Sentence Content vs. Style

In this series, I've been talking about how to construct sentences that convey your ideas clearly and in a manner that readers find interesting.  I've been providing examples of exercises suggested by Stanley Fish in his book How to Write a Sentence.

In this post, I continue with a discussion of how to develop your writing skills using simple ideas or sentences as starting points. Fish emphasizes that to develop your skill at writing well-constructed sentences, it doesn't matter what the content is. In fact, he argues that the less interesting the content, the more useful they are in getting you to focus on developing form and style.  Once you master the techniques, then content becomes important. For scientists writing about their research, the general content is already specified by the topic of the study and the results of the experiments.  If I used science examples, those of you who are in science would be focusing on the content and whether it is accurate or contains factual errors, whether you are familiar or not with the topic, and whether it is sufficiently detailed or is missing key elements. For this reason, I've been using sentences taken from literature and non-science topics.  In some cases, however, I've provided examples from the scientific literature to examine how these ideas can be applied to science writing.  But these have been introduced after the technique has been explained and illustrated with a non-science example.

One sentence form that can be useful in scientific writing relates to the art of argument.  In their book, They Say/I Say, authors Graff and Birkenstein describe a sentence structure in which conventional wisdom is stated followed by a statement of disagreement:

"They say that women are equal to men, but I say women who seek to be equal to men lack ambition." 

Graff and Birkenstein offer a number templates for different forms of argument, such as the one above, which not only provide structure but can also suggest ideas for arguments that might not otherwise occur. You can take almost any commonly-held belief and write a sentence like the one above. I selected an example that relates to this blog (gender equality) and wrote not only a contradictory statement, but added a little twist to it....one that had not occurred to me until I forced myself to come up with an opposing argument.  This effect is what Fish argues arises from a focus on sentence structures, especially very restrictive structures. The more restrictive, the more creative you tend to be to fulfill the exercise.

The point is that by considering specific structures of sentences, you can discover new insights.  The example I gave previously of time-traveling sentences is another template that can stimulate creativity and discovery of relationships one might not otherwise uncover.  In that exercise, we had the task of writing a sentence that linked actions across different time zones: past, present, future. We might further restrict the exercise by requiring that the sentence begin with the word "having".  An example might be:

"Having traveled a tiring distance, he slumped to the ground where passersby later would glance quickly then avert their gaze not wishing to become entangled in whatever troubles had felled him."

Another example:

"Having awakened in a strange room, she gingerly arose from the bed not wanting to make any noises that might alert others in the house to her renewed consciousness."

We can do this all day...create good sentences that start with a specific word.  The task is much more difficult without restrictions, partly because of more choices from which one can choose.  An analogy might be a dinner menu. In some restaurants, especially ethnic establishments, there are many pages to the menu with tens of dozens of items.  There are so many choices that the customer has trouble choosing among, not only food groups (fish, poultry, beef), but how they are prepared (baked, broiled, fried) and with what ingredients (myriad choices).  Similarly, when we are faced with an exercise to "write a good sentence", our minds are overwhelmed with the possibilities, and we may have difficulty deciding what the topic should be or in what style we should structure a "good sentence".  At the other extreme, are restaurants that offer perhaps five entrees each evening.  With the latter, one can focus and more easily decide between a fish entree and a beef entree (there being only one dish of each prepared in a specific way).  Similarly, with a restriction to write a sentence that reduces our choices, we are able to decide more easily.

The other reason that restrictions are helpful in writing exercises is that they encourage us to be creative.  We have to be creative to design a good sentence that meets the criteria imposed on the exercise. If there are no restrictions, we are more likely to write a less interesting sentence.  I mention restrictions and their impact on writing because it might be helpful when you find yourself having difficulties writing about a particular topic or to make a specific point.  You may know generally what you want to say, but can't think of an interesting or compelling way to write it. Or you may have written a long, rambling narrative that must be shortened considerably to fit within a required word limit (an abstract, for example).  This is where imposing a restriction might jump-start your creative juices.  

For example, you may want to convey the idea that your experimental approach was critical to uncovering an important insight...that a different approach, perhaps one that has been routinely used, would have failed.  You are having difficulty coming up with a good sentence to capture this idea.  You can't even think of how to begin such a sentence.  Let's say that we set a restriction on the sentence so that it must begin with the phrase, "had we".  Now we have not only the first two words of the sentence, but they impose a structure that fits the contrasting ideas or outcomes that you wish to convey: 

"Had we only compared the growth responses of Species A and B grown separately, without also examining their growth in mixture, we would have incorrectly concluded that the treatment favored the growth of Species A and failed to recognize that competition from Species B could prevent Species A from benefiting from the treatment."   

