I know how many of you choose November to flex your writing muscles—what with the various “No’s” and “WriMos” and mustachios in the air.
I am here to bring you good tidings. You need no longer steal furtive glances over your shoulder at the overwhelming fear that you are about to be overtaken in the November writing game by one of my students.
The only competition that these darlings are going to win is the race to use the fewest capital letters. At the beginning of sentences, I mean. There are veritable craploads of capitals being tossed about, just for the joy of capitalization itself.
foR examPLe, me and my fiEnd went To the mAll itwas so so so so fUn.
I know! For a second there, I thought I was reading the Unabomber manifesto, too! I’m not sure which celebration of November manifesto-writing that fellow engaged in, but he was definitely on the shaving wagon.
My son tried to read one of my kids papers and it sounded like nothing so much as Middle English. I call this kid out all the time (my student, not my son) because he is out of control and I have to, even though he can’t help it much of the time. Who knew he was writing the latter day Canterbury Tales? The translation of his truly illegible writing was this: “Today my teacher is my best friend. We work together a long time. We read together. She helps me spell words.” (Virtually every word is misspelled. So touching.)
So, friends, carry on. All is well. Happy November. I remain, proudly,