A Lesson from Junior High

Junior high students love to be worthy of pity. I remember, as a 7th grader, having this baffling realization that we all were jostling one another for the highest, unofficial title of "most worthy of pity." I remember wondering why on earth we were doing this. Why am I doing this? The weirdest part was that we weren't seeking actual pity; as soon as someone expressed something like "wow, I'm so sorry this is happening to you. I'm glad I don't have to go through that" it was no longer desirable. In high school, and even college, it became a battle to demonstrate to one another how little we slept, which, as a functional insomniac, I readily engaged in.

I didn't notice it so much among my friends at college, but I did read a recent article, written by a college student, that pointed out the pervasiveness of the "busy-ness" competition: "Oh? You think your schedule's bad? Just wait 'til you hear mine."

This trend among youth is just a trickle down effect of a Nietzschean idea that might be called the glorification of a victim. (By the way, when I say Nietzschean, I mean that Nietzsche talked about it, not that he advocated it).

Here's the thesis: Everyone wants to be considered a victim, not because we enjoy suffering, but because it is the easiest way to being considered a hero.

Implicit in the word "victim" is the idea that an individual is suffering, has endured suffering, or died because he or she suffered. The Latin word victima (from which we receive our English derivative) referred to an object used for sacrifice; usually this was an animal, though in some particularly dark circumstances it could be a human being. Generally, we use victim to mean someone who suffers: Victims of serious crimes all the way down to victims of busy schedules have, in some way, been subjected to suffering.

Heroes are a different matter. In classical Greek myth, a hero was term used for a mortal man of great ability with divine parentage--a demigod--and especially one who had benefited mankind. Heracles (also known by his Roman name, Hercules), who notably saved cities from terrible monsters, is a prime example of this. In Homer's era, it became a term used to refer to warriors as a whole (those strong men who protected the city), which we have some remnant of in our cultural term war hero. Nowadays, however, it is best preserved in the ever-popular superhero.

Heroes, like victims, certainly suffer, but they suffer on behalf of someone else (and usually to save that person, or persons, from suffering) not because they find themselves persecuted in particular. It is a different kind of suffering. Still implicit in that definition of even a comic book superhero is the idea of someone suffering so that another might not. A victim endures suffering, a hero saves a victim, or potential victim, from suffering.

These days the status of a victim and the status of a hero have become functionally the same thing. We see this in the way people talk about victims of gun violence, victims of oppression, and victims of discrimination. We talk about them as if they are heroes simply because they suffered.

I do want to clarify that victims and heroes are not mutually exclusive: the mother who lost her child because a drunk driver hit her car, who then works to ensure that the amount of drunk drivers on the road is reduced, certainly is both a victim and a hero. The boy who grew up in poverty because of poor parental choices and lives his life with intelligence, frugality, and wisdom to ensure that his children do not go through the same things is also a victim and a hero. Their suffering makes them victims, their actions to prevent others from suffering the way they did makes them heroes. The two categories are not mutually exclusive, but they are not the same thing.

I'm about to say something rather controversial and potentially offensive, and I want to preface it with this caveat: we need to remember victims; we need to recognize their suffering and deal justice where we can. We have a duty to every victim of true injustice.

Nevertheless, we should not glorify them. Why? Because we need to preserve the difference between a victim and a hero. If every victim automatically becomes a hero, then our culture is encouraging its people to accentuate their own suffering in order to be noticed. Where, then, is the encouragement to act in order to alleviate the sufferings of others? Is that the kind of culture we want to create?

To the Christians: We are told to act like Christ. He certainly suffered, but he did so willingly, and at the hands of those he intended to save. He is the ultimate hero and we are called to act like him. But the culture of glorifying victimhood in the place of heroes is killing that attempt.

So here's the conclusion: we must give justice to the victim. That is the duty of a civil society created for the protection of its citizenry's wellbeing and safety. To the hero we must give honor in order to create a civil society that encourages self-sacrifice and virtue. But we must not confuse the two, or else poor, misled junior high students all over the country will continue to believe themselves heroes simply because they feel like they're suffering.

Best wishes,
Nicole

10 Totally Subjective Facts of Dubious Verity Regarding the New Star Wars

Spoiler free, I promise.

