As a writer, I’m not perfect, of course, when it comes to grammar, but I certainly do try to put my best foot forward in anything I share with the public. Whether it’s a simple post on Facebook or a short comment to a friend on social media, nothing is too small to care about for me. Does that mean I don’t have typos I’ve missed? Or that my phone doesn’t like to go rogue on me and change words or make up words with my intended words? (The cheeky thing!). I think you know the answer to that!
No one is perfect, and I certainly don’t expect people to be, but (yup I just negated everything that came before this, which I’ve written about before) I think some people don’t know basic grammar rules. And this worries me. Why? Because these are writers. When a writer asks me to share their books in my newsletter or a post on social media for them, and it’s riddled with typos, I find myself questioning what is going on with expectations of writing today. (My goodness, I just sounded like an old lady! Ha!) As a teacher by day, I expect these problems. It’s partially my job to help rectify those things. But when writers are putting out typo-infested work, in their blurbs for instance, does it make me question what I might find inside their books? Hell, yes it does! Should it? Am I being too picky? Ridiculously pompous even? I don’t know. But I don’t think so. Like any “job,” and make no mistake, when you share your writing with the public, it is, indeed, that, I think it’s our obligation to do it well. No one gets accolades for doing a shitty job. My concern is not for the esoteric rules or rules that are archaic and no longer make sense (we don’t read or write or speak in Latin, folks!), but things just seem to have been forgotten or are being ignored completely. Are these things important? Is grammar just in a state of flux and ever-changing? Are some things just silly rules that should be ignored? Is grammar becoming a thing of elitism? Take a very simple rule about titles. What is capitalized? And what isn’t? In the Heat of the Night. Notice what is capitalized and what is not. Why is this rule important? So what if I capitalized everything in that title? In The Heat Of The Night, for instance. But it’s WRONG, I scream inside my head! Fix that! How can a writer putting out work not KNOW that? And then I give pause. Who really cares about such minutia? Who even came up with these rules?? Will the story be any less enticing if a word is or isn’t capitalized? Are grammar rules simply becoming a thing of the past? Or are these basic rules being tossed aside a reflection of bigger problems in society? Is grammar simply a microcosm of what is happening in the world? In the United States more specifically? And what is that? A loss of manners? A loss of attention to detail? A sense of entitlement or laziness? A society that doesn’t want to work at things but wants to cheat and cut corners? A society that encourages mediocrity? A society too concerned about appeasing people rather than being honest? Or is grammar simply snobbery, a measuring stick that tries to say: I’m better than you, because I understand when to use whom and when to use who? I’m not sure the answers as I write this. I always try to remember what my 5th grade teacher once said: Grammar is important, because the intended message will be lost. If the grammar is good enough as to not "ineffectuate" the meaning, you’re good. So then, if I capitalize an article or a conjunction in a title that shouldn’t be, does it at all hurt the meaning? Maybe my concern about such a thing says more about me than anything else. Chill out, Rose. And live and let live. You know, there was once a time that starting a sentence with a conjunction was frowned upon. Pfttt. We all know that is rubbish now! So who gets elected to be the grammar police? And, further, shouldn’t I have just capitalized that? 😊
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Today I ponder gender identity. And what it means for the future. If you haven’t noticed, the world is changing, and hopefully, becoming more aware and accepting and tolerant. I work in a liberal environment, and in an establishment that recognizes this. It’s as natural as breathing where I live and function. But I realize it’s not so in other parts of our beloved country. And to me, that is tragic. But I’m not asking about whether you believe in the changes. What I wonder is how the changing world is going to handle this in writing and in speaking. Having taught now for 7 years, I see the trends from when I first started teaching to now. As English teachers around the country used to cringe when pronouns didn’t match in number (one is he or she not they), in writing or public speaking, we’ve started to loosen our grip on those “rules.” While we’ve certainly learned a long time ago that “man” and “he” no longer apply to men AND women, it started to become cumbersome to ALWAYS have to write “he” or “she” or say “he” or “she.” We finally agreed—Okay. Okay. Use “they” if you must but change it to people or persons to match! And that can work…but it’s not. Trust me. As colleges around the country (including mine) change with the