My first writing class in high school was with Mrs. Watts. When she read about eating a cold piece of watermelon on a hot summer day, I said to myself hmmmm…..I want me some of that creative writing. I loved her liked worshiped the ground she walked on. She was fun, she was inspiring, she was the best class I had during those four years.
Maybe she taught this and I don’t remember or maybe I’m chronically stupid, but oh these commas make me craaaaaaaazy as in the loco. I add them, read it over, delete them, put them back in. I read my stuff out loud. Did I pause? Pause means comma, right? It could also mean that I just remembered it’s 10:00 and I haven’t checked Garnet Hill’s Sale of the Day yet. Big pause, quit writing, check out sale. Sometimes, I read the paper and say hmmmmm……..I should put my commas there like they do. And for awhile I do. Then I forget, which happens when you make shit up as you go. I’m perplexed.
Perplexed? Maybe I don’t need commas, after all. Maybe I’m gonna get by on confidence, commitment and kick-ass vocab.