual. Hopefully it works as an example of what
I'm trying to convey here.

Personally, this isn't my best writing. It was for a class I took; a studio
on detective fiction. We had to write our own mystery story. This isn't my
forte, but at least it exhibits a blind perspective, and as I said, so many
sighted people have enjoyed it, not getting caught up in only the blindness.

Enjoy, maybe.

Sense of Murder
	
Ayden sat in his father's leather wingback chair rolling a large key between
his fingers. The metal key had been cold, but now was warmed by his hands.
He gripped the key in his palm and rubbed a thumb across the rough , rusty
surface. A few weeks ago, Ayden had merely been researching the mysterious
death of his grandfather for a book he was writing. Now, he sat among items
wondering if his grandfather had been murdered.
Ayden's father had found Ayden's grandfather lying at the bottom of the
staircase in his home. His father never spoke about the incident after
reporting it to the police. His father was allowing Ayden and Salma to
search through any items he kept though.
For years there had been whispers of foul play, but no one ever spoke about
the rumors. The official ruling was that Henry Templeton, Ayden's
grandfather, had accidently fallen down the stairs. Other than the vicious
gossip, there didn't seem to be any reason to think otherwise until Ayden
began researching his grandfather's life. A few weeks of poking around Henry
Templeton's past, Ayden received a mysterious email.
 Your journey has just begun, but it is advisable that you stop your
investigation immediately. Heartache and harm can only befall you  Alarmed,
but intrigued, Ayden picked up his research with new fervor.
Now he and his friend and neighbor, Salma, sat in his father's large office
surrounded by books and papers searching for clues that may indicate a
reason why his grandfather would have been murdered.
"So what's next?" Salma asked. 
Tapping the key in his palm, Ayden said, "I'm not sure. This letter says a
lot."
Ayden closed his eyes thinking on this letter. It was evidence, even if
circumstantial, that suggested, if his grandmother knew about it, she could
have killed Henry.
People had said his grandmother, Lucy, had been distracted and irritable a
couple of weeks before his grandfather's death. When his father found Henry
at the bottom of the stairs, the only other person present had been his
grandmother. Stunned by the event, his father had placed Lucy in a nursing
home.
There was a pause then paper crackled before Salma spoke. "It's pretty clear
from this letter that your grandfather was having an affair. I wonder if we
can figure out these initials, A. W."
Ayden shut his eyes again, thinking, trying to remember anyone he had ever
met with A. W. for initials. "I don't know," he sighed.
As Ayden and Salma leafed through pictures and notes, they had found an old
copy of Wuthering Heights.
Ayden remembered the year his grandfather had given the third edition book
to his grandmother for Christmas. His grandmother had sat unwrapping the
gift, then exclaimed, "Oh," before looking up with tears in her eyes.
Wuthering Heights had always been her favorite novel. Lucy had been the one
person to encourage Ayden to follow his dream and take up writing instead of
joining the family law firm. "You're meant to follow your own path," Lucy
had told Ayden once.
After an accident had left Ayden blind, his father had refused to believe
Ayden could handle the work of a litigator, but Lucy had never doubted his
ability to do anything.
Now, Ayden and Salma found a letter enclosed in the pages of the book; a
letter suggesting a secret Ayden never knew about.
Ayden touched the thick, but stiff piece of paper and held it out to Salma
to inspect. She told him the letter appeared old, but not as old as the
book. A few of the torn edges of the letter were turning yellow.
The letter was simple as she read:  
Henry, my love,
I can not wait to see you again. I hoped and when I saw you coming down the
road, my heart leaped. I still feel your touch. How much longer must we
wait? Please, my darling, give me what I ask before it is too late. 
Love, A. W.
When Ayden's father found Henry's body, Lucy had gone wild, screaming,
unable to leave Henry's lifeless body. 
Gossips spread the news, sweeping far and wide. Lucy was crazy, they said.
She went mad, she killed her husband. It was juicy, just what a small town
needed.
The police never looked into the possibility, but Lucy died with a black
mark attached to her memory.
Ayden never believed that his grandmother would hurt anyone. She had been
fond of Ayden, and she never treated him like his life was over after the
accident.
"What now? Where do we go next?" Salma asked.
Ayden held the rusty, rough key up in front of him. "We visit the old
Templeton mansion."
The Templeton mansion was the Victorian home his grandparents had lived in.
The family still owned it, but it had sat empty for years. Ayden thought
that maybe more secrets were hidden within the walls of the Templeton house,
eager to be discovered.


