They say Chapter 8

In this chapter, the authors offer you four specific strategies for “connecting the parts” in your writing. Before reflecting further on this advice, look back to your first formal essay (or some other piece of writing done for another class) and examine how effectively (or not) you connected the parts for your reader. Once you have done that, respond to the prompts below.

1. Why, according to the authors, is it important to “connect the parts” in a piece of writing? Please state this in your own words; do not use a direct quote from the chapter.

2. Which of the four strategies identified in this chapter do you think could be most effectively used to improve your own writing, and why? Please explain your reasoning in detail and offer specific examples to illustrate your point.

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“AS A RESULT”

Connecting the Parts

WE ONCE HAD A STUDENT named Bill, whose characteristic sentence pattern went
something like this.

Spot is a good dog. He has fleas.

“Connect your sentences,” we urged in the margins of Bill’s papers. “What
does Spot being good have to do with his fleas?” “These two statements seem
unrelated. Can you connect them in some logical way?” When comments like
these yielded no results, we tried inking in suggested connections for him.

Spot is a good dog, but he has fleas.
Spot is a good dog, even though he has fleas.

But our message failed to get across, and Bill’s disconnected sentence pattern
persisted to the end of the semester.

And yet Bill did focus well on his subjects. When he mentioned Spot the dog
(or Plato, or any other topic) in one sentence, we could count on Spot (or Plato)
being the topic of the following sentence as well. This was not the case with
some of Bill’s classmates, who sometimes changed topic from sentence to
sentence or even from clause to clause within a single sentence. But because
Bill neglected to mark his connections, his writing was as frustrating to read as
theirs. In all these cases, we had to struggle to figure out on our own how the

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sentences and paragraphs connected or failed to connect with one another.
What makes such writers so hard to read, in other words, is that they never

gesture back to what they have just said or forward to what they plan to say.
“Never look back” might be their motto, almost as if they see writing as a
process of thinking of something to say about a topic and writing it down, then
thinking of something else to say about the topic and writing that down, too,
and on and on until they’ve filled the assigned number of pages and can hand
the paper in. Each sentence basically starts a new thought, rather than growing
out of or extending the thought of the previous sentence.

When Bill talked about his writing habits, he acknowledged that he never
went back and read what he had written. Indeed, he told us that, other than
using his computer software to check for spelling errors and make sure that his
tenses were all aligned, he never actually reread what he wrote before turning it
in. As Bill seemed to picture it, writing was something one did while sitting at a
computer, whereas reading was a separate activity generally reserved for an
easy chair, book in hand. It had never occurred to Bill that to write a good
sentence he had to think about how it connected to those that came before and
after; that he had to think hard about how that sentence fit into the sentences
that surrounded it. Each sentence for Bill existed in a sort of tunnel isolated
from every other sentence on the page. He never bothered to fit all the parts of
his essay together because he apparently thought of writing as a matter of piling
up information or observations rather than building a sustained argument. What
we suggest in this chapter, then, is that you converse not only with others in
your writing but with yourself: that you establish clear relations between one
statement and the next by connecting those statements.

This chapter addresses the issue of how to connect all the parts of your
writing. The best compositions establish a sense of momentum and direction by
making explicit connections among their different parts, so that what is said in
one sentence (or paragraph) both sets up what is to come and is clearly
informed by what has already been said. When you write a sentence, you create
an expectation in the reader’s mind that the next sentence will in some way
echo and extend it, even if—especially if—that next sentence takes your
argument in a new direction.

It may help to think of each sentence you write as having arms that reach
backward and forward, as the figure below suggests. When your sentences

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reach outward like this, they establish connections that help your writing flow
smoothly in a way readers appreciate. Conversely, when writing lacks such
connections and moves in fits and starts, readers repeatedly have to go back
over the sentences and guess at the connections on their own. To prevent such
disconnection and make your writing flow, we advise following a
“do-it-yourself” principle, which means that it is your job as a writer to do the
hard work of making the connections rather than, as Bill did, leaving this work
to your readers.