1. I enjoyed watching the movie, but probably won't watch it again.
2. The plot is totally recycled from all the other movies.
3. There are no plot twists.
4. People who tell you there are plot twists lied, or have never seen the other movies.
5. LENSE FLARES. OH MY WORD JJ ABRAMS. GET A NEW EFFECT.
6. Light sabers are still cool, and still completely ridiculous weapons against blasters. Seriously; ever heard the phrase "don't bring a knife to a gun fight"? This is basically the space-age version of that saying.
7. My automatic reaction to "May the Force be with you" is still "and with thy spirit"
8. I would say something like the books were better, but there aren't really any books so... 
9. Gollum.
10. The droids are still the best part.

Confessions of a Web Designer

The brain loves immediate cause-and-effect processes. To act with a specific purpose, and immediately see that purposed result creates an almost addictive reward. Web design, I think, is in certain instances the most satisfying version of this instantaneous reward process, and in others is the most frustrating.

For example, in my web design efforts, I've updated a page on the back end of the site and within seconds, see my changes on the refreshed page.

I've also totally and irrevocably broken a website by a seemingly innocent line of code.

So I undo my changes.

And it's still broken.

I grit my teeth and try something new. Which doesn't work.

So I try a different thing.

Still nothing.

Again and again and again for hours I try things, none of which restore my lost site.

Finally, I redo the initial (and most logical) fix that I'd tried when I had first discovered the break. And sometimes it works.

Sometimes I end up doing the same thing over and over again and then, randomly, it'll work.

There was a specific instance where my employer wanted a simple change to a piece of media on the site. Now, media tends to be a bit more complicated, because there are generally three connections that need to be made in order for the correct image to be displayed, but it's still usually pretty simple. But not in this case! I removed the original image, uploaded the new one, and linked it to the page and the whole site crashed. To this day I don't know what I did. All I know is that I had a couple mini heart attacks and several massive panic attacks on my friend's dorm room floor. It took me four hours to rebuild the crashed site; I didn't lose everything, but a good deal of the structure went down.

To be entirely fair, it was almost certainly 100% user error. I'm not trained in computer science and much of what I know is self-taught using the "sink or swim" method (maybe in this case, it's "sync or swim" ... no? Not funny? Okay... I'll stop). It was still frustrating beyond belief.

One of my favorite things about being a web designer is that I know how much effort goes into certain pages. I have a particular page on my website that took me hours. It's really simple, unassuming, and non-abrasive, but I know how much work that took me. Looking at it still brings me a sense of satisfaction.

Then there are those moments when you're trying to use your site as a user, for once, and not as a developer.

I work for my school's marketing department, and part of that means that I manage certain school-affiliated websites. One of these hosts student summaries of great books written throughout history. Usually, I test the site for functionality; I haven't really looked at adding certain (perhaps obvious) features. Well, not until recently.

I was talking over coffee with a friend about a book she had received as an early Christmas present. Neither of us had read it, but I recognized it from this site, so I pulled it up and looked for the entry about this book. At this point, I realized that the website didn't have a search function. I repeat: an archival website doesn't have a search bar. What kind of IDIOT designed that?!

Oh.

Right.

That would be me.

Oops.

Tomorrow morning, guess what's first on the agenda? Yep: I'm adding a search bar.

To sum up: This web designer has a great job and an incredible lack of common sense! Hurray!

Merry Christmas, my friends.
Best wishes,
Nicole

13 Totally Subjective but Definitely True Facts about the Lord of the Rings Soundtrack

1. Howard Shore composed the whole thing for both the Lord of the Rings proper and the Hobbit movies.
2. Howard Shore is a freaking boss.
3. The soundtrack is the only good thing about the Hobbit movies (well, that and the scene between Bilbo and Gollum. BUT THAT'S IT)
4. "The Bridge of Khazad-Dum" is an excellent track for running because it makes you feel like you're being chased by a Balrog.
5. Don't EVER set "A Knife in the Dark" as your alarm unless you want to wake up with a scare approximately equivalent to chugging a gallon of energy drinks.
6. "Breaking of the Fellowship" is the easiest way to make an LoTR fan cry.
7. Yes, you can read the books to this soundtrack and it might actually make them better.
8. HOWARD FREAKING SHORE.
9. Don't study to these. Or do study to them. I don't know. Sometimes they're great and motivating, and sometimes I get caught up in the beauty of it all and ten minutes later I realize I've been staring at the same page, reading the same paragraph, digesting none of it.
10. When my boss wanted background music (a last minute request) for one of his business presentations during the audience participation bit, I may or may not have played a couple of the lesser known LoTR songs.
11. "Concerning Hobbits" really is the most fun to play on the violin.
12. When the orchestra stops suddenly and the lone violin floats over the top in the middle of "A Storm is Coming" I get goosebumps every time.
13. This completes the perfect trifecta: Lord of the Rings is my favorite book series. Lord of the Rings (EXCLUDING THE HOBBIT) is my favorite movie series. Lord of the Rings is my favorite music.

