Tag: Reflection

So… Where Do Sentences Come From?

~ Jamal H. Goodwin Jr. ~ Leave a comment

I’ve noticed something. When I’m writing, there are days when I feel invigorated—“Yes! Did you read that sentence?! I’ve got the magic touch!”—and there are days when I feel muddled—“Bah! I’m slogging through quicksand. The words just don’t sound right…”—but in either case, when I become self-aware of what I’m typing, or of the words I’m scribbling in my notebook, I ask myself: “How literally did I come up with that sentence? Like, literally, literally. (Not hyperbole literally.)”

How is my brain deciding which word to place next to the next word? There are a ton of synonyms for things. Why did my brain decide to write “It’s burning up in here” instead of “I’m burning up in here” or even “It’s too hot in here”? You might read those examples and think, “well, ‘it’s’ implies everyone’s hot while ‘I’m’ implies only the speaker is hot.” But on a conscious level, I’m not thinking of the differences at all. I have an idea that my character is sweating, and so my brain thinks of a sentence that I type onto the page. But what causes me to create one sentence and not another?

If you’re anything like me, I know what you’re gonna say, so let me stop you right there: no, the blanket statement “the subconscious mind” is not enough :P. I want to know the exact pathways of the subconscious, how the brain runs through its word binder and decides the best possible words for a situation. Or the worst words. Because the brain doesn’t give us the best sentences each go around. If it did, we wouldn’t need editors.

Unfortunately, dear readers, I am not a linguist. But as a writer and an avid grammar fan, I can recount the wonders of noticing how sentences are made, and I can speculate what it would be like if we had the power to always choose the right words.

The Art of Choosing Sentences

Here’s a helpful perspective: perhaps sentences being spoken or written unconsciously is a gift, in the same way breathing is done unconsciously. With both writing and breathing, some unknown part of us does the heavy lifting. I know I’m writing this sentence just as I know I’m breathing, but I’m not consciously doing focusing on each step. I’m not searching my brain for each individual letter, each logical part of speech, each word. All I have to do is stay on topic and the rest is guaranteed.

But in the same way manual mode with breathing allows us to meditate for calm or hyperventilate to psych ourselves up, taking conscious control over sentences allows us more flexibility, more power, and more possibilities in our prose. Take this sentence for instance: “The hat that you’re wearing looks nice.” This sentence is pretty straightforward. You might type it as a line of dialogue for a character and move forward, not giving it a second thought.

But when you do give things a second thought, you might find it outdoes the first. In the middle of typing a line of dialogue, you might pause and allow more noun and verb ideas to enter your head, or different pacings of the sentence, or unique tones of voice. You type a new sentence: “Nice hat you’ve got there,” but you want to know what else you’ve got. You toy around with it some more: “Wearing a nice hat there,” “Where can I get a hat like that?” You even go back to the original sentence but omit the “that”: “The hat that you’re wearing looks nice.”

Things get even more interesting when you factor in the different sentence types. The content of these two sentences is the same, but the order of the words changes your focus, and the use (or not) of a comma affects the cadence:

“Once I got home, I took out the trash” vs. “I took out the trash once I got home.”

In the former sentence, the crux of your attention is on the endpoint, taking out the trash, with the arrival home a backdrop to that action. The latter sentence’s focus is the reverse: we’re supposed to care about the arrival home, and the trash was just a sidenote of what happened there. Meanwhile, while writing about one of those two examples, we might consider the pacing of the sentences around it. If there are a lot of commas in a paragraph, we might choose the second variation since it lacks a comma—it would read faster, thus breaking up the pace. Likewise, in a paragraph of short, rapid-fire sentences, you’re better off with the comma version, which would give readers a chance to slow down.

These variations are by no means the end. We haven’t even factored in accents or slang! Just know, when you stop to reinvent a sentence—instead of using one as a mere tool—you can create something you’re truly proud of.

What If We Always Had the Right Words?

We all have ideas, but to articulate them? It’s tough. But imagine. Imagine writing a letter to your first crush that made them blush. Imagine writing a college essay with power words that hit like bricks and netted you a scholarship. Imagine writing a poem with the perfect rhymes, the imagery, and could convey your ideas seamlessly to listeners.

Here’s a fact about language speakers: we all more or less know our entire language. You have the same words as the president and a pop star. But the unique way each of us puts them together is what makes us, us. It’s why Chat-GTP can just mimic any person’s personality: it has access to all the words and all our unique patterns of speech, so mimicry is as easy as asking it to do so.

If we always had the right words? Well, I don’t think it would be so bad, actually. Actually, despite bringing up Chat-GTP, and I know for my fellow writers a fear may be aroused, of its neigh-inevitable snatching of our careers etc., I don’t think writing would become boring like AI prompts have become for me. (I mean, seriously, so what if it can write a description? Even if I got writer’s block and my own sentence came out sucky, at least I’d get a sense of accomplishment.)