    This chapter offers several strategies you can use to put this principle into
action: (1) using transition terms (like “therefore” and “as a result”); (2) adding
pointing words (like “this” or “such”); (3) developing a set of key terms and
phrases for each text you write; and (4) repeating yourself, but with a
difference—a move that involves repeating what you’ve said, but with enough
variation to avoid being redundant. All these moves require that you always
look back and, in crafting any one sentence, think hard about those that precede
it.

Notice how we ourselves have used such connecting devices thus far in this
chapter. The second paragraph of this chapter, for example, opens with the
transitional “And yet,” signaling a change in direction, while the opening
sentence of the third includes the phrase “in other words,” telling you to expect
a restatement of a point we’ve just made. If you look through this book, you
should be able to find many sentences that contain some word or phrase that
explicitly hooks them back to something said earlier, to something about to be
said, or both. And many sentences in this chapter repeat key terms related to the
idea of connection: “connect,” “disconnect,” “link,” “relate,” “forward,” and
“backward.”

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USE TRANSITIONS

For readers to follow your train of thought, you need not only to connect your
sentences and paragraphs to each other, but also to mark the kind of connection
you are making. One of the easiest ways to make this move is to use transitions
(from the Latin root trans, “across”), which help you cross from one point to
another in your text. Transitions are usually placed at or near the start of
sentences so they can signal to readers where your text is going: in the same
direction it has been moving, or in a new direction. More specifically,
transitions tell readers whether your text is echoing a previous sentence or
paragraph (“in other words”), adding something to it (“in addition”), offering an
example of it (“for example”), generalizing from it (“as a result”), or modifying
it (“and yet”).

The following is a list of commonly used transitions, categorized according
to their different functions.

ADDITION

also in fact
and indeed
besides moreover
furthermore so too
in addition

ELABORATION

actually to put it another way
by extension to put it bluntly
in other words to put it succinctly
in short ultimately
that is

EXAMPLE

after all for instance
as an illustration specifically
consider to take a case in point
for example

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CAUSE AND EFFECT

accordingly so
as a result then
consequently therefore
hence thus
since

COMPARISON

along the same lines likewise
in the same way similarly

CONTRAST

although nevertheless
but nonetheless
by contrast on the contrary
conversely on the other hand
despite regardless
even though whereas
however while yet
in contrast

CONCESSION

admittedly naturally
although it is true of course
granted to be sure

CONCLUSION

as a result in sum
consequently therefore
hence thus
in conclusion to sum up
in short to summarize

Ideally, transitions should operate so unobtrusively in a piece of writing that
they recede into the background and readers do not even notice that they are
there. It’s a bit like what happens when drivers use their turn signals before
turning right or left: just as other drivers recognize such signals almost

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unconsciously, readers should process transition terms with a minimum of
thought. But even though such terms should function unobtrusively in your
writing, they can be among the most powerful tools in your vocabulary. Think
how your heart sinks when someone, immediately after praising you, begins a
sentence with “but” or “however.” No matter what follows, you know it won’t
be good.

Notice that some transitions can help you not only to move from one
sentence to another, but to combine two or more sentences into one. Combining
sentences in this way helps prevent the choppy, staccato effect that arises when
too many short sentences are strung together, one after the other. For instance,
to combine Bill’s two choppy sentences (“Spot is a good dog. He has fleas.”)
into one, better-flowing sentence, we suggested that he rewrite them as “Spot is
a good dog, even though he has fleas.”

Transitions like these not only guide readers through the twists and turns of
your argument but also help ensure that you have an argument in the first place.
In fact, we think of words like “but,” “yet,” “nevertheless,” “besides,” and
others as argument words, since it’s hard to use them without making some
kind of argument. The word “therefore,” for instance, commits you to making
sure that the claims preceding it lead logically to the conclusion that it
introduces. “For example” also assumes an argument, since it requires the
material you are introducing to stand as an instance or proof of some preceding
generalization. As a result, the more you use transitions, the more you’ll be able
not only to connect the parts of your text but also to construct a strong argument
in the first place. And if you draw on them frequently enough, using them
should eventually become second nature.

