Oh, the papers you will write

The job of a columnist isn’t all fun and games. Oh sure, the 401(k) is pretty good. And the complimentary rickshaw service to class is a nice perk. But there are some definite peculiarities that come with this line of work. There’s the actual business of writing the column, for one thing. My process involves tantric yoga, Fresca, and massive amounts of sleep deprivation. The groupies are also overwhelming at times. Suddenly, you can’t introduce yourself in a seminar without people vaguely recognizing your name.

“Wait a minute … Aren’t you the guy with the weird skin disease?”

“No, that guy transferred to Cornell. You write those columns that are supposed to be funny, right?”

As awkward as these experiences might be, I still enjoy them. It’s flattering when someone compliments your work, even if that someone is lying through their teeth. More importantly, though, this column represents the only writing I compose that multiple people read.

My situation is hardly unique. A day rarely goes by without someone firing off a text message, an email, or an angsty poem about how hard it is to be a college student. But these missives are intimate and brief, without craft and without public platform.

Even essays we spend weeks researching and drafting don’t get the attention we expect. As a first-year, I imagined my professors poring over my every word, consumed by my brilliant ideas. They’d read my paper on the subway, discuss it over dinner, lie in bed mulling it over at night. The reality, though, is probably much less glamorous. I recently saw a professor grading papers in the laundry room of Schapiro Hall. With one hand, he scribbled quick notes in red ink. With the other, he tossed dirty underwear into the washing machine.

True, student writing is pretty awful. I recommend unearthing an old essay and checking off every time you use words like “quintessential,” “quotidian,” and “hermeneutical castration.” But then again, academic writing is probably worse. Judith Butler, the famed feminist and philosopher, is renowned for winning first prize in a “Bad Writing Competition.” I’ll spare you the quotation, but believe me when I say that the 94-word-long sentence is as difficult to read aloud as it is to comprehend. The example set by people like her is probably the reason why it took four semesters for a professor to tell me that I couldn’t write my way out of a parking ticket.

The irony is that in spite of all the lousy writing out there, it’s never been easier to find an audience. Blogs and social media allow us to send our thoughts out to the farther reaches of the Internet. Of course, tweets like “I just dropped a major deuce” aren’t exactly high literature.

If it seems like I’m pointing the finger, know that I’m not using the middle one. There are still some good guys out there. One of my favorite professors likes to say, “Don’t write anything you wouldn’t say.” Out goes the jargon. Out goes the clutter. And out goes that terrible pun about the lion and the giraffe.

By the same token, there are still organizations on campus like the Spectator, who willingly publish student writing. Take advantage of it while you can. Perhaps you can even be like me, a real celebrity. Between family members, Facebook friends, and creepy local stalkers, my readers number in the tens.

Jeremy Liss is Columbia College junior majoring in English. He is the creative editor of The Current. Liss is More runs alternate Fridays.