Ayden sat in the car as Salma drove. Neither spoke as Ayden's fingers slid
across the pages on his lap. Reading his Braille notes, Ayden wondered where
to start once they reached the small town where his grandparents and father
had grown up.
His grandfather had started a small law firm in town, but eventually it
grew. His grandparents had moved when Ayden's father, Nick, had been ten.
Nick never spoke about his childhood though. Ayden really didn't know much
about his family's past. His grandparents had moved back to their old house
once Nick took the firm over, but Ayden had rarely visited the home. After
his grandfather had died, Lucy, unable to cope with his death, had moved
into an upscale nursing home in the City, and Nick left the house untouched.

The car slowed, and Ayden looked up at Salma. "Are we there?"
"Yes. What's our first stop?"
"I'm  figuring this out as we go along. I guess the police station."
Salma was silent before saying, "You okay? I know your dad wasn't happy when
you asked about the letter."
He remembered how Nick had gone quiet and cold before telling him , "Leave
it alone. We don't dig up family history."
Ayden had tried to coax him to say more, but the subject was closed.
"Yeah. I wish he would have told us more. Explained something," Ayden said.
"Maybe he just wants to keep your family secrets, well, secret. Some people
don't like giving out info about anything."
"I just feel like he knows more than he's letting on."
"We'll find something. Don't worry."
Salma was always reassuring Ayden. She had become a constant in his life.
The only real constant he had. She had shown up one day, knocking on his
door, holding a dish in her hands, offering Ayden some home made enchiladas.
That had been the beginning of their friendship. They had spent many nights
talking until three in the morning and hanging out on weekends. Salma was
the one true connection Ayden had to the outside world.
Ayden never felt like he fit in his family's world of snobbish dinner
parties, elite country clubs and preferential treatment at most Ivy League
universities. After graduating from college, His father had told him, "No
one will ever respect a blind man in the courtroom. Maybe the firm can bring
you on as a researcher." Ayden was tired of his father's attitude so he took
a job writing for a small magazine and left the family home.
Once moving away, he had become a recluse of sorts. He showed up to the
office for work, attended cocktail parties required for work and even dated
a couple of girls, but he always felt like an outsider. Salma was the one
person he truly felt comfortable with. Her infectious way of always looking
at things positively seemed like a novelty to Ayden. She could always make
him smile.
When he began writing the book about Henry, Salma had offered to assist in
anyway she could.
"I'm really glad you're here," Ayden said.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm waiting for my pay check. My services don't come free."
Salma giggled as she pulled into a parking stall. "I think we're here."
"Thanks, again, for taking the day off to help."
"Hey, I know you'd help me with stuff. It's all so interesting; way more
interesting than filling in for waiters who don't show up for work."
"You aren't at work, who's filling in for you?" Ayden said grinning at her.
Salma smacked his arm. "That's the benefit of being the owner's daughter."
Coins clinked as Salma plopped them into a parking meter, and Ayden's cane
tap, tap, tapped against brick buildings lining the city sidewalk.
The muted tapping turned into clinking.
Checking where he was, Ayden ran his hand across the door searching for a
sign. "No Braille, is this it?" he shouted back to Salma.
"Yes." Her shoes click-clacked against the pavement with an urgent rhythm,
trying to catch up.
They entered the quiet, almost lazy-like atmosphere of the police station.
Ayden moved towards the sound of  clacking as some one pressed keys on a
computer keyboard with a practiced efficiency. 
Stepping up to a counter, running his hand along it's smooth, cool edge,
Ayden said, "Excuse me."
"Can I help you?" A woman spoke, bored tones rolling out of her mouth.
"We were wondering if we can speak to some one who worked the Henry
Templeton case," Ayden said.
The woman stopped typing. A long, penetrating  silence followed before she
spoke again. "Who's  asking?"
"I'm Ayden Templeton, Henry's grandson."
She inhaled a quick breath. "One minute." Standing, her chair creaked.
