Dyslexic blog 1
I did not read as a child, as I have dyslexic problems and reading was a nightmare for me. So, I will apologise now that I am very likely to mis-spell words etc Since I had such horrible experiences at school (especially in English classes) I feel I need to learn what I could not then, well at least try. However, I am now a bookworm and usually have a couple of books I am reading at the same time.
I have a head full of stories, some general others to share my experiences with dyslexic and places/experiences I have had travelling (eg Timbuktu) and as a volunteer teacher (in Cambodia and East Timor).
Recently I started an online writing course with the Sydney Writer’s centre and with great trepidation I submitted by first writing tasks, see below
I anxiously awaited the tutor’s response, my mind filled with previous negative feedback from teachers/tutors.
I feel I must share with pride (I even rang my parents and read the feedback to them to make up for all the shocking reports I brought home) and humility as it is only very early writing days.
So here is a little of the feedback and I hope this is some encouragement for other dyslexics who are told that they are dumb.
“Your first post is very powerful, and extremely evocative. You’ve captured your physical senses extremely effectively—especially the visual, which is not surprising, but also the physicality of the ill body is brought vividly to life. I like how you also make the reader experience what the child is feeling in a very understated way—as soon as you mention the sickly sweet smell of the other girls’ food, we know exactly how she will respond, and we feel the nausea ourselves.
I enjoyed the second piece as well—being a cat fan!— you’ve got a nice, cheeky, believable voice for young Oni, and you’ve captured a very different mood and tone for the two pieces as well. There’s a very nice, natural feel to your writing,”
The pain is so intense, that I am not clearly aware of my surroundings.
I know sick bay very well, the smell of disinfectant and the white bare walls.
But now I have been told that I have had more than my fair share of the sick bay bed. That the bed is needed for another student and that I will have to wait outside for my Mum.
So I sit on a hard cold step outside sickbay, where I wrap my arms around my knees and slowly rock back and forwards. In between the waves of pain, I hear class mate’s voice and laughter; birds chatting in tress above and a dog barking. As I rock I stare ahead in a trance, seeing but not focusing on a variety of greenery. However, I do notice that there are no flowers, no splashes of non-green colours; just endless green like the endless pain in my ears.
A bell goes and my friends come and sit beside me eating their sweet smelling food. I am offered a bite, but turn away hoping they do not see I am about to be sick. Then suddenly, they all at once competed to tell me about what a mess Tom made and how Ms Smith got really cross and then Tom started to cry. “He’s such a baby” they said in unison.
After a while they became bored by my lack of response and leave me to my hard cold step, with just my throbbing ears for company.
“Oni! No get off”
“Oni! No you can’t have that”
“Oni! You are so greedy”
This is all I ever hear
The pain in my stomach is so intense, they don’t understand that I’m growing. I get hungry, VERY hungry.
The other cat Phoebe, well she lived here first, she’s old like 5 or 6. She likes to eat her food slowly, eating a bit, walking away and coming back later to finish.
So when I arrived having been used to competing with brothers and sisters for a limited amount of food. I did what any self-respecting kitten would do when they see another cat leave a bowl with food still in it. I raced in and ate what was left.
Well from then on I was feed separately and kept locked in another room. Close enough to be able to smell Phoebe’s unfinished food. I would sit near the door washing myself in an attempt to distract my grumbling painful stomach. Staring ahead, in a trance and listening to plates scraped and imagine all the fat from chops dropping into the bin.
Sometimes the little girl would come and sit on the floor next to me. She would then dangle a piece of string in front of me, expecting me to play.
After a while she would became bored by my lack of response and leave me to sit by the door, with just my grumbling painful stomach for company.