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October 17, 2018 - Image 13

Resource type:
Text
Publication:
The Michigan Daily

Disclaimer: Computer generated plain text may have errors. Read more about this.

T

alking is scary.

If you get called on in class

out of the blue, there is no

time for the gray fog in your brain to
clear. There is no time to piece together
an intellectual answer that accurately
reflects what you actually think about
the topic. Instead, you blurt out some
half-concocted answer to try and pass
yourself off as engaged student who is
able to quickly formulate and articulate
ideas.

In
Advanced
Placement
English

Literature class during my senior year
of high school, we were in the middle of
discussing “Beowulf” when my teacher
decided to have everyone go around and
say their greatest fear. As he started
in the opposite corner of the room,
my mind started racing. What’s my
biggest fear? Spiders? That’s too basic.
Abandonment? That’s too deep. Yet,
even though my mind was racing, it was
simultaneously blank.

Finally, it was my turn — the last

person to reveal their biggest fear. I
opened my mouth. And nothing came
out.

One of my classmates joked, “Her

biggest
fear
is
public
speaking,

obviously.” And then we just moved on.
I never answered my biggest fear. But
my classmate was probably not too far
off from the truth.

If my teacher had assigned that

prompt as a writing assignment, I
could’ve written a brilliantly-worded
paper using metaphors, imagery and
symbols. Instead, he sprung it on us in
class as a casual conversation topic and
my mind froze.

Talking is scary. No amount of

preparation can appease that.

No matter how many times you

practice a speech, it only takes one
misbreath or misplaced swallow for you
to start tripping over your tongue and
random sounds to start tumbling out
of your mouth that you think are words

but are actually nonsensical gibberish
which makes you wish you never started
talking in the first place and you have to
just remind yourself to breathe.
I

n U.S. History class during my
sophomore year, our very first
group presentation was about

the American colonies. I was assigned
Plymouth colony. My two groupmates
and I stood at the front of the room,
with over 40 eyes on us.

“The Mayflower Pilgrims landed in

Plymouth, Massachusetts,” I started.
“They befriended the American Indians
in the area and were able to get food
thanks to their native allies, Samoset
and Sasquatch.”

I froze. I replayed what I just said in

my head.

“Wait,” I said. “That’s not right…”
People were chuckling, my teacher

included. “Did you say Sasquatch?”

“Um ... uhh … SQUANTO! I meant

Squanto.”

But by then, the damage was done.

Four years later, and I can still hear
myself claiming Bigfoot helped the
Pilgrims survive.

Fast forward a year: junior year, A.P.

U.S. History. Another presentation —
this time about Claudette Colvin.

“Everyone remembers Rosa Parks,

but there was a girl before her named
Claudette Colvin who refused to give up
her seat on the bus nine months before
Rosa Parks,” I rambled. “But the reason
everyone knows Rosa Parks and nobody
knows Claudette Colvin is because the
NCAA thought Rosa Parks would make
a better icon.”

During this presentation, I didn’t

even catch my verbal blunder the first
time around. I kept going, even though
my mind was trying to stomp on the
mental breaks because it could sense
something wasn’t right.

“So the historical narrative favors

Rosa Parks because the NCAA…”

Finally my brain processed what I

said. But the letters were still scrambled
in my head.

“Um … wait … N ... double A C P,” the

letters slowly fell out of my mouth in the
right order.

“Yeah ... ” my U.S. history teacher

said. “I don’t think the professional
basketball association endorsed Rosa
Parks.”

Though he didn’t say it, I knew he

was just thinking, “So silly.”

Talking is scary. Those speech gaffes

happen instantly. It doesn’t matter if
you’re asked a question and caught off-
guard or if you’ve practiced the words
for months. Your mouth slips up, and
it’s a moment frozen in time that you
cannot go back to edit or erase.

That
is
why
fact-checking
and

copyediting matters.

You can refine and revise on paper

until you get it right. Live speaking is
a one-shot deal. Writing gives you the
time to think before you share your
thoughts. It also allows for the ability
to go back and make sure you’re saying
what you want to say. Being a copy

editor means I can find those mistakes
and ensure the author’s message is
accurately and adequately expressed.

That’s not to say writing is an

infallible method of communication.
It’s easy to type “our” instead of “out” or
use the wrong there, their or they’re or
confuse your acronyms of similar letters
and type “NCAA” instead of “NAACP,”
especially if you’re a basketball fan or
a passionate activist and the muscle
memory of your fingers kicks in.

However,
just
as
speaking
is

dreadfully instantaneous and fleeting,
writing
is
hauntingly
permanent.

One typo can go down in history. For
example, the infamous covfefe becomes
an embodiment of our nation’s leader.
But with typing competency, sharp eyes
and the will to proofread, errors are
avoidable if one puts in the time and
thought.

So whether it is impromptu speaking

or a prepared speech, talking is scary.
I guess that’s why I’ll stick to being a
newspaper copy editor and not a TV
reporter.

3C
Wednesday, October 17, 2018 // The Statement

Copy That: The fear of speaking and the
horror of writing

BY ANGELA LIN, SENIOR COPY EDITOR

“Those speech gaffes happen instantly.

It doesn’t matter if you’re asked a question
and caught off-guard or if you’ve practiced
the words for months.”

ILLUSTRATION BY CHRISTINE JEGARL

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