The Writing Center at The Evergreen State College
The Definite Article: Faking It
By Paul C. Whitney, a.k.a. Captain Lexicon
It was a pretty good bluff, if you ask me.
I was nervous as I sat in my professor’s office. I’d had a good quarter and that my paper was a success. But as a Writing Center tutor, I wanted to live up to the expectations. The problem was, I was never able to articulate those expectations or where they came from.
My professor complimented me on the quarter and the paper, saying that it was "a relief to read such a well-written paper." I heaved such a sigh of relief, only to be followed by the longest thirty seconds of abject dread and worry of the worst kind.
"I have just a few things to point out to you," she said, as she noted a few typos circled in red pen. They were nothing serious, only things the spell-checker wouldn’t have picked up, and I felt that I had, so far, upheld the honor of my colleagues at the Writing Center, until:
"But this is just bad grammar, Paul."
What?
Me? Bad grammar? This was before my "Captain Lexicon" days, but I still took immense pride in my grammar. I couldn’t fathom having made a grammatical error in such an important final project of a very long two-quarter class.
She read, "…as if it was your job," to which I responded, "Oh, of course. That’s so embarrassing."
But of course, I was actually thinking, "What is she talking about?"
I continued, "It should actually be…" and trailed off, twirling the index finger of my right hand in a tight circle as I searched for a word that I hoped she didn’t know that I didn’t know.
"It should actually be were, shouldn’t it," I said, not being able to think of any other verb that would fit. My second sigh of relief, though I had to hide it to save face, was deeper than my first.
"It’s in the subjunctive mood, so you’re right, it has to be ‘were’," she replied. I tried not to furrow my brow as I said, "Right, subjunctive mood. Wish I hadn’t missed that one."
But of course, I was thinking, "Subjunctive mood? What the hell is THAT?"
She finished by congratulating me once again, and I left happy except for the subjunctive mood thing. After looking it up, I realized that it was a rule I knew but didn’t really know how to use. I was furious at myself. I should have known better! I did know better but didn’t do it right! I haven’t made that mistake in my writing since, and I even use it conversationally, but at some level, I’m still kicking myself for that "was" that should have been a "were."
That wasn’t the biggest lesson of the day, though. Why had I made such a big deal about a silly rule that 90% of English speakers don’t know and the other 10% ignore? The lesson I’m still forcing myself to learn is that learning good grammar comes from using bad grammar. Every grammar rule I’ve ever learned has only made sense to me when I’ve butchered some sentence, then realized how much better a sentence sounds when I observe the rules.
Then a magical thing happens. I find ways to disregard those rules without butchering my sentences. I know the rules, and I know how to give myself permission to break them.
Of course, with a name like Captain Lexicon, you would assume that I know them all, right?
Wrong!
I may focus on grammar more than most writers do—sometimes obsessively—and I can rattle off terms such as plural past perfect tense and subjunctive mood with the best of them, but this lesson becomes so much more valuable when I give myself permission to break the rules I don't know. I resolve not to care what people think if there’s some obscure rule I broke in my one-page seminar paper that no one will ever read again, and to learn every rule that I unwittingly break. Through my bad grammar, I become a skillful grammar user, and I get peace out of knowing that I never have to be an actual expert.
This lesson can go even deeper, though: from bad writing comes good writing. When I heap pressure on myself to write the "perfect" paper, I procrastinate, I throw out my work and start over, I waste time, I turn papers in late, and I’m left with a ton of stress and a bad taste in my mouth for writing, the thing I love to do the most.
When I give myself permission to write badly, I get into such a groove that I generate material that I use in my "good" pieces. I have stacks of notebooks in my desk, my box at work, my backpack, anywhere the muse might strike, filled with poor writing that became good work.
So next time you’re stressed out about a paper, stop. Breathe. Then do it: Write. Fake the rest. Even if you only use 10% of the material you come up with, you’ll be pleased with what you wrote.
And trust me, with a name like Captain Lexicon, there’s a lot of face to save, and sometimes even I have to bluff.
Brought to you by the Writing Center, located in the Evergreen Tutoring Center, CAB 108, 867-6420, www.evergreen.edu/writingcenter.