To be sure, it is possible to overuse transitions, so take time to read over your
drafts carefully and eliminate any transitions that are unnecessary. But
following the maxim that you need to learn the basic moves of argument before
you can deliberately depart from them, we advise you not to forgo explicit
transition terms until you’ve first mastered their use. In all our years of
teaching, we’ve read countless essays that suffered from having few or no
transitions, but cannot recall one in which the transitions were overused.
Seasoned writers sometimes omit explicit transitions, but only because they rely
heavily on the other types of connecting devices that we turn to in the rest of
this chapter.

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Before doing so, however, let us warn you about inserting transitions without
really thinking through their meanings—using “therefore,” say, when your
text’s logic actually requires “nevertheless” or “however.” So beware.
Choosing transition terms should involve a bit of mental sweat, since the whole
point of using them is to make your writing more reader-friendly, not less. The
only thing more frustrating than reading Bill-style passages like “Spot is a good
dog. He has fleas” is reading misconnected sentences like “Spot is a good dog.
For example, he has fleas.”

USE POINTING WORDS

Another way to connect the parts of your argument is by using pointing
words—which, as their name implies, point or refer backward to some concept
in the previous sentence. The most common of these pointing words include
“this,” “these,” “that,” “those,” “their,” and “such” (as in “these pointing
words” near the start of this sentence) and simple pronouns like “his,” “he,”
“her,” “she,” “it,” and “their.” Such terms help you create the flow we spoke of
earlier that enables readers to move effortlessly through your text. In a sense,
these terms are like an invisible hand reaching out of your sentence, grabbing
what’s needed in the previous sentences and pulling it along.

Like transitions, however, pointing words need to be used carefully. It’s
dangerously easy to insert pointing words into your text that don’t refer to a
clearly defined object, assuming that because the object you have in mind is
clear to you it will also be clear to your readers. For example, consider the use
of “this” in the following passage.

Alexis de Tocqueville was highly critical of democratic societies, which
he saw as tending toward mob rule. At the same time, he accorded
democratic societies grudging respect. This is seen in Tocqueville’s
statement that . . .

When “this” is used in such a way it becomes an ambiguous or free-floating
pointer, since readers can’t tell if it refers to Tocqueville’s critical attitude
toward democratic societies, his grudging respect for them, or some
combination of both. “This what?” readers mutter as they go back over such

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passages and try to figure them out. It’s also tempting to try to cheat with
pointing words, hoping that they will conceal or make up for conceptual
confusions that may lurk in your argument. By referring to a fuzzy idea as
“this” or “that,” you might hope the fuzziness will somehow come across as
clearer than it is.

You can fix problems caused by a free-floating pointer by making sure there
is one and only one possible object in the vicinity that the pointer could be
referring to. It also often helps to name the object the pointer is referring to at
the same time that you point to it, replacing the bald “this” in the example
above with a more precise phrase like “this ambivalence toward democratic
societies” or “this grudging respect.”

REPEAT KEY TERMS AND PHRASES

A third strategy for connecting the parts of your argument is to develop a
constellation of key terms and phrases, including their synonyms and antonyms,
that you repeat throughout your text. When used effectively, your key terms
should be items that readers could extract from your text in order to get a solid
sense of your topic. Playing with key terms also can be a good way to come up
with a title and appropriate section headings for your text.

Notice how often Martin Luther King Jr. uses the key words “criticism,”
“statement,” “answer,” and “correspondence” in the opening paragraph of his
famous “Letter from Birmingham Jail.”

Dear Fellow Clergymen:
While confined here in the Birmingham city jail, I came across your

recent statement calling my present activities “unwise and untimely.”
Seldom do I pause to answer criticism of my work and ideas. If I sought
to answer all the criticisms that cross my desk, my secretaries would
have little time for anything other than such correspondence in the
course of the day, and I would have no time for constructive work. But
since I feel that you are men of genuine good will and that your
criticisms are sincerely set forth, I want to try to answer your statement
in what I hope will be patient and reasonable terms.

MARTIN LUTHER KING JR., “Letter

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from Birmingham Jail”

Even though King uses the terms “criticism” and “answer” three times each and
“statement” twice, the effect is not overly repetitive. In fact, these key terms
help build a sense of momentum in the paragraph and bind it together.

