CS - Lesson #1 - The Seeker

If you must label me, call me a seeker. I’ve wandered here; I’ve sought there, and I’ve looked everywhere. My cracked, shattered teeth have failed to masticate the delectable-looking, inedible jawbreakers of grammar texts. I have fled the slavering, bloody fangs of the Transitive Vampire, and I have been forcibly ejected from the Eats, Shoots, and Leaves Cafe. I have waited interminably in the Woe is I Caravansary, hoping in vain for a guide to safely transport me across the trackless waste of comma usage, but all to no avail. As a last resort, I even made frantic 911 calls, but there came no answer.

Finally, I meekly tapped on the doors of the New Horizons Academy, wheezing with exhaustion and relief, begging for a crust of instruction, wailing for rules, for clarity, for justice. I had abandoned all hope of dispelling my ignorance, but there my fortune changed. Suddenly, I am resuscitated, renewed, rejuvenated by WinnieKay and my classmates. I understand now that I am a recovering commaholic in need of therapy, of help, of gentle instruction, not to mention an occasional, swift kick-in-the-punctuation.

It was so easy to enter. The person who sat at the door just took my GPS and waved me in, yet they never checked my credentials. Surely, the registrar began to harbor second thoughts about the stinking, moth-eaten cadaver who had just slithered in. As I was already “in,” it was too late. Nor did they ever notice the small, comma-shaped bite marks on my neck deposited there by the Transitive Vampire. Yes, it was an easy entrance to make, but a hard lesson to follow.

My search ends and begins here. I receive excellent instruction, sagely advice, and warm encouragement. I, surprisingly, have found friends here. I no longer course in the slough of despond because I have met others who love to write. They challenge me and I rise to the occasion. They all love to write and share their writing, yet they do not judge. They always correct, but never condemn.

The kind, ruthless WinnieKay tests my mettle. At first, she tossed seven commas at me and I caught them. After she sees how much I can take, like the veteran knife-thrower that she is, WinnieKay will throw thirty comma rules at me, including a multitude of exceptions, as I whirl round and round on a spinning, nauseating turntable of confusion. Fear not, dear reader, for I shall become worthy of her steel.