Rowena Portch's Blog

Prelude
Rainair’s worst day was not the one she woke up blind, but the moment she’d realized she had married a monster.
Machines hummed and clicked, their cadence echoing off the walls in time with her heartbeat. Her face felt swollen, and every one of her limbs was numb. The pain that radiated up her spine was like a familiar old friend that frequently called, only its presence was not as comforting.
The sharp scent of alcohol and bleach confirmed she had landed back in the hospital for the fifth time in as many months. Each time earned her more severe injuries. Cliff would kill her eventually. She had to leave him for good, but her every attempt left a wake of destruction.
Good people who had tried to help her had suddenly disappeared or had their lives destroyed beyond repair. Never again, she had promised herself, yet she couldn’t do this on her own.
People entered her room. Hard-soled shoes indicated they were not hospital staff. The sickening scent of Axe cologne permeated the air. It reminded her of a crowded room after a rowdy party involving far too much alcohol.
“Rainair Bishop?” a young man asked.
“Yes,” she struggled to say. Her throat felt as if she had swallowed glass shards. The raspy sound it emitted rivaled that of a cat stuck in the maw of a hungry coyote.
“I’m officer Hadley, and this is my partner, Officer Adams. We are here to take your report.”
Adams hadn’t spoken, but her scent was female, and the vinegar-like aroma she emitted betrayed her nervousness. Why would she be nervous?
“Can you tell us what happened?” asked Adams, concern and compassion softening her question. Someone had abused her.
“My husband had me beaten,” said Rainair.
The young officer cleared his throat. “Those are harsh accusations, Mrs. Bishop. Are you certain he was involved?”
It was always the same. No one believed her and the reports they filed made her look like a promiscuous chippy who always seemed to be at the wrong place with the wrong crowd. It was getting rather old. “Yes, Mr. Hadley, I’m sure. I recognized his cologne. He was with two other men.”
“Do you know who they were?”
“No, but I would recognize their voices. One of them was approximately six-foot-two and rather portly. The other was more athletic and slightly shorter. My husband stood by as they pounded my body like a sack of flour.”
“Your husband claims to have been in court that day during the time you called 911.”
Of course he did. Cliff always had his script in order before he acted. He was a strategist which made him one of the most influential lawyers in New York. “He was there, with me,” Rainair seethed.
“Why would he do this?” asked Adams.
“I tried to leave him. He got angry, just like the last four times he put me in here. I filed the reports.”
“We read them,” said Hadley. “None of them were conclusive.”
“Of course they weren’t,” she scoffed. It was Cliff’s word against hers—a blind woman. “I want to press charges,” she said, knowing it would do no good.
“You want to press charges on the founder of the most prestigious law firms in New York, based on the scent of his cologne and a description of two blokes that could be any one of a million people?”
“Yes, I do.”
Hadley laughed. “There was nothing on your clothes or person that carried any proof of your allegations, Mrs. Bishop. The scent of cigarette smoke and gin coincide with the story your husband told. Someone saw you at the Blue Ox, leaving drunk with three men. Someone found you on the street and brought you here.”
“Did you run a blood test on me?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t drink last night!”
“Your blood test proved otherwise.”
Rainair thought about her throat and how it felt raw and sore. A tinge of juniper lingered. Had they forced gin down her throat? She remembered little of that night and wondered now if they had drugged her.
When she detected the scent of Timber Spice Cologne, her heart raced as if adrenaline pumped through her IV.
“Am I interrupting?” said the smooth and confident voice of her husband.
“No, sir. We were just leaving. I think we have what we need.”
“I hope you find the bastards who did this,” said Cliff, his voice thick with honey that reeked of poison.
“Yes, sir. We will.” Officer Hadley and Adams turned and left the room.
Plastic rustled as Cliff laid something down on the table beside her. “I brought you red roses—your favorite.” He leaned down and kissed her swollen cheek.
Then, in a whisper that was barely detectable, he added, “I married you, Rainair, because of your beauty and skill as a lawyer. Your blindness offers another convenience—a dependence of sorts. I have all the perks without the complications—something I don’t have time for. Behave yourself, and I won’t have to hurt you anymore. There is no place you can hide where I can’t find you. The sooner you learn that, the better life will be—for both of us. You are mine, Rainair. You hear me?”
“I’d rather be dead.”
“That’s my girl,” he laughed. “Always the fighter; another thing I love about you.”
His lips crushed down on hers so hard. It elicited a shot of pain and a whimper.
“Mine!” he repeated.

