Yvette

Yvette Pourciau died Tuesday.

I knew her because I teach creative writing at the Affiliated Blind here in Lafayette, Louisiana where I live and have for the last three years. Yvette, who was blind herself, taught braille at Affiliated. She came to the writing class frequently, though less so in the last months. I’m always reluctant to ask about the participants’ personal lives, but when I said I hoped Yvette would return to the class soon after her absence, someone told me she was being treated for cancer. My heart sank. I was so fond of her.

She was the only person in the class who had a seeing-eye dog, a sweet-tempered lab who sat quietly and patiently at her feet during class. Yvette was completely blind. Darkness was her world. I don’t know if she was blind at birth. Every person who comes to the class has a unique history of their vision or lack of it. Some are blind at birth. Some lose their sight gradually. Some lose their sight because of an illness or accident. Some never are completely blind but have vision that is highly compromised.

She was small, had an even-cadenced voice and a calm, peaceful disposition. She reminded me of the composure of some nuns I’ve seen in my life, somewhat withdrawn into themselves, placid, sure of their inner life, at peace.

Yvette Pourciau

She wrote a wonderfully entertaining long story about aliens who come to Earth on a quest to learn about our music. (Yes, there’s a reason.) The thing about Yvette’s writing is that it has—and that any successful fantasy writing needs to have—confidence. Yvette believed 100% in her story, in her characters, in their motivations, in how they behaved and in the galactic place where they lived. It doesn’t matter how far-fetched the story is, if the writer is writing from deep conviction that her people and places are real, the reader has a good mind to believe they are. I know I did. The class was rapt.

Yvette usually sat quietly at the big conference table in the room where the class met. I grew to rely on her contributions, on the pieces she submitted—she often sent me shorter pieces as well—because we didn’t always have enough pieces to fill the time. She was religious and sometimes wrote about her faith. Once, she imagined being at Jesus’ birth and wrote, “A Blind Person in Bethlehem.” Whatever you believe, you are moved reading it. That’s the thing about good writing, isn’t it?

Yvette with her Labrador

This is from a piece she wrote and presented to the class called “Windows to the Soul.” I can only quote a few lines with a clean conscience, because I don’t have her permission to print the entire piece, and, obviously, I never will. Fair practice, it’s called in the arts:

“I heard somewhere that our eyes are the windows to our souls….I can not look out through my windows. Can others look in? Do they convey the messages I wish to send? Do they show my hopes and dreams? Do they reveal those things that I wish to keep secret? Who knows the answer?”