How a Special Speller chose a career in newspaper journalism
My first two years at primary school were great and I felt smugly clever. I don’t like to brag, but at the age of five I was in the Owl reading group with the year above (trust me, that is good). I could smash out Biff, Chip and Kipper books and Diary of the Killer Cat was effortlessly dispatched. And then I picked up a pen. Despite been a great reader (remember, I was in Owl group), as soon as I had to start writing and spelling I became stupid. I would misspell the same word three different ways in the space of a couple of sentences.
As I made my way through primary school I made very little progress. My mum decided to take me to get tested. After answering questions, holding a pen, trying to spell and generally feeling dim, I was diagnosed as dyslexic.
It manifested itself in three ways. Firstly, I had terrible balance and coordination. My family always wondered how I managed to fall up the stairs and hit myself on every protruding bit of furniture.
Secondly, my spelling was awful. To this day I can’t picture how words are spelt in my head. If you ask me to spell something, my only chance is to write it down. I’d miss out letters, misspell words I had got right yesterday and have little chance with a word longer than five letters.
Then there was my handwriting. I didn’t so much hold a pen as fistbump it. Letters would be backwards, illegible or smudged because I had to basically lie down on the desk as I wrote to keep my balance.
Luckily, a solution to the bad balance was soon found. I started doing Tae Kwon Do two or three times a week. Something about the formulaic regimented movements acted as an almost literal crutch for me and balance hasn’t been a problem since I was about 11.
The spelling and writing came harder. My mum and dad tried everything – triangular pens, yellow paper, bifocals, endless repetition, joined-up writing, extra lessons. Nothing had much of an effect. I felt deeply humiliated and embarrassed. I loved learning – I was in the top set for maths and science, and history was my favourite subject. But in English class I felt like an idiot. There were a group of us who had to go to extra spelling sessions which the teachers called, I kid you not, Special Spellers.
Despite the hours spent in Special Spellers, what actually made a difference was my mum. She helped me develop little rhymes, techniques and jingles for words. I have about 150 little songs and techniques I can draw on to help with the tricky words.
They range from the classic “big elephants can always understand smaller elephants” (for the word “because”) to changing the title of Patsy Gallant’s classic song to “From New York to LE” (for the last two letters in “agile”).
As I got to 16 and GCSEs, the handwriting started to develop as well. The trick was to stop changing my grip on the pen. I still held it ridiculously – imagine a crab trying to write – but the fact that I held it the same way instead of changing every five minutes meant I got quicker. In GCSE and A-level, I was able to get down everything I wanted to say in an exam or test for the first time.
So I had got myself to a stage where I could function. By the time I went to uni, I was allowed to type everything. Then I became a sport coach, which meant I never had to write or spell.
However, when I turned 26 I was bored of coaching and wanted a career change. A big one. Like every pretentious and self-involved twentysomething, I had (and still have) a blog and really enjoyed it. I’d done politics at university and decided that I wanted to be a journalist.
So I applied and got on the postgraduate newspaper journalism course at Cardiff University. Here, you basically learn what you need to be a trainee in a newsroom. You learn shorthand, how to write quickly, find stories and be a reporter.
I loved everything about it – speaking to people, being inquisitive (nosy) and the pressure of deadlines. But it threw back into the spotlight all those insecurities and weaknesses I had just about managed to leave behind. Suddenly, I felt like I was 11 again.
First it was shorthand. To get your NCTJ qualifications (the industry standard for most jobs) you need to be able to write 100 words a minute in this wiry, scribbly sub-language.
Much to my disappointment, the crab grip that had served me so well was not suited to shorthand. But after much blood, sweat and a grip adjustment I managed to pass the tests and got a job at Media Wales, where I write for WalesOnline, the Western Mail and the South Wales Echo.
So how do I function day to day in a world of written words? Well, firstly there is the computer and that wonderful squiggly red line that appears under every spelling mistake I make. People say that Facebook has changed the world – for me it was spell-check.
The main problem is when someone watches me type. If an editor sits next to me and asks me to change a sentence, I pray that all the words will be easy. If not, they will think I am odd as they hear me rapping the song I made up to help me spell “road traffic collision” under my breath.
The other problem comes when someone asks me to spell something on the phone. Unless it is my name, I am in big trouble. I have to furiously type or write it and then read it down the line to them, all the while pretending the signal is bad.
I still dread the moment when I misspell something and a colleague, or worse, a reader, spots an error and comes out with: “You can’t spell? Call yourself a journalist?”
Harsh, yes. But completely fair. If you read something with spelling errors, the reader’s first thought is to disengage from it. My job is now, among other things, to present clean, well-written words. Being dyslexic is not an excuse. You couldn’t have a firefighter not put out the whole fire because he or she had asthma.
I must stress that I in no way speak for everyone with dyslexia. Everyone with the condition has their own challenges. Mine is nowhere near as severe as some and I am incredibly lucky to be from a relatively well-off background with supportive parents.
Every time I come into work, a part of me feels I am going to get caught out. I have no right to write for a living. I am a Special Speller.
But I wouldn’t give up my learning difficulties if I could. In many ways it makes me better at my job, ways that (I hope) compensate for my spelling.
It makes me think outside the box more and problem-solve in a different way. It makes me adaptable. I am hyper-aware of my own limitations and that makes me focus on my strengths.
People will always tell you as a dyslexic that you can’t spell, write or read. To be blunt, they are probably right. But your self-worth should derive from how you react to adversity.
That said, I still remain the only person I know who has had a passport application sent back because I misspelled my own middle name.