Chapter 1
Seven years later

Rai’s knuckles whitened around her iPhone and that familiar sickness crept from her lower belly up to her chest as if she had swallowed bitter acid. “Tell me.”
“There is no record of your filing,” said Anna. She and Rai had become the best of friends, having both come from abusive relationships.
“How? I filed it in person.”
“Your husband has connections, sweetie.”
“Don’t call him that! I’ve been trying to make him my ex for seven years.”
Anna cleared her throat. “Cliff hosted one of his famous parties last month. Guess who made the invitation list? Judge Hardey and Sheriff John Ramsey. After that, the paper trail for your divorce decree simply disappeared. He’s bad news, Rai, and he’s in bed with all the right people.”
Rai paced back and forth, her white cane tapping out a beat that matched her pounding heart. “I will never be free of him, will I?”
“Hey, we’ll find a way, I promise.”
“Thanks, kiddo. I appreciate your help.” Rai ended the call, then tapped her phone. Oliver, her screen-reading voice, politely announced the time with a polished British accent. “12:43 pm.”
Brian wasn’t coming. She was not surprised. He wanted more than she could give, but long-term relationships were impossible for her, thanks to Cliff.
She had changed her name, her hair color and length, and was careful not to contact her family directly. She missed them, but they understood her reasons and supported her without hesitance. Brian could not do the same.
Despite his persistence, Rai had to be firm. She had hurt him last week after dinner. Brian had left in a huff and hadn’t tried to contact her again.
She hated going to these events alone. Being blind was hard enough, negotiating her way through unfamiliar surroundings was downright stressful. The white cane was supposed to tell people she had a vision impairment. More than not, it made her a target. Oblivious travelers crossed in front of her dragging their bags behind them, making the route through the cruise terminal a virtual gauntlet.
Shaking her head, she took a deep breath, grabbed the handle of her wheeled bag and tapped her way toward the boarding line. The marble floor dulled each strike of her ceramic tip. Using the echo of sound, she listened for the density of people and conversation, then moved toward the place where it was most thick.
She grew up in Seattle, and the familiar pier and cruise line terminal should have been a comfort. Today, it was not. “Excuse me,” she said to no one particular. “Is this the boarding line for Taylor’s Emerald Queen?”
Perfect, no answer. No doubt people were staring at her as if she were a private joke.
“May I help you?” asked a warm male British voice.
“Please,” she said. “I’m looking for the boarding line for the Emerald Queen.”
“I can help with that,” he said, a slight smile in his tone. “I’m Z, and you are?” A pleasant scent of bay rum wafted off his body.
“Rai.”
He took her bag and offered his arm. “Do you know which cabin you’re in?” Either the man dressed impeccably well, or his uniform was top notch. The material felt like spun silk and cashmere. She assumed he was an employee—a porter, perhaps?
“5445,” she said, fishing in her brown leather bag for the ticket. Her nerves felt raw, and she thought to forget the cruise altogether and return to the familiarity of her flat in Bremerton. She had committed her attendance, however, and she had to stick with it.
“This ticket is one of two. Are you meeting someone?”
She winced. “No,” was all she could say. It was her fault Brian was a no show. Eager to distract Z’s attention from her embarrassment, she asked, “Do you work for Taylor cruise line?”
“Yes,” he said. “My job is to ensure our passengers are well accommodated.”
“Well, I appreciate your efforts, Z. I would have missed the entire cruise looking for that blasted boarding line.”
He chuckled; a deep throaty sound that made her lower belly tremble. The sensation was a time warp that triggered feelings she had as a teen when her date escorted her to prom.
With graceful ease, Z led her through the terminal, past the security lines, and down a quiet hall that held a faint scent of new paint and polished floors.
“Good morning Mr. …”
“Just Z,” he interrupted. “Good morning Marda.”
“Yes, sir,” Marda replied with a hint of embarrassment.
That was an odd exchange, thought Rai. “You seem to have respect around here,” she commented. “What position do you hold again?”
“Does it matter?”