Now you have a fairly good, although complex, sentence that describes your approach and simultaneously explains why your choice was the superior one in this study (and hints at why previous work perhaps has failed).  You may want to further revise this sentence or even change it completely, but the exercise has forced you to get the basic points written out and structured so that they are coordinated and positioned in relation to each other within the sentence.  

Obviously, you cannot afford to apply this restriction method to every sentence you write.  What I'm suggesting is that it is a way to stimulate creativity at points where you have drawn a blank in your writing.  The next time you find yourself staring at the page and thinking you can't imagine how to write about some idea, try this method and see if it helps.  

"I Hate Writing"

...was the emphatic statement made by a young acquaintance recently.  Why do some find writing akin to passing kidney stones, whereas others absolutely love writing? 

I think the answer is that people who abhor writing are people with writing problems, otherwise known as "writer's block".  Contrary to what most people imagine writer's block to be, this affliction encompasses a whole suite of behaviors (and their accompanying thoughts) that many writers will recognize:

"I don't feel like writing [this morning, today, this week, this semester......the rest of my life]!"

"I have no ideas for this writing project."

"Even if I do a good job [writing], the reviewers will criticize it for some picayune reason."

"I write best when I'm under the gun."

"I wish I had never agreed to write this [paper, book chapter, review]."

"My writing will never be as good as my peers."

"I've got too much to do, and not enough time."

"I like to keep revising and perfecting, even after the paper is 'good enough'."

"What if I've made a mistake or left out an important reference?"

"I hate outlines."

"I can't write unless I can set aside large blocks of time when no deadlines are looming."

The above thoughts are from a test for writer's block in a book by R. Boice.  The next series of posts is going to focus on writing problems.  I hope to cover the causes of writing problems and some possible solutions for dealing with them.  Some of this discussion will be based on information in resources such as the book mentioned above.  Other insights will be based on my own experience and that of colleagues. 

But first, a personal story to illustrate the fact that it is possible to go from near paralysis at the thought of writing to adoring writing (technical and non-technical) and everything about writing.

I was entering the home stretch of my master's program, having completed all my field and laboratory research and data analysis.  It was time to write my thesis.  I had not given much thought to this part of the process up to that point because I had been so busy taking classes, working in the lab, and admiring my data.  The memory of the moment I sat down to begin writing is scorched into my brain.  I was in my apartment at my desk, which faced a window overlooking a forested lot.  Outside, the day was somewhat overcast, but still bright enough so that I did not need additional light.  I had a new yellow legal pad and several new pencils sharpened to perfection (this was way before personal computers).  I picked up a pencil, looked at the blank page, and.....froze.  Not my mind though.  It was going 90 miles an hour.  Thoughts of how to start, what should I say, which parts should I include, what did my results mean--all tumbled around in my head.  I could not focus on any single thought.  The harder I tried, the worse it got.  It was like trying to grasp an handful of sand. The more I squeezed, the faster the grains escaped.  

I thought, "Oh, God.  I'm stuck."  

And I was, in more ways than one.  For the next several hours, I sat there, paralyzed.  I could not move.  The longer I sat, the more difficult it was to move...to even imagine moving.  The light grew dimmer as evening approached.  Still I sat, staring at that yellow pad.  My initial shock turned to despair.  I began imagining how I was going to explain to my adviser that I couldn't finish my thesis.  What would happen to me?  Where would I go now?  What about my dreams of becoming a scientist?


"Stop it! Stop thinking.  Just sit and try to relax."  I finally started talking to myself.  I did not know what else to do.  Eventually, I felt the need to go to the bathroom, but I could not move.  I felt that if I moved from my spot that something dreadful would happen.  "You've got to move,"  I said to myself. "Are you just going to sit there and wet your pants?"  That thought galvanized me.  I told myself all I had to do was to go to the bathroom and then I could come back and cower in the chair.  


That was all it took.  Once I started moving, I was able to gradually do other things.  I eventually applied the same tactic to my writing--breaking it into small stages.  I would set a tiny goal for myself in the beginning--write the first paragraph of the methods.  Then another paragraph.  I did not think about anything beyond the next small task.  Before I knew it, I had a rough draft of the Materials and Methods done.  Eventually, I finished my thesis and passed my defense.

That experience put me off writing for a long, long time--years in fact.  In the coming posts, I'll describe how I transformed from that writing-averse person to a well-published author, now approaching my 100th publication.  Along the way, I'll relate my experiences to known causes of writing problems and describe what can be done to resolve them... or avoid them in the first place.

I hope you'll share your writing problems and solutions.

Cruel and Unusual?

“The writing in this paper is pedestrian and plodding.”

“The author shows minimal understanding of this topic, and this paper actually moves the field backwards twenty years.”