times, now we allow students to tell us what pronouns they use. In fact, it’s the first thing we do at orientation days—hand out name tags and ask students to write their pronouns. And further, our class rosters, now allow students to have the names they’d like used, rather than the name they were given at birth (Records holds the “real” names for tax purposes, financial aid, and the like.) In addition, many emails from professors are also signed with the pronouns they’d like to go by or be addressed with. All fine. Great. Inclusive acceptance. But let’s face it. This is getting too wordy and a little ridiculous. Not because I don’t believe in the idea of it, the idea that people should be who they ARE, but that perhaps we need one pronoun. Period. Language morphs with civilizations. Surely, we could pick one pronoun for singular and one pronoun for plural? Couldn’t we? When I first started watching Billions, and Taylor used “they” and all forms of it to identify “their” non-binary gender (and none of the other actors/characters blinked when using it themselves)—I thought—yes! Brilliant. So why can’t we all? What difference does it make? It would take time. It might take work. But give it a few years…and—guess what? Just like words like tweets or selfie or binge-watching or photo bombing or a million others didn’t exist before, so, too, could this change. Rosemary O’Brien for president you say? LOL. Nah. Warren is on “their” way. 😉 It’s that time of year. Giving and receiving. Returning and repurchasing. Finding time to get together with family and friends. Spreading good cheer and love…And STRESS! This week, I’m pondering the phrase, “Merry Christmas,” which as we all know has caused a lot of controversy in schools, in our everyday interactions, and Starbucks coffee cups! Oh, the horror. But seriously, I ask you, and I don’t mean this to turn contentious, what is your feeling on using the phrase? Do you still use it? Do you feel political correctness has gone too far? Or are many of us being short-sighted and not empathetic enough, thinking only of our narrow existence? Is changing, “Merry Christmas” to “Happy Holidays” really that strenuous? If it includes more people in this feeling of good cheer and love I mention above, is there harm in changing a few words with the same message? I’ve thought about this myself. Being an educator, I must continually think about the words I use. How I make people feel. I care about that stuff. I want every student sitting in my classroom to feel accepted. To feel understood. To not feel ostracized to the best of my ability. That they matter. That their voices matter. I have differing races, sexual orientations, socio-economic backgrounds, learning levels…in short, I have a cross-section of America and an international world. It is a microcosm of the world we live in. It extends well outside of my classroom. It extends to all of us, in the US or globally at large. Over the course of several years, I’ve used both phrases. I used to be very careful to only use “Happy Holidays.” I felt it was important. Not everyone is Christian or celebrates Christmas. Many of my colleagues are Jewish or hold other beliefs, and I’ve been schooled one too many times not to realize I’m assuming a helluva lot when I say: “Merry Christmas.” But here’s the thing for me. And I may change my mind again. Who knows! But to me, the phrase isn’t about Christ at all, believe it or not, even though that’s the root of the word. Let’s face it. Christmas has become less and less about “Jesus,” the figure and person, than it is about a “feeling” and a state of mind in its purest sense. (And to some, it’s only about presents and that’ the most troubling of all.) Most of us realize the date has nothing to do with any real birthday, that it fit the timeline of the clashing paganism of the time. The whole thing is fabricated. Come on! Right? For those who still believe, that is fine and wonderful too. Let it be. I have Christian values in my heart but without the institution of religion. In fact, I don’t believe in a traditional god in any way. (You should all know that by now!). And I am not offended when someone says, “Merry Christmas” to me, even though I am not a practicing “Christian.” I understand that isn’t the issue anyway. That what offends me isn’t in question necessarily, but that it MAY offend someone else. And if I care about other people, I should care about whether or not I offend them. It’s that simple for me. Just because it doesn’t offend me, doesn’t mean that is the end of it. That, frankly, is selfish and egocentric. So when I continue with my thoughts below, I’m not being insensitive to the reasons behind the controversy. I have come to take a side on this, even if not popular. When I say, “Merry Christmas,” I look at it as my language of saying: Goodness to you. Happiness to you and your family. Prosperity and luck and love. It means all those things to me. If someone says a phrase in their language to me, a simple hello or thank you or best to you or anything that is a term of good will, I accept it as just that. Their way of saying: “I wish you well” or “I want happiness for you.”
