I Have Bad Brains

I have a fucked-up brain.

⚡⚡ 😁👍 ⚡⚡

My grey matter has always been a little bit sketchy.

Exhibit A: I'm pretty sure I have some form of dyslexia. And yet still, I aspire to be a writer. That in itself is pretty crazy, right? My dream is to be a famous author... and I cannot spell for shit. It's a serious impediment for a storyteller because, as it turns out, words are the most vital tool of a writer's craft. And it's stunning how universally people detest misspellings. Stunning! 😨

I sound out words phonetically. I hear words. I don't see words in my head. So any word of French derivation? I'm fucked from the get-go. 🤷🏻‍♂️ Silent letters also screw me up. Big time. Can't sound out those silents— tricky, damn, devious English language!— so a guy has to actually remember the precise spot where they belong. That's hard for me.

I'll give you the perfect example.

This is a True Story.

Please don't ask why... but last week, I was writing a friend about diarrhea. 😨

So there I was, typing along at high speed and I hit that word. And I saw the dreaded red underline, meaning I'd misspelled it. I was so far off the mark, spell-checker had no freaking clue what I was trying to say.

It was pathetic.

DIA RE A. Simple! Right? Nope. Silent letters, silent letters, Bolt. There's an H in there, I'm pretty sure. DIAH REA. Diahrea? Nope. Diareha? Diahreah?? Diareaha??? <-Trying a middle silent A on that last one. 🤷🏻‍♂️

Now understand, as I was composing that email on my laptop, I wasn't pausing to think about how righteously fucked-up that word is. That came later. In that moment, I did what I always do when a word trips me up. I kept trying! 😁👍 My fingers just madly worked the keyboard, attempting over and over to get it right, failing over and over to get it right, backspacing over and over, and trying again and again and again, at rapid speed. I hear the word in my head and quickly throw letters at my screen that correspond to those sounds until the spell-checker finally clues in and tells me where I'm wrong.

It usually works.

But here's the thing: spell-checker is a goddamn stupid whore. Sorry to say that, but Daddy Keeps It Real. 🤷🏻‍♂️ It's just what I do.

I be like, "Why the holy hell, spell-checker, can't you simply show me the word for the fucking runs? You're a freaking computer with perfect memory and an internet connection! You are supposed to have ALL the answers! So why are you screwing me over with diarehah? This is personal, isn't it, you bald-headed bitch! Does this have anything to do with my browser history?"

And spell-checker be like...

"WTF do you want from me, asshole? You're the one that's stupid as gravel! Clearly, that inferior processor you call a 'brain' is flawed as shit, because what you're typing is fucking GIBBERISH!"

<sigh>

I finally abandoned my laptop and spoke directly into my phone's Google to figure it out. That's how I learned it's spelled diarrhea. And, I'm like... 🤯 Wow!!!! Two Rs and a silent H?!?! 😲 What a truly fucked-up word!!!

But this is a usual thing for me. I can't spell for shit. Just imagine me writing pick-up dialogue for a romance story. I be like, "Let's have a rondavue at the delicatessant and snack on a crouisant. 😉 You wanna?" I mean... I can, at this moment, remember there is a Z in rondevouz... somewhere. But how does that word start? Ron..? Ran..? Ren..? None of that sounds right. Or looks right. Maybe roundevouz? The English word "round" doesn't start that French word, does it? Wait... Did I spell it correctly just then? Nope. Glitch. For a moment, spell-checker didn't tell me it's wrong, but then I clicked back, and now roundevouz is underlined red like all my other serious failed attempts at spelling that lovely word.

<sigh>

So I lived with this wonderful woman for over twenty years. Her name was Ruth. She was a sweet, loving, crotchety, witty lady. She put up with a helluva lot of my bullshit over all those seasons; I don't know why/how. She and I were never married. Our relationship is a long, complicated story. Won't tell it now. What is relevant to today's Evidence is that she was basically my spell-checker and editor for two decades. God Bless Her Soul, she passed away in September 2019. I came home one night after work and found her dead in her bed. 💔😢 I miss her.

But every ending is a new beginning. Existence operates in magnificient circles. When Ruth left me to return to God— that opened the door for me to meet the Great Love of My Life, the phenomenal man I asked to marry me on June 16th, 2021. (After the ultimate date night, he said yes! 💙💍💚 I'll tell you another time about how extraordinary he is. I promise.)

