Tag Archives: WPChallenge

About|How to escape the claws of the grammar-police

26 Feb

About|or How to escape the claws of the grammar-police:

Confessions of a Comma Queen-The New Yorker
Holy Writ!
Learning to love the house style.

In my first years, when I came to the States _and certainly  be cause of my broken English affected, with my  French-oui-oui! accent _ and it was almost unspeakably often; there was an unavoidable question that came often around  within  a conversation, after the preliminary   of the usual mundanities, and it was so evidently, or sort of, that the person would ask you:

“where are you from?

“…Algeria,” I have said. Then she went on, or he would say: “Ah! _Morocco?

“Nope.” I said, avoiding nonchalantly the eye-contact.

“_Where?” She persisted, as in a dialog between two deft people, (excuse my analogy)

“North Africa.” And so on it went,

“…so you speak French, ah!oui oui!” she would say in laughers, no offends, and signed.

Pass on that atoll, the small talk would follow its train of chi-chats, without hiccups.

Because Algeria is mostly unknown to people, and /or probably that for, they confound its name easily, for most of the time with Nigeria.

So I articulate its name: “A, Al_ Algeria.” In that, geographically speaking, culture and all the folks stuff; forget about it, History: yes,  besides The Geography Chanel, that it is neither  their cup of tea to most of the people, nor their cupcake, here.

So, for that reason, and  perhaps for many others, entre-autres, it  remained titillating my  alter ego for a while.  Still, I  felt like there is some unjust ideas about Algeria, in that I was in a want to write some thing about it, something that matters, not about me_definitely not, I am not interested, neither by chauvinism,  but mostly for the love of words. Then this blog came on hand like to say, and to say it in plain English and not in another mother tongue-language I use to speak.

That is, if you will  not find too much information about me, so please, understand my apology, and if you come across of some debris of words  that we call meanings, don’t shot on the pianist! Please, be indulgent in finding some dusts ( my pet peeves,) on my own words, pardon for my site appearance, I am still tidying up so that it shines. English is enough forgiving, so without further do.

My aim is  to let my readers who  honored visiting  this page, they surely find something different, that they would like to know a little more about Algeria.

So if you want to read more, here is a link:


Thank you for reading




The most delicate moment

6 Jan



  A long time devoted to small details exalts us and increases our strength.

—Hermann Hesse, Journey to the East

Courtesy to Alec Nevale-Lee

The most delicate moment for a writer is  in the beginnings of a sentence, for a maestro in the opening of an opus, and for you in taking  a sip from a  glass of champagne Dom Perignion, a milissime year, while a cigar burns low at the tip of your fingers,  sitting back and indulge this special moment,  to finally see  the day of accomplishment of your goals.

All the above is about taste. And you may say :

_” Tastes, and colors, it is a matter of personal appreciation, and can not be arguable.”

And I give you that, save  that these are sensorial organs that can be educated, and with some knowledge  acquired, can be developed, while others are innate. So, a mother is the first teacher to her baby; from her he learned the meaning of  sounds of the mother tongue,  and along  she taught him to put names on things of life, the feel of the sun on his skin as  she played with shadows of her fingers, and the taste of lemon zest. Other teachers took the baton-relay on our education path, we learned aesthetics, semantics, aside arithmetic, language and Arts.

“A long time devoted to small details exalts us and increases our strength.”

Until the day when you graduated from the school of life, from street talk, and passing by walker humming his song, to begin thrusting you self, and making decision. Then comes along the delicate moment when you say ” wow” in front of a masterpiece, a tiny piece of cheese cake, or simply the fact that an anonymous street artist can from banal object  make it like with magic to a work of Art of genius.

This is a ulogie to all the teachers that had contributed in  all my life to perfect my sense of aesthetic, and from the poets and writers the sense of the balance and the turn of a sentence.

A particular thanks to Mr. Alec Nevala-Lee


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