When words are't doing as they should

Every time I open a word document I click on page layout and change the colour to a light blue. If I’m dealing with more than one document with different information then I change the page to a creamy colour or green. Purple’s and pinks don’t work for me, but then each brain is different. Here are a couple of examples of how I sometimes see words when they’re on plain white paper. 

It’s difficult to show it accurately because of the shifting nature of letters with dyslexia but these are the best examples I’ve seen. The bottom one is especially accurate for me; I can only see one or two words clearly at a time.

When I was in university I was officially diagnosed with Dyslexia, though to be honest the diagnoses did little to help me besides letting the teachers know why my grammar and spelling was so appalling or why I had no chance in hell of finishing all of the set texts, especially if they contained new information. Most of what has helped me with my dyslexia I found through trial and error.

When I worked in a library I created a alphabet bracelet so I didn’t spend forever trying to untangle the order of letters in my brain, turning what used to be a laborious stressful task into child’s play.  Little things like this have helped me along the path of life in a world that doesn’t accept that some people just don’t have a short term memory or have the capability of keeping a beat.  My room is covered in post-its and my phone  is full of notes reminding me of all the things I am bound to forget.

I don’t see my Dyslexia as a hindrance as such, I’ve always enjoyed reading though a lot slower than I wanted to. I remember opening  Pride and Prejudice aged thirteen after my friend had recommended it to me and being completely at a loss as to what was happening. I couldn’t enjoy reading it because every word I read made me feel as though I was failing. As I child I remember telling my friends I’d read books that I’d truly only read the back cover of because I was embarrassed at how long it would have taken me to read them. Back then a thick novel was a daunting prospect and when I got tired the words would simply refuse to stay still on the page. I’d painstakingly force meaning out of one word after the other hating how much I still had to read.

Thankfully now I have gotten over my pride and with my fancy new blue glasses, which speed up my reading by 100%, I now have the pleasure of saying I’ve completed Pride and Prejudice,  Emma and am working my way through Bronte’s Jane Eyre. I won’t say they’re easy to read my brain still takes a long time to process the meaning of some of the sentences but I now enjoy living with a novel for weeks or sometimes months and on the very rare occasion years, dipping in and out when I want to.  I still feel triumphant when I’ve finished a particularly difficult novel but enjoy the journey almost more than the end result. My old favourite Cornelia Funke wrote in Ink Heart:

Some books should be tasted, some devoured, but only a few should be chewed anddigested thoroughly.  

I re-read this quote several times. It took me a little while to know what it meant. I have devoured books such as the Twilight and tasted many others, but the ones that will stay with me forever I have chewed slowly and carefully taking meaning from each word and storing it in a special place in my heart.   

To find out more about tinted lenses and visual stress follow this link: http://www.bdadyslexia.org.uk/about-dyslexia/further-information/eyes-and-dyslexia.html

My First Book

Looking through my old things today I came across this book:

I remember making this; I think it was in year 2 so I couldn’t have been older than six or seven. I remember writing the story and drawing the pictures, I even remember putting the makeshift barcode on the back. It’s surprising how little my writing style has changed in around fifteen years. In Adventure under ice a brother and a sister fall into the ice and encounter all sorts of creatures there made of ice. The boy is sceptical but the girl embraces the world willingly. It ends a little disappointingly when the two run away from a witch and find a hidden door that leads them back to the safety of the woods.

Now my stories often involve a portal to a different world with a girl who is happy to believe in the magic she finds there. There are cruel creatures and fearful chases.  

Putting it simply I write fairy tales.

Good always triumphs over evil, though nowadays there are a few deaths along the way to victory but the basic premise hasn’t changed.

As well as reading for pleasure I’m going to look at writing for pleasure. I enjoy writing fairy tales and have no intention of changing that focus because writing about goblins and magical trees makes me happy.

When I was at university I took a creative writing course. I think I may have received a few good hints there but I can honestly say that it completely knocked my confidence in writing. I was in a room full of people who thought fairy tales beneath them and were far more interested in writing about politics, psychopaths and suicide. I often found myself apologising for my work or trying to add gritty realism were it just didn’t fit. I wish I could go back to that class with the confidence I’ve got now. I’d ignore their sneers and show my work proudly. 

 I’ll leave you with a quote from Niel Gaiman that I wish I’d read years ago:

The main rule of writing is that if you do it with enough assurance and confidence, you’re allowed to do whatever you like. (That may be a rule for life as well as for writing. But it’s definitely true for writing.) So write your story as it needs to be written. Write it ­honestly, and tell it as best you can. I’m not sure that there are any other rules. Not ones that matter.

The Rights of the Reader

Most of what I’m going to say in my blog will be influenced by this charming fellow, Daniel Pennac in his book The Rights of the Reader.

 

I cannot recommend it highly enough; I picked up my edition at The British Library and almost finished it on the train ride home. After I read it once I then read it aloud to my Fiancée. It’s funny, poignant and nothing like anything I’ve ever read before.

Here’s an extract:

When it comes to reading, we grant ourselves all kinds of rights, starting with the ones we deny the young people we want to initiate into the world of books.

1.       The right not to read

2.       The right to skip

3.       The right not to finish a book

4.       The right to read it again

5.       The right to read anything

6.       The right to mistake a book for real life

7.       The right to read anywhere

8.      The right to dip in

9.       The right to read out loud

10.   The right to be quiet

Originally published in French in 1992 everything about it rings true of the British educational system today. I know as a child I was bored to tears having to read through every colour book before being able to move onto an equally tedious colour.  

