michael-dean-k/

As I'm working on some Essay Architecture wiki pages, I’ve caught myself saying ‘this causes reader’s trance’ in a few different spots. I used to think it needed to have a single source, but now my latest thinking is it’s a combination of these three:

• Tension (story/subtext): which is about having something slightly in the future that drives you forward. This is like a personal sense of stakes/curiosity where you’re invested in what happens. (ethos)

• Flow: which is about the actual smoothness of your syntax. It’s the ability to a complex soup of ideas and create a tight linear rail where the reader can process a lot without friction. (Even if you build tension, the trance is broken if it’s hard to wade through paragraphs. (logos).

• Sight/Sound: When your prose is laced with imagery & sonic devices (rhythm, rhyme, repetition), it hits us in our two primary senses. I feel like part of reader’s trance is when you can actually see/hear/feel it (it’s more like a hallucination than something abstract).

So together: tension moves you forward, flow keeps you moving, and sight/sound activates the imagination as you’re in motion. (And side note: I think paragraph transitions are the most likely places where reader’s trance gets broken; it’s like dropping the baton in a relay race).

(Note for an essay contest with LWS:)

Whatever genre you write in, if it’s made of prose, it’s made of paragraphs. E.B. White said the paragraph is “the unit of composition.” The idea that each paragraph contains a unique thought is an ancient one. Before there were spaces on the page (between paragraphs, and even between words), there were symbols in the margins to let the reader know when the writer was shifting to a new idea.

I like the idea of scoping this week’s contest to a paragraph for two reasons. 1) It’s a small scope, and I hope it might trigger a daily practice where you record your ideas and thoughts as paragraphs (I recommend writing a few and submitting your favorite), and 2) It will get you to think more analytically about the atomic unit that makes up all of your writing.

My project, Essay Architecture, has caused me to think extensively about what a paragraph is. Of course, there are galaxies of possible paragraphs. Each one should be different. The commonalities between them are almost too obvious: a paragraph has a beginning, and end, and a path to get there. This sounds obvious, but

• Frame: How can the opening sentence serve as a hook? The opening of a paragraph is more than a factual summary of the information contained in it; it is often a concise statement with an embedded mystery. Orient us, while leaving something unresolved.
• Fabric: How can you build a compelling chain of sentences? If your paragraph is a single idea or scene, you can “rotate” around it to show different facets of it. As you move through ideas, consider how synonyms, transition words, and sentence forms can be used to create forward momentum.
• Finale: How can the closing sentence have power in the subtext? Some writers end paragraphs on a punchline, and others end with an emotional punch. Some paragraphs can close on an epic, long sentence, and others on a short quip, but in either case, there can be an implication that rings bigger than the words in the sentence. When you close by showing rather then telling, it gives the reader something to see, feel, and reflect on in the space between paragraphs.

Writing isn't just thinking. Writing invokes conceptual intelligence, compositional intelligence, and linguistic intelligence. Also, of course, emotional intelligence and self awareness. And recursive intelligence. And a bullshit detector.