Walking away, her shoes clicked on the floor.
Salma touched Ayden's arm. "She had a weird look when you mentioned your
grandpa's name."
Returning, a shuffling footstep accompanied the woman's clicking.
The shuffling moved towards Salma. "Hello. I'm Sheriff Jenkins. How can I
help you?"
Ayden stepped closer towards Salma, extending his arm to Sheriff Jenkins.
"I'm Ayden Templeton and this is Salma Juarez. We have some questions about
my grandfather's death."
There was a pause before Sheriff Jenkins shook Ayden's hand. "Step into my
office please."
Ayden followed the sheriff into a room off the main section of the
department. Avoiding the frame of the door, Ayden swept his cane before
entering the room. Asking for a chair, Ayden followed Sheriff Jenkins
directions. Salma's arm brush his as she sat next to him.
"Can I get you anything?" Sheriff Jenkins asked.
"No, but thank you. Salma?"
"I'm good," Salma replied.
Ayden felt a tension fill the room as the three sat there, not speaking.
Sheriff Jenkins began tapping the edge of the metal table in the
interrogation room. Ayden twisted his cane between his fingers. Salma bobbed
her foot which was lightly kicking Ayden's shin.
"We're hoping to learn as much as we can about Henry Templeton's death.
I'm researching the story for a novel I'm working on," Ayden said.
"I worked the case. There's not much to tell."
"I know you eventually reported it as an accidental death, but was there
ever any evidence suggesting otherwise?" Ayden asked.
"No. We questioned friends and family and there was no reason to believe
Henry Templeton was murdered." Sheriff Jenkins held an edge to his voice.
Ayden shifted his head towards Salma. "I know there was-uh-speculation that
maybe my grandmother did it."
"Lucy Baldwin? She never hurt anyone. We were all shocked when she married
Henry. She could have had anyone she wanted."
Ayden leaned against the table looking straight in the direction where
Sheriff Jenkins sat. "I thought Henry was a catch? Wouldn't most have jumped
at the chance to marry into the Templeton family? You know, a lawyer from a
wealthy family and all that."
"He was a playboy. Always was, never changed."
"Who did you question about his death?" Salma asked.
The sheriff's chair creaked as he leaned back. "Well, of course Lucy and her
boy Nick. They were there. Found his body and all."
Ayden shot the sheriff a questioning glance. His voice contained a tone
Ayden didn't care for.
"Then there was Zelda, the housekeeper, and Avery Mayer, he came around
about once a week to help Lucy with the lawn. She loved her garden. Her
roses won prizes around here," Sheriff Jenkins continued.
"Anyone else?" Ayden asked.
"Oh, his work associates, but Henry was retired so they didn't see much of
him anymore. Alice Madison , she had been his personal secretary for years.
She still did stuff part-time for Henry."
Ayden pulled out his two-sided Braille slate. Pop-pop-pops echoed throughout
the small room as Ayden took Braille notes. "Are any of these people still
around?"
"Not everyone had the same opportunities as the Templeton's to leave town.
Other than Henry's work associates, I think most of them still live around
here. At least the one's who are still alive."
"Is there anything else you can tell us? Was there anything strange you
noticed? Any evidence that suggest something other than an accidental tumble
down the stairs?"
The sheriff snickered. "I know you city folk like to dream up seedy
happenings in small towns, but Henry Templeton's death was nothing more than
an accident. Nothing dark about it."
"Thank you for your time." Ayden extended his hand to Sheriff Jenkins's.
The sheriff didn't take his hand. He just sighed. "Look, don't go digging
anything up. Just let the dead rest."
Salma's bracelet tinkled as she stood.
"We understand. I'm just trying to find things out about my grandfather for
the book. You know, no stone uncovered."
"Are you two married?" Sheriff Jenkins asked.
Ayden was confused by the switch in topics. "No."
The sheriff chuckled. "Like your grandpa, I see."
Ayden blushed, but Salma said, "Ayden is nothing but a gentleman.
Clearly something he did not pick up in this town."
"I know the kind of men the Templeton's are," the sheriff said.
Unsure of what to do, Ayden turned to leave.
"At least he has a better chance of touching what you have been admiring
this whole time," Salma snapped. She twisted about, fluttering Ayden's
collar up from the breeze stirred up by her whooshing out.