Best wishes,
Nicole Pendragon

The Beauty of Susan

For a long time, I read very little else other than Narnia.

When I was young and first experiencing Narnia, Lucy and I explored it together. Through her, I learned to love Tumnus and the Beavers and Aslan and Peter.

As I grew older, I saw more and more of myself in Edmund, and his redemption brings me so much relief, even as the cost of it scares me more than I'm willing to admit.

The beautiful Susan I never understood. How could she not enter Narnia with excitement? And how could she abandon it?! I was sad and confused and felt her loss as her siblings did, but the joy of Aslan's Country eclipsed those feelings. 

Gradually, I myself moved on to other books, some by Lewis, some not. I read Tolkien's Lord of the Rings, I read Burke's Reflections on the Revolution in France, I read biographies, essays, short stories, and anything else I could get my hands on. Narnia remained a beloved memory and an encapsulation of my childhood. Susan remained an enigma.

But then...

One day I needed Narnia again. A week before my 18th birthday, I decided I was going to reread the whole series, one book per day. I was going to go back to Narnia as a child one last time. I know that the "18 years old equals adulthood" is an arbitrary convention of our culture, but it still seemed significant and as I read the series again, it really did feel as though I was saying goodbye to my childhood.

Because suddenly, I understood Susan. I related to the fretful way she behaved, the way she took care of her siblings with almost too much attention, and I felt her need to be respected by adults and to act like a grownup, even in a world that catered decidedly toward a childlike attitude. I recognized the way she responded to the magic of Narnia, but lost it so quickly back in her own world. 

I hadn't seen that before. And that understanding made her character so much more important to my perspective on the outcome of Narnia. C.S. Lewis didn't write a "happily ever after" so much as a truly realistic allegory for the real world. Narnia certainly isn't a tragedy--good defeats evil, and all is as it should be--except for Susan. Through the second-eldest Pevensie, Lewis revealed how there are tragic figures even in a happy ending. 

When I finished the story for the umpteenth time, I needed reconciliation for Susan's character. I needed her back in Narnia! Lewis never gave her that redemption, nor did he close her story. The reader presumes that Susan lived on after the crash that killed her siblings and her parents. Perhaps she had to identify the bodies. Perhaps she became successful in Our World, recalling Narnia only as often as she remembered her siblings, who never fully reached adulthood. 

However, for the audience, the rest of Susan's story remains shrouded in the "perhaps" and we'll never know what became of her. And yet, even as her tragedy cautions readers against deserting the faith of childhood, her ambiguity delivers us hope. Because perhaps she did remember Narnia later in life. Perhaps she remembered Aslan's words; that the children were pulled into Narnia so that, in the real world, they would come to know him better under another name. 

That ambiguity is the true beauty of Susan. The tiniest speck hope is there, despite her tragic arc; it is buried in the "perhaps" that finishes her story in the minds of Lewis' readers.

Part of me still needs Susan's redemption.

Best wishes,

Nicole Pendragon

A Mother's Remedy

This story would probably be more a propos to tell on Mother's Day. However, since Mother's Day is only slightly less than a year away, and since mothers deserve appreciation all year 'round. Here's reason #356 why I love my mother.

One excellent component of summer time is that I get to come home and visit my family a little bit. It's great to be back as a whole family again; it's an easy groove to settle into. Everyone's having a great time!

And then... my period struck.

Ladies, you know how this goes. Potential hours of lying in the fetal position, downing the tylenol (or aspirin or ibuprofen), waiting it out, cursing the combination of chromosomes that makes you woman, and wondering if cutting out your uterus would be less painful.

Thankfully, mother nature decided to allow me a reprieve and I slept. After multiple nights of poor sleep, it was a much needed repose. Presently, I awoke and ventured downstairs. Boy was I a sight!

Eyes red and framed with dark circles from lack of sleep.

Face pale as death from nausea and spotted with hormonal battle scars.

Hair completely disheveled, and clutching at my bloated belly, plagued by the last vestiges of the day's abdominal gymnastics, I hobbled into the kitchen.

All my mother says when she sees me is, "Wow! Don't you look gorgeous for someone who's just endured a bout with menstrual cramping!"

