So here’s something I’ve only shared with a handful of people in my life: I have dyslexia. You can sometimes see this in my social media posts, especially those I craft using my phone, because all my glorified grammar checkers aren’t active. When I was younger, I used to hand copy a page from the dictionary every day to try and combat my dyslexia, and if I made a mistake, I would throw the entire page away and start over. This was originally given to me as a punishment from one of my teachers (talking in class queen over here), but it turned out I really liked learning new words, so I decided to keep the practice up on my own. It helped my dyslexia a lot, and combined with electronic grammar correctors, I can now write books.
Why am I telling you this?
Anne told me something the other day after I helped her get in bed (she has cerebral palsy and arthritis) that broke my heart, though it wasn’t her intent: she thanked me for looking after her, for helping her do things she can’t do herself. It was a simple, pure statement, but for some reason, it hit me hard. She wasn’t necessarily thanking me for helping her; she regretted that she couldn’t do these things for herself. She felt like a burden, and she was reaching out to tell me how much she not only appreciated me but needed me.
For the record, she was wrong. She doesn’t need me. I know that she would simply find a way to do it herself if I weren’t there. She’s crazy smart and resourceful like that.
We all have our struggles; some are just more hidden than others.
Food for thought, right? It definitely was for me.
Anyway, writing-wise, I’m neck-deep in Camgirl, and it’s way more absorbing than I thought it would be. In many ways, it reminds me of Girl Fight, a book that took me emotionally all over the place, but Camgirl is a bit… darker if that’s possible. It’s definitely more sexual. And longer. It was also insanely difficult to start. I had all my meticulously organized notes and outlines in front of me, but actually starting the story… was a bit difficult. As hard as Camgirl was to start, once I started, the words just seemed to flow out.
This isn’t exactly abnormal.
Every time I start a new book, it’s always the same: I stare at a blank page, wonder how in the hell I’m going to begin, start questioning if I’ve lost my touch, then tentatively type out a few words like I’m scared of the keyboard or something. Within a few minutes, and this never fails, I’m frothing at the mouth and slamming away at the keys like I’m mad at them. Every time.
I’ve written this before and I’ll write it again: I love being a writer!
I doubt that will ever change.
So many stories, so little time…
“In America, sex is preached; in France, it is done.”
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