“The approach used in this study is unimaginative and the experimental design contains serious flaws.”

“This author has no idea how to write a proper abstract.”

Sound familiar?

Part of being a scientist is dealing with criticism. If it’s constructive criticism, the comments will help you prepare a better article or other science product. I get annoyed when someone fails to thoroughly critique my paper and instead offers platitudes: “This is a great paper—I can’t find anything wrong with it.” Well, I doubt that anyone has ever written something that could not be improved upon. Such comments don’t help you.

On the other hand, some reviewers, editors, and others are less than nice in delivering critiques of your work. They may even make unfounded statements or raise ‘red herrings’ that are difficult to rebut and waste your time.

Students are rarely taught formally how to deal with private reviews, much less public criticisms. In the previous post, I described some ways to deal with public criticism (letters to the editor or a formal comment on a published work). Most scientists go through their entire careers without having to deal with such criticisms. Actually, I find that the more novel, surprising, interesting, and controversial papers are the ones that are publicly attacked most often. So, in a way, these are compliments.

The contents of letters to the editor or comments are often not unlike the criticisms raised in reviewer comments. They point out erroneous statements, failure to cite the relevant literature, methodological flaws, poor writing, etc. The key message in the previous post for dealing with criticism was to respond only to the scientific aspects and ignore any personal or other comments that caused an emotional reaction in you. It's difficult to ignore these things, but it will pay off in the end.

Rejected and Dejected

You’ve been waiting for weeks, maybe months to hear from the journal about your submission. Finally, you see an email in your inbox with the subject heading: “Decision-MS#xxxxx”. Your heart skips a beat, you take a big breath, and you click on the email to open it. It says, “Thank you for your submission, but we regret to inform you that…..”.

What now?

For some female scientists (especially early-career), this is the end. The paper goes into their file, never to see the light of day again. Their most frequent thought is, “What did I do wrong?” Or worse, "What's wrong with me?"

In contrast, most male scientists think, “What’s wrong with that journal editor and those ignorant reviewers? Can’t they see that my paper is fantastic? I’m sending it somewhere else!”

In graduate school, it’s rare for students to get advice on how to handle rejection. Advisors may not recognize that male and female students handle rejection differently and perhaps fail to give some extra encouragement or specific advice to female students. If the advisor is male, he may assume that female students and post-docs will react the same way he would to rejection.

But knowing how to deal with rejection can make the difference as to whether you are successful or not in a science career. How you react to rejection is as much of a test of character as your ability as a scientist.

A little-known statistic: some of the most published scientists have the most rejections. This is because they do not give up until they get their papers published and often suffer numerous rejections along the way. If you automatically assume the problem is with you when your paper is rejected, then you will tend to give up. If you instead believe the problem is not necessarily with you or your inherent ability, then you will realistically assess the reviews, make necessary revisions, and persist until you succeed.

If your work deserves to be published (i.e., it’s good), then giving up with the first rejection is a mistake. If the work is flawed, then heed the comments of the reviewers and editors (they’ve done you a favor) and revise the paper and resubmit somewhere else. If the problem is not fixable, then you might be able to salvage a portion of the study and publish it as a note.

For more discussion of what to do when your paper is rejected, see this article, “When a Journal Says No” by Wendy Belcher. The advice she gives is far more comprehensive than what I could cover in this blog post. I highly recommend it if you are at all unclear as to how to proceed when getting a rejection letter.

Instead, let me tell about my own personal experience with rejection.

A number of years ago, another scientist (female) and I collaborated on a paper, which we submitted for publication at a moderate-impact journal. It was rejected. We revised and resubmitted somewhere else. It kept getting rejected, and we kept revising and resubmitting it. We were determined to get the paper published because we thought it was a great study. She lived in a different city, so we met at another city mid-way between us to work on the paper. We holed up in a hotel room with our computers, a printer, and lots of coffee. Each time the paper was rejected, we would meet over a weekend and revise. We were getting very frustrated because some of the changes (based on previous reviewer comments) were later criticized by other reviewers. We started referring to it as the “Paper from Hell”.

Finally, we went back to our original version, incorporated some of the suggestions that seemed reasonable, and resubmitted to a high-impact journal in our field. The paper was accepted with minor revision. The week it was published, the editors of Science selected it for their “Editor’s Choice” section. The journal that published our paper was delighted that one of their publications was mentioned by Science, and the editors would subsequently thank us profusely whenever they saw us at conferences.

I guess the moral is: Be persistent; don’t give up too easily. I don’t know why our paper got so many rejections. It could be the reviewer lottery was not in our favor or simply that we had failed in earlier versions to write a sufficiently compelling paper. In hindsight, I see many things that I would do differently today—but by persisting, we ultimately got it right.