Read anything anywhere and if possible always mistake a book for real life!

A world of wonder

My little sister went to see Julia Donaldson performing a few of her books with her husband at Leicester University. I was rather jealous that I couldn't go with her; alas they were the days when I had a job to prevent such things.  The idea of performing a book is wonderful yet so rarely actualised. Apparently Mr. Donaldson sang the Gruffalo song and lots of children came up on stage to help tell the story.

I remember my first experience of a true story teller. I was on holiday at Kelling Heath Camp-site in Norfolk and it must have been Halloween, though why we were camping in October I've no idea. It was a sodden night and dark as I can remember a sky ever being.

I don’t know how old I was but I remember disappointment at the story telling being moved inside because of the rain. My disappointment soon faded when I saw the enchanted space that had been created from a corner of the pub. The fire was lit along with thick half melted candles. Material hung carelessly enfolding the story teller and her audience in a magical place. I no longer remember the stories but I do remember the feel of the objects she passed round and the soft slow voice that lulled us so easily into a different world.

I’ve yet to find anyone who has recaptured that first magic of storytelling. I’d like to try it myself one day but the most I can muster is to read to a bunch of toddlers in a Library. Granted when just the nightlight is on and I read aloud to my little sister I sometimes feel that wonder but that’s the story not the telling.

Wishfully pursuing Waterstones yesterday I picked up a leaflet entitled: Open a world of wonder; sharing books they’ll love by Julia Donaldson. I smiled when I read it and also got a little bit sad that I’m no longer have the pleasure of reading every night to my little sister. She’s gone and grown up too fast. Still I do get the odd night.

Here’s a little extract:

People often ask me, “is it important to read to your child?” Actually, I dislike that word “important” because it implies that sharing books is a worthy duty whereas in fact it’s a huge pleasure. To my mind, there’s nothing like chuckling or gasping together over a good book...sometimes I think people get it the wrong way round: they think that the stories are a mere key to being able to read. They are far more than that – they are the whole point of it all!

Though for those who aren’t natural storytellers she gives a few tips:

·         Set aside a time when you know you won’t be rushed

·         Try using different voices for each character

·         Follow the story in the pictures-ask your child to explain what is happening

·         Encourage your child to interact, for example turning the pages or following the words with their finger

·         Encourage your child to chant along with familiar phrases

·         Relax and have fun

Besides the asking the child to explain what’s happening I agree with these entirely. It’s good to know that the Children’s Laureate is encouraging the love of reading and not its importance.  

English Fairy Tales and Legends

 Standing at the top of Conwy Mountain, beside a herd of wild ponies it is easy to believe in fairy tales. The castle in the distance could be taken from the pages of a book.  Rolling hills set against beautiful waters are ripe with magic and history.  

So when I went into the little national trust shop with a  low beamed ceiling and hidden corners I couldn't help but buy English Fairy Tales and Legends by Rosalind Kervern. Why a Welsh shop sold English Fairy Tales I don't know but I'm glad I did. 

I've been reading it almost obsessively, getting too easily sucked into the classic narratives. The pages are thick and peppered with beautiful illustrations. 

My favourite tales so far have been The Dead Moon and The Forbidden Forest. I've learned that when facing bogles and spooks to always have a stone in my mouth and an elder tree branch in my hand. I know to bow before the ancient oak tree and to never trust a willow tree in the dark of night. 

Here's an Extract from The Dead Moon; I do not recommend these tales before bedtime: 

 Keep away from the Bog.

It's riddled with unspeakable things, It stinks of death. There are bogles and rotting corpses; dark, nauseous shapes that weave in and out of the mud like worms. There are fleshless, grasping hands out there, and disembodied mouths that gape open and suck everything into them. There are ghosts and creeping goblins, witches on cat-back, and treacherous, flickering will-o-the-wisps. 

Rosalind Kerven has remastered these tales expertly and I hope to fill my overflowing bookshelf with more of her works. The Fairy Spotters Handbook might be particularly illuminating on my next trip up Conwy Mountain.    

    

Read – and be curious...

...And if somebody says to you: 'Things are this way. You can`t change it' - don`t believe a word”  
- Cornelia Funke Ink Heart 


 Once in a while a book comes along that makes me want to nestle between the pages and never leave. Ink Heart is one of these books, it is kept safely at the back of my shelf waiting to be read as soon as the real world starts to get me down. It has the power to rekindle that first love of reading when I hid under the sheets with a torch hoping my mum wouldn't come in and tell me to get to sleep. 


I am now 23 and still have difficulty stopping reading at night, I still feel that same rebellious streak at staying up when the house is sleeping and falling deeper into the printed words.  The characters from books easily creep into my head and the monsters still lurk behind rustling curtains at night time. 

It is a shame, and by no means a new phenomenon, that the joyous rebellion of reading is being extinguished for children through school and over eager parents. I've been guilty of this myself. After my little sister finishing reading The Tyger, or as she calls it Tiger Tiger, I pounced on her with very well meaning questions: What do you think he is trying to say? Do you know what Immortal means? Do you like the Rhyming? 

She looked at me and said in no uncertain terms that she did not want to talk about it because it would ruin the way it sounded in her mind. 

That shut me up. 

I will dedicate this blog to the love of reading, the quiet space were we are transported to different worlds and believe in magic.