TO THE STUDENT:
Imagine for a moment, if you will, that you have earned your degree and have just completed an interview for the job of your dreams when the interviewer asks you to step inside a conference room.  There, you are told, you will find a pen, some paper, and a question requiring a well-developed response.  And, oh yes, the interviewer expects you to complete your draft in about 45 minutes.  Alone, you search in vain for a computer loaded with grammar and spelling checks.

No, this is not a make-believe event you will likely escape.  If anything, given our current frenzied drive for information and technology, employers are intensifying their demand for good writing skills.  Indeed, because they recognize the trend of declining writing skills, most notably among recent graduates, they will continue to include in their interview strategies writing samples testing the authentic value of your GPA. 

In fact, whether you major in criminal justice or in biology, in business or in psychology, you will need to write competently as you face the Twenty-First Century–with or without the aid of a computer.  Computers, after all, have their rhetorical limits, just as they have their stubborn "down" days.  What will you do then?  Will you be able to write a coherent memo without the benefit of grammar and spelling checks? 

Some of you, of course, will perform splendidly, especially with a dictionary at your side.  Others of you, whether readily or reticently, will acknowledge your lack of effective writing skills, no doubt for which you can assign blame to many quarters: excessive television viewing, employment demands, lax reading habits, lazy writing habits (how much easier to telephone instead of writing notes to relatives and friends), and previous instruction.  But blame will not gain you necessary skills; only your determination to succeed will. 

You see, instructors can teach you fundamental writing techniques, but a firm commitment to learn the basic characteristics of competent writing rests solely in your hands.  Naturally, you cannot expect to improve your writing if you lack the will to improve.  You have, of course, other options.  You can fault the instructor for calling writing errors to your attention, you can "shop" for that elusive instructor who ignores writing errors, or you can


ask a good writer to "clean up" your papers. 

At the risk of mediocrity, these are the easy paths to take.  The harder task is to acquaint yourself with the qualities of effective prose through increasing your reading of the masters, scrutinizing their vocabulary to enlarge your own, and employing their writing strategies in your own work.  You will find, for example, that superior writers are lovers of words; they get rid of the deadwood that many poorer writers want to cling to.  In addition to tending to matters of grammar, spelling, and punctuation (basic skills that make writing clear and "readable"), superior writers piece together their relevant thoughts in a coherent shape; for writing leads them to consider the subject matter at hand on a deeper level than class discussion allows. 

Yes, some of you will struggle more than others to break old habits, particularly those of you who were accustomed in high school to finding two grades on a writing assignment (one for "mechanics" and one for "content").  You may continue to believe that they are mutually exclusive.  They're not.  Would you, to take but one example, frame a favorite picture of a loved one in the cheapest, ugliest frame you could find in a bargain bin?  Of course not.  Neither, then, should you expect a respectful reading of your ideas, no matter how relevant they are, if you construct your frame with a poorly conceived thesis; with faulty organization, grammar, and usage; and with weak transitions and erratic punctuation 

No matter how hard you may wish to resist learning correct form, established rules of writing and punctuation do matter.  Otherwise, how else can we distinguish between "woman without her man is lost" and "woman: without her, man is lost"?  How else can we distinguish between a "pretty tall woman" and a "pretty, tall woman"?  And how else, as Mark Twain noted, can we care that "the difference between the right word and the nearly right word is the same as that between lightning and the lightning bug"?  If you don't care, why should anyone else take your writing seriously?

Perhaps Abigail Adams' words express it best:  "Learning is not attained by chance; it must be sought for with ardor and attended to with diligence." (May 8, 1780,  Letter to John Quincy Adams)

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