world jumble.

i hate being told how to write. i have a basic respect for the rules, for the technicalities, for the things that make good writing good, however, i hate to be called on them. this presents a major problem when i duck my head through the door and walk into composition class. we listened to an audio program that instructed how to operate a mechanized writing program that will critique all of our work before our professor will be allowed to see it. i understand the need for screening, some pieces of writing could use a spell check, some reformatting, and other minor adjustments, but i feel like that is where computer editing should end. how can a computer tell me if i am using too many verb? i write as a relief. i take pride in my writing, when i choose to, which is a great deal of the time. writing fuels my passion to read, reading ignites my will to speak, and speaking kindles what forces me to write inside. i need to be able to write for understanding and clarification. words in print across the artificial screen can anaesthetise any thought, giving the whim a place to be reflected upon, a safe haven to rest until the next occurrence. the way i can sit and pen sentences that could be easily separated into paragraphs should not be a problem. i have the courtesy to give the reader breath, but still that is my major shortfall. that and fear. i write on the edges of what is my concentration, disguising to many things in too many words. sometimes i feel like the worst writer in the world, shaking words inside a mug of alphabet soup. i think i just want to be read. to be heard, and identified with. i do write for me, but i still write for everyone else. i see it as an art, to be shared. that should make it impossible for judgement by an impartial hand. an emotionless console that can not interpret, let the words run up your fingers on the page, and settle somewhere deep inside you, setting your face aglow. i can paint the picture in a thousand words, and you will walk away with a deeper understanding of what you saw. you will remember more that that you just saw it. i can make you imagine that the next time you cough there might be something squirming through your tissue lining in your lungs, something in that black space, that you may one day cough out and have a pleasant conversation about the nyse with. the letters just build on a string, walking across the page and settling into their places. anyway, this is what they call a world jumble of my thoughts about composition class.