1/3/09

Grammar Fun... or maybe not?



There are grammatical errors that really bother me alot.  Oops, I mean a lot.  Yes, that's right... a lot is two words.

I try not to be a grammar snob.  Really, I do.  But despite my best efforts, I have grammar pet peeves.  Its true.  Yikes, I mean it's true.

Sometimes its (I mean it's) difficult to turn off you're internal proof-reader (uh oh... I mean your internal proof-reader) when your reading other people's writing.  Drat, that should be... when you're reading other people's writing.

Of course, it does make a difference who's writing (I mean whose writing) your (oops... I mean you're) reading.  If its a young person (oops, that should be it's) whose (I mean who's) doing the writing, sometimes you need to cut them a little slack.  But there are times when even experienced writers make mistakes, even myself.  Oh wait... that should be me.

So if your (you're) writing a letter or a paper, be sure you take the time to do alot (a lot) of proofreading, so that you find those common mistakes that are easy to fix.  Its (It's) a little thing that can make alot (a lot) of difference in the long run.  You never know who's (whose) eyes might be on you're (your) writing, and you want to make a good impression.  Take it from myself (me).


6 comments:

  1. Amy:
    Excellent blog! My college students drive me crazy with this stuff. There, their, they're is their biggest problem.
    Write on,
    Teresa Reasor

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  2. *LOL*
    Amy, I am an unabashed grammar snob, although you wouldn't know it by listening to me speak.

    I have an entire blog dedicated to my grammar pet peeves called the Grammar Cop (http://cherylnorman.com/blog), so I won't try to list any here.

    Happy new year!
    Cheryl

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  3. Very cool, Cheryl! I'll have to check out your grammar blog! And, I too, can use atrocious grammar when I speak. But it's usually on purpose!!

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  4. I have a hard time reading other books now when I've been doing edits on my own work for a long period of time.

    If it's a stroke of "sheer" luck, you can't "shear" that luck- you would be better off to shear a sheep! LOL It sticks out like a sore thumb.

    Thanks not only for a good laugh this morning, but for the wonderful reminder to pay attention to what you're writing.

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  5. LOL! Love this - creative way to write about it. I try to be careful when I type, but some days I'm lazier than others. :)

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  6. Hi Ms Durham,
    I happened to stumbled upon your site when I was researching some material on my blogger site. I found your observations of life somewhat intriguing and your comments on writing interesting. I too have taken pen to paper many times through the years but even though the words flowed freely and a kind of euphoria surged through my soul I could never quite capture the emotions that I felt within. But there is another reason that I wanted to contact you. I got the impression from your site that family values are cherished and very important to you. I’m not certain whether you’re the Durham family that I have been searching for. I’m trying to locate relatives of the Shafmaster family. The mother’s maiden name was Marcia G. Gass; she was the daughter of Mena Gass who was originally from the Gass family of Orano, Maine. There were seven sisters in the family who were the daughters of Barney and Rebecca Gass of Orano, Maine. There was a Mena, Helen, Rachel, Sarah, Lillian, Ester and Anna Gass. Anna “Gass” Bloom had a daughter named Joyce. In September of 1961 Joyce was with child and sent to Florida and stayed with Mena Gass and the baby was put up for adoption at birth in the spring of 1962 in Miami, Florida. The child was unwanted by the Blume Family. The child is my daughter and I wanted her. I’ve been searching for my child since her birth with very little results. The main obstacle of the whole tragedy was that Joyce was from a Jewish family and I was not. I had left high school and enlisted in the Navy to prove capable for supporting my daughter but unfortunately the child was born before I finished boot camp and was put up for adoption without my consent. So as a parent you must have some idea of the unrelenting sorrow that has haunted me all my life by the loss of my daughter. I’m very familiar with the world of adoption. I was raised by a foster mother who passed away when I was eight years old and was returned to my birth mother. So I understood the moment my daughter took her first steps and climbed up on someone else’s knee and called them dad she would be lost to me forever. I had hoped that I could have located her and at least lived in the shadows of her world, but that was never realized. Something dies within you when you lose your child and the world becomes a cold and dreary place. There are a lot of sleepless nights and midnight walks with eyes that burn with the sting of tears. You read the newspaper and watch the television and your mind runs rampant with thoughts of what some people are capable of doing and you’re not there to protect her and keep her safe from any harm. You don’t know who has her and how she’s really being treated and you’re completely helpless and shackled to every unimaginable thought that your mind can conjure up. Those fortunate people who have never had to experience this nightmare may sympathize but it’s a sorrow that strangles the soul and the mind is quite incapable of imagining the depth that this sorrow will take a person to. You live with the thought that perhaps tomorrow you will locate her, but eventually all your tomorrows have come and gone and old age taps you on the shoulder and you know your sunsets are fast running out. The graveyard lingers somewhere in the horizon and you will carry this sorrow with you when this final day comes to an end. I have no intentions of disturbing anyone’s life. I’ve lost so many memories that should have been mine but they belong to the man she called Father. Whether we like it or not we all get caught up in the cobwebs of lady fate and she always has the final say. It’s too late for me; my heart has been scarred too deep with sorrow and I am no longer that naive young man who once greeted life with a smile. All I wish for now is to look upon her face once unbeknown to her or at the very least a picture of her before I go to my grave. Joyce married into her faith to a Paul F. Carley and they now reside in Florida at The Villages. They had two children; a boy named Jason and a girl named Emily who are adults now and have their own families. Even after all these years religion still seems to be the obstacle that has built a wall that forever keeps my eyes blinded to my daughter. As for me, I’m just an average man who has been married for 43 years to a wonderful woman. I’ve worked as a supervisor in a power plant for 35 years and retired. I’ve never been a drinker or had anything to do with drugs or done anything that I’m ashamed of except lose my daughter. I’ve just lately tried to contact anyone that is remotely connected to the Gass family with the hope that perhaps I will find someone who might know or have information on my daughter’s whereabouts and be compassionate enough to help me. If you’re not one of the distant relatives of the Gass family or you choose not to divulge any information pertaining to my daughter I apologize for any inconvenience that I may have caused you. I can be reached at Blancra@aol.com.
    Thank you for your time,
    Roger Blanchard

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