14 Grammar Myths Your English Teacher Lied to You About

I Start with And, But and So:

Anderson likes butter.
Butter never satisfied Sophie.
Sophie never had a choice.

by Juliana LaBianca

Myth #1:

No conjuctions to begin sentences.

According to the grammar experts at the Chicago Manual of Style, you don’t have to do mental gymnastics to avoid starting a sentence with a conjunction. “There is a widespread belief—one with no historical or grammatical foundation—that it is an error to begin a sentence with a conjunction such as and, but, or so,” they write. “In fact, a substantial percentage (often as many as 10 percent) of the sentences in first-rate writing begin with conjunctions. It has been so for centuries, and even the most conservative grammarians have followed this practice.” These are the 51 more facts you’ve always believed that are actually false.

Myth #2:

Never start with "Because."

When you’re just learning to write, starting a sentence with the word “because” can often lead to a sentence fragment. That’s why you probably learned to avoid doing so at all costs. As long as your sentence has at least one independent clause, you’re good to go.

Correct: Because I missed the bus, I couldn’t see my dad.

Correct: I couldn’t see my dad because I missed the bus.

Incorrect: I couldn’t see my dad. Because I missed the bus.

Myth #3:

Use "a" not "an" before consonants.

You’ll also want to use the word “an” before words that start with vowel sounds.

Correct: I’m thinking of starting an herb garden

Correct: The Knicks are an NBA team.

Myth #4:

Never end sentences with prepositions.

Many students are taught it’s unacceptable to end a sentence with a preposition—words like “on,” “from,” “for,” “by,” above,” “over”—but that rule is a myth. As Grammar Girl writes, there are some cases where ending a sentence with a preposition is necessary. For example: “I want to know where he came from” could be written, “I want to know from where he came”—but no one talks like that.  Here are 10 more grammar rules you can probably ignore.

Myth #5:

Always use "who" when refering to people.

You might’ve been taught you shouldn’t refer to people with the word “that.” But this isn’t a strict grammar rule. According to Merriam-Webster’s Dictionary of English Usage, saying something like “kids that are late for school will miss math class,” is perfectly acceptable.

Myth #6:

Never use "who" when refering to animals.

The authorities on proper grammar agree it can be weird to refer to a beloved pet as an “it.” According to the AP Stylebook, you can call an animal “him,” “her,” or “who,” as long as the animal has a name or you know its sex.

Myth #7:

"Such as" is the only way to list examples.

You might’ve heard that “such as” is the only proper way to introduce a list of examples. But actually, it depends on what you’re trying to convey.

Correct: I love active dates like fishing, skydiving, and hiking.

Correct: I love active dates such as fishing, skydiving, and hiking.

Both are correct, but the first one implies a comparison. When you say you enjoy “dates like fishing,” you’re implying that you might also enjoy a date that someone might classify as being in a similar genre as fishing.

Myth #8:

Never end a sentence with a conjuction.

Oxford Dictionaries says this is another grammar myth you can safely ignore. They also note that in some cases, “trying to avoid a stranded preposition could lead you to get your linguistic knickers in a terrible twist.”

Correct: The baby has no one to play with.

Correct: The baby enjoys being fussed over.

Myth #9:

Never split infinitives.

This “rule” states that you should never put an adverb in the middle of an infinitive. Think of the Star Trek quote, “to boldly go where no one has gone before.” “To go” is the infinitive, and “boldly” splits it. In fact, there’s no formal evidence that splitting infinitives is incorrect. “The only logical reason to avoid splitting infinitives is that there are still a lot of people who mistakenly think it is wrong,” writes Grammar Girl.

Myth #10:

Passive voice is always wrong

While active voice is generally preferred, passive voice is almost never incorrect. In some cases, it even comes in handy. As writeathome.com points out, if you’re trying to encourage sympathy for your subject, you might prefer to use passive voice. It’s the difference between “Grandma got run over by a reindeer,” and “A reindeer ran over Grandma.”

Myth #11:

i.e. and e.g. mean the same thing.

I.e. and e.g. are both Latin abbreviations, but they don’t mean the same thing. E.g. stands for exempli gratia and means “for example.” I.e. stands for id est and means “in other words.”

Myth #12:

Double negatives are always bad.

In most cases, using a double negative can make your sentence clunky and confusing. But according to Oxford Dictionaries, there’s one case where they’re acceptable: when they’re used to make a statement subtler. The example Oxford uses is the sentence “I am not unconvinced.” “The use of not together with unconvinced suggests that the speaker has a few mental reservations about the argument,” they write. “The double negative creates a nuance of meaning that would not be present had the speaker just said: I am convinced by his argument.” Only word nerds will understand these 20 grammar jokes.

Myth #13:

A run-on sentence is a really long sentence.