Funny thing is, she meant it.

Thanks for the smiles, Mom. I love you.

Best wishes,
Nicole

Google Yourself

Philosophers tell us that mind-to-mind communication is impossible. If Person B wants to know what Person A is thinking, Person A has to articulate it through some physical means, before it can reach Person B, who has to comprehend the information through the same physical medium used by Person A. The implications of this evidently unavoidable predicament is that we can never really know how other human beings perceive themselves. We can only know how other people want other people to perceive them.

Memoirs, diaries, autobiographies; throughout history these things have provided they only means to know what people think of themselves, or at least, what they want other people to think of them. Then, without any warning, a movement swept through modernity that booted memoirs, diaries, and autobiographies from their exalted status as the source of personal information: enter, social media.

Have you ever googled yourself?

Most of us have. Some of us multiple times. Just to check, right?

Some people are blessed with the anonymity that comes with a common combination of given and surnames that renders them nearly impossible to find. Other people share a name with a celebrity, which achieves the same effect. But however hidden it may be, the truth is that almost all of us have, in some tiny respect, personal information, which we have published ourselves, accessible via the internet.  I call it publicly personal information.

Confession: I'm scared of social media.

Before we continue, let me make an important distinction.

• The legal definition of stalking: Criminal activity consisting of the repeated following and harassing of another person. (http://legal-dictionary.thefreedictionary.com/Stalking)
• The cultural definition of stalking: casually (okay…sometimes not so casually) researching another person using the information that can be found on the internet, usually published by the person in question themselves (thank you Facebook).

People engaged in the first activity are criminals and dangerous. Those of us that make ready use of the second are simply curious and non-malicious opportunists utilizing the resources made available by individuals themselves to find out more.

Frequently, within two or three weeks of meeting people—but never right away--I'll look them up online to see how they portray themselves. It's interesting to see a person's profile about himself or herself. It's also scary to see what those media allow strangers to learn about a person without their direct knowledge.

For instance, did you know that Instagram has a function that attaches location information to a photo? Mobile users may access a map view of a person's profile that presents each picture as a pin showing where it was taken. This means that, for the user who has this function enabled on a public profile, anyone who wishes can identify every spot that the user stopped to take a picture and post it online.

Again, it all depends on how much information a user allows the platform to access, but many times the platform doesn't divulge its intention. The Instagram app simply asks for permission to access location data, camera, photo history, and contacts at installation.

If you've read my bio, you know that Nicole Pendragon is not actually my name. Am I paranoid? Maybe a little bit. But if I am, my paranoia is not entirely unfounded.

I have a limited bubble of social networks under my real name, meaning two: linkedin and twitter. I'm not counting Google+ because I don't use it at all, and I only have it because I have an email and Google does that super annoying thing where it creates a page for you if you want to use any of its products.

I'm actually a pretty heavy twitter user. As a news junkie, I can follow all my favorite news sources, influential people, and select companies, neatly consolidated into one place. It's convenient for information consumption, but as a producer, I fall significantly short.

I like Linkedin because it’s a professional platform that allows me to stay connected to people I'm not necessarily friends with, but want to be in contact with nonetheless. Recently, I was reading an article about how to use Linkedin, and the author asked what happened when you googled your name. As mentioned beforehand, I'd done that before, but it had been some time, so I did it again. Now, I'm not one of those fortunate souls with a generic name or a celebrity affiliate, so the first several google results (for my real name) are actually me. I expected that the first to pop up would be my Linkedin page. To my considerable surprise, I discovered that my twitter handle, from which I have posted a grand total of five tweets in the course of less than a year was the first entry.

At that point I realized that I need to do two things:

(a) use twitter more

(b) use it for purely professional-grade activity

Perhaps you've run across the considerably debated question about whether or not it is ethical for employers to google their potential employees before hiring. I don't understand how that's even a question. In the first place, how could such a barrier be legally enforced? Also, what is unethical about it? All that can be discovered on the internet through facebook, twitter, instagram, and other such sites is information posted with the full control and consent of the person involved. And, depending on the position, the publicly personal details of an individual could be anywhere from moderately to extremely relevant to the employer.

I fully expect that any potential employer will have looked me up on the internet well before I interview. Today I have discovered that the first thing they will see is my activity on twitter. When I say that I intend to use twitter for profession-grade activity alone, I don't mean that I want it to be a twitter-version of my Linkedin activity—it’s still a personal platform, after all—instead I want my twitter page to be indicative of my personality, without revealing my personal activity.

