I am an author. I have been writing since I was about seven years old. I wrote a few short stories and then got into writing this story that came to be known as An Involuntary King. Along with various other writings, I became published in 1991. That was when I wrote Loving the Goddess Within, which was published by Delphi Press. Many years later in 2008 I wrote, using ghost letters, An Involuntary King, a tale of Anglo-Saxon England. Soon after that I wrote the first version of Beloved Pilgrim. That version had a lesbian main character. Thereafter I became transgender, and after publishing Where My Love Lies Dreaming I decided it was high time I wrote Beloved Pilgrim as a transgender character novel. I wrote short stories for two anthologies, and finally I wrote A Fine Bromance for Harmony Ink Press.
Now to go on with the rest of the story. I was born with fundus flavimaculatas, a hereditary and congenital eye condition that causes one's central vision to deteriorate; that is my rods and cones do not work or even fully exist. I didn't know this until I was 25. In high school I started noticing problems with seeing what was written on the board. My father did not pay for us to go get glasses. It was when I was 25 years old and living in Iron Mountain, Michigan, that I went to an eye doctor and found out that I had a severe and permanent eye condition that he called Stargardt disease, a form of macular degeneration. I was told that my eyesight would continue to fail until I got to the point that I had simply overall poor vision. The last I checked my eyesight was 20 over 2400. Since that time I had a stroke when I was 60 years old, and part of the impact is that I now also have he me anoxia. That means that the vision being taken in by half my rods and cones is not making it through my optic nerve.
Since I learned at 25 that I am legally blind I have gained a number of devices that help me immeasurably. The department of services for the blind supplied me with a computer and magnifying and speaking software. I have some other devices, including a pebble that I don't use that often, and the da Vinci which reads aloud anything you put under it.
Now clearly since I have four or more novels I must've figured out how to use all these devices to their best advantage. The fact is, however, that since the he me anoxia began my eyesight has taken a turn very much for the worst. Every day I sit at my desk and use my adaptive equipment on my computer to write. The trouble is that now, and this has been going on for at least 6 to 12 months, I don't seem to be especially well served. I have added Dragon to my suite of helpers, trying to learn to dictate rather than to touch-type my manuscripts. At this point that is proving only mildly helpful.
What I want to do right now is describe the experience I have when I sit down to write. I come into my office and sit down and turn on the computer. When the adaptive software, ZoomText, opens I used to be able to get to work right away. Now since I can't see the screen very well, I don't really see the screen enough to read. For instance, I am looking at the previous paragraph that began "Now clearly," and I cannot read those words at all. In fact I just guessed that the first two words for the ones I said. If I notice and underline or other indication of poor spelling, I can't see what it says. If I have to read something that I listen to on my Kindle, I have to open Kindle for PC but I can't really read the print on the screen. It's patchy. This gets me very frustrated. Even if I can sit like I'm doing now and narrate what I want to say, I am not 100 percent sure that what I said made it onto the screen. Perhaps you as the reader can guess from any non sequiturs in what I'm writing.
The way I read what I've typed or spoken is I highlight the text, and then press Control-Alt-X to save it to the clipboard, then Control-Alt-C to make my computer read it aloud. It takes less time than it sounds except that it is clearly more steps than a sighted person would need to take.
In addition I don't seem to have the technique I referred to as "christen mind." I am not even sure this sentence made any sense at all. I used to be able to imagine sequences from books I was writing that helped construct the narrative that doesn't seem as easy for me now, although that may just be that I am not wrapped up in any particular story. I have been trying to write during 2016, but a combination of my decreased vision and whatever is going on with my stroke-addled brain seems to leave me feeling unfocused. That is an unfortunate but accurate use of that word.
I am very frustrated. I am trying to convince myself that if I focus on work I will be able to sit down every day and write for at least three to four hours. I honestly don't know what it will take to get me to do it. I am distracted by e-mail, by Facebook, and buying games. I recently cut out some of my work, specifically writing book reviews, to force myself into filling the time with actual writing. Just now I suspect all I'm doing is keeping myself writing so I stay in the habit. I don't know if that will work. During the days I as often as not feel like taking a nap.
So what do I do? Is there anyone I could talk to or get help from? I am having a very frustrating time figuring out who that would be. I know that the organization I used to work for, Sight Connection, seems to be falling apart. I honestly don't think that they have anything at all to share with me. I thought about attending Department of Services for the Blind, but I am not sure they know what they're doing either. Given that I am nearly 65 years old, I doubt they would take me on as a client anyway. Their clients are there to be given skills so that they can get jobs. I don't know that they would take my having a job, being a novelist, very seriously, and I don't know if they'd have any clue what to do to help me.
I don't feel like I am at the end of my career. I know that I have the ideas for a number of novels in my head. I know that to be a viable novelist I have to write a lot more novels. It amazes me when I realize how many novels other people do while I am barely turning out one a year.
I know that Jim is frustrated with my progress. He is not critical of me per se, when he does try to give me advice, and I feel at a loss to be able to really take the advice. When I sit in front of the computer it just seems like I can't do what I used to be able to do. There must be some sort of solution, right? I can keep trying to explore it, but I don't even know where to look. My stroke-addled brain prevents me from really thinking it through properly. I don't know if I talk to anyone at rehab or to a doctor if I would get any help at all.
I sometimes think I should just accept retirement. The problem is that I don't know what I do with my time. Right now I'm wasting it. Would I be wasting it as I was trying to write book? I know if I could just get novellas out, I might be fine.
As I always say, onward and upward. So the solution still eludes me.
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