I Turned Off Grammarly
Or is it Grammerly?
I opened Ulysses after brainstorming on where I could write without guardrails. I didn’t get past the title when red dots appeared under “Grammarly” making me wonder: Did I misspel the brand name or did I spell “Grammar” wrong?
Instead of looking for the answer, I did something different. I opened up the settings and turned off the options for spelling and grammar checks.
Phew! That’s better.
I started using Grammarly after several human editors suggested it. I get it. They shouldn’t be wasting their valuable time on fixing grammar. The best editors I work with are closer to a life coach than the grammar police. They make me think. Dig deeper. Find subtext in my stories I didn’t know was there. I learn about myself.
But there’s been a downside to using Grammarly.
After two years, my assessment is that my writing has gotten worse. All of this perfect spelling and grammar is slowly turning my dial closer and closer to generic.
That dial has started triggering alarms that are getting louder and louder.
These alarms are the same ones that went off as a young child in church. There was something about all the sitting and standing and kneeling and reciting. Everyone looked like robots. I didn’t want that for me. I wanted to be free.
Then there was school. It took my love for writing and tried to beat it out of me. Too many teachers stressed perfect penmenship and prose. Very few of them celebrated passion.
This is my stream of consciousness right now:
Who gives a shit about spelling and grammar anyway? If that’s you, then guess what, I’m not performing for you.
I don’t mean this to be mean. It’s just that, I feel like anytime I feel stressed, it feels like I’m performing for you instead of for me.
Side note. Performing is fun. Sometimes when I’m riding my bike, I’ll do an old-school BMX trick. A bunny hop. Nothing crazy. If I do it when no one is looking, it’s because I’m practicing. If I do it when people are around, it’s because I’m performing. The trick makes me happy. If it makes you happy, it makes me even happier. If you don’t care about BMX tricks, well, then, I’m not performing for you.
A couple of years ago, I got so into myself during a mountain biking short-track race, that I launched myself into a jump that went out of control and I broke four ribs. I literally suffered a completely unnecessary severe injury because I like to perform.
Just not for you. Unless you like it. Then it’s for you.
Maybe this is all PTSD from, “Andy, please play the piano for our guests?”
Oh … how I HATED to be asked to perform for my parents’ friends.
Bottom line. I perform on my terms.
Maybe, sometimes, I do want to perform on your terms. I want to challenge myself. Then I do it. I submit work to publications. It’s eye opening and the rewards often outweigh the effort. Editors of some really good publications have style guidelines and demand good grammar. They have specific genres and an audience they’ve positioned their publication for.
If I want to perform in their sandbox, I have to play by their rules.
That’s cool.
When it works out, their curated audience resonates with my highly polished work. It’s a win-win.
But it’s a balance.
If I feel like my writing performance is going to be a dark humor autofiction piece, well then, I’m not going to submit it to a memior publication.
This here, what you’re reading now, it’s in Authbition. It’s position is focused on authenticity and ambition, not genre or correctness. If you want to perform here, the only ask is: be real human.
But don’t just perform for the audience. Peform for you. That’s when resonance happens.
Side note, what is correctness anyway? “What is good” is subjective. What one person calls a spelling error another person my call correct spelling. Language is a set of rules.
Rules aren’t made to be followed, they’re made to be enforced.
Unless a publication demands it, the use of Grammarly is like me installing a speed governor on my own car set for ten miles-per-hour below the speed limit.
Sometimes we have to deal with rules. Driving through a neghborhood where kids are playing is a good reason to slow down. And because there are inconsiderate people, speed bumps get installed.
But if I reall, really enjoy performing at very high speeds, maybe I should consider a career in stock car racing. Or at least make it a hobby.
All I’m saying here is that there’s a balance between rules and performance.
Now that I say it aloud, I’m excited to explore that tension.
Rules & Performace
I have a specific person in mind that would be a dream to explore this with. His name is Tom. We’ll see if I can pull that one off.
Here’s the thing. I LOVE to see Tom perform.
To me. He’s a rock star. I mean, well, he’s technically a rock star.
But he may not be a rock star for you, because maybe you don’t like his music. And, I’ll take a wild bet that he’s okay with that.
Rock stars perform for their audience. Yes.
But, when they peform for themselves and resonate with their audience, that’s the best.
I’ve gone way off the rails here. Reel it in Andrew!
So, why did I turn off Grammarly?
Because before I turned it on, I wrote like I spoke. People have told me, “Andrew, you have a strong voice.” My assessment is that Grammarly is watering down my voice.
Here’s another thing. Grammarly is the safe bet. Every now and then I write something offensive.
Yup. It happens. Somthing I say offends someone.
I’m a kind person. I swear. I’m a good person. I want to be a good person. I try to be non-judgemental. Shit. Is it judgemental or judgmental. I can’t tell with spell check off.
But, sometimes, I fail. Sometimes I slip and I am judgmental. Sometimes I’m not judgmental, but my words can be taken as such by someone. In fact, I simply think it’s highly unlikely to write anything that won’t offend some body.
Grammarly and other AIs have kindly informed me on occastion that my writing could be interpreted as offensive. Thank you, Grammarly?
Or, not?
You know what I’d prefer. Just call me out on it.
Having writing apps slowly nudge me towards the least possible offensive language really, honestly, isn’t teaching me anything other than assimilation.
I’d rather fall on my face. Say something that gets me in hot water. And realize, “Oh, shit, I really fucked that one up.”
Just call me out on it. Sometimes I’ll agree, and say, “Oh, wow, I’m so sorry. I didn’t intend it that way.”
Sometimes, maybe, I won’t agree. “Shoot, I’m sorry you feel that way, this is just how I use words.”
I’m not performing for you.
My whole life has been a heavyweight bout with the thieves of authenticity. There are times when I was winning. I stood up for myself. I stayed true to my soul. Those are the stories of rebelling against teachers who tried to steal my creativity. Those are the motorcyle journeys, tattoos, and tales of love.
And there are times in my life when I was losing. Times when I became an inconsiderate asshole. Those are the stories of losing my temper, blowing up my career, blindly falling in lust, and becoming estranged from my daughter.
When it comes to authenticity, I can see myself, down on the mat with ref standing over me counting to ten. He’s been at nine more than once. I’m grateful for my resilience, for my ability to peel myself off the mat and stand back up for another shot at the theif of authenticity who is glaring down at me.
Today that theif is Grammarly. It’s spell check. It’s anything that makes my writing feel safe.
I don’t know how many rounds I have left with the thieves of authenticity. But you’ll be damn sure to know that so long as I’m alive, I won’t go down without swinging, and I’ll always find a way to get back up.
Thank you for reading #DiMeo_Unfiltered
Health, happiness, kindness, respect
for every being and all things.
— Andrew
