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Love of the English Language

Posted by on in MyBlog
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 began my love for the English language when I was a young girl growing up in the south.  I remember writing in my journal, creating story stories, and poems.  I was pretty good, so my teachers said.  Over the years, I've lost some of that love I use to have for the English language.  I use to admire writers and their abilities to make the English language come alive.  By the time I entered the 11th grade I was already an avid reader.  I remember my 11th grade English teacher sitting on the edge of her desk reading excerpts from the book, Maggie, Girl of the Streets and The Jungle.  She read with such enthusiasm.  She chose books that were interesting and unconventional.   Her English class was one of my favorite classes that year.  Now, I can barely read articles on-line.  The other day, I say an interesting article in the National Geographic.  It was several pages long; I don't think I got through the first page completely.  I scanned it for the main points and eventually folded it away. I didn't read enough of it to get any useful information.  I am currently reading a novel by an author, whose name escapes me.  The book is what I would consider a page turner, but I am finding it difficult to finish it.  There was a time in my life when reading a novel took a few days, now it takes me a few weeks.  I still enjoy reading but instead of it being a time to get away from the daily grind I find my mind drifting. It's hard for me to focus and enjoy it.  I know my circumstances have changed and I no longer have the luxury of devoting several hours to reading, but I still feel as if I'm missing out.

 In my senior year of high school, I had an eccentric English teacher.  Her class was fun.  She taught us to use words we wouldn't normally use in our everyday life.  She would give us a list of these words and we then had to find those words in our life.  I remember when I would hear one of the words on her list and got excited that I not only recognized the word but knew what it meant.  I still remember some of those words and use them, sparingly.  She gave me the gift of being open-minded. I wanted to learn new words so that my vocabulary would be colorful.  Contrast that feeling to the way I am today.  I came across postcard advertising for an event.  The event was targeted for a particular market; unfortunately, I am not their target market.  The postcard was very appealing to the eye, with bright colors and pictures.  When I read it, I recognized all the words as being from the English language but was unable to understand what it was being said.  I turned to my generation Y translator and he translated most of it for me.  He, being their target market, was unable to understand everything written on the advertisement.  I got the jest of what the ad was saying, but felt as if I had slid into a new category of intolerance.  Here I am, a former lover of the English language, and I am judging this particular ad adversely.  In the past, I would have applauded the author with their unique sense of style.  However, after I read it, I was disappointed with their use of the English language. Now, I am hardly a skilled writer, and perhaps have no room to critize, but I do believe I could have done a much better job.  I find myself pointing out such things more often now. I don't know if I should just embrace my new category or fight it.  After all writers are given a literary license to use the English language as they see fit. That was something I use to like about writing.  I was that person many years ago. Now I don't know use those vibrant words anymore.  My vocabulary has dwindled.   I find myself looking up words in a thesaurus, trying to prevent using the same words repeatedly.   I'm back in school now and have had several writing assignments.  My feedback has been unbelievable good.  I question my instructor's ability to recognize good writing.  Since I don't have the time to object to her positive feedback I accept my A's.  One day I hope to be whom I thought I would be at this point in my life.  I don't want to necessarily be a famous writer, I just want to be able to write something that I deem well written.  Until such time I will accept my A's and question my abilities.