It's interesting what you can learn about how a person chooses to represent themselves on any platform, including elevator speeches, professional profiles, and non-professional profiles such as their social media.

Facebook, Twitter, and the like sometimes get a bad rap for the idea that they allow a person to represent a false image of themselves (for any number of reasons; preserving anonymity, boosting self-image, etc) to the public. That certainly does happen, I grant you (it's what I'm doing right now, isn't it?), but more often than not, that bad rap is undeserved for two reasons.

Point A: People are unlikely to represent themselves falsely. Most people on social media connect themselves to people whom they know in person. Automatically, there's a accountability factor built in. Any falsified information posted to an online social platform is likely to be seen, and possibly revealed, by someone who knows better. Research suggests that the "paper trail" created by written words or images posted to a public platform creates quite the deterrent against dishonesty. Any lies posted online are generally not big enough to signify.

Point B: False representation is not always a bad thing. I write this blog under an assumed name so that I can keep a record of my writings in a public forum (my own form of accountability) without a breach in my privacy. Even in the case where a person is choosing to represent himself or herself falsely in order to garner a better image for themselves than they believe their own personality could, you can learn what they value in who they wish they were.

Social media allows us to access something that only autobiographies could provide previously: a person's self-perception. Philosophers will tell you that mind-to-mind communication is impossible, and thus you can never know truly how a person perceives themselves. However, the sort of statuses that a person posts to Facebook, or the pictures they upload to Instagram can reveal what they wish they were, and what they wish others to think about them. If you know that person in "real life", you suddenly have another perception of that person, a perspective separate from your own. False or otherwise, a person's social media profiles will always augment the information you have in real life.

So compose your version of how others ought to understand your self-perception; read between the lines about how your friends choose to present themselves. Consider how that contrasts with what you already know about them.

But don't be malicious about it. That's just not cool.

Best wishes,

Nicole

Christ in Grammar and Syntax

Oh yes, it is time to get nit-picky! Because being verbs deserve their own rant.

If you've ever received any writing instruction at all in your life, chances are you've heard being verbs viciously denounced as weak, lazy, and restrictive. They acknowledge only bare existence, you've heard. They convey inherent lack of effort, they warn you. And, being verbs limit an object to a single correlation.

Yes, sometimes yes, and emphatically yes to those statements, respectively.

Let's back up a bit. The English language has ensnared us native speakers in a syntactical prison that requires us to organize our sentences into subject (the actor), verb (the action), direct object (the thing being acted upon) word order. If you're not Yoda, or a poet, deviations from that structure generally mean incorrect grammar. However, when an author uses a being verb (am, are, is, and the moods and tenses thereof), the direct object is no longer a direct object. Instead, that noun is called a predicate nominative. It functions essentially as a second subject.

For instance, a subject-verb-direct object sentence such as "Jane sees Spot" cannot be reversed to read "Spot sees Jane" without changing the meaning. Certainly the two sentences may both be true at the same time, but they express different scenarios entirely. On the other hand, the sentence using two predicate nominatives such as "That dog is Spot" can be reversed perfectly without changing the meaning whatsoever: "Spot is that dog." The predicate nominatives and the being verb allow "Spot" and "that dog" to be mutually inclusive terms. To be sure, there are other dogs, and other creatures named Spot, but now, that particular dog is inextricably linked to that particular name by grammar.

That is the often underappreciated beauty of the being verb. It takes two separate terms and binds them into one entity. For some reason, aficionados of the English language disapprove of such limitations.

Now, I am a native speaker of the English language, but I've never taken English grammar. So my writing and speaking and other wordly communication suffers from the colloquial contaminants running rampant through all casual conversations. Sometimes I think I'm better with Latin and Greek grammar than I am with the English variety (though, that's not saying much).

Admittedly, it's been a while since I've read anything in Greek, but I pulled out my Graecum Novum Testamentum (Greek New Testament) and gave it a read the other day. Doing so, I was struck by what I noticed. There are copious amounts of being verbs in the Bible written in association with God.

Back to English for a brief moment. Generally, when we describe a person, we use an adjective to associate the attribute with the individual. For example: "He ruled as a just king" or "She behaves like a good friend" or even "I read a truthful article." These might even be phrased with being verbs: "He was a truthful king," "she is a good friend," or "it was a truthful article." In these instances, the author is taking two concepts—justice and king, goodness and friend, truth and article—and linking them. They still remain separate concepts, but in describing the king, friend, or article, the author takes justice, goodness, or truth and applies it to the subject. But an adjectival application does not have the same force as an inextricably linking verb.