There are many languages and many ways to speak to people. Just because I may not practice or know their language, I gladly accept and understand it’s simply an extension of who they are. Therefore, while I do understand where the animosity stems from, I have chosen to bring Merry Christmas back into my lexicon. Because to me, I wish nothing but the best, heartfelt wishes of health and happiness to those around me, and that is the way I choose to say it to people this time of year. Any phrase that is a term of good will and love, shouldn’t be censored. Christmas should not be about presents. Or commercialization. Or greed. And sadly, it seems that is all it has become for many. And that is the only offensive part. So to you all, I say, Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, and I hope you understand, that when I say it, I am simply wishing you a season filled with love, that feeling of giving and filling our souls with that which is not about us. And I do hope, you won’t be offended by that. xo ~Robert Frost We talk of New Year resolutions this time of year, something we use for fresh starts, new outlooks, and perhaps ways to organize our lives, reflect on what is working and what isn’t. No life is perfect, and sometimes it can feel as if it’s spinning out of control. The start of a new year gives us hope. Hope to right the rails, hope to plod through the storm, hope that we will take our lives back. I’m fortunate that I get a long vacation this time of year after the madness peaks and explodes. I am never a rash person. And I never make decisions under duress. Ever. When things settle, so do I, and I think. And this year will be a particularly pensive one, especially when it comes to writing. This year I will rethink my journey. I’ve traveled near and far all at the same time. I’ve written my dark fantasies far removed from my world and I’ve written my autobiographical truths into them. I’ve written sweet romance in distant tales and turbulent ones that mirrored my own past. I’ve taken leaps I never thought I would into new writing territory, some long, some short, and I’ve stayed in the same place with dear friends and goals, honing my skills to be better. And I’ve bled my soul into verse, reaching new depths, publishing a collection, and continually doing so every day, challenging myself to grow, steady on the course. I write because I have to. Make no mistake there. And I’ve said it a million times. But what got me publishing? That. That is what I need to ponder. And I need to ponder it deeply. With Amazon as seemingly the only real avenue these days (yes there are others, less lucrative ways), I must ask myself: Do I want to continue to support a company that puts everyone else out of business? That has arbitrary whims that can destroy years of work in one fell swoop of a sword? That hasn’t just slashed the little man but has slashed large corporations, toy stores and craft stores, leaving only one option: them. We live in a world of greed and instant gratification. Of a I-want-it-now-or-at-least-no-later-than-tomorrow world, and I want it at the cheapest price. And we indies rarely can make it, not truly, not the way we hoped, not the way we need to make it a dream realized. Is it worth it anymore? As many of you know, a tale I’ve cultivated for a couple years now come to fruition, and it was arbitrarily and swiftly torn down. There was a time when I shared my writing for free, where it was read copiously, where I didn’t worry about my “rank” or if it sold, where I actually placed my head on my pillow at night and slept, and where the only reason I wrote was to exorcise my demons, to cut open wounds to bleed to heal. The wounds now almost never stop bleeding. The Band-Aids I’ve used no longer work. So I end this year with some questions to answer, ones only I can do. It’s true. We can only travel one path at a time; we are but one traveler. If I choose to take the one less traveled this time, I, like Frost, doubt I should I ever come back to the other. But as I write this, I ponder that, perhaps, there are more than only two roads, that I just need to see them in the yellow wood. And maybe, just maybe, knowing that, will make all the difference. Today I ponder Thanksgiving. How many of you celebrate? Or something similar? And do you love it? Or do you loathe it, the holiday of American gluttony? I know many of my American friends love it: Football, feasting, family, and all that jazz. But for me, it’s hard to pinpoint when I started to hate it so much, this obligatory holiday, where we celebrate things we really shouldn’t be (I won’t go all politically correct on you, but you have seen Peter Pan, right?), and where most have come to celebrate it as just a simple time to be with family and friends and pause and breathe and reflect on the gratefulness of our cornucopias aplenty. I think I can pinpoint it a few things. One was the realization of what a turkey is. Interesting, the birds are still called what they are whereas beef and pork are not. I get it, you can’t lie down and snuggle with a pecking chicken, but you sure can with a baby calf, and even the most enthusiastic meat-eater agrees. There’s something unethical about that eating that with which you can love so tenderly. Still, friends of mine who own farms now will tell you that you can, in fact, hang and enjoy the company of our feathered-friends, even the ones you choose to eat. Either way, it’s a very difficult time in most children’s lives when they learn the truth. Most can get over it, having been raised to enjoy its flavor and not having to do the deed him or herself. I just couldn’t seem to. Of course, no one says you have to eat any meat. There are plenty of options, make no mistake, from gourds to cranberry sauce to pies, no one is forcing us to wear sweatpants and unbutton our pants. And I do have very fond memories of being with my Nana, the woman I derived my name from, my tea-drinking buddy, the woman who introduced me to Twinings and Darjeeling and quiet moments where we’d go sit alone out on her enclosed porch and just talk and sip and where she told me I was beautiful, and I almost believed her. So I think I’ve pinpointed it to being an adult. There is something "unmagical" about Thanksgiving for me. It screams time-honored tradition of stereotypical roles, where the women cook and the men watch football, and where the main chef doesn’t rest, rising at 4:00 am to stuff and cook a bird so everyone can gorge and complain later about how full they are, and where she must clean up the mess everyone has made afterwards, barely having a moment to eat herself, all her hard work, cold and dry, by the turn of the setting sun as everyone leaves ‘grateful’ to be full.
