This is my first time writing a post alongside many other writers who are part of this group:
Yes, but ...
Language can make you feel like a loser.
Language is everything because of people, not because of the language itself.
People whip the language.
That’s why language has power.
When I started writing professionally (by that I mean I started reading books on the subject, actually published one story, and joined a critique group for the first time), it was the turn of the century. The year 2000 was very perturbing. I graduated from an American university for the first time. Clairvoyants had announced the end of the world or such nonsense, Nostradamus was hinted at, and people wrote their wills and made prayers.
Me, I wrote my first short-stories. And I wrote them in a second language.
Yikes!
Little did I know what boat I had boarded.
Little did I know how much I had to learn about the English language …
I thought becoming fluent would be enough. Such is the power of words, they do not have power isolated from their context and they only acquire meaning alongside other words.
Being fluent wasn’t enough. Far from it.
French, my native language, is a metaphoric language.
It’s pretty straight forward as long as you can grasp the meaning of the images and metaphors.
And people really say what they mean.
English in the US is loaded with allusions, weighted down by hundred of years of history, filled with non-said, cultural taboos, hints as mysterious as can be, and a lot of nuances that almost rely entirely on intonation. Plus, it has a code as secret as a safe’s.
I have been struggling ever since to give my words the right power. I kept meaning the opposite of what I wanted to say. I kept offending my critique partners. I said what I didn’t mean because I didn’t realize the connotations of my words. When I wanted to praise and support, I ended up making people angry.
Until now, my son reads my emails and rolls his eyes, telling me I have just insulted someone when I meant to say something kind.
“It’s not what you say,” he tells me. “It’s just the way you arrange your words and the things you forget to explain."
He would take my computer and would add polite words here and there. He would also mess up the order of my words. Finally, he would ask, “What is it you actually want to say?”
It’s an everyday struggle.
It’s a battle I know I’m going to lose at the end of the day.
Language is power.
Language can make you feel like a loser.
All. The. Time.
The English language is a mystery to me.
I have no TV, which probably contributes to a lot of my mistakes.
I have no one to correct my mistakes as in a native speaker doing this.
Sometimes I regret ever started this.
But by now, I can’t even write in French anymore.
Language is power if you master the culture that comes with it.
If you know that there is a difference between a “handicapped” and “a person with disability”, you will feel safer in the way you speak.
Someone has to explain to you what “political correctness” truly means.
For some time, I thought being called “color blind” was a good thing. I only recently discovered that was an insult. I had no clue I was letting people think I didn’t see their beautiful cultural heritage.
When you get into a debate, you’ve got to have full mastery of the language or do not get into any conversation with anyone.
Knowing this made me more compassionate.
I read an email twice, knowing that we often miss part of it.
I often think twice about what someone says to me.
I always assume they meant well, no matter.
Language is power.
Language is compassion.
When you write a novel, at least you have some measure of control.
Critique groups really help.
They are compassionate.
I love my critique groups. They’re awesome. They’re a life saver.
If only they knew how grateful I am for them.
Their critiques are power.
They are compassion.
Thanks!