Once back in the car, he apologized. "I'm sorry. I didn't know what to say."
"It's okay. He was a pig."
"I didn't realize-"
"I know, its okay. Where to next?"
He could tell Salma was upset, but he left it alone. "The house, I guess."
As the car backed out into the silent street, Ayden wondered why she had
told Sheriff Jenkins what she had. Was it simply said in a moment of anger,
or was there any truth in her words, he thought. He has a better chance of
touching what you have been admiring. Ayden smiled as he thought of the
possibilities with Salma.


Ayden stood before the house remembering the bright blue it had been during
the few visits he had made during his childhood. The house had always stood
out even among the street full of bright, cheery houses complete with
emerald lawns and award winning gardens. The Templeton house had a
wrap-around porch with a veranda to the back opening onto a large lawn
complete with a British garden. Its three stories reaching majestically
towards the sky.


Ayden now gripped the rough, wooden railing of the house. The feel of the
railing did not match his memory of the sleek, smooth dark wooden banister.
The stairs creaked as he stepped on them. Reaching the porch, he felt a
slight dip and hopped sideways in fear of falling through the porch.
Children laughed and shouted in play nearby. Cars languidly drove down the
street, but a strange silence surrounded the house. It was as though Ayden
were underneath water trying to make out the distant sounds.
Jasmine passed through his nose as Salma stood next to him.
"How does it look?" Ayden asked. He ignored the enticing aroma of Salma.
She took a deep breath. "It's run down, that's for sure. I can't believe no
one has lived here for years."
"My family still owns it, but after my grandfather's death, no one wanted to
do anything about it."
"So sad," Salma said in a whisper.
Ayden placed his hand on the cold knob of the dilapidated Victorian house.
He dug in his pockets for the rusty key he had found in his father's office.
Inserting the heavy key in the lock, a quiet click indicated he opened the
door. Pushing the solid door open,  he nodded in Salma's direction before
stepping inside. Shutting the door, the house engulfed all sound like a
tomb.
"Creepy." Salma shivered, brushing Ayden's arm.
Ayden walked forward arcing his cane wide. He coughed inhaling dust mingling
with air. "This has been sitting for years," Ayden rasped.
"What's it look like?"
"It's really dark, but it's almost completely empty. What do you think
you'll find?"
"I'm not sure. Sheriff Jenkins wasn't much help. I just thought, maybe
something."
 "Well, if we are going to be here long we need fresh air."
Ayden felt a rush of summer breeze as the window clambered up. The sound of
kids playing ruined the house's stolid silence. Life entered the house again
as Ayden began to feel around searching for any clue.
Ayden moved from room to room feeling walls and any remaining furniture,
hoping to find something, anything. Making his progression from room to room
on the main floor, he heard Salma's muffled footsteps overhead. He smiled to
himself as He rifled through drawers and cupboards. So far his hands had
only found dust and cobwebs.

"Ayden, Ayden!" Salma shouted a couple of hours later.
Ayden hurried towards the staircase where Salma's voice echoed from.
"Salma! Are you okay?"
"Get up here! I found something!"
Ayden clambered up the grand staircase. Reaching the second floor, he
shouted, "What room?"
"Um, it's a bedroom."
He rolled his eyes. "Right." Hearing her voice off to his left, Ayden moved
down the hallway. At the end, he found a door open.
"Salma?"
Salma's smacking barefeet moved towards him. "Look at this." Her bracelet
tinkled and paper crackled as she shoved something in Ayden's hand.
Ayden grinned. "Um." He handed the paper back to Salma.
"Oh-sorry. I just-you won't believe this."
Ayden tried to concentrate on the words of the letter as Salma's
gravel-tinged voice read.
Henry, My love,
I miss you. I grow restless with each day. I have waited years to be with
you, really be with you. Let's stop the pretending, stop the lies.
Don't be mad with me. I would do anything for you, but we must stop hiding.
There is no harm in this. I will wait to hear from you, but don't take long.
If you don't choose me, I will marry Tom Madison.
Love,
A.	W.
Salma rushed through the letter almost in one breath. Ayden wasn't sure what
her excitement was for.
"We already know Henry was having an affair of sorts," he said.
Salma sighed, impatience in her tone. "Ayden, think about it. Don't you
see?"
"Not really." He scratched the back of his head, giving Salma a quizzical
look.
She grabbed his wrist. Her slender fingers gripped him with a strength Ayden
would not have guessed at. She moved in closer and once again, Ayden took in
the scent of jasmine. This time he smelled something else with it. Vanilla,
he thought. Salma shook his arm slightly, her tinkling crystal bracelet
grazing his wrist,  bringing him back to attention.
"Ayden, A. W. Don't you see it yet?"
"A. W.?"
"The initials." Exasperation escaping in her excitement. "A. W. It's Alice
Madison."
"Who's Alice Madison?"
Salma smacked her forehead. "Ay-where are your notes from today?"
Ayden pulled out the three-by-five note card from his back pocket.
"Now read through it." She used a
teacher-impatient-with-a-student-not-understanding tone.
A second passed, then he paused, comprehension dawning. He snapped his head
up looking towards Salma.
"See?" she asked.
"You think A. W. and Alice Madison are the same person?"
"It fits."
"She was Henry's secretary. And Sheriff Jenkins said she's still living in
town. She must have married this Madison guy."
"Think we can find her?"
"Give me a minute." He pulled his IPhone out of his back pocket. An
incoherent electronic drone buzzed as he navigated through menus.
"Got it. There's only one Alice Madison that shows up in town."
"Thank God for technology." Sarcasm oozed from her voice. "No wonder no one
could ever solve this case."
Ayden smirked at her. "Thank God for accessible technology. Come on. She
doesn't live far from here and it's not too late."

