Out of the sustaining cycles of life, the water cycle is one of my favorites to think about.
Every drop in the ocean would once have been rain that every flip of a fin stirs, and every current shares with the whole earth.
The beauty of our word is memorizing.
I see intent and intricate planning in its design. This belief doesn’t make me afraid of science, as some people think of those who are religious. No, it lends me a joy as I contemplate the puzzle pieces.
But I am also a dreamer, not a scientist. Still, the thought of ‘what if’ pulls at my heart, maybe close to the same way as it would for my calculating brothers and sisters?
When we are afraid of mistakes, we gloss them over, ignore them, or stop trying to accomplish what we have set out to do.
Do you fear mistakes? Most of us have that tendency. Maybe not for every activity we take part in, but the things we struggle with most can quickly become things we fear trying.
When I was a child, I hid my grammar book behind the couch and celebrated no one being able to find it. I told Mom I didn’t know where it was and shrugged as I got further and further behind. But why did I do this?
Fear of mistakes stifles learning.
I found grammar very difficult. My own eyes were at war with me and though I could understand the basics of language and the structure of English, my mistakes were constant. I didn’t understand why I struggled do much. I felt stupid. So I gave up.
Oh, how I wish eight-year-old me could have dug deep and powered through. Because of my fear, I am far behind my peers in the writing world. It took me over 25 years to overcome the fear of letting others correct my mistakes, so I could learn to be the writer I have always wanted to be. How much farther along would I be if I had not hidden that grammar book?
“Sorry Mom! I should have listened to you.”
I can’t go back and change what I did. So now I look ahead and do my best to put fear behind me, facing every spelling error and out-of-place punctuation mark with determination. I appreciate kind correction, and editors who can see the little things I can’t.
I also have learned acceptance. I have trained my brain to see many of the mistakes I would have missed ten years ago, but my eyes are still not normal. They probably won’t ever be, and that’s okay. Because I have people on my side now, people I am no longer afraid of.
I remember one day trying to read my ‘A’ book to Mom, and being unable to put ‘gl’ together, to read the word ‘glad’. It took so much patience. My mother sat there, listening to me struggle over and over.
The first day I got the consonant blend out once, that was it. Only once after a half hour of trying. I have always had to battle language in written form.
I still mix up my B’s and D’s. Often write M’s and N’s wrong, have always hated grammar lessons. I even hid my workbook behind the couch and got away with it for a week, to my mother’s frustration.
So why did I choose to be a writer?
The quick answer is, I didn’t, it chose me.
Stories have been a constant in my life, and the desire to tell them and create has always been within me. I distinctly remember regaling everyone at a friend’s birthday parting, with the story of my dad using a rifle to ‘shoot down’ trees instead of cutting them with a chainsaw. That he was a logger was true, but ya, felling trees doesn’t work that way. I had the entire room in stitches.
It was an absurd story, but for that moment my dad was the hero, as trees fell around him with a single shot. A projection of how my heart saw him. It was great fun.
The need to be understood, and to understand are huge parts of my personality and I have no better way to attempt both, then to use language. But how do I deal with wondering eyes that just can’t see the words they write straight the first time?
I taking my time.
I am horribly slow with writing. I take weeks to craft these short blog posts, even longer for any of my short stories. If I am rushed, it shows. Time sensitive writing competitions are exhausting. Deadlines are important but often missed. My comments in chat boxes and social media are laughable. Even so, the landscape of language speaks to me.
I have learned there is no unfixable mistake in writing. Asking for help is not weakness, but strength. Every sentence, when you sit back and think about it, can tell a unique story.
I acknowledge I don’t have it near as difficult as other people I know. Years of repetition have improved my skills with spelling, and trained my eyes to work as a team far better than they used to. But still there are so many mistakes I miss.
Will I ever be a great poet? Maybe not… Will people ever take me seriously in the literary world? I don’t know. Will I ever write a best-selling novel? I will try. But as I try, I will do my best not to forget that day I fought to put ‘gl’ together. Remembering where we started keeps us grounded.
Where did you start your creative journey?
What walls did you have to clump?
I didn’t realise I was learning the lessons of perseverance while struggling to read at age six, seven, and eight. I thought I was just learning letters on a page. Resilience started building the first time they teased me for not being able to read my bible out loud in Sunday school. The foundations of those lessons were messy, hard work. But a temple can not stand tall, if we do not lay the groundwork.
Note: I have not been formally diagnosed with Dyslexia. Being from a homeschool family, we did not have that opportunity while I was in school. There are other members of my immediate family what have undergone vision therapy and deal with learning differences on a far larger scale than I do. ~ Mary Grace van der Kroef
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