She thought about it for a moment. “Well, you seem to know your way around the ship, and other employees know you. I don’t think you are a thug attempting to kidnap me and toss me into a van. So, no, I guess it doesn’t matter.”
That invoked a laugh from him, a roar so deep, it rattled her bones. She was used to having male attention and heard she was a looker more than once. She wouldn’t know, seeing she had lost her sight when she was a young teen, before her body bloomed into womanhood. Her blindness added a mystery about her that seemed to intrigue most men until they had their fill of her and moved on to better challenges.
Z guided her up a ramp where the breeze flowing in from the Puget Sound whipped her honey-blonde hair with vigorous gusts. By the time they made it aboard, she was sure she resembled a banshee. Perhaps wearing it down was not the brightest idea, she thought, doing her best to smooth the waist-length locks from her face.
Once on board and out of the wind, he turned her to face him. His warm hand brushed through her wild entanglements with a gentleness of a giant. “Your hair is beautiful,” he said, in a volume just above a whisper.
“Thank you,” she replied, stepping back from his administrations. “I typically have it braided.”
“What a shame.” Having sensed her discomfort, he offered his arm once again and led her through a carpeted foyer. Each time someone tried to address him by his formal name, they stopped as if Z had issued a warning.
Rai couldn’t help but laugh. “You either have an embarrassing name, or you have something to hide.”
“The former,” he said, but the shortness in his voice didn’t back his statement. No matter, Rai thought. Once he showed her to her room, she doubted she would run into him again. The Emerald Queen was one of Taylor’s largest cruise ships—the only one of its size in Washington. Chances of her running into Z again were slim.
After checking her in, he led her to the elevators, pointing out identifiable landmarks that would help her find her way. His understanding and expert orientation techniques impressed her. Most people hadn’t a clue how to guide a blind person, let alone how to orient one.
The elevator dinged once, indicating it was going up. Z and Rai stepped inside. Strong cleaning solution affronted her nose as the doors closed. The way the sound echoed, she ascertained that one or more of the walls had a hard surface. She pressed her hand instinctively to the wall to confirm her suspicion. “Glass walls?”
“Impressive,” he said. “The buttons are always on the right side of the door. Your room is on the fifth floor.” He reached for her hand and moved it over to the third button down on the left. He then shifted her hand to the outside of the button where braille dots indicated the number five. “The braille numbers for each floor are on the outside of the respective button.”
The elevator dinged and announced the floor as the doors slid open. “There are three elevators: one aft, one mid, and one forward. We came up the mid elevator which is the easiest to access,” Z explained. They turned left and passed five doors on the right and four on the left before stopping. He opened the door with a card key. The lock made a soft moan before clicking open.
Listening to the way sound moved in the cramped quarters, she knew the queen-sized bed was directly in front of her, while a narrow piece of furniture occupied the right wall. A hollow sound on the left indicated an open closet. On the wall adjacent to the door was a low desk or dresser.
Z patted the bed. “Bed.” He walked to the right and slapped the narrow piece. “Valet. The closet is on your left, and here,” he tapped the table on the near wall, “is your dresser with six drawers. Follow it down to the privy and shower.” He tapped the door. “I have set your luggage in front of the closet. Do you need help to unpack?”
Her face burned. “No, thank you.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a twenty spot to hand to him. “You have been more than helpful, Z. Thank you. I will put in a good word for you with the boss.”
“Know him well, do you?”
“Not at all, actually, but I know folks who do. I’ll make sure Mr. Taylor hears about the wonderful service you have provided.”
“Thank you, Miss,” he said through a smile. “I’ll come by once we are underway and orient you to the ship.” He took the twenty-dollar bill and closed the door behind him.
Odd man, thought Rai, breathing in his lingering scent.