Ten minutes later they were knocking on Alice Madison's door. Salma
described the house's well-kept lawn and green exterior. He imagined flower
boxes lining the windows and white shutters hanging from the upstair
windows.
The door whooshed opened, and a woman gasped. "Oh."
"Mrs. Madison? I'm Ayden-"
"Templeton," she said. "You look like Henry."
He smiled. "Mrs. Madison, this is my friend Salma. We're working on a book
about my grandfather, and we would like to ask you some questions."
"Oh, of course. Come in, come in."
As the door shut behind Ayden and Salma, he smelled a flower scent that he
couldn't place and a clock ticked nearby. Alice ushered them into a sitting
room off the entryway. Salma and Ayden sat on a soft couch while Alice sat
across from them.
"Can I offer you anything? I just made lemonade."
"That would be wonderful," Salma said.
As Alice left the room, Ayden turned towards Salma. "I'm sorry, I didn't
even think to ask if you were hungry or anything."
"Hon, it's okay. I didn't think about it myself until now."
"We'll have dinner after this; I promise."
"Promise?"
Ayden grinned as Alice returned. She placed an ice-cold glass in Ayden's
hand. Ice chinked against the side as he took a gulp. The cold liquid felt
good down his throat after the dust of the Templeton house. He could only
imagine how dirty he and Salma looked. He felt the mingled grime of sweat
and dirt on his body. Why had it not occurred to them to stop somewhere
first and wash up, Ayden thought.
"So, what can I help you with? Henry was a dear friend and I miss him.
You must call me Alice."
"Well, Alice, we specifically are interested in his death," Ayden said.
Alice coughed, choking on her lemonade. Her glass clinked against the coffee
table as she sat it down. "Why would you be interested in that?"
"I believe that maybe his death wasn't accidental."
"Oh dear, don't buy into those silly rumors. Pete Jenkins conducted a
thorough investigation and no foul play was to be hinted at."
"And yet the rumors persist," Ayden said.
"Silly gossip. Housewives bored out of there minds."
"You know Sheriff Jenkins?" Ayden asked.
"Darling, it's a small town; everybody knows everybody."
Ayden sipped on his lemonade as Salma rap-tapped her nails against the side
of her glass.
"We have reason to believe maybe there is more to the story." Affecting his
best courtroom demeanor, he directed his intense gaze towards Alice.
He'd observed his father like this hundreds of times.
Liquid swished and ice chinked on glass as Alice swirled her lemonade.
The cheery tenor dropped from her voice. "What makes you say that?"
Finding the letter in his folder, removing a Braille label, he set it on the
coffee table dividing Alice from Salma and him. "Did you write this?" 
Picking it up, the paper rustled like autumn leaves. When she spoke, her
voice sounded strained as though she were holding back tears. "Where did you
find this?"
"It was in some old boxes in the Templeton home," Salma said.
A long silence followed, in which Alice sniffled.
"I suppose the truth has to come out sooner or later," Alice said, her voice
quiet but pregnant with tension.
"We don't need-a-details of anything, but is there any reason to think Henry
was killed?" He tried to adopt a soothing inflection.
"Your grandfather hired me when I was eighteen," Alice began, ignoring him.
"I instantly fell in love with him, but he was that type. Dashingly
handsome, charming to a fault. He was a few years older than me, but I knew
how all the girls waited for their chance to rope Henry into marriage. I
felt so lucky to see him everyday. I started out as a simple receptionist,
but eventually he promoted me to his personal secretary."
"Did you move with my grandparents then, when they left town?"
Alice sighed. "Yes, but after-things happened-I moved back. I remained in
his employ, working from the office here in town. Before your father took
charge, Henry's headquarters had always been based from here."
Ayden nodded.
"I never meant to hurt anyone. Things happened. Henry loved us both, Lucy
and I. I tried to end it for years, but Henry always showed up with that
smile of his. Then I tried to make him choose. I should've known better, but
I was in love."
Alice divulged her secret like a child hoping for mercy.
"The final straw came right before his death. We had carried on for almost
forty years even though we both married, and I knew it had to stop. I'd
threatened to cut ties, like marrying Tom, but Henry- well he had his ways."
A napkin crumpled. When she continued, tears filled her words. "I knew it
was wrong- I never meant to hurt anyone. We fought. I threatened to tell
Lucy and that was that. He left me promising to choose. I waited for an
answer, but a week later, Henry was found dead."
"Did you ever tell anyone?" Ayden asked.
"No."

Ayden and Salma stood by the car outside Alice's house. A breeze tousled
Ayden's hair and Salma gently combed her fingers through his dark tresses.
"Seems like all you Templeton men are irresistible." Her laugh was teasing.
Unsure of how to respond, he grinned, but before he could make a remark, her
car door clicked open. He slid into the passenger seat, heart pounding.
"You promised me dinner." Salma whined, a playful tune dancing from her
lips.

