I submitted my paper last night, the one I worked so hard on, the one that had me visiting –again and again– the special collections libraries at Duke and UNC this semester. The one I got back last week in draft form and my professor said was awful. The one I descended into the sub-basement (yes, a sub-basement. They make those.) of Perkins Library for (and Perkins Library no longer exists, so you can imagine how remote the sub-basement of Perkins Library felt, but that’s for another posting); the one I spent time in the archives of NC Mutual Life Insurance Company for; the one I took (and this is no exaggeration) over 500 notecards for; the one with eighty-thousand footnotes (okay, slight exaggeration) and an Absolutely Unreasonable number of sources. And still I have the notecards, as I am terrified to throw them away. And still I have the books, piled on top of one another under my sofa, as I am afraid to return them feeling that as soon as I do, I will need them again.
It might take me months to get over this.
But it is done. Dr. Abel has the paper now, and I will let the chips fall as they may, and take my lumps, or maybe (Big Maybe) get a good grade. Who knows? The fact is that I worked my boutakis off this semester, and I learned a Whole Lot, and I fully realize (and is this the product always of education?) that there is So Much More I don’t know, and I Am Finished.
I read and re-read the draft, looking for errors of any and every kind. And my professor made a point to instruct us on the perils of using passive voice, so I looked high and low for passive voice and fixed every instance that I didn’t mean to have in there.
Do you know about passive voice? It’s an uncannily popularly weakness in most people’s writing. It’s avoidance, basically, of ownership of action. How’s that? It’s saying, “Susan was helped with her homework by Mrs. Owens,” instead of saying, “Mrs. Owens helped Susan with her homework.” The former is passive voice; the action is passive. The latter is preferred: Mrs. Owens, the do-er of the action, is in the driver’s seat, so to speak.
Why– you are wondering– did you make me read that? Because. It’s coming. Bear with me.
In the wake of any paper submission I find myself more keenly aware of household needs. And messes. Because when I am embroiled in writing a paper, I must Overlook things, and Overstep them, and Allow Them To Continue, as I haven’t time to do something else. And when the paper is finished my vision clears, and I want to Clean Things Up.
Things weren’t so bad this time. They really weren’t. As bad as I made things sound there, the paper didn’t own me this semester (a First, and Glory be to God for it), and I managed to Do Other Things while in the writing throes. I managed to keep the laundry moving, and to enjoy the family and, on the day after the day after Thanksgiving, to clean the stovetop.
But yesterday I descended into the playroom (which is in our basement, as opposed to sub-basement, which we have not got) and found things to be a bit Messy. Just a bit Unkempt. I wanted the children to Clean Things Up.
The truth is that Everett doesn’t care for this kind of activity. No, he doesn’t. The others might not care for it either, but they seem to get into it, or into the pleasure of having it done, anyway, and they are productive. Everett, on the other hand, needs Encouragement. He requires Reminding. And Prodding. It’s tedious work getting Everett to put things away.
He and Emma had been cleaning the basement, and I spied, on the opposite side of the room, the space things (rockets, launching pads, astronauts, shuttles– things left over from William’s two-year-old passion) fanned out across the floor. I saw them out; I wanted them in their bin.
“Everett,” I said, “Who took out the space things?” And this was less a question intending to find guilt (because anyone may take them out– that’s fine), and more of a question intending to find out Who took them out so that I could ask the taker to be the putter, and Put Them Away.
Everett, apparently, wanted No Part in this task, as was evident in his evasive answer. Because, in fact, He had taken them out. But he Did Not Want to put them away. And his answer, I couldn’t help but notice, was one of avoidance. It was a serious effort at Passive Voice.
“Oh,” he answered, “Those were tooken out yesterday.”