Would you like to read more? Click the following link.
Blind Faith

So, how does a blind person read? Up until a year ago, we either had to learn Braille or find our books in audio format. Even the best ebook reader on the market didn’t enable us to read the most popular books available. Being a persistent advocate of accessible devices and applications, I was thrilled when the folks at Amazon finally enabled text-to-speech on all of their Kindle eBooks.

Introducing, the iPad

Contrary to popular belief, I don’t own a Kindle reader. I read and do most of my work on an iPad Mini. Yep, you heard right. In my humble opinion, it is the very best ebook reader on the market today. Let me tell you why.

iPad Supports Multiple eBook Formats and Text to Speech

Not only can I read just about any type of ebook published, I’m able to use the built-in VoiceOver software to navigate the apps on my device with ease. VoiceOver is Apple’s solution for those of us who cannot see. I can manage my email, browse the Web, chat with friends and family, read all ebook formats, including Kindle, and even listen to audio books. To my delight, I even have a pleasant British chap for my VoiceOver person. It’s like having my own personal butler.

When I don’t require the VoiceOver functionality, I can easily turn it on or off using the Home key. No other eBook reader on the market matches this level of accessibility. So, for a blind or visually impaired person, the iPad is the best eBook reader available.

Voice Activated Commands

The new Siri feature enables me to control most of my functions with my voice. I can set an alarm to wake me in the morning, call my husband, message my mum, and compose a new mail message to my best friend simply by speaking a command. It’s easily activated by pressing and holding the home button. I love it! As I’m walking to the store or some other destination, I can control my device through a Bluetooth headset without having to remove the device from my bag. How convenient is that?

Lightweight and Compact

The device is small: 7.87 inches high by 5.3 inches wide. Weighing in at only .69 pounds, it slips nicely into my bag with hardly a notice. The Smart Cover I purchased for it enables me to easily turn the device on or off by lifting or lowering the cover.

Long Battery Life

The battery life for this device is nothing short of impressive. I use it all day long, yet still have approximately 40% battery life by the end of the day. If the battery is completely dead, it can take up to four hours to charge. I don’t typically run it that low. I simply plug it in at night, and it’s good to go the next day.

School Books

Another huge plus that makes the iPad the best eBook reader, is the ability to purchase school books online. I have over fifty books loaded onto my device at one time. This enables me to look up information quickly and take notes as I’m reading. Electronic school books are a fraction of the cost of printed books, you don’t have to haul them around from one class to another, and you can write as many notes in the book that you want. You can highlight important information, look up words for their meaning, and search the entire book for a particular word or phrase. It sure beats looking at the index and thumbing through pages, yeah?

Useful Accessories

The onscreen keyboard is a bit cumbersome for a blind person to use, so I purchased a separate Bluetooth keyboard that is small and very lightweight. When I don’t feel like using my voice to enter text, I use this keyboard.

I also use a Bluetooth stereo headset that enables me to hear my iPad, or control its functions through voice command, or Siri.

In Summary

I now use my Mini iPad more frequently than I use my computer. Don’t think you can do much with this device, let me tell you. I have composed novels, maintained Websites, and have purchased more items than I care to admit with this fabulous little device. Yes, there are many tablets out there that provide similar features, but none of them are quite as accessible for us blind folk.

My mum used to read her books on a Kindle Fire and she loved it. I bought her an iPad this year and now she never touches the Kindle Fire. She loves how she can make the items on the iPad screen larger when things are hard to read. The backlight enables her to read in the car during long trips, and she especially loves the feature where hard to read items can be spoken. Due to severe arthritis, she is slow on the keyboard. The microphone feature enables her to speak the text instead. Now, we chat back and forth and it’s like having her here beside me as we enjoy our afternoon tea.

If you have a loved one who is blind, visually impaired, or has dexterity issues, the iPad offers a level of independence that they may never have thought possible.