Munching diner-style hamburgers and fries, they relax.
"How come you didn't visit your grandparents much?" Salma asked.
"Not sure. Mom and Dad were always busy. Usually just my sister and I came."
"Did you ever notice anything between them then?"
"No, but I was a kid."
"What about when you were older?"
"Naw, I was busy then too. After the accident, though, I spent more time
with my grandma. She was the only one who treated me like the same old Ayden
still, but she died shortly after that."
"I wish I could have met her."
"She would have liked you."
"I always hated seeing my family all the time, but now I'm glad we're so
close."
"Hey, let's walk around town." Ayden slid out of the vinyl booth and paid at
the register.
Meeting Salma out by the car, they moved towards the downtown area.
Salma kept up with Ayden's stride as his cane tapped from side-to-side.
"Sometimes I think it would be nice to live in a small town." She spoke as
though to herself.
"Really, you? Ms. Have-to-go-shopping-every-other-day." He chuckled.
"I could drive to the city. I don't know. It seems like a nice place to
raise a family."
Ayden had never heard Salma speak about wanting kids. As well as he knew
her, he realized there was plenty he still had to learn.
"Yes, we could raise happy little kids who will grow up to cheat, lie and
murder." His voice took a sudden edge thinking about his grandpa.
"We, huh?"
Ayden blushed, feeling the heat creep up his neck to his face. He hadn't
caught his blunder. He sputtered, but before he could make sense of his
words, Salma grabbed his hand.
"Maybe we can live in the Templeton mansion," she said.
They walked silently back to the car hand-in-hand.
"It's pretty late, what should we do?" Salma asked.
Ayden flipped the crystal face of his watch up. Feeling the raised dots and
arrows, he said, "It's a quarter to eleven. I'm beat."
"Me too. I don't really feel like driving back tonight though."
He scratched his head. "I guess we can stay at casa-de-Templeton."
"Okay, but no funny business." She swiped at his arm. "I'm giving you a
look. Want to make sure you're aware." She sidled closer to him.
"I think you're sending mixed signals there." He put an arm around her
waist, Breathing her in.
They stood holding one another before moving to the car.
Sitting in the car, Ayden turned to look at her. "By the way, unlike some
men in my family, I'm more of a one-woman type."
"Good to know." Salma kissed his cheek.
Ayden laced his fingers through hers.
"I was wondering when you would make a move," she said.
Reaching for her face, Ayden leaned in to kiss her. Her smooth, plump lips
tasted of cherry. She placed her hand on his cheek, both drawing in the
other.

Back at the Templeton house, they stood on either side of the king-size bed
in the master bedroom.
"Sure you don't want to sleep in another room?" Ayden asked.
"Hell no! This house is creepy."
"I thought you wanted to raise children here?"
"Shut-up. Scared to sleep with a girl?" The bed creaked as Salma lay down on
it. "A bit musty."
They had found spare bed linens in a box and had attempted to shake them out
as best they could. Ayden had noticed a lingering wispy scent of flowers
that he could not place. It may have been the remnants of something used to
launder the linens years ago, he had thought.
Without thinking, he removed his shirt and handed it to Salma. "Here.
You can wrap your pillow in it."
"Thanks." Salma drew the word out, imitating Mae West.
Realizing what he had done, he blushed for the millionth time that day.
Unable to turn back time, Ayden lay slowly down, sticking close to the edge.
"Keep your hands above the blankets," she yawned.

Ayden woke disoriented at first, but comprehension quickly dawned as he felt
Salma's small body nestled against his. She snored quietly and Ayden smiled.
This was nice, he thought. Extracting himself gently from the bed, he tried
not to wake Salma.
He needed to use the bathroom, but it struck him that the bathrooms would
not be in working order. It was primitive, but it would have to do, he
thought as he found his way downstairs and out into the back garden. Hoping
no neighbors were awake to see him, he relieved himself.
Half asleep still, his eyes snapped open as a slight shuffle came from
behind him. Finished with his midnight chore, he listened intently, but no
sound came again. He turned around, gripping his cane like a weapon in one
hand.
"Hello," he said.
No response came. He turned back towards the house and as he walked, Ayden
felt his back tingle. It was the sensation he felt as a child when
terrified, feeling a presence behind him. He was thirty-years-old now, he
chided himself. Forcing himself to walk calmly back into the house, he
reached the French doors and entered. As he went to shut the doors, a soft
shuffle started in the darkness again. It could have been the long dead
foliage of the garden rustling in the breeze, but Ayden couldn't be sure.
Placing himself in the doorway again, the noise instantly stopped.
Slamming the door and locking it, Ayden flew to the stairs, taking three
steps at a time. Heart pounding, blood rushing in his ears, Ayden felt a
cool breeze cut through the stuffy air of the bedroom.
Danmit, he swore to himself. They had opened windows before going to bed,
hoping to air out their lodgings for the night.
Salma still slept peacefully on the bed. He sat on the bed resting his head
on the large carved headboard, listening.
Crickets chirped outside and the breeze rustled the leaves of trees from
time to time. Salma continued her snoring as Ayden waited to hear the
shuffle again or a step on the stairs, but nothing came. He relaxed after
fifteen minutes of his vigilante watch.
Laying back down on the bed, one arm behind his head, he smiled when Salma
threw an arm across his chest. Drifting back to sleep, he focused his
thoughts on Salma.