And really, it reminds me of my mother. My poor mother, the cook, the forever-traditionalist who refused paper plates or plastic, slaving for the happiness of everyone else around her. And then I begin to miss her and lament at all the times I stayed at my high school football game with friends, procrastinating, not grateful at all for what she was doing, but complaining with my friends, and doing things I shouldn’t have been doing. Then comes the guilt, at not only that, but at the fact of how much I had to be grateful for in her when she was alive. And then I just get sad…because I miss her. And though I respected her greatly, I didn’t appreciate a lot of things she did. Sigh… I cooked Thanksgiving dinner once. After that, I refused. I won’t do it again. If someone else doesn’t host it, my brother and some family and close friends go out to a restaurant, come back somewhere to play games, and to have desserts only. But we don’t need a made-up holiday to do it. Or to say what we’re thankful for. Or to drive or fly on the busiest, most inane holiday there is. And so, we don’t. Often. And I? I--am thankful for that. And I wonder if someday, I realize how much I wish I had the people I love surrounding me on the Thanksgiving I once loathed. I love Halloween. Do you? What has made you love or hate it? I seem to hear a lot of mixed feelings about this “holiday.” And it makes me reflect on what is it that makes me adore it so much. I’m not sure when my love for it began. Perhaps it was when, early on, it was an excuse to bob for apples and have parties with my school-age friends, eating and drinking whatever we wanted for once. Perhaps it was being raised Catholic, and the spectacle of Halloween was somehow a bit of accepted sin and mystery, wrapped in fiction and stories and movies and tall tales spun by bonfire and candlelight, one where being safely scared was highly guarded. Perhaps it was because it hearkens back to the night I lost my virginity on a porch in our neighborhood, both thrilling and taboo, where he quoted: “If the stars refuse to shine. I would still be loving you. When mountains crumble to the sea. There would still...be you and me.” Perhaps it was because my brother always had the best ideas for costumes and executed them with such aplomb for the both of us my whole life, even in college, that it sealed the everlasting awe I still have of him to this day. But perhaps, it is truly because it happens to fall in the month of change, where we watch each leaf take its leap into the unknown of this thing called death, and we see ourselves in each one of them. One by one, they each fall, some gracefully, accepting the inevitable respectfully, maybe even hopefully; and others, fighting to hang on long after their time is up, not going “gentle into that good night,” forcing us to ask ourselves if they’re fighting on purpose or if they simply don’t know what’s in store for them until they sit on the earth to be taken away with the wind to who knows where, they, our mirror image. And it makes us ponder why some people fight and grow and rise above strife in the same exact circumstances while others crumble and lash out and give up, our fates all the same in the end. Halloween is that one time a year, it’s about us. No obligatory presents or killing of perfectly vibrant trees or endless wrapping of paper to waste and clog and destroy our environment after. No obligatory family gatherings or meals or meaningless football games. No obligatory drives far out of the city to sit and gorge on things we hate and conversations we loathe, only to drive home miserable. But instead, perhaps it’s that we get to focus on just ourselves, mostly, selfishly for once, surrounded by like-minded individuals with the sole purpose of levity and kinship, and where we get to put on a mask and be someone we wished we could always be but were too afraid to…and reflect, that maybe, just maybe, this year, spring will be different. |
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I LOVE to write and read. I particularly enjoy reading erotic romance that has tons of emotion in it. I hope you will ask me questions and share your favorite authors and novels. I welcome all feedback.
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