For more information, visit: http://rowenaportch.com/the-best-eboo...

Are There Angel People, or Spirians Here on Earth?

Absolutely. Have you ever met someone and just being around them made you feel good? Or has a stranger done something nice for you, expecting nothing in return? Now let's flip the coin. Have you encountered an unsavory soul who seems rotten to the core, yet things always seem to go his or her way? Angel people, known as Spirians, are all around us, good and not so good.

In my novels, I talk about these Angel people, calling them Spirians—crosses between human and Angel. If you are blessed with vision that enables you to see energy, you will notice how these Angel people vibrate at a very high frequency that is not completely human. They are also very gifted and perhaps a bit secretive. The clue is in their eyes. They say that the eyes are windows to our soul. I completely agree with that statement. A Spirian's eyes are attractive, deep, and will change color with their moods. Most humans cannot detect these traits. Those who can see energy will have no problems identifying Spirians. I write about these Angel people because they are my family, my friends, and my adversaries.

When I started writing, I was told to write about something I knew. I have always been able to see energy around people, animals, and inanimate objects. Everything vibrates with energy, even rocks. Now that I'm blind, I use this energy to navigate my way around obstacles. So how does a blind person see energy? Good question. Energy is not detected by the eyes; it is detected by the pineal gland that resides in the center of our brains. This gland is called the third eye by many cultures because of its ability to detect light. Energy is a type of light the pineal gland can see. Angel people have very developed pineal glands, which enable them to develop telekinesis, telepathy, and other supernatural gifts.

To maintain order within the clans of these Angel people, or Spirians, I had to establish some sort of hierarchy, where only the leader could assume certain powers, such as binding. I also had to give them a reason to live in clans, or communities, something to make them vulnerable. If a Spirian is ostracized from their clan, his or her life is at risk. Spirians who live outside of a clan are prone to fatal disease because their life energy is not restored by other Spirians. This is why it is important to maintain a solid social structure within each clan. That takes a strong leader; one who is respected and has the best intentions for his community.

In reality, Angel people do not live in clans, however, they do surround themselves with others of their kind. So, if you meet up with someone, and you feel a type of draw to them, they could very well be Spirian. Be warned, though, because there are Shadows out there as well; Spirians with ill intent. If you feel suddenly cold when someone enters a room, or your skin starts to crawl when they look at you, it might be a Shadow. Unless you are attracted to that type of energy, steer clear of them, my friends—they are dangerous.

~Truth is revealed when our cloud of judgment fades

Everyone has a story to tell. The question is, how do you best tell your story without sounding contrite or boring? If you are famous, writing your autobiography or memoir could be a great selling point. For the rest of us who reside under the radar of fame and fortune, we have to be a bit more practical, if not inventive.

When I wanted to tell my story, I thought people would line up to read it. My story was unique, mystical, and something that was typically reserved for fantasy novels, not an autobiography. I wrote and wrote, entitling my masterpiece, This is Not the Life I Ordered! The words flowed from my mind to the keyboard, until one day, my computer contracted the screen of death. Yep, the big blue popped up and hummed before me like a demon reaching for my soul. My story was lost.

Wallowing in my grief, I joined my family by the bonfire in our spacious backyard. Brandy in hand, I relived my horror of losing the story. My husband and two youngest boys grew silent, until my youngest, at the ripe and boisterous age of nine, said, “Mom, the story kind of sucked, anyway.”

The brandy flowed down my throat like liquid fire, adding to the pain of his words. I looked around at the others, all staring at me with affirming expressions. My story sucked.

“Why?” I asked, feeling the need to add insult to injury.
“It’s too weird, Mom,” my older son said. “It’s like a fantasy, but not.”

It was then I decided to turn my ridiculous autobiography into a romantic fantasy—a new romance series with a unique twist because it was based on fact. Protected The first book of the Spirian Series was born. In three months, it hit the shelves. I entered it into contest, mailed free copies to anyone willing to review it. It won two of the contests, and received outstanding reviews. My story was a success.