The second time Ayden woke he knew where he was, but something was not
right. Salma still snored next to him as he spooned her, but an acrid odor
filled his nostrils. A loud crack made him bolt up in bed.
"Salma! There's a fire!" He shook her until she woke up.
"We need to get out of here." Ayden shouted as she slowly regained
consciousness.
Ayden flew to the open door. Smoke filled his nose and made his eyes water.
"Salma, I can't tell if we can make it down the stairs."
Standing next to him, she said, "All I can see is smoke. Can we jump out the
window?"
"We're on the second floor. It's pretty high up."
Now across the room, Salma cry, "Oh-my-god! Ayden!"
"What?"
"I can see flames around the base of the house."
"Shit." Trying to think, Ayden gathered up the sheet from the bed.
Dousing it with water from bottles purchased the night before, he threw the
sheet in Salma's direction. "Wrap yourself in this."
"Why?"
"Just do it."
Making sure her long hair was covered, Ayden threw Salma over his broad
shoulder. Grabbing his cane by the door, he moved into the hallway.
Hoping the shirt tied around his face would keep out smoke, Ayden ran to the
top of the stairs. Despite the situation, Ayden could not help notice the
harlequin-romance-like predicament. He grimaced. That's a writer for you, he
thought.
Salma shouted words muffled by the sheet around her head. He couldn't
understand her, but didn't want to stop moving to ask. . Tucking his cane
underneath his arm, he groped the banister which still seemed intact.
Finally reaching the bottom, he found his way to the front door and opened
it.
A rush of fresh air greeted him. Feeling heat, he hoped they could make it
off the porch. At the porch steps, panicked, he placed Salma upright again.
She struggled, loosening the sheet around her.
"Are the flames here too?" Ayden asked.
"No, but there coming from behind."
At the end of the drive, Ayden dialed 911 on his phone. Neighbors shouted
and footsteps circled the neighborhood. A few ran up asking if they were
okay.
Standing at a distance, the flames roared. Salma held his hand as they
waited in silence for the sound of sirens.

Ayden rested on the back bumper of Sheriff Jenkins's police cruiser. The
mid-morning sun warmed his face. Still shirtless, a blanket draped his
shoulders. A gritty, greasy  smudge crossed his forehead, and he could still
smell the smoke embracing his body.
Once the firemen had extinguished the fire, Sheriff Jenkins and his deputy,
a man about Ayden's age, drove Salma and Ayden to the police station. Each
gave a report before Ayden's father was contacted.
Salma approached Ayden now offering a cup of water. He gulped the cool
liquid down as she rested her head against his shoulder. Sniffing her hair
laced with the jasmine and vanilla scent and smoke, Ayden protectively
placed an arm around her.
"Ayden," Salma said in quiet surprise, "Alice Madison's here."
Ayden pulled the blanket closed as he waited for Alice to approach. A new
scent filled his nostrils. This too smelled of flowers, but it was not the
framiliar scent Salma wore. Through the fog of his brain, he tried to place
where he had smelled this before.
"I'm glad you two are alright," Alice spoke quietly. "I can't believe this.
Do you need anything?"
"Thank you, but we're okay," Salma said warmly.
"Pete phoned me this morning-"
"Sheriff Jenkins? Why?" Ayden asked.
Alice didn't respond.
Waiting for an answer, Ayden finally recognized the flower scent. It had
been lingering in the closet where he and Salma had found bed linens.
"Alice, did you visit the house after we left you yesterday?"
Alice suppressed a cry. She never answered, and before Ayden could ask
anything else, her muffled footsteps padded on the grass as she walked
briskly away.
"Ayden?" Salma sounded confused.
"Her perfume, it's the same smell I noticed in the closet last night."
"Ayden, that's where I found the letter too," Salma whispered.
Ayden heard the swish of grass as someone else walked towards them. It was
His father, Nick.
"Are you crazy?" Nick asked, bewildered.
"I'm fine. Nice to see you too, Dad."
Nick let out a long breath before saying, "Your mother and I went crazy when
we heard what happened. We're glad you're okay."
"Is the house ruined?" Ayden asked.
Salma shifted, sitting upright next to Ayden.
"It's mostly the garden that was ruined, but there is damage to the house."
Ayden's chest tighten. The garden had been His grandmother's favorite place.
Ayden remembered playing among the walk-ways and tall bushes as she tended
to her beloved flowers. Interrupting his thoughts, he heard a shuffling
footstep approach. Another memory pushed itself front and center in his
mind.
As Sheriff Jenkins stopped his pace, Ayden gave him a hard look.
"Tom says it will take a few weeks to get reports back, but there is some
structural damage to the house, Nick," the sheriff said.
"Taken any midnight strolls to clear your mind lately?" Ayden glared at the
sheriff, his voice accusatory.
No one spoke. Salma gripped his hand.
"Any reason why you'd call Alice Madison early this morning?" Ayden asked.
"Drop it," Nick hissed.
Thrown off by his father's tone, Ayden squeezed Salma's hand, unsure what to
do.
"I'm sure we're all tired and need to collect our thoughts," Sheriff Jenkins
said. "Maybe you ought to take these two home, Nick." He shuffled off.


