It's something I still have to figure out.
Some of you may be harboring delusions that I am a writer. I am most definitely not a writer. You have to believe me. You have probably read some of my posts in this blog, and have actually clicked on the Post a Comment link or have made a glorious decision to hit the Close button altogether because I have cut you short of all the goodness in life from my frequent blah state which I translate into words – and for that matter I apologize. Then again, I’m just blogging so please don’t take offense, as if I’m bringing on the Armageddon.
Okay, I was once news editor of our quasi school circulation in High School. I was tasked to do the job basically because no one can be as obsessive-compulsive with correct grammar as I do, but then I also get departures from my own OC behavior. I love to hear people talk, and try to correct anything problematic whenever there is a chance, but I also enjoy reading scribbles – then I proofread them. My teacher discovered this bit of talent of mine, and then she recommended me to join the Journalism Club upon which I took a dinky diagnostic exam and then poof! I became news editor! Then I was burdened with stacks of paperwork for me to bring home which effectively annoyed the hell out of me. You don’t know how hard it is to proofread simple fifty-cent sentences; by simple I mean retarded. I’m serious. I just find it all the more annoying the fact that those so-called correspondents were able to make it to the screening, and they seemed to connive with each other because majority of their submitted article drafts had one revolving main topic. Then I used red ink – bloody-red Pilot V5 sign pen I much preferred – to encircle, underline all seemingly gawky sentences, and make equally infuriating remarks about their atrocious grammatical and syntax errors by the time I have reached the “###” sign which means Nothing Follows or the end of an article. (“End” here means “put to a stop” although it sounds much more fun to just terminate the writer once and for all, ha ha!)
Apart from my being a pestilential toad to aspiring paper writers, I was also the undisputed champion in our Spelling quiz bees. From freshman to senior year in high school, no single soul had overthrown me from my seat as the title holder for Spelling. There were some who made fatal attempts to oust me. They failed – basically because I didn’t and wouldn’t let them win, nya ha ha. This was how I studied for the quiz bee: I take out two humongous World Book Dictionaries, my Merriam-Webster Thesaurus, and then I try to read and understand every word entry. This was a grueling task for it required patience, time, and effort, not to mention the proper way of ignoring the tranquilizing effects of reading. I don’t memorize, by the way; it would be hellish.
Then I went to UP and took up units in English. This feat effectively changed my perspective over my fondness in the language. I stupidly assumed that College English was no better than High School English, and by the end of the semester I was rewarded with a very wonderful dramatic grade of 3.0. I nearly flunked this course because I was bad at term papers. I don’t really hate the way the course was handled, but it was a factor. Plus I am horrible at systematic writing, you know, following specific rules and stuff. But I discovered the wonders of term paper writing – actually, it was more of a need – when two of my professors in two major subjects in Speech made a brilliant idea to require the class to submit somewhat a baby thesis with specific prerequisites. I almost ripped my skin off, and crawled and slithered on a bed of salt. But it paid off; I didn’t get a grade lower than 1.75. (A “2” would freak me out, actually.)
Then I started to do blogging. This makes perfect sense because I once loathed writing articles and journals yet I’m clacking away to do posts like this. And then I would come across good bloggers who were mistaken with my writing style. Honestly I don’t know what a writing style is – I got a 3.0 in English, remember? There is no need for comparison to other well-renowned writers and/or bloggers; just to reiterate my disclaimer, I am not a writer. I usually write the way I want to express things in usual everyday conversations. As with the issue of highfalutin vocabulary, I think it’s a product of too much reading. You know, the more words you ingest, the more it will get stuck inside you like a piece of bubble gum entangled on your hair. Thesauri and dictionaries can help, too. The sad thing on my part is that I lost my thesaurus somewhere in the vast plains of my room, our dictionary is too bulky to be hauled out from the shelf, and it took me years to discover the meaning of Shift+F7. I’m not kidding.
Now if you are going to ask me for advice, I’m afraid I’m the wrong person to inquire. I can’t even help myself with my problem in coherence, much less to assist you on how to be an effective writer. Maybe we could just put it this way. If your goal in life is to write, then go ahead, no one’s stopping you, but you have to be 120.936099% sure that you really want to be a [good] writer. Listen to what’s in your head. It could be telling you something, but which should not be mistaken with “Satan told me to kill people” kind of voice. Write what you know. Pure unembellished facts could be possible but that would be boring. You have to preempt that readers would want something warped and funny, or something tragic and lachrymal. And be careful with plagiarism.
Again, just write what you know. If you don’t know anything, then you got yourself a problem.