Editing Series: Paragraphs are Cheeseburgers, part 1

Over the next few weeks, I want to take you through the editing process. We’ve started with big picture items like conceptual work. Eventually, we’ll make our way into syntax and style.

We’ve discussed math, specifically the basic math of editing. We have discussed structure. Let’s move to another – particularly fragile – structure: the paragraph. Apologies to my fiction writers, this won’t be applicable to that genre. But, if I know anything, I know many of you dabble in the non-fiction arena, so stay tuned.

My friends, I am sure you’re familiar with the lessons you received regarding paragraphs. They should be one complete thought. They should have five to seven sentences. They should have a topic sentence, supporting sentences, and a conclusion sentence. These are all true. And, yet, if you’ve ever read anything published, you wonder where those rules went. Your familiarity with the rules – with most rules – means that you know the ABCs of rules. Rules can be abstracted, broken, and circumvented. In what follows, I’m going to give you my little blueprint for paragraphs.

Before you know whether you can break a rule, you must know the structures the rule is supposed to protect. Behold, the humble paragraph. It is a fragile structure. It really only holds one major idea at a time. As with a step team from the NPHC creating a human pyramid, it relies on all others next to it in order to form an integrated whole. The paragraph’s fragility is not solely because of its limited capacity. (Yep! It is still true that it only holds one cohesive idea.) Its fragility stems from the fact that if one portion of the paragraph is not functioning well, it topples over. It must be balanced.

In my experience, non-fiction paragraphs usually do not fail to confine the paragraph to one complete thought. Instead, they tend to fail at keeping the paragraph in balance, especially when crafting a lengthy argument. Writers often find it difficult to do one or more of the following actions: 1) assert exactly what that one complete thought is; 2) clarify why that thought belongs before one thought and after another; 3) contextualize the single thought; 4) argue rather than restate; 5) sum up their idea. So, I’ve concocted a little mnemonic device.

The paragraph is a cheeseburger.

The top bun is the transition from one thought to the next. The condiments function as contextualization. The cheese is evidence. The meat is the analysis. The bottom bun is a conclusion. I’ll explain the first two this week and the last three next week.

The top bun – The top bun allows you to transition between ideas, so that we know what kind of math you’re doing. Are you adding to your point? Are you multiplying it? Are you dividing your ideas in two (a list or a “on one hand/on the other hand”)? Are you subtracting (disagreeing, taking one part of an idea and not the other)? The top bun reaches its stride in adverbs or adverbial clauses: your yets, furthermores, moreovers, howevers, firsts, seconds, and finallys. The top bun can be as long as a sentence or as short as a word. It helps you transition. If you’re working on top buns during the editing process, you’re trying to understand why your paragraphs are in this sequence. Recalling the lesson on structure, it helps you ask, what is the best possible way to convince my ideal and implied readers?

Condiments – In academic writing, we tend to require historical detail, social information, definitions, or the outline of someone else’s ideas (sometimes quoted or paraphrased) in order to help our generous but skeptical readers understand the point we’re making. That information should function like a grounding shot in film. It lets you know where you are. If you see the Septa, you’re in Philly or South Jersey. If you see the tube, you’re in London. The condiments in a cheeseburger function the same way. If you have onion rings and barbeque sauce, that is different from a cheeseburger with pineapple. The condiments usually deploy the verb “to be” or other verbs that state fact. When your condiments include quoted material, you can use neutral verbs or foreshadow your relationship to the quoted material. The neutral verbs would include says, writes, or comments. Verbs that communicate your opinion might include invalidates, overturns, or blusters. Many people use adverbs to communicate their stance (whether dismissive or deferential): rightly opines, usefully asserts, unfortunately suggests, etc. Your condiments situate your reader inside the argument of your paragraph.

As you can see from my comments above, figuring out which parts are which is part of the editing process. You’ll want to get your ideas down on paper before trying to massage them into cheeseburgers. Go to the grocery store and get your raw material before you fire up the grill, so to speak.

See you next week when we’ll discuss cheese, meat, and bottom buns.