since feeling is first who pays any attention to the syntax of things will never wholly kiss you;
wholly to be a fool while Spring is in the world
my blood approves, and kisses are a better fate than wisdom lady i swear by all flowers. Don’t cry —the best gesture of my brain is less than your eyelids’ flutter which says
we are for each other: then laugh, leaning back in my arms for life’s not a paragraph
And death i think is no parenthesis
— E.E. Cummings1
This poem, a personal favorite, has been running through my mind a lot this past month. Particularly the line “life’s not a paragraph.”
It being spring, our lives are full of hustle and bustle. The weather has been delightful, with a touch of coolness in the mornings and evenings and plenty of rain. The gardens are lush; the chickens are laying; my wife and I are gearing up for big changes.
But, April was also cruel. I spent most of it dealing with challenges at work and taking care of my body, now that it has recovered (mostly) from a big surgery at the end of last year. I don’t feel like I am showing up as my best self in a lot of areas, but I am trying.
Life is not a paragraph has become a bit of a mantra. It has come to mind when I need to remember that nothing is permanent. À la Vonnegut’s “So it goes.” Both the beautiful moments and the troublesome ones.
Paragraphs are a part of something bigger.
Paragraphs are islands in an archipelago. They are whole unto themselves; however, a part of something more. They have a clearly defined topic; yet, they must move a thesis, character, or scene forward. They shouldn’t be too long; but, if they don’t have enough information, they come across underbaked. They are their own thing, and they’re not.
Life’s not a paragraph.
In some ways, paragraphs feel a bit like uncharted territory. Grammar nerds love to wax poetic about finding the perfect sentence2, but I find often that people struggle with crafting paragraphs. Part of it is that some tend to want to carry on, stringing too many ideas together for something to feel purposeful. The other bit is that sometimes whatever topic or idea being shared just doesn’t quite fill out.
There a good paragraph in nonfiction writing3 has the four-ish following things:
a clear topic (usually a claim)
context that explains the topic
data or quote that supports the claim
conclusion
-ish. a transition or connection to nearby paragraphs and their topics. This usually comes at the beginning or end.
These basic components appear in almost every nonfiction paragraph longer than a single sentence. Our brains process information in certain ways. You expect to know what something is about near the beginning of it. You’ll expect that the paragraph will explore the topic as it unfolds, usually by providing some proof that supports the claim being made. Here’s a random paragraph from a book (The Infinite Game, Simon Sinek) I just pulled from the shelf:
In business, the resistance seems to come from a different place (transition). Leaders of companies tell me that business is supposed to be professional, not personal (transition). That their job is to drive performance, not to make their people feel good (context). But the fact is that there is no avoiding the existence of feelings (topic/claim). If you ever felt frustrated, excited, angry, inspired, confused, a sense of camaraderie, envious, confident, or insecure while at work, then congratulations, you’re human (appeal for data to support claim). There is no way we can turn off our feelings simply because we’re at work (conclusion).
As this paragraph is taken out of context, its own topic appears mid-way, after the transition from the previous paragraph is made.
When I am editing, knowing that a paragraph essentially follows this hidden structure, knowing to look for it is a short-cut. If someone is making a claim but provides no context or evidence, I’ll note it. If a claim doesn’t come to a logical conclusion, that’s something for the author to do in revision. By far the biggest thing I note is lack of transition between topics, which is a typical first-draft problem when the writer is just trying to get it all out on the page.
Life’s not a paragraph.
When things shift abruptly, it’s jarring. You can get pulled out of the story or the argument. A writer should only be jarring for effect; rarely, and on purpose. If you don’t soften the edges of your paragraphs so they flow together, you’re being mean to your readers. But life doesn’t care about transitions; sometimes things just happen and you have to adjust.
What’s interesting about paragraphs is that the logic of the sentences working together is what creates movement for the reader. You are mapping out thinking and meaning on the page. Like in life, each little bit of thinking builds on what has come before it and will shape what comes after it.
Life’s not a paragraph.
Whether you’re a fool while Spring is in the world, or paying too closely to the syntax of this - this too will pass.
What I’m Reading:
Under the Henfluence: Inside the World of Backyard Chickens and the People Who Love Them by Tove Danovich
What I’m Listening To:
Gloria by Sam Smith
A Cool Thing:
https://www.instagram.com/irishtype/ - A photo catalogue of different Irish hand-painted typography on signs.
A note on the cover image: In editing, paragraphs are noted by the pilcrow sign: ¶. The pilcrow sign is derived from the Greek word paragraphos (from para, meaning “beside”, and graphein, meaning “to write”), which was adapted to the Old French paragraph. The Old English transformation was pylcrafte which eventually became pilcrow.
The Chicago Manual of Style, recommends favoring non-standard capitalization of names when it is the person’s strongly stated preference. It notes “E. E. Cummings can be safely capitalized; it was one of his publishers, not he himself, who lowercased his name.” See “Capitalization of Personal Names.” Chicago Manual of Style (16 ed.). Chicago University Press. 2010. p. 388.
Sometimes it feels like everyone wants a perfect sentence, but no one wants to think about how they work together. See these quotes.
Beautiful. It’s lovely to read your work again.