Sometimes it’s no fun being a writer. Take, for instance, memes.
I want to participate in the jollity. I, too, would like to pass along your funny/cute/poignant/scathing/pithy sayings and photos.
I read them. I laugh (sometimes). I hover over the “Share” button.
But then I do this.
I’m not a grammar nazi by nature. I don’t silently correct your grammar while I’m chatting with you. I don’t re-write your emails or mark up your memos.
I’m not a hater.
I’m not your grammar mother.
I know it’s incredibly annoying when other people correct my grammar.
Because no one wants to live under the constant scrutiny of Big Brother.
And incessant nit-picking of others is a short path to a lonely existence.
I’m not like that. I’m not an authoritarian. I’m a helper, a nurturer.
But I can’t seem to stop myself.
So this is my apology to you.
I cannot go forth and populate the earth with your clever memes. I cannot gambol and cavort with the full-loving masses, nor contribute to the frivolity.
I expect you to read my books and point out every grammatical error now. Every. Single. Book.
*My friend, Bob, points out that “who” versus “that” is a matter of personal preference. Fine. Whatever. Go buy his books, too.