Talk Good English

If you’re an American who has never been to the UK, Australia, or New Zealand and have never experienced entertainment (films, series, books) created by citizens of the aforementioned, what I’m about to share may shock you: Americans, on average, don’t speak as well as our neighbors from across the pond. A command of the English language is not prized in the US; in fact, in my experience, it is mocked. (I’m talking to you, Grinchman75—you meant “grammar Nazi” as a burn, but I have risen like a … what do you call that thingy? Oh yeah… a Phoenix!)

One American in particular—me—is especially guilty. I grew up in a family ruled by the ellipse. Rarely were sentences completed. Instead, we trailed off after a few words (…) ending our sentences with facial expressions, gestures, and—especially my father—laughter.

Dad (best father ever) also uses self-created replacements for words he doesn’t know or can’t remember, “jobbie” being a perpetual favorite; as in, “Kid, bring me that little jobbie (gestures towards object on table). No, not that one, the one we got from the…” (nod and smile, eyes sparkling, followed by raucous laughter).

Word Robbers

Sleep deprivation from motherhood whilst working two jobs did my brain no favors. I suspect wine with dinner (I swear, doc—two glasses a week) doesn’t, either. But lately, the main theft of my ability to speak proper English is my career. As a WRITER.

Sure, I spend months at a time locked in my studio wrestling with words, but here’s the thing: talking is different. Conversation is an art, a skill, and a muscle. Neglect it and it will atrophy. After speaking to no one apart from my husband (who, by now, understands my half-spoken, half-pantomime communication style), I’m barely able to ask a friend about her day. “How… you? Good?” Crikey.

Books

Reading sharpens my awareness of my verbal inadequacies. The last one to the party, I recently read Bridget Jones’s Diary. Helen Fielding’s vocabulary is stunning!

Same with Nicked, by National Book Award winner M. T. Anderson, which I was prompted to read by an Instagram Story by another amazing author, Rainbow Rowell. (Master American wordsmiths, both.) (USA! USA!) Rainbow’s recent best seller, Slow Dance, is a gorgeous slow burn.

Run, don’t walk, to your bookstores and buy all of these incredible reads!

Do it, now!

What I’m trying to say is, especially now that I’m conversing daily with well-spoken Kiwis (with killer accents, by the way)…

Goodbye, Duolingo!

After two years studying Spanish, Italian, and French, I’ve deleted your rude, mean, albeit educational app from all of my devices. (Image to left is actual app icon used to bully users to engage.) Instead of guiltily trying to recall high school French for fifteen minutes a day (because, let’s face it, le vocabularie in my long term memory is all I’ll ever have), I intend to use my Duolingo time to write and read gorgeous books, and talk about them. Hopefully my English usage will be strengthened in the process.