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My
Grammar is Well
By Kerri Wood
Basic grammar is not my strong suit. I carry a grammar book around in my laptop
case, but even the mention of a word like "preposition" makes my brain retreat,
and the book remains tucked away. Grammar, algebra, and learning how to say
anything beyond "hi" in a foreign language all boggle my mind. That part of my
brain never fully developed, and the part that did is now filled with other
useful information, like how to paint my fingernails and how to use the
self-checkout lane at Target. Target is a lot more fun than grammar. Target is
the funnest.
My gray matter plus grammar problem started in second grade. There are only a
few weeks in grade school when the basics of the English language are repeatedly
drilled into a child's head. This is called learning. My learning was turned
off, but my flair for storytelling was on overdrive.
While the other plebes in my class learned where commas really go, I was
creating a fabulous family with my number two pencils. The newer, shiny pencils
became the mothers and fathers of my dynasty, ruling over their leaden brood.
The children then ranged in age determined by their length. The shorter stubby
pencils and the ones with teeth marks and missing erasers, long since digested
by me, unfortunately became "the help." Yes, my proud pencil family kept slaves.
They were not politically correct, and they didn't care. The slaves did things
like walk the dog-- yes, there was a brown crayon cast as the dog. They also
watched the children while the parents were across the desk at summer cocktail
parties. Basically, while the other kids were learning skills to help get them
into good colleges, I was prancing 20 pencils across my desk like Edward
Scissorhands.
My pencil family quickly became dysfunctional. Dad lost his job, mom had to sell
her jewelry to buy Christmas presents, Reggie didn't "just say no," and somebody
stole the dog off of my desk. I was left with a fragmented, bitter,
disillusioned group of writing utensils, no longer a happy family with good
standing in the community. My classmates also thought I was a bit odd. And my
brain mourned its last chance to fully comprehend the English language. We moved
on to math and I attempted to learn how to count money. We practiced with
handfuls of M&Ms. My M&M family never fully developed; unfortunately there was a
rash of cannibalism on the island where they lived.
The moral of this little tale: pay attention in school. Editors are people who
did and they can worry about your grammar, and M&Ms taste the same even if they
are named Francesca.
Kerri Wood is a freelance writer working on her first
novel, and blogging away at
www.writingsucks.com. Come join the fun if you are feeling frustrated with
the writing process, or are just looking for a good contest or freelance market
to pursue.
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