During the past couple of weeks, I have been immersed in reading about what the cognitive processes of writing are like for children.
Today, I stumbled across the following:
Much of my unassisted self, and more by the help of Biddy than of Mr. Wopsle's great-aunt, I struggled through the alphabet as if it had been a bramble-bush; getting considerably worried and scratched by every letter. After that I fell among those thieves, the nine figures, who seemed every evening to do something new to disguise themselves and baffle recognition. But, at last I began, in a purblind groping way, to read, write, and cipher, on the very smallest scale.
- as told by Pip in Great Expectations by Charles Dickens (via Project Gutenberg)