I’ve had a surprising turn of events of late. If you said to me as a 16 year old, “Do you see writing in your future career?” I would have given you one of those ‘are you kidding me?’ tilted-head-eyes-straight-forward looks only teenagers can muster. I was then, an undiagnosed dyslexic kid who hated English. I even remember learning about ‘cold readings’, a con artist trick where a supposed psychic lists some universal truths that feel personal you fall for the next part of the schpeel. One of these universal truths was ‘you’d like to write a book one day’, I remember thinking that’s when I’d know I could suss them out. AS IF I would ever write on purpose.
Little did I know that once you take the kid away from the ill-informed teacher, the ability that was always there comes through. In my case, it was just hidden under a stack of essays that were riddled with red circles and spelling corrections and a reading speed that didn’t fit with a lesson plan. It turns out I could always write, I’d just forgotten. I’d forgotten because when you struggle without knowing why you think you will never be able to do the thing you’re struggling at.
It’s not a coincidence that a Dyslexic landed in Theatre, I’ve written about that before (Link here). It’s also not a coincidence I’m realising, that a Dyslexic is capable of writing. Turns out creativity doesn’t only wear one hat.
One of the most common pieces of advice for writers is ‘don’t do it, there’s no money’, sorry, that should have said ‘Write what you know’ and conveniently for me, I have 13 years as a Designer and 8 years as a Facilitator under my vintage-but-bought-it-in-a-charity-shop-whilst-costume-sourcing belt. This means I can follow in the immortal lines of Natasha Beddingfield when I say: ‘It’s who I am, It’s what I do, and now I’m going to lay it down for you’.
So, I’m writing something, I’m writing something exciting, and I’m going to write about writing it.
16 year old me would be, as the kids say, ‘gagged’.