In grade school, you might’ve learned that any long sentence is a run-on sentence. But that’s not always true, and in reality, it’s possible for a sentence to be both long and structurally sound. A true run-on is when you put two complete sentences together in one sentence without separating them properly.

Myth #14:

There's only one corect apostrophe "s"

Everyone knows at least one so-called grammar expert who claims there’s only one way to add an apostrophe to a word that ends in “s.” But according to the experts, it’s merely a matter of style.

Correct: The Harris’s cat is in their yard.

Correct: The Harris’ cat is in their yard.

from HERE

Wat a wonderful day

If this isn't genius storytelling, I don't know what is!

 

On Writing: Why I Don't Listen to Stephen King

by Erica Verrillo

Normally, I don’t like to give people advice about writing. I prefer to offer advice on how to get your writing published, how to deal with the publishing world, how to be a success. I leave the writing instruction manual to other less qualified people – by which I mean famous writers.

These are the people who get big bucks to tell other people how to write. Their publishers figure, “Hey, the guy’s famous. People will want to hear how he got there.” That much is true; people do want to hear how Stephen King, for example, became a writer. But do famous writers really know anything about writing?

After reading Stephen King’s memoir, On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft, I have to conclude that famous writers don’t know jack.  That’s because they are writing intuitively. They have a gift, and the substance of that gift cannot be transferred. They can only say, “This is how I write.”

The section of his book in which Stephen King chronicled his career as a writer (starting in grade school) was wonderful. It was funny, and scary, and very down-to-earth - just like his novels. Unfortunately, he spends most of his book telling us not how he wrote his novels, but how we should write ours. No doubt, if you follow his advice, you will probably end up sounding a lot like Stephen King. 

The question is, do you want to?

Stephen King's Rule #1: Don’t use passive voice

Active voice is great if you want to produce a driving passage, filled with energy and momentum. But what if you want to convey something else – mystery, suspense? Here is an example of passive voice:

The body was hanging in the hall. It had been hung there some time in the night, when we were sleeping. As we made our way down to breakfast, we all stepped around it. Nobody looked up. 

We all knew who it was.

Would this passage have worked as well using active voice: “Somebody had hung it in the night"? Absolutely not. The focus here is on the body. Using passive voice increases the tension and forces us to wonder, "Who hung it there?"

Stephen King's Rule #2: Don’t use adverbs

The overuse of adverbs (anything ending in -ly) can be clumsy. However, the adverb, like any other part of speech, fulfills a purpose. Sometimes you need to describe how someone is performing an action, without a lengthy descriptive phrase.

Gently, oh so gently, they lifted my body out of the river. They placed it on the bank and arranged my tattered clothing to cover what remained of my flesh. Then they stood around me, in perfect silence, their hats in their hands.

If only they had shown me such respect when I was alive.

That passage could have begun without the “gently.” But the impact of the (dead) narrator’s voice would have been compromised, and the force of the final line would have been diminished.

Stephen King's Rule #3: Don’t use a long word when you can use a short one

English, a gloriously complex language, is a mashup of Germanic and Latin roots (among other things). The Germanic lexicon is agglomerative: get up, get down. Latin roots are inflected: ascend, descend. Academic writing favors Latin roots, while colloquial speech prefers the Germanic. If you want to sound like Hemingway, or Stephen King, stick to the Germanic roots. But, if you are after a more scholarly effect, go for the Latin.

As the waiter stared at the coin in his hand, a slow flush spread across his cheeks. 

The time traveler leaned back in his chair, adopting a stern demeanor. “My good man,” he said, “I trust the generosity of my emolument will not tempt you into drink." 

The waiter threw the dime on the floor. “Next time you can get your own damn burger and fries!”

I'll admit I’ve cheated. In dialogue anything is permissible. But, placed well, those five-dollar words can accomplish much more than their one-syllable equivalents. Here is the last phrase of Camus’ The Stranger, taken from two different translations:

… and that they greet me with cries of hate. 

… and that they greet me with howls of execration.

Which version do you think you will remember?

The real rules of writing

There is only one rule for writers. So pay attention. I will not repeat it.

You can do anything, provided that you can pull it off.

That second clause is the key. If you can pull it off, whatever it is, you will have written a masterpiece. If you can’t, you will have produced a piece of trash. Being able to do something successfully is what is important, not whether you follow the rules.

from HERE

How to Bang Your Head Instead of Writing Your Book

What's Happening When Writing Is Fun?

Writing can be and should be fun.

By John Warner 


I’ve long believed that if we want students to improve as writers, it makes sense to make writing as fun as possible.

Ask students how often they experience school-related writing as fun and expect a lot of silence. It’s not unheard of when it comes to the students I’ve worked with, but it’s pretty rare, and I think that’s a problem.