If we always had the right words, it would be like becoming Usain Bolt. Do you think he got bored of running after he became the fastest man alive? Did he dive into a bowl of Cheetos and say “aight, I’m done now.” No! In fact, the fact that he’s excellent gives him more to work with. He can enjoy the moment of his sport and find new ways to perform—new challenges to do or places to sprint.

If we always had the right words, we would write beauty, frustration, curiosity. We would write about things we want to know and we would write about what we knew but had forgotten. We would write and feel accomplishment with each sentence, with each word. But allow me to backtrack. Because there are no right words.

Ever write a cover letter for a job? I know, I hate them too. When I write a cover letter, I often think about my word choice. It’s not enough for me to summarize where I’ve worked and why I want a new opportunity. To stand out from other job candidates, I have to write something compelling. I need a sentence that hooks the reader in immediately, and then I need sentences that can carry the momentum. A comma splice would break the magic.

And in my annoyance devising the perfect cover letter, I often think, “in all the parallel universes that may exist, some version of me has written the exact right words that the person reading this will want to hear, and that version of me is guaranteed the job.” But would it be the perfect cover letter? …No. Because someone else reading that same “perfect” cover letter may not like the writing style. Maybe the sentences are too short. And maybe a third person is okay with the sentences but may want more metaphors.

Sentence variation and metaphors are objective qualities. There’s no good or bad with them, only preferences— something that humans have. Plus, what one reader likes one day may be completely different another day, simply because of their mood.

The right words are the words that are right for you. And even that changes over time.

What are your thoughts on word choice in prose? Do you have an idea of how sentences are made? And what would you create if you could write “perfect” sentences? Tell me down below, and seeya next time 🙂

The Joyous Islands of Exposition and Narration (or, You Can’t Swim Through Description Forever)

~ Jamal H. Goodwin Jr. ~ Leave a comment

Looking at my current short story projects, I’ve realized some are all bite and no bark. In a few of these stories, I thrust my protagonist into action on page one, and other than their internal reactions to what’s going on, I don’t showcase their reflection on the past or their hopes for the future; nor do I show their abstract thoughts of the present. Ah, Dialogue and Description, you wiley beasts—you’ve overtaken my prose!

All is well. Well, all will be well. I’m going to go back and, between some paragraphs, add character thoughts. If you’re in a similar boat, I’d advise you add some exposition and narration too.

Here’s a good reason why. I’ve got a story going where my protagonist ends up in another world. Pretty crazy, right? But right now I just have him walking around and interacting with stuff, instead of using narration to freeze time and have him react to the strangeness of things—what would his mother think if she were there? And oh, what is his mother like? Even if we never met her, exposition like this enriches a story, and taking the time to narrate such details gives healthy space between bustling description or long stretches of dialogue.

I’m gonna go make these changes. Happy writing!

Quote Me On This

~ Jamal H. Goodwin Jr. ~ 4 Comments

Can we learn anything by writing down quotes? I ask myself this sometimes, when I read a punchy phrase in a crime story, or one that tugs my heart’s strings, or one that’s constructed expertly, each word placed like a brick forming a smooth column. I analyze the quotes sometimes, pick them apart like a vulture and savor each segment, then step back again to marvel at the thing as a whole. But how does this help me grow as a writer? I haven’t found myself mimicking the quote. Nor do I want to. I want the pride of having created something myself.

Perhaps it’s got to be a conscious effort. Perhaps it comes down to rereading those quotes a couple times in a week, and deciding to use its technique, whatever it may be for that particular quote that makes it stand out. Perhaps it comes down to rewriting it a few times, and then doing something similar on my own, and then finally my brain will guide me to making my own powerful quote. And if that method doesn’t work, doesn’t lead to me creating my own power quote, at least I’d learn how to appreciate more the one I already loved.

Quotes are like beautiful paintings you hang up and can look at again and again and always draw inspiration from. Quote me on this 😉

Watch Closely,

~ Jamal H. Goodwin Jr. ~ 1 Comment

Or in other words, watch actively. Don’t skim over the details; inhale them all like you do the molecules necessary for your breath. Look between the lines, or at them, whether on the micro or macro. Let the work seep into the pores of your mind, smooth as chamomile tea—warm, thick—redolent of honey, milk, and calm. It swishes in your brain, a ready jug, til it’s replete and dripping like a sponge. Soaked in idea, you can properly now give opinions on art.

Last year I took an art class and learned something I never want to forget. All my life I’ve been a writer from a family of painters and sketch artists. My most impressive drawings were some stick figure fights I did as a kid. Thus, throughout my semester, my art was outmatched by my peers who had years more experience than me. I could barely draw a still life of a chair and a cardboard box. Meanwhile, the blonde beside me who claimed her work had room for improvement had practically sculpted a rocking horse, its legs polygonal boulders, its jaw obround, its mane flowing in the wind.

