Here's the link: Comma Placement
If you'd like to practice, try writing a short piece that uses all the different kinds of commas discussed on your worksheet (without being boring!)
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A place for Writing 12 students to read each other's writing, to critique, to suggest, to improve.
About Me
- Brad
- Former adult teacher who loves island beaches. Happy homebody and family man; once devoted dog owner, now without Tashi, my Tibetan Terrier. I prefer the absurdity of the imagination to the absurdity of imagining nothing.
5 comments:
Okay, let’s try writing with all six commas. At the end of this paragraph, I should be a real expert! Because of my hard work (and high intelligence), I can assure you that all the commas will be correct. I went to bed on time last night, so I should be ready and well rested for this task. The comma, a small but difficult punctuation mark, can be used in many different ways. There are all the commas, I believe, for you to see.
Paranoid
I got off at 29th Avenue Skytrain station, was walking down Wellington street, lighting a cigarette, halting under a maple tree so I can still the lighter-flame, covering it with my hand, protecting it from the blowing wind, when I saw a man running across the street, neglecting the red lights, his hat pulled-down at the front, covering half his face, towards my direction, a purse tucked between his right arm and limb, as soon as I held my head up and continue walking. Then a series of thoughts came rushing in: Is he a criminal who had robbed a helpless woman off her purse, hiding a knife, or a gun inside his leather jacket, ready to take it out and use it if ever someone, such as myself, tries to stop him, or perhaps, was he in a hurry because his wife or his sister, on her way to work, out of clumsiness, had left the purse at home and he was running after her to hand it in, or, it was also possible, that maybe, a family member, a loved-one, had been involved in an accident, her mother, let’s say, and he was only rushing, in an incredibly hasty manner, to the hospital, carrying his mother’s purse with him because her identification and medical cards are inside it, and money, too; should I stop him, confront him when he reaches me--then, what?-- and call the police, or should I just slide my leg and trip him over ( just like in the movies, but , what if he pulls the gun?) and wrestle with him on the ground ( I am not a wrestler, never been in a fight since third grade) or should I just let him pass me by, unscratched?
I opened the front door, placed my backpack on the dining table, sat on my couch, peered at the street, through the window blinds, still thinking about the running man--curious,intrigued. Minutes had passed, five cigarettes were burnt, two bottles of beers were emptied ad I relaxed, feeling deeply relieved to not to see a second running man.
Canadian, eh?
It was Sunday morning, I was drinking my coffee, sitting in front of my laptop, browsing the net and photos of random people on Facebook. Tedious, but not wasteful, as my English teacher once told me: “Sometimes, we figure out important things out of boredom.” (Then she asked our class to write a thousand word essay.)
After a few minutes of net-surfing, I came across a picture of a young man, can’t be more than thirty, standing beside an official 2010 Winter Olympics logo, holding a white banner with the words: I am to proud to be Canadian! Then I asked myself, am I proud to be Canadian? I am not even a Canadian. No, not yet, perhaps in a few months time, I will be, I had already filed my application and just waiting for the Canadian immigration’s response. But for now, in papers, I am still a Filipino, an immigrant.
What does it mean to be a Canadian, anyway? I asked a friend with the same question a while back and he answered, “To be a Canuck--hockey, baby!--Canada is hockey”. Another friend said, “I’m a Canadian because I had already taken the oath. I memorized the hymn and know all the provinces and other Canadian things.” I asked her if she’d been to any province other than BC. She said she haven’t. And another friend told me that she’s a Canadian, because she was born here. “I am a real Canadian,” she said. “I was made here.” I think they didn’t fully understand my question. I didn’t ask them how they became Canadians, but rather, what made them Canadians.
I don’t know how to answer this question, only for one reason: I am not a Canadian. In papers, if granted, one day, I will be, but in my heart, I never will be.
The young man holding the banner looked like an Asian, but I guess he was not, because like what the banner said, he was a Canadian.
Hi Marc,
I much prefer your second attempt, titled "Canadian eh?" The funny thing is that, by using commas intentionally, you have written some bad (and some good) sentences. For example, in the first sentence, it should say ", and I was drinking my coffee." Otherwise, you've got yourself a runon sentence. This happens a few more times; see if you can spot them.
Also, I think you used the colon a bit too many times. It's a formal mark, so it is best to use infrequently, especially since your tone is down to earth and friendly.
Your best use of commas to my mind is in the following sentence. "In papers, if granted, one day, I will be, but in my heart, I never will be." Here, the start and stop feel provided by the commas makes it seem tentative, exactly as you want I suppose.
On my way home one day, I stopped to buy a newspaper. I don't know why, because I usually never do. However, in doing so, I met an old friend I hadn't seen in ages.
J.J., now a sports journalist, was a good friend of mine in school. It must have been destiny, I believe, to meet like that. Hardly a coincidence, the store wasn't even on my route.
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