AN
OPEN LETTER
TO ASPIRING WRITERS
Dear _____
Yesterday, when we talked
about "writing
as a thinking process," we were
talking about one thing, as it were,
consisting conceptually of at least three
parts: writing, thinking, and process. Writing
is record making. To write is
to make a written record of our thoughts.
Thinking is problem solving by means
of reflection, contemplation, deliberation. To
think is to identify and resolve questions
that trouble us. Process is a chronological
series of actions or operations resulting
in some particular end. To follow
a process is to follow a step-by-step
series of actions, the final result
of which is our immediate goal.
The writing process, specifically,
consists of invention, arrangement, and
style. By
invention I mean everything, all
of the various methods that we
use to come up with our ideas in
the first place. Some
of these methods are brainstorming, reading
and note-taking, listening and note-taking,
making lists, doodling, drawing pictures
and diagrams, writing rough drafts, and
outlining, which brings us to arrangement. By
arrangement I mean everything that
we do to discover various logical ways
of showing the results of our brainstorming,
etc., one of the most common methods
of arrangement being outlining, which
is the condensation of ideas into words
or phrases that are then listed
in this order or that depending
on which ideas we think are most
important to the writing job at
hand. Words
or phrases, not sentences. Sentences,
whether simple or compound or complex,
have to do with style. By
style I mean everything that we do
to communicate our ideas clearly (precisely,
exactly, accurately), and effectively (with
the desired impact, force, enthusiasm,
intelligence), and concisely (in
the least number of words necessary to
achieve the desired effect).
The two biggest problems
most writers have are (1) not being aware
that writing is, indeed, a thinking process,
and not merely a mechanical processing
of words, phrases, and sentences into
computers and onto sheets of paper, and (2)
conflating the writing process into one
big bewildering activity that starts
in chaos and ends less happily than one would
have liked. Once
the writer identifies the step-by-step
process, whether by means of trial-and-error
or formal instruction, and discovers
that although the process starts out
linear (1, followed by 2, followed by
3), it very quickly becomes circular,
even circuitous, tumbling back upon itself
(invention, followed by arrangement,
followed by some more invention, rough
drafting, followed by some sentence and
paragraph revising, followed by some
more invention, followed by revised outlining,
etc., etc.) What this tumbling
back upon one's thinking and writing
entails is patience, and time. How
very often I've said over the years that
writing well is not particularly difficult,
just very, very time-consuming. And
because most people don't make
enough time for writing, writing
becomes a major source of frustration
and irritation and hindrance
to academic success.
You've noticed, perhaps,
in each of the above paragraphs, that
I've tried to do two things: (1) start the
paragraph with a unifying sentence that
sort of encompasses (i.e., includes,
covers, takes in) all of the ideas developed
in the sentences that follow in the paragraph,
and (2) link the sentences in some way
to suggest that the second sentence logically
follows the first, the third the second,
etc. Writing teachers
call the starter or opening
sentences topic
sentences. A topic is a subject,
in this case the subject of the paragraph,
which all of the subsequent sentences
develop, explain, enlarge upon, clarify. They
call the successful linking
of sentences in a paragraph cohesiveness,
from cohere. To cohere means
to fit or join together, in the case
of paragraphs by means of various rhetorical
devices, such as repetition of words
and phrases (e.g., in
the paragraph you are reading
right now, "start" followed
by "starter" in the next sentence, "topic
sentence" followed by "topic," "cohere" followed
by "to cohere," "unifying" followed
by "unity") and pronoun
reference (e.g., "writing teachers," a
plural noun, followed by "they," a
plural pronoun). This
unity and cohesiveness demonstrates
the workings of a disciplined
mind clear in its own thinking
with knowledge of audience
and readership and many (if
not all) of the many skills
necessary to communicate successfully
with others.
The reason that I said yesterday that
we need to start with the body of the
paper (i.e., the body paragraphs of
the paper) is that from this record of
our thinking we can finally draw a conclusion,
a statement summing up the
results of our efforts to
come to terms with the problem,
i.e., the question, with
which we first began our
investigation. This
conclusion becomes the topic sentence
(which we may or may not choose to elaborate
upon, briefly) of our "concluding
paragraph," which we then remodel
or recast as our "opening paragraph." Then,
after all is said and done,
we write our abstract, précis,
or synopsis, which
by definition is a short
form or summary of our paper,
which, of course, is something
that we cannot write until
we know exactly what it is
that we have thought and
written. The
abstract's placement first in
the finished document belies the fact
that it is actually the last thing
to be written.
When you have had some time
to think about it, I think that
you will agree that there is really no way
to hurry up this "writing as a thinking process," which
is not to say that writing is any more
difficult than a number of other activities
that require thought and patience, intelligence
and discipline. It is naive to
think that writing is merely something
layered onto our thinking as a means
of showing off or proving ourselves to
our teachers and professional colleagues. Writing
is what we are and do inside our heads,
spilled out publicly onto hard drives
and sheets of paper for all the world
to see. The record,
then, speaks for itself.
Best wishes,
Bruce Cantrell