So… Where Do Sentences Come From?

January 22, 2024June 14, 2024 ~ 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 🙂

Mind Equals Matter

June 9, 2021December 24, 2023 ~ Jamal H. Goodwin Jr. ~ Leave a comment

The mind, too, is a muscle. Like the opening and closing of the palm, every thought is electrical currents, a physical reaction—one that is immediate, the style of which is determined by usage and habit, like the habitual sloucher versus the sloucher who tries to sit up versus the athlete who’s developed good posture through training.

The mind, too, is a muscle, so with workouts and rest and consistency, it can grow strong, strong in any number of ways, strong like the hulking bodybuilder, the adept martial artist, the determined endurance runner, et cetera, et cetera…

When I’m reminded that the mind runs on physical reactions, I become fascinated and scared. Just living is a big responsibility, right? To be happy, we must strive to always think positive and always defeat the negative. We aren’t robots; we can’t code optimism software and let a program solve everything; it gets easier, but we must always do the work. Otherwise, the brain will turn to alternative thoughts.

In my nonfiction story, These Are Lessons To Be Relearned: Self-Love And Running, I said a classmate showed me a video of a soldier’s head coming off. He laughed. I backed away. How could someone watch something so cruel?

Think of slouching. I used to slouch, but I never realized it: my back always felt normal. Once I saw a video of myself, I realized how I had walked through the world. I began working out and my posture improved. Some people are unaware of negative influences. If they start thinking positive and practicing self-forgiveness, the currents in their brain will run differently; their mind state will improve.

I clear space in my room when I need to reflect. I take deep breaths, recall negative thoughts I had earlier in the day, and overwrite them. I said X in my head earlier, but that’s because I felt Y. I know Y doesn’t define me. Then I look for reasons to smile. Practicing self-love is work, but it gets easier. Easier in the same way that exercising does with consistency. Eventually, it’ll become a habit.

Writing Through Space And Time

June 2, 2021December 24, 2023 ~ Jamal H. Goodwin Jr. ~ 2 Comments

Two days ago, I was talking to my mom about reading, and with a wistful sigh, she said, “it’s such an escape.” I wanted to ask to where, but I should have asked, “how did you get there?” Actually, reader, where were my mom and I? What did you see?

I ask because words can do two things: convey information or describe a scene. Sometimes both happen simultaneously, but these words I’m saying? They’re only sounds in your mind. You can’t see me in my room typing in my red chair until I’ve told you. This technique is very useful.

Pretend you’re reading a novel. The protagonist hugs their crush in school, and for two paragraphs, time freezes while the narrator voices the protagonist’s thoughts. A novel that only showed setting and action couldn’t voice character thoughts. Conversely, a novel frozen in time to explain character thoughts would lack visuals.

*Words can convey information, describe time and place, or do both.*
Photo by Miguel Á. Padriñán on Pexels.com

Here’s a sample of what I mean. Note the italics versus bold. (1): To Andre, the worst kind of movies were old westerns. They were all the same: reckless hero with a sharp jawline, damsel in distress who has no opinions of her own, and endless montages of horseback riding.

(2): To Andre’s horror, a cowboy movie was playing when he returned to the physics classroom. He stood motionless by the door, his friends folding their arms or hunched forward. This is what they chose to watch?! He turned to leave but someone waved and pointed to an open seat.

In example (1), the narration is info-conveying. There are hints of visuals like the hero’s jawline, which you may have envisioned, but I’ve withheld knowledge of Andre’s location and actions—he is frozen in time. Example (2) animates Andre and the scene with phrases like “physics classroom” and “stood motionless.”

We are all skilled at info-conveying and descriptive writing. We’ve encountered the forms in essays and fiction. And yet, like other literary techniques, when we write, we tend to use the two forms unconsciously. Be aware of which form you’re using, and experiment with the ratio that you use them!