I wrote the other two books in quick succession, thinking the series would end after book three. Boy, was I wrong. My fans hit the roof, emailing me with pleas to keep the series going. The Spirian Series turned into the Spirian Saga. Now, six book into the Saga, I look back at my original story and sigh. Funny how life just seems to flow in the oddest directions.

How much is true in the Saga? Quite a bit, with a few exaggerations tossed in to keep things interesting. Every character I write about is a person I personally know. For those who know me, they can see the person I’m writing about and have an intimate insight to the events I used as scenes.

So, if you have a story to tell, but don’t think anyone will be interested, think again. People love stories—they always will. The trick is telling those stories so that your reader becomes involved and personally vested in the outcome. Don’t think your story has to be all fact. Have fun with it. few stories told over the history of time are rarely 100 percent factual. Reality is told through the eyes that observe the illusions of life. What is real is irrelevant and often untrue.

Tell your story. The rest will come naturally.

I went for a walk today with my beloved guide dog, Skye-Bear. It was drizzling, but that didn’t matter. We were heading for our favorite trail just beyond the end of our street. The stream had been dry during the summer and the bed had been littered with leaves and debris. I remember wondering last time how the water would ever be able to negotiate it’s path through such a mess. Today, I was thrilled to hear the familiar sound of my stream as it flowed through the bed, miraculously cleared of its debris.

I sat on my thinking log as Skye-Bear trudged through the woods looking for critters to chase and smells to identify. Large rain drops began to descend. I closed my eyes and listed to the sound of the rain falling on spent leaves and merging with the creek flowing beneath me. Funny how the song of nature’s familiar sounds can soothe even the most tired heart. Feeling slightly more rejuvenated, I breathed in deep. The earthy scent of fall leaves nourishing the earth comforted my soul. Slowly, I began feeling my connection with the Father and all of his creations. Like magic, my troubles, fears, and worries melted away with each drop of rain. I imagined them being washed away with the stream. Sometimes the best that life offers is available for free; we just need to look, sense, and listen.

Feeling quite content, we decided to make our way down to our dock on the Hood Canal. The rain was falling hard and steady now, singing a song that only my soul could recognize. The sensation was akin to an Angel’s hug. Skye-Bear ran to the end of the dock, chasing the birds away from my sitting spot. Sometimes, the seals come and play for us, but not today.

I glanced down at the water. Light danced upon it like tiny faeries, desperately grasping to the last moment of independence before merging into the water as one; the sound of it soothing my spirit with familiarity and truth.

The rain continued to pour from the heavens, drenching both Skye-Bear and me to the bone. Then, my husband’s sagacious words entered my mind: "Rain is really nothing more than recycled water, so in a sense, some of it is Moses’ pee." Yep—that’s my man; wise beyond his years. It was time to go home.

Everybody has a story to tell, but few of us know how to put that story to words. When it comes to writing about our life experiences, we choke at the thought of exposing our souls on paper. We convince ourselves that nobody cares about our life, or who we are. Why would anyone want to read what we write?

Well, there is an answer to that dilemma. Write your story as a fictional tale. Don't get too hung up on the facts or the reality of the situation. Instead, concentrate on the end result of the experience. What did you learn? How did things fall into place? Can others learn by that same experience?

Now, add your characters and put them into a situation where that lesson applies.

I used this technique on a story that originally started out as my autobiography. The original title was "This is Not The Life I Ordered!" When I lost that book during a fatal hard drive incident, I was devastated. It was my youngest son who said, "Mom, that story kind of sucked anyway." I was crushed.

Later that night, we all sat around a bonfire discussing my dearly departed story. Soon, we were all laughing about how each scene would play out if I were able to make things happen the way I wanted. The Spirian Saga was born.

"Protected," book 1 of the Spirian Saga is the story of my life manifested as fiction. It was great fun to write and I was able to relate the wisdom earned from many events in my life.

My mother is applying this technique to her own life story and is amazed at how easy it is to put her experiences to paper.

So, if you have a story to tell, go ahead and tell it. Have fun and remember—there is a fine line between illusion and reality.