For another example of the effective use of key terms, consider the following
passage, in which the historian Susan Douglas develops a constellation of
sharply contrasting key terms around the concept of “cultural schizophrenics”:
women like herself who, Douglas claims, have mixed feelings about the images
of ideal femininity with which they are constantly bombarded by the media.

In a variety of ways, the mass media helped make us the cultural
schizophrenics we are today, women who rebel against yet submit to
prevailing images about what a desirable, worthwhile woman should
be. . . . [T]he mass media has engendered in many women a kind of
cultural identity crisis. We are ambivalent toward femininity on the one
hand and feminism on the other. Pulled in opposite directions—told we
were equal, yet told we were subordinate; told we could change history
but told we were trapped by history—we got the bends at an early age,
and we’ve never gotten rid of them.

When I open Vogue, for example, I am simultaneously infuriated and
seduced. . . . I adore the materialism; I despise the materialism. . . . I
want to look beautiful; I think wanting to look beautiful is about the
most dumb-ass goal you could have. The magazine stokes my desire; the
magazine triggers my bile. And this doesn’t only happen when I’m
reading Vogue; it happens all the time. . . . On the one hand, on the other
hand—that’s not just me—that’s what it means to be a woman in
America.

To explain this schizophrenia . . .
SUSAN DOUGLAS, Where the Girls

Are: Growing Up Female with the
Mass Media

In this passage, Douglas establishes “schizophrenia” as a key concept and then

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echoes it through synonyms like “identity crisis,” “ambivalent,” “the
bends”—and even demonstrates it through a series of contrasting words and
phrases:

rebel against / submit

told we were equal / told we were subordinate

told we could change history / told we were trapped by history

infuriated / seduced

I adore / I despise

I want / I think wanting . . . is about the most dumb-ass goal

stokes my desire / triggers my bile

on the one hand / on the other hand

These contrasting phrases help flesh out Douglas’s claim that women are being
pulled in two directions at once. In so doing, they bind the passage together into
a unified whole that, despite its complexity and sophistication, stays focused
over its entire length.

REPEAT YOURSELF—BUT WITH A DIFFERENCE

The last technique we offer for connecting the parts of your text involves
repeating yourself, but with a difference—which basically means saying the
same thing you’ve just said, but in a slightly different way that avoids sounding
monotonous. To effectively connect the parts of your argument and keep it
moving forward, be careful not to leap from one idea to a different idea or
introduce new ideas cold. Instead, try to build bridges between your ideas by
echoing what you’ve just said while simultaneously moving your text into new
territory.

Several of the connecting devices discussed in this chapter are ways of
repeating yourself in this special way. Key terms, pointing terms, and even
many transitions can be used in a way that not only brings something forward
from the previous sentence but in some way alters it. When Douglas, for
instance, uses the key term “ambivalent” to echo her earlier reference to

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schizophrenics, she is repeating herself with a difference—repeating the same
concept, but with a different word that adds new associations.

In addition, when you use transition phrases like “in other words” and “to put
it another way,” you repeat yourself with a difference, since these phrases help
you restate earlier claims but in a different register. When you open a sentence
with “in other words,” you are basically telling your readers that in case they
didn’t fully understand what you meant in the last sentence, you are now
coming at it again from a slightly different angle, or that since you’re presenting
a very important idea, you’re not going to skip over it quickly but will explore it
further to make sure your readers grasp all its aspects.

We would even go so far as to suggest that after your first sentence, almost
every sentence you write should refer back to previous statements in some way.
Whether you are writing a “furthermore” comment that adds to what you have
just said or a “for example” statement that illustrates it, each sentence should
echo at least one element of the previous sentence in some discernible way.
Even when your text changes direction and requires transitions like “in
contrast,” “however,” or “but,” you still need to mark that shift by linking the
sentence to the one just before it, as in the following example.

Cheyenne loved basketball. Nevertheless, she feared her height would
put her at a disadvantage.