Of course, though they were all talented, there was a skill hierarchy among my classmates. A brunette from across the room was excellent at point perspective, but when we got to drawing people, her human faces looked like horses. I felt that pity you feel when you realize someone’s just as bad as you are. And yet, her confidence remained unassailable. Brighter even. Matt, our professor, led us all around to examine each other’s works. When we reached the horse-human drawing, my classmate was flooded by a shower of compliments—genuine compliments. My head jerked back in surprise as she received “Nice shading!” “You did a great job on the nose,” “The angles are short, crisp, tidy.” The portrait was blatantly terrible, yet the genuine strengths mentioned were simply glossed over by my mind. Initially, I only gave her piece a glance, but my classmates had stared at it for minutes.

A different class session, I was making a drawing using charcoal, which is much more finicky than pencil. I had no shame in complaining to Matt, recounting how bad at drawing I was or how much I didn’t know. After all, I was a beginner in a class full of the advanced. In response he asked me, smug, attempting to coax an epiphany, “But just what is a bad drawing anyway?” which is the most cliché line I’ve heard uttered by a human being, but it made me realize something. Even those things which seem to lack detail, seem amateurish even, have strengths not immediately discernible. Whether drawing or writing, whether beginner or advanced, you’ll catch something you didn’t notice before if you watch closely.

My Writing: Before And After Learning Abt. Prose Style

~ Jamal H. Goodwin Jr. ~ 1 Comment

[This Post Was Taken From A 5/31/20 Entry In My Writer’s Journal]

“I’m going to give it to you straight, writing takes effort. You can’t write a passage once a month and expect to become a major selling author. This is something I was forced to open my eyes to and something every writer should know.”

– Jamal H. Goodwin Jr., Create Before You Critique, January 2016

“My insistence on the merits of style is not meant to discount genre. Readers should know what experience they desire and be able to purchase it. But it’s undeniable that style precedes genre. Otherwise, besides plot, all detective stories would read the same!”

– Jamal H. Goodwin Jr., The Macchia of Literature, March 2020

College has done a lot of good for me. My drive to learn combined with Temple’s abundant opportunities created a mental machine, a writing windmill with infinite energy. The wheel’s turning is constant and electric. Touch and you’ll get zapped.

It’s funny how many people told me I didn’t need college to be a writer, how many people raised an eyebrow when I declared I was an English major. They said, “but you could just start your book now. You could self-publish. Write for practice and you’ll learn everything you need.”

There are many writers out there. The writing community on Twitter alone likely comprises of hundreds of thousands of people. Many are successful, and many have a degree outside of English or no degree at all.

Still, many DO have a degree. The entire world of literary fiction is dominated by pompous or reticent, avant-garde MFA holders. And unconventional knowledge of groups like OULIPO or works like Kathy Acker’s Great Expectations? I’d be hard pressed to find any normal person, any non-writer tell me about them.

And these literary works/groups aren’t trending on the internet. Everything is Stephen King or J.K. Rowling. It’d be a miracle if non-college Jamal found out about Weike Wang’s Chemistry or Alexandra Kleeman’s You Too Can Have A Body Like Mine.

I say all of this to say, my approach to writing has changed since going to college. A concrete example is my acquired knowledge on prose. It’s hard to believe I even knew that word in high school, but now that I’ve learned the rules of prose, I’ll never forget it. Poetry is poetry, and not-poetry is prose. And I must say, my prose was weaker when I was younger. I used to use or eschew commas willy-nilly, not knowing they demarcated phrases and parentheticals.

The first quote I used at the beginning of this entry is of an article I wrote for my high school newspaper. My first sentence in that quote uses a comma incorrectly; it separates two clauses, making it a comma splice, which is a type of fused sentence. The second quote is from a more recent work, and I use commas in it correctly. The line “besides plot” is in-between two commas; it’s a parenthetical. High school me had no knowledge of sentence types or basic grammar rules.

Interestingly, young-me did have some good sentences up his sleeve. What’s below comes from my fanfic of Tananarive Due’s African Immortals series:

“Dawit’s wife, Jessica, was once a mortal herself, until Dawit feared he’d lose her forever and forced the ceremony upon her.”

– Jamal H. Goodwin Jr., Teka’s Travels, December 2014

In the excerpt, before I knew what the technique was, I used an appositive (“Jessica” stands in for “Dawit’s wife”) and a subordinate conjunction and clause (“until Dawit feared…”). I suppose some grammar techniques are picked up after frequent reading/writing.

My knowledge attained thus far excites me. Knowing the names of the skills I’ve used allows me to use and not use them at will.