‘Is there anything you can’t spell?’ My son asks, eyes wide.
I’m touched by his utter faith in me. After all, I’m a writer. I should have this spelling thing down pat, right? HA! If you’re nodding as you’re reading this, you don’t know me very well. I live by my computer’s spell check. There are very likely more words in the English dictionary I can’t spell, then words I can.
‘Any dinosaur names, you can pretty much assume I can’t spell,’ I say, then pause. ‘Well, anything resembling Latin at all, too.’
Not to mention burgulry, persue, and other simple ones that always trip me up.
When I was a child my dad had these huge hardback Webster’s Dictionaries. They were the thickness of encyclopedias, but taller. I loved looking through them because the pages were Biblically thin and crackled under my fingers. Maybe I thought they would magically transfer the ability to spell effectively without my having to study for it.