So for years, it was Ruth, my lover-then-former-lover-dear-friend-partner-housemate who gave me invaluable assistance in my totally-deluded foolhardy quest to be the next Stephen King! ⚡⚡🩸🧛🏻‍♀️🩸🩸🪓🩸🦇🤖💥☠👽🐍👀👀⚡🔥🔥👺🕸👁🦴🦴🦴🔥🎭🔪🏹💣🎈🤡😈👾🚗☄🔫🐱‍🏍🦈🕸🕷👻🔥🐺🦹🏻‍♀️🩸🧚🏻‍♀️🧜🏻‍♀️🎃🦁💣🦟🦇🎆🧨💥💥🐝🐝🐝🧬🐝🐝🐝⚡⚡⚡⚡👀👀👀❤

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You would think short words would be easiest for me to spell, right? Well... yes and no. Not really. 😕 Those were the words that Ruth would need to catch most often when she edited my stories (and unpublished novels). For all its bitch-ass flaws, spell-checker at least identifies for me the really big calamities of my defective spellings.

I know this: I write tales and chase tail, not the other way around. I can remember the difference with those two. But other homonyms? I often mess those up. I do also know the difference between a grizzly bear and a bare ass. Although for a minute there, I almost spelled 'bare' as 'bair.' Honestly.

My brain is fucked up.

And by the way, when it comes to those homonyms? Why can't a spell-checker determine by the context of the sentence that I actually mean a bare ass and not a bear ass (or bair ass)? That whole Terminator concept where androids rise up and wipe out humanity to create a mechanized world? I have no worries that will ever happen until some computer somewhere can identify which homonym I actually mean! Or maybe help a dude out spelling fucking rondezvous! (I thought maybe there was a silent S at the end. Obviously, no one ever taught me the basics of French. I do understand a little Spanish though. "Chupa mi verga!" 😎👍)

So yeah. I can't spell. And dyslexic? I guess. Maybe. Probably. 🤷🏻‍♂️

I was 'diagnosed' as dyslexic by Ruth, after she lived with me for many years. (I was in grade school in the 1960s. Was there even an awareness of dyslexia back then?) I was startled the first time that Ruth broke out that word to describe me. And it's more than just spelling that figured into her diagnosis.

Exhibit B...

I'd be driving us somewhere and Ruth would say, "Turn right."

I'd turn left.

I have to stop and think about which way is which. I learned at an early age that I'm right-handed. So when I need to figure out which way is right, I hold up the hand that I use to write with and BAM! My right hand leads me the right way! 😁✋🏻

I'm told these are the characteristics of someone dyslexic? If I'm wrong about that, please don't hate on me. I've got a fucked-up brain.

Did I mention that already?

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I would kill to make an actual living with my writing— to generate some serious income by doing what I passionately love most. When I write, I lose myself in a headspace that's invigorating, energizing. Further, after decades of practice (I wrote my first horror stories in high school), I feel I'm halfway good at storytelling. Kinda. I mean, obviously, I'm not Stephen King. 😭😭😭😭😭😭 And I have major issues with that bitch Brevity. 🤨 But I did have a fucked-up story called Bob Bodey's Body Parts published in Weird Tales, and that magazine is kinda prestigious. ⚡😎👍 I've had other published successes too.

And yeah, for real. When I write, especially if I do it often/consistently, I can open my soul to the demiurgic juice that pours down from the Lord, allowing me to co-create with Him. I don't do this alone. It is co-creation. God opens up a spiritual spigot, providing inventive energy, and says, "Here, Bolt, what are you going to do with this?" And I channel that Promethean flow to fuel my imagination so that together, He and I— we co-author a story. It's awesome to the extreme!

When I get it right and produce a great story that resonates with readers, that's because of Him. When I get it wrong and the crap I've written sucks ass, that's because of Me.

👆🏻 This I believe with all my mind, heart, & soul. 👇

God gets the glory.

I liken writing to a muscle. The more you use a muscle, the stronger it gets.

Or when it comes to brainstorming, the more you conceive, the easier ideas flow. Ideas spawn other ideas, like a connected chain of creative energy. And then, on occasion, a few good ideas lined up one-after-another can suddenly pop an absolutely extraordinary idea. ⚡+⚡+⚡+⚡+⚡+⚡+⚡=💥🤯🤯🤯🤯

I mean... it's only my opinion that I'm halfway decent at cobbling together words.

What do you think so far?

If you hate this shit I'm putting out right now... um, sorry. My bad! 🤷🏻‍♂️ I've got a fucked-up brain. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

Did I mention that already?

So that's Part One of the evidence. I have more evidence to offer. This is barely the tip of the iceberg. The really fucked-up shit is still to come in Part Two! ⚡😁👍

✔ it! 👇

Oh, and if you're curious about what other crazy shit someone with fucked-up brains is likely to write... check out this insanity I mentioned above! 👇

Thank you kindly for your support!

PS- In no way is this directed at anyone with mental disabilities. My only intention is to make fun of myself. If I provided a chuckle or two... 😁👍 Praise the Lord.

__________Bolt ⚡