I have always know I perform many tasks and order much of my life differently. As it’s a dyslexic thing it’s generally wordless, patterned unpredictable or using some different means of reaching regularity I don’t need to express particularly or dwell on.
With words, as I never wrote before going to university I only needed to understand the shape they made and how the felt in mind and how they form in sound and project themselves.
When I really had to start to focus and make sense with words on a page, always the pattern that alluded me. Surprisingly I never had any difficulty here other than what I made for myself.
Made perfect sense to everyone else won prizes now and again. My first sustained historical argument over about 3000 40000 words where I stopped using the idea of others and presented my own. Was a nightmare. I knew what I wanted to say, no matter how I shaped it would not make sense. Or what was worse, that it may make sense but I had no idea why.
I think it’s the first time I noticed that with intense thought, words and indeed whole essays can be produced back to front. Not fully caught the full extent of how I pattern thought when I write.
But I noticed the middle had to be turned inside out then got the shape of the second paragraph finally presented itself, then noticed the first paragraph I had written was the conclusion and that the last paragraph was the introduction.
This proved to be the only error I made. It finally made sense but that meant that I had spent two weeks writing and editing all day, in to the small hours of morning. Fully focused and writing the entire thing back to front without noticing.
That could not be so. I altered it again, put where I started back at the start, and the final words back at the end. I left the rest in the odd order I had placed it in at the last moment.
It got a first so it got held up for a very long time, as three markers tore into it. Was really funny as the first marker had been stressed all the way through reading it. First note at the end of the first paragraph read, you can’t say that, the next, when are you going to say it, it went on this way until the end when he got to the last paragraph, finally bloody hell Jeb!
He seemed to be gripped with the same sense of anxiety I get when I write and have to fully focus, but from the other direction.
On the hoof and an attempt at being vaguely coherent while drifting well off target. check