Fun isn’t synonymous with frivolous, though. As it turns out, I had an uncommon amount of fun writing one of last week’s blog posts, my review of/response to the new book, The Coddling of The American Mind: How Good Intentions and Bad Ideas Are Setting Up a Generation for Failure. For the four or so days I worked on it, I was wholly absorbed in the process, spending many hours on task, and even thinking about it during my otherwise “off” hours.

Waking up at 3am because a felicitous turn of phrase popped into your head may not sound like fun, but it really can be. Figuring out what I wanted to say and the best way to say it became something of an obsession, and seeing the ideas develop as I was writing was, dare I say it, fun.

This is what comes to mind when I think about what matters when it comes to making writing fun, followed by the questions regarding pedagogy and assignment design that arise when I think about each condition for making writing fun.

1. Freedom of choice

From the moment I started reading The Coddling of the American Mind, I knew that I had something to say about it, even as I wasn’t sure what that something was. It touched on subjects of personal importance (my concerns about rising incidences of student anxiety and depression), as well as personal knowledge and even expertise.

I felt equipped to be able to say something substantive in response to the original text. This had a big impact on my fun. 

How often do I give students the freedom to write in response to something which provokes them the way I was provoked by this book?



2. Freedom of form

I started the post with a different purpose in mind, covering the book for my weekly column at the Chicago Tribune. Fairly quickly, though, I realized that what I had to say would reach well beyond my 600-word limit for that space.

Being able to switch to a blog post which generally runs 1000 words allowed me to keep following the thread of my thinking as it developed through the writing itself.

Which of course led to me blowing well past my usual length and resulted in a post that’s well over 2000 words, too long for a typical blog post, but as the kids say, whatever. My brain wanted to follow the thread of my own thinking to its end. I ended up cutting around 1200 words from what I drafted because they represented arguments tangential to my main point, but even the stuff that hit the cutting room floor was fun.

How often do I give students the freedom to range into length or forms I may not have anticipated or prescribed?



3. Freedom of time

My obsession coincided with a weekend where I didn’t have much of anything scheduled, and when I wasn’t faced with any other deadline. The decks were clear to dedicate 100% of my mental bandwidth to this particular writing challenge.

How common is it for students to be able to dedicate an extended period of time to a single school-related task?



4. Freedom to discover

One of my mantras for my own writing is that I should be discovering something for myself during the process of writing. I can’t start without some notion of what I want to say, but if no discoveries have been made during the saying, I probably have not maximized my fun.

Do my assignments ask students to demonstrate mastery of material which I’ve exposed them to, or does it require them to create some new bit of knowledge for themselves?



5. Freedom to roam and the payoff of curiosity

By my count I cited or referenced 15 different sources, most of which I’ve run across in other contexts in the last year. It’s hard to describe what this feels like, but it’s almost as though I’m doing a puzzle where I don’t even know what picture I’m trying to replicate, but a subconscious part of my brain is bringing pieces up from the depths for me to inspect to see if they fit.

It’s the act of making sense of the world, threading these different elements into a cohesive whole that hangs together.

It’s a little mysterious, but a lot fun.

How often do my assignments allow my students to feel smarter than they previously believed themselves to be?



6. Not having complete freedom

While I think freedom is a necessary element to making writing fun and engaging, without some measure of accountability, it’s difficult for all those elements to come together in a satisfying whole. Yes, the writing should matter to the writer, and intrinsic motivation is important, but know that there would be an audience at the end of the process played a role in increasing the engagement, and the fun.

All along, I carried a small measure of anxiety about the post. It would be aiming criticism at figures significantly above me on the academic/public writer hierarchy. I did not fear retribution from the authors personally, but they have fans and followers. The book is a best seller. If I was going to be critical, it had to be criticism worth expressing, and I had to do my best to express it well.

For most blog posts, given the nature of the medium and genre, I’m happy to allow some of my thinking to be provisional, a work in progress, but I knew that post would need to be as tight as I could muster.

How do I balance both intrinsic and extrinsic motivation in a way that gets students wanting to maximize their potential on a particular piece of writing?[1]



Over time, as these questions became the foundation for the values I’d bring to designing assignments it became easier to engender these experiences for students, but even with them front of mind, it isn’t easy.

When it clicks, though, it really is magic.  

3 Steps for Writing a Glowing Letter of Recommendation

by ASHLEY COBERT

When you’re approached to write a letter of recommendation, you should be flattered and hopefully excited to help your co-worker or old colleague. However, this scenario can also be nerve-wracking—after all, you’re helping decide someone’s future! How can you fit all of her great qualities onto one tiny page? What if you don’t say the right thing?

Pause and take a breath. Writing a letter isn’t rocket science, especially if you feel positively about the person you’re recommending. I’ve written a lot of letters of rec in my day, even ghostwriting them for CEOs of many different companies (yes, executives delegate this task), and along the way, I’ve learned a few things that simplify the process. Follow these steps to write a letter that’ll help your colleague get hired.

