Ken Macrorie in “from Telling Writing” gives this stilted form of writing a name: “Engfish”—a smelly fish-like substance that resembles the English language. The examples he gives of bad student writing are delightfully bad in their ability to use words that say nothing. And, as he points out, language arts text books have for eons modeled the exact kind of writing that no one would want to read: “If you are a student who desires assistance in order to write effectively and fluently, then this text book is written for you” (298). They showcase writing that contorts wilty words students don’t understand—or even want to understand—and create examples that have no relevance to a student’s life. He talks about a writer who “places his vocabulary on exhibit . . . rather than put it to work” (300).This can be said of both student and textbook writers.While I delighted in reading Braddocks’s desire to diminish the simple topic sentence and reveled in Macrorie’s examples of Engfish, I wonder: “How can you teach good writing?” Macrorie offers the practices of free writing—with or without focus—as a means of teasing out good writing. He seems mystified as he defines the technique, “Apparently the writer put down words so fast he used his own natural language without thinking of his expression” (302).
I, as a writer and sometimes teacher of writing, agree with Macrorie’s amazement at the mystery of freewriting to surprisingly wriggle out good writing. Yet, there is also a place, in the beginning, to teach students the science of creating a formulaic, fill-in-the-blank, explicit topic sentence. It is simply good exercise for the writing muscles. Topic sentences create a map for readers, but more importantly, they create a map for writers. This brand of topic sentence, amusingly described, by Francis Christensen, as “a sort of ectoplasmic ghost hovering over the paragraph” (283), teach fledgling writers the ability to see an omnipresent organization that exists in good writing. Once they grasp that, they can move onto the more sophisticated versions, as defined by Braddock: the delayed-completion topic sentence, the inferred topic sentence or the assembled topic sentence.
It is this ideal that Christensen in “A Generative Rhetoric of the Paragraph” espouses--the ideal that students must practice technique before they can master the art. He states:
“The teacher who thinks that writing is an art and that art cannot be taught, that the teacher can only inspire and then keep out of the way will not find anything he can use. But the teacher who believes, as I do, that the only freedom in any art comes from the mastery of technique . . .” (296)
It reminds you of Picasso, who had to master painting women as they looked before he could successfully paint a woman with a breast on her forehead. But, the mistake most teachers make is clinging to the familiarity and comfort of the clunky and explicit topic sentence, requiring students to stick to the formula long after they have mastered the notion.
This again brings me to the question: “What makes good writing?” I think Macrorie says it well, “ most good writing is clear, vigorous, honest, alive, sensuous, appropriate, unsentimental, rhythmic, without pretension, fresh, metaphorical, evocative in sound, economical, authoritative, surprising, memorable, and light” (311). In this great, seemingly conclusive list, we don’t see mention of topic sentences. They are tools of the craft . . . not the craft themselves.
The topic can be hidden, involved in exploring, directly refuted, etc. before a firm conclusion is reached. It may be imediately apparent or surprise us as various road unfold leading to only one conclusion. I do think that haveing c clearly identified topic can help the student integrate their thoughts more effectively. But it is not an absolute.
ReplyDeleteI agree with you wholeheartedly that in some instances we must teach students how to use a topic sentence. (I require my students to begin with a topic sentence). Some students, whether they are younger or older, need the map that a topic sentence provides. It's a way to build an organized paragraph for those who have difficulty beginning their writing process. Once writers are more proficient, they may place that topic sentence at the beginning, middle or end of a paragraph, or it may even be implied.
ReplyDeleteI agree that it is important to teach students the importance of the topic sentence, and so students experience the topic sentence it helps asking them to place it at the beginning at first. Once students have mastered the topic sentence I think they should be able to play with structure. Teach the common structures at the beginning but show the students the other options available to them once they have shown their abilities to use structure. By not sharing all of the possible formations of writing we limit the students artistically and may prevent them from advancing their writing abilities.
ReplyDeleteWho know so many people still like the simple topic sentence?! I would even venture further and say, in my experience, that limitations (like requiring a certain type of topic sentence) create both comfort and challenge. These two elements combined can lead to heightened creativity. When a new writer stares at a blank page without a path, it can be overwhelming and intimidating.
ReplyDeleteDawn, I find our minds work the same way. Out of all the myriad possibilites, we both quoted the identical sentence from Macrorie in our blogs without reading each other's postings first. One might think we crawled out of the same gene pool! Ha! Ha! I think this is going to be a very interesting experience!
ReplyDeleteTrue, there has to be a basic mastery of skills but there also has to be considered, in my opinion, the gift of natural talent. That of course can be nutured but taught, well, that is the great debate. And, the frustration of teacher and students alike who find themselves in any classroom where the "shot-gun" approach must be taken to reach the middle.