Time out of Mind.

Having a gander at the posts I've put up here over the last week, I realised just how many howlers there were boring away into the body of the text.
Since becoming a member of the National Academy of Writing in 2008, and keeping to a daily writing regime the silly mistakes (as my school teachers used to call them) have been occurring less and less. Dyslexia is like an accent. You can suppress it as much as you like , but sometimes it will just pop up and reveal the real you. They only way forward is to keep focused and practice, practice , practice.

It used to be something I was uncomfortable about. And I won't lie, I ain't too jolly about it now . But dyslexia , has given me a few gifts that I would never had received if I hadn't been so close to it as an adolescent. I think my mind works a little differently because of it.
When looking at a page of words your non dyslexic approaches the piece head on , word after word lining up to make a cohesive sentence. Well, for me I would hop and skip down a page, picking up the words that made sense, jump backwards and link them up to the words I didn't understand. Then and only then did the earlier, incomprehensible sentences become significant.

Now when I delve into stories and plots I harvest ideas, shuffle them, throw them in the air and watch as they fall. Before they hit the ground I grab them and make sure they land in the right place.
Dyslexia has made me look at the order of things and forced me to manipulate that order so it would make sense to me. That can only be beneficial, I should think, for any writer.
So heres to booter spolling then.