These sentences work because even though the second sentence changes course
and qualifies the first, it still echoes key concepts from the first. Not only does
“she” echo “Cheyenne,” since both refer to the same person, but “feared”
echoes “loved” by establishing the contrast mandated by the term
“nevertheless.” “Nevertheless,” then, is not an excuse for changing subjects
radically. It too requires repetition to help readers shift gears with you and
follow your train of thought.

Repetition, in short, is the central means by which you can move from point
A to point B in a text. To introduce one last analogy, think of the way
experienced rock climbers move up a steep slope. Instead of jumping or
lurching from one handhold to the next, good climbers get a secure handhold on
the position they have established before reaching for the next ledge. The same

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thing applies to writing. To move smoothly from point to point in your
argument, you need to firmly ground what you say in what you’ve already said.
In this way, your writing remains focused while simultaneously moving
forward.

“But hold on,” you may be thinking. “Isn’t repetition precisely what
sophisticated writers should avoid, on the grounds that it will make their writing
sound simplistic—as if they are belaboring the obvious?” Yes and no. On the
one hand, writers certainly can run into trouble if they merely repeat themselves
and nothing more. On the other hand, repetition is key to creating continuity in
writing. It is impossible to stay on track in a piece of writing if you don’t repeat
your points throughout the length of the text. Furthermore, writers would never
make an impact on readers if they didn’t repeat their main points often enough
to reinforce those points and make them stand out above subordinate points.
The trick therefore is not to avoid repeating yourself but to repeat yourself in
varied and interesting enough ways that you advance your argument without
sounding tedious.

Exercises

1.  Read the following opening to Chapter 2 of The Road to Wigan Pier, by
George Orwell. Annotate the connecting devices by underlining the
transitions, circling the key terms, and putting boxes around the pointing
terms.

Our civilisation . . . is founded on coal, more completely than one realises
until one stops to think about it. The machines that keep us alive, and the
machines that make the machines, are all directly or indirectly dependent
upon coal. In the metabolism of the Western world the coal-miner is second
in importance only to the man who ploughs the soil. He is a sort of grimy
caryatid upon whose shoulders nearly everything that is not grimy is
supported. For this reason the actual process by which coal is extracted is
well worth watching, if you get the chance and are willing to take the
trouble.

When you go down a coal-mine it is important to try and get to the coal
face when the “fillers” are at work. This is not easy, because when the mine

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is working visitors are a nuisance and are not encouraged, but if you go at
any other time, it is possible to come away with a totally wrong impression.
On a Sunday, for instance, a mine seems almost peaceful. The time to go
there is when the machines are roaring and the air is black with coal dust,
and when you can actually see what the miners have to do. At those times
the place is like hell, or at any rate like my own mental picture of hell. Most
of the things one imagines in hell are there—heat, noise, confusion,
darkness, foul air, and, above all, unbearably cramped space. Everything
except the fire, for there is no fire down there except the feeble beams of
Davy lamps and electric torches which scarcely penetrate the clouds of coal
dust.

When you have finally got there—and getting there is a job in itself: I will
explain that in a moment—you crawl through the last line of pit props and
see opposite you a shiny black wall three or four feet high. This is the coal
face. Overhead is the smooth ceiling made by the rock from which the coal
has been cut; underneath is the rock again, so that the gallery you are in is
only as high as the ledge of coal itself, probably not much more than a yard.
The first impression of all, overmastering everything else for a while, is the
frightful, deafening din from the conveyor belt which carries the coal away.
You cannot see very far, because the fog of coal dust throws back the beam
of your lamp, but you can see on either side of you the line of half-naked
kneeling men, one to every four or five yards, driving their shovels under
the fallen coal and flinging it swiftly over their left shoulders. . . .

GEORGE ORWELL, The Road to Wigan
Pier

2.  Read over something you’ve written with an eye for the devices you’ve used
to connect the parts. Underline all the transitions, pointing terms, key terms,
and repetition. Do you see any patterns? Do you rely on certain devices
more than others? Are there any passages that are hard to follow—and if so,
can you make them easier to read by trying any of the other devices
discussed in this chapter?

• Local Disk

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