Grammar Goddess and Ghoul
It's the Madonna/slut part of the semester, where I become Grammar Goddess to the students who roughly understand grammar and Grammar Ghoul to the folks who hate grammar and really want to quit having a relationship with me and with it. The end of the semester can't arrive soon enough for those people. I understand people wanting to get away from me; sometimes, I want to escape myself as well, but really, is perfection too much to expect at the end of the semester? I don't think so. Okay, maybe perfection is a high standard, but I've had too many writers reach it with at least one text to think it's unattainable.
A student strolls in, perhaps a middle school student, a kid with baggy shorts, a t-shirt, and a baseball cap. He surprises me because I don't think of Hildegard's as a place where young kids gather. Apparently, I'm wrong. It happens.
Back to grammar . . . The grammar analysis drafts wait in my car, looming over my night, threatening my weekend. I hate grading those papers; students hate writing those papers. I keep assigning it, though, because most of the students tend to learn something about their grammar habits from the paper. I should ask the students for another way to help them learn the grammar. If they can come up with a better way, I would LOVE to try it.
When people hear the word "writing," grammar usually pops into their mind. It really doesn't for me, but I do, of course, notice grammar errors. In fact, one of the hardest things for me to do when I rate papers using a rubric is not to dock people too much for their grammar errors. I have to remember that people can do an okay job (according to the rubric) and still have a few distracting errors. That's the departmental rubric. My own rubric would argue that distracting errors are never okay. Errors that don't distract from the meaning are okay. However, I also think an error-free paper can suck if it doesn't go anywhere or move people in some way.
A toddler crawls into a chair and howls with pleasure. Lindsi and I grin. I wonder when I stopped claiming space like that, when I started to limit my sounds to avoid imposing on others. Don't get me wrong. I'm not arguing that I should suddenly start screaming at my friends and dancing in public. I just wonder when I started drawing back a little, avoiding the center of attention. How does that connect to grammar? Not a clue. But the little blonde kid is just too cute to ignore. He falls regularly, but pops back up. Well, "pops" is a bit of a misnomer. He has to work on getting up: putting his hands onto the floor, shoving his butt into the air, and balancing himself as he moves up. It's a bit of a struggle, but not enough of a struggle to bother him. I know there's a connection to writing in there somewhere, something about falling/failing being okay for writers, perhaps Anne Lamott's insistence that we be okay with "shitty first drafts" or Donald Murray's article in _The Boston Globe_ about learning to fall/fail.
Cutey continues exploring the room, following his sister to the ice cream counter, chasing her back to the table, and then continuing the race on his own. I wonder if he's noticed he's racing alone. I wonder if it even matters. Another fall. After he finally gets up, he wipes his hands on the back of his shirt, does a belly flop onto another chair, and follows his mother out of Hildegard's. Aah, too cute. But now he's gone. My distraction has abandoned me. I guess that means it's back to grammar.
The music distracts me now. Have I mentioned that I rock at finding distractions? I struggle to stay still, moving my shoulders slightly to the music, but that's it. When I bounce my leg, the laptop threatens to fly into Diana's lap, so I stop, not wanting to startle Diana or tear up my second laptop of the day. BWP's laptop spurned me earlier, so I left it with Information Technology. I'll teach it to be rude.
Media Services loaned me a nifty laptop to use while mine is being disciplined. I hope they're stern with it. The new laptop feels huge to me. The screen seems twice as large as mine.
Okay, I'm clearly slowing down now. I guess I'll pause for a reading break since I know that Lindsi has already posted her response.
A student strolls in, perhaps a middle school student, a kid with baggy shorts, a t-shirt, and a baseball cap. He surprises me because I don't think of Hildegard's as a place where young kids gather. Apparently, I'm wrong. It happens.
Back to grammar . . . The grammar analysis drafts wait in my car, looming over my night, threatening my weekend. I hate grading those papers; students hate writing those papers. I keep assigning it, though, because most of the students tend to learn something about their grammar habits from the paper. I should ask the students for another way to help them learn the grammar. If they can come up with a better way, I would LOVE to try it.
When people hear the word "writing," grammar usually pops into their mind. It really doesn't for me, but I do, of course, notice grammar errors. In fact, one of the hardest things for me to do when I rate papers using a rubric is not to dock people too much for their grammar errors. I have to remember that people can do an okay job (according to the rubric) and still have a few distracting errors. That's the departmental rubric. My own rubric would argue that distracting errors are never okay. Errors that don't distract from the meaning are okay. However, I also think an error-free paper can suck if it doesn't go anywhere or move people in some way.
A toddler crawls into a chair and howls with pleasure. Lindsi and I grin. I wonder when I stopped claiming space like that, when I started to limit my sounds to avoid imposing on others. Don't get me wrong. I'm not arguing that I should suddenly start screaming at my friends and dancing in public. I just wonder when I started drawing back a little, avoiding the center of attention. How does that connect to grammar? Not a clue. But the little blonde kid is just too cute to ignore. He falls regularly, but pops back up. Well, "pops" is a bit of a misnomer. He has to work on getting up: putting his hands onto the floor, shoving his butt into the air, and balancing himself as he moves up. It's a bit of a struggle, but not enough of a struggle to bother him. I know there's a connection to writing in there somewhere, something about falling/failing being okay for writers, perhaps Anne Lamott's insistence that we be okay with "shitty first drafts" or Donald Murray's article in _The Boston Globe_ about learning to fall/fail.
Cutey continues exploring the room, following his sister to the ice cream counter, chasing her back to the table, and then continuing the race on his own. I wonder if he's noticed he's racing alone. I wonder if it even matters. Another fall. After he finally gets up, he wipes his hands on the back of his shirt, does a belly flop onto another chair, and follows his mother out of Hildegard's. Aah, too cute. But now he's gone. My distraction has abandoned me. I guess that means it's back to grammar.
The music distracts me now. Have I mentioned that I rock at finding distractions? I struggle to stay still, moving my shoulders slightly to the music, but that's it. When I bounce my leg, the laptop threatens to fly into Diana's lap, so I stop, not wanting to startle Diana or tear up my second laptop of the day. BWP's laptop spurned me earlier, so I left it with Information Technology. I'll teach it to be rude.
Media Services loaned me a nifty laptop to use while mine is being disciplined. I hope they're stern with it. The new laptop feels huge to me. The screen seems twice as large as mine.
Okay, I'm clearly slowing down now. I guess I'll pause for a reading break since I know that Lindsi has already posted her response.
Labels: Write Night
posted by Donna Sewell at
6:38 PM
3 Comments:
Wow, you as a Madonna/slut...
I think we should incorporate being a kid somewhere in the ISI. Let go of inhibitions and ideas about how adults should act and just have fun, the kind we had when we were four and a cardboard box could be a plane or a secret tunnel. Growing up sucks-even if you remember how to be a kid, other people want to beat it out of you. I want my baby to always know how to enjoy being a kid...
By
blindsi, at 7:08 PM
With your penchant for distractability how do you get everything finished? Is it the company? Or does it not matter where and when you are working?
Have to wonder what you would say to an editor while writing a book
By
Diana Chartier, at 7:15 PM
Now that was a funny enjoyable read! I wish I could have taken everyone to the Angel City Rally with me this weekend. MORE than enough material to write about. Nothing like a bunch of drunk bikers (lawyers, teachers, doctors, etc.) at a wet t-shirt contest. I think I spent as much time watching the crowd as anything else. A much needed get away. Your post reminded me of that. The image of the little boy falling and getting up, running around acting crazy was very much like what I saw this weekend.
By
Adam, at 6:40 PM
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