I remember taking a course on Emily Dickinson in graduate school. We read and studied her poems for an entire three hours. Some sessions killed me. What the hell? But always, I felt the generation of quirky wisdom. Mashing grammar and sentence word order?! I was struggling through grammar in another class, one I had demanded they make me take, even though it wasn't required for my program. I knew I needed it! But Emily, she threw all that out the window! It was a trying semester, but also one of enormous reception and clarity. Later I started playing with verbs in fiction class and my teacher, Rick DeMarinis, a former electrical engineer and now many times published author was aghast. "A verb can't do that, Sheela!" he exclaimed as we stood outside on a break. He wanted to throttle me. Something about dismantling a verb excited me. My weakness had become a strength. Years later, I took on teaching composition writing. Shit. Back to grammar and punctuation. Bit in the ass, I knew I was at a crossroads: I could spend all day and night grading essays and editing really badly written work or I could chuck it all and let them ride free in voice! I chose the latter.
On most days I feel like a fake, not a real teacher. Some students feel cheated too. "You didn't put any marks on my paper," some of them say.
I'm not an editor and don't want to be. I am the charter of my own ship and on this boat I command we study voice. It is the first tool of a mighty writer. Grammar, punctuation, spelling, it is important but it is not my concern. It once was.
"What part of speech is this, Sheela?" I can still remember Dr. Mortensen asking in class as the Education majors giggled in their seats. "Direct object," was my pat line before I realized I may pass out from feeling mortified and stupid. I eventually learned the rules and order. I could tell you now, but I choose not to do so. It is in me. I did the hard work. Everyone must do the hard work. And then run on Emily Dickinson style.
Throttle stirred stew.
1 comment:
I have shuttled between loving and hating grammar.
On one hand, or down one neurological track, I have always enjoyed pursuing the quirky logic of the English language. As a kid, I actually liked parsing sentences while Sister Celine Marie stood by the window twirling her rosary beads, as a college freshman I elected to take an advanced grammar course which was more about philosophy than parts
of speech.
As a college writing instructor, I have always made time to teach
sentence structure because most of students obviously had never met Sister Celine Marie or
read Perrin's Guide to English in college or Elements of Style.
So one way of thinking roars with the thrill of proper punctuation
when writing technically or reading a student paper.
However, grammar nearly murdered my prose. I had to quit teaching
college English (and recuperate from my MFA program)for nearly a decade before I could write creatively again.
College writing requires correct English; creative writing requires subversion: law breaking, prison breaks, maybe even murder!
A writer must strangle correct English with its own tie until it gasps, uncle, and then after catching its breath, tells the truth.
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