Ayden sat in front of the computer, working. A humming buzz issued from the
speakers as keys clacked.
"Still working?" Salma asked behind him.
Ayden leaned his head back against her stomach. She was wrapped in a large
soft towel. Remembering last night, he slipped his hand through the folds,
but she spun away, laughing.
It had not been the first night one of them slept over at the other's
apartment, but it had been their first time together. Excitement had rushed
over Ayden, but it hadn't felt awkward.
Salma spewed a torrent of Spanish at him, and he chuckled. "That just turns
me on more."
"I called you a great big moron whose brain is tiny like his-"
"Doesn't matter. Still sounds sexy."
Salma whipped another towel at him before scampering to the bedroom.
Turning back to his work, Ayden checked his email.
Clicking on links, manipulating functions with hot keys, he thought over the
past few weeks.
Ayden had told his father what happened, but Nick said that everything was
circumstantial. Ayden knew this, but he also knew he had opened something
up. Something that had been meant to remain secret. Nick refused to open any
investigation and he remained tight-lipped.
The fire was officially reported as an unknown accident since no evidence,
either way, had been found determining a cause. This, at least, was how the
police report read. Ayden, though, had inquired into the fire-chief's
report. It too was inconclusive, but this report did mention that a match
book had been found near the premises. Salma had advised him to wait before
attempting any further investigation. She was worried about him. Unsure if
the fire had been an accident or not, he agreed with her.
She had been the reason he was able to let the weeks slip by without
searching for more clues. Once they had returned to the city a couple of
days after the fire, Ayden had found the courage to express his feelings
towards her.
They had sat on the couch talking; a typical Friday night for them, except
this time Ayden could feel a growing anticipation between them.
Salma had stood to get another beer from the kitchen when Ayden reached for
her wrist. His large palm encircled her slim wrist. Both had stared silently
at one another. Ayden, knowing he would win this game, broke first. Grinning
with a smirk, he had pulled Salma to him and kissed her.
Weeks later, their routine was continued as normal, yet something was
different. They had transitioned into this new element with ease, as though
it were meant to be. Their friendship was strengthened by the new romance.
Still reminiscing, Ayden did not recognize the name given for the first
email he came across. Opening it up, he read the following:
I'm glad you have stopped your investigation. It is best to let the dead
rest. Enjoy your new love and look only towards the future.
There was no signature. Alarmed, Ayden checked the From field, but the only
information this provided was aconcernedfriend at gmail.com Ayden's pulse
quickened. Salma lightly padded back into the room, and he closed the window
he was in. He didn't want to worry her.
"Wann' stay here again tonight?" he asked.
"You know, we live across the hall from one another. Should we just make
this permanent?"
"Sure you can live with a guy?"
"Well, I guess if it's you I can."
He lunged for her, but she ran giggling across the room.
"This is the great thing about dating a blind guy, he can't catch me."
"Oh yeah?"
Salma shrieked as he flung his body across her path, blocking her dash to
the bedroom. Holding Salma close against him, wrapping her in a bear hug,
Ayden knew this was just the beginning.


Sincerely,
Bridgit Kuenning-Pollpeter
Read my blog at:
http://blogs.livewellnebraska.com/author/bpollpeter/
 
"History is not what happened; history is what was written down."
The Expected One- Kathleen McGowan

Message: 12
Date: Tue, 11 Oct 2011 20:05:19 -0400
From: "Ashley Bramlett" <bookwormahb at earthlink.net>
To: "Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
Subject: Re: [stylist] on writing from the blind perspective
Message-ID: <DFF9C6CB5312472E9DAC6B5A8F8C28FC at OwnerPC>
Content-Type: text/plain; format=flowed; charset="iso-8859-1";
	reply-type=original

Chris,
Are you writing from a blind character's perspective? If not, I think you
need visual descriptions.
Maybe not much, but some Yes most of our audience is sighted and we need to
appeal to that.

I struggle with this too. Even when writing my personal essays about my
family, I have to get a few descriptions from someone.
I don't have enough vision to see the details of someone or the archetecture
of a building. I wondered how other blind writers do this? How can you
describe the scenery of Virginia versus further south like Georgia?
Someone mentioned travel/tourism websites. Any others? Maybe some sites
describe the geography and climate. From that, we can figure out how things
look somewhat.

Ashley


_______________________________________________
Writers Division web site:
http://www.nfb-writers-division.net <http://www.nfb-writers-division.org/>

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/justin.williams2%40gmai
l.com