That is not the case with the being verbs of the New Testament. God is love. God is light. When Jesus said, "I am the way, the truth, and the life,” he didn't mean that there is some concept outside of himself that applies to him, he means that that thing begins and ends with him. There is no concept of truth somewhere outside of God that we could take and apply to him: he is truth.

Human beings cannot comprehend God. We are imperfect, he is perfect. We are corrupt, he is holy. We are inherently lacking, he is inherently complete. Those concepts are central to the entire point of the Gospel. We cannot comprehend God. However, we can comprehend, in essence, what "love" is. We can understand what "light" means. We can grasp what "truth" entails. It's not just that we have a "loving God,"—though we do—or a "truthful Saviour"—though that is certainly true as well. We have a God and Saviour outside of whom there is no such thing as love, and no concept we could call truth. By using being verbs to describe his person, God reveals to us a key element about his nature: he is.

Being verbs reflect the very person of Christ Jesus, who bound God and Man into one, inextricably linked, being. They bridge the gap between two concepts and make them singular, just as he did, and they reveal to human beings the nature of God to the fullest extent that we can understand, exactly as Christ did. I love being verbs! They're like little forms of Jesus embodied in grammar, and deserve a bit more credit than we, users of the English language, give them.

Best wishes,

Nicole

P.S. Listen to the actual professionals who know how properly to use and abuse the infuriating rules of the English language. Especially if they're the ones giving your work a grade or deciding whether or not it goes on to be published. My little tirades are just the rantings of a slightly miffed amateur who noticed something other languages have that ours doesn't!

An Open Letter to English Professors

I have a question for anyone who is or was ever a professor of English. Do you ever get sick of reading being verb replacements?

Words such as:

Holds, held, will hold

Remains, remained, will remain

Exists, existed, will exist

Lies, lay, will lie

Because I am excessively bored, uninspired, and unenthused by my own propensity to use one of these words when a simple being verb would do quite nicely in its place.

Being verbs aren't the only victims. How about the not-so-subtle and entirely clunky evasions of the passive voice? What about the infamous "[insert antecedent] with which [insert verb]" construction. So much runaround in an attempt simply to put a preposition in its proper place.

Students are sometimes a lazy class of creatures, which yes, I admit it, sometimes carries over into our writing. And yes, being verbs convey a restricted meaning which do sometimes inappropriately limit a subject to its corresponding object. I would toss the passive voice in the same category: to use the subject of a sentence as the object of the verb does frequently limit the power and precision of a sentence. Yes, the ease of their use means that these grammatical constructions suffer from overuse due to the laziness or sheer exhaustion of students who have multiple essays due within the next twenty-four hours, with none of them finished and nowhere near enough energy to care. Those conditions do not denote skilled composition; being verbs, passive voice, and prepositions directly before periods only exacerbate the problem.

However, those professors who universally and rigidly banish the employment of these constructions create yet another problem that they then have to deal with. When students cannot use being verbs or the passive voice, and must continually restructure sentences that naturally convey their ideas in order to prevent the dreaded prepositional misplacement, they are deprived of the opportunity to communicate their thoughts in a more natural, clear, and stylistically stimulating way.

Having afflicted myself with more than seven years of Latin, I can attest to this fact: Cicero, one of the greatest rhetoricians to walk this earth, took absolutely no issue with a full and extensive employment of the passive voice. Yet nobody criticizes him. If you're going to tell your students to write like Cicero, I'd suggest loosening the cords. By all means, mark it off when it's laziness! But when the message of the composition is more naturally articulated or emphasized by the careful placement of a being verb or the passive voice--or a being verb in the passive voice--let it alone.

Best wishes,

Nicole

P.S. The "prepositions are not words to end sentences with" rule is just dumb and should be forever stricken from all grammar curricula. Colloquial English has long permitted its users to end sentences with prepositions and the formal adherence to its prohibition causes clunkiness and ultimately impedes the clarity of its syntax.

The Sixth Love Language

In my last year of secondary education, one of my favourite teachers told me that she thought my love language was sarcasm.

After some reflection, I believe that her estimation is remarkably accurate. The vast majority of my close relationships are held together by mutual affection and an inordinate amount of sass.

I have used her categorization to this day and it is fantastic. I want to start a petition to add a sixth love language.

Best wishes,
Nicole