A small epiphany today concerning my mild dyslexia. It occurred to me that it has quite possibly played a much bigger role in my life than I ever suspected.
When I was little my father affectionately called me Mrak, because that was how I spelled my name 50% of the time.
I had imagined that was pretty much the end of it. But now...
I am (with all due modesty) fairly clever. But for the first ten years or so of my life I didn't realize it. Early life at school is about reading, writing, arithmetic. If your spelling is terrible, you write your 3s like e's, and misplacing the numbers screws up your sums ... you don't form a particularly high opinion of yourself at primary school.
I may have gone on to do a PhD in mathematics and shown some talent as a word smith, but I suspect I would have been a different person if I had seen myself as particularly skilled in those areas at an early age. Even *more* arrogant probably!
Dyslexia is probably a factor in how slowly I read. And I think that perhaps reading slowly has given me a great appreciation for the language and for writing on the small scale rather than just at the story level.
Dyslexia is also a source of inspiration as often as irritation (at the level I have it). Very often part of one sentence swaps into the one above or below, or part of one word does the same. Normally it just leads to momentary confusion, but sometimes by changing the meaning it leads to a new idea.
The trivial and silly example that just prompted this train of thought was a photo of my own books on a bookstore shelf in Australia.
is what I saw on the spine, but the shuffling of the letters gave me for an instant: King of Thongs.
King of Thongs! If I ever want to write a porn parody of the Broken Empire I'll start with Prince of Thongs. And that's how it goes. Not too useful in this instance ... but sometimes its a falling domino that sets off a long chain.