Everyone has a different reason to write. Some like stories, and can find a publisher to pay them to create. Others write briefs to persuade a court, or articles to sway a constituency, or columns to move or amuse casual readers. For some, it is an unburdening; a barely cloaked confessional revealed in public. For many, to write is a rite. Others are trained word wrights. And some just enjoy the right to write right. But once we start, it becomes an addiction.
Then there is this guy: The Term Paper Artist [1]. His engaging exposition reveals how desperately unqualified students can be. More interestingly, he shows how normally literate professionals are also handicapped when attempting to write in the deadly form of The Term Paper.
Who buys his term papers? He notes 3 main categories: Those promoted beyond their capacity (“brokers would even mark assignments with the code words DUMB CLIENT”); those required to take courses outside their capabilities (“A chemistry major trapped in a poetry class thanks to the vagaries of schedule and distribution requirements, or worse, the poet trapped in a chemistry class.”); and personal essays for college admission (parents aiding their darlings to get promoted beyond their capacity).
Me? I obviously like homonyms. And sharing gleanings from “teh interwebs”. And exposing answers to questions [2] that most people are too well adjusted to ask. Don’t ask.
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