PARDON MY FRENCH
I Write Like A Third Grader
At least according to the Internet — and Hemingway.
Every time I am in an English-speaking country, I introduce myself as French first. I share my name, my citizenship and then answer the more traditional questions. With an accent like mine, it’s hard to go unnoticed anyway.
I usually face the “oh, really?” to my being French, often followed by having to listen to people butchering the little French they know. I smile politely, nod my head, tell them it was good and move on. I’m not a teacher anymore, don’t ask me about Linguistics in the middle of Walmart.
Today on Medium, I was introduced by another writer as someone that speaks from the heart. Great, I thought. It’s a nice compliment. In the next line, he introduced a second writer, offering “more challenging” content.
I wasn’t offended— the article was indeed more challenging than mine. I try to go for easy, happy, or honest. I don’t share my unpopular opinion or controversial articles. We live in canceling times; I like to steer clear from the edge.
I knew it wasn’t insulting — there’s no shame in using easy words — but I couldn’t get it out of my head.