1. Do Your Background Research
Letters of recommendation can be requested for a whole slew of reasons—a job application, award nomination, acceptance into a school or board, and more. So, even if you know everything there is to know about the candidate’s current situation, work ethic, and past successes, you still don’t have all the information you need. Find out why the recommendee is asking you for a letter and what her readers are going to be looking for in it.

Before you start writing, be sure to ask the following:

What can you tell me about the position or company you’re applying for?
Is there a specific time, project, or trait you’d like me to feature?
Who should the letter be addressed to and what can you tell me about this person?
Why did you think of me for this letter?
These questions will help guide the content of your letter and will ensure that you’re positioning the candidate for the job or award in the best way possible.

2. Follow the Formula
Letters of recommendation should address three things: your relationship with the candidate, your evaluation of her work, and how she compares to others you’ve worked with in similar positions (a.k.a., why she stands out). So, as you’re writing, structure the letter around those areas:

Explain Your Relationship
First, explain the nature of your work with the candidate, toward the beginning of the letter. This can be a simple statement detailing when you worked with her, for how long, and in what capacity. For example: “Jane was an account executive at my company from 2010 to 2013, where she was responsible for planning, developing, and executing marketing strategy for five of our largest clients. As her manager, I witnessed… ”

Evaluate the Candidate
After explaining your relationship, evaluating your colleague’s work is the next priority. This should be the meat of your letter, though the exact content will vary based on what you’re recommending her for. For example, if you know the position she is applying for is in management, you may want to focus on how well she worked within your team and her natural ability to be a great leader. If the position she is applying for is more of a technical position, or maybe a writing position, focus on her ability to juggle several projects at one time while delivering results.

In any case, you’ll want to explain what you saw in her work, and point to tangible results she produced. Remember that it’s always better to show, not tell. If you say she is able to develop and implement sophisticated marketing strategy, point to things like the total marketing budget she managed and the percentage increase the sales team saw during her tenure. Any numbers or stats you can reference will help paint a strong picture of what, exactly, she achieved.

Make a Comparison to Seal the Deal
Comparing the candidate to other people you’ve worked with can be a powerful way to offer a strong recommendation. You might say someone is “the most effective project manager I’ve ever worked with,” or “one of the top three employees I’ve ever managed.” Of course, only use statements you truly believe!

This can also be a way to assuage any concerns a hiring manager might have. For example, if you’re recommending a candidate who’s young or who doesn’t have much experience, saying that she shows “maturity and strategic thinking well beyond her years and experience level” can go a long way.

If possible, use a story or anecdote to demonstrate one of the above areas. It’s easy to read through a letter and see that a candidate has strong characteristics, but in the end toss it aside because there wasn’t something remarkable or tangible to remember her by. On the other hand, it’s hard to forget someone who’s made an obvious impact on and a true connection with her former colleagues.

3. Put in the Final Touches
Now the logistics: First, the person collecting and reading letters of recommendation is likely busy and has plenty of other pages to read through. In order to make the most impact, quickly, keep your letter short (no more than one page) and to the point. In terms of tone, you want to be formal and professional, but also enthusiastic. A lukewarm recommendation might as well be a bad one, so make sure you’re conveying how much you like the candidate.

Use your company’s letterhead and include your signature and contact information at the bottom. Include a date, address the recipient by name (if possible), and end with a statement about your willingness to discuss the candidate further, such as, “If you have any further questions, please do not hesitate to call me.”

Letters are only the beginning of the different types of recommendations you may be asked to do, but these steps can help you through any form. Whether you’re serving as a former employee’s reference over the phone or recommending a colleague on LinkedIn, do your research, follow the format, and stay enthusiastic. You (and your colleague) should be good to go!

Finally, remember that if a colleague asks you for a recommendation, you’ve made an impact on her and she will be forever grateful if you assist on her path to success. The letter-writing process may seem stressful, but it’s really an honor.

from HERE

Writing better paragraphs

What is a paragraph?
Paragraphs are the building blocks of papers. Many students define paragraphs in terms of length: a paragraph is a group of at least five sentences, a paragraph is half a page long, etc. In reality, though, the unity and coherence of ideas among sentences is what constitutes a paragraph. A paragraph is defined as “a group of sentences or a single sentence that forms a unit” (Lunsford and Connors 116). Length and appearance do not determine whether a section in a paper is a paragraph. For instance, in some styles of writing, particularly journalistic styles, a paragraph can be just one sentence long. Ultimately, a paragraph is a sentence or group of sentences that support one main idea. In this handout, we will refer to this as the “controlling idea,” because it controls what happens in the rest of the paragraph.

How do I decide what to put in a paragraph?
Before you can begin to determine what the composition of a particular paragraph will be, you must first decide on an argument and a working thesis statement for your paper. What is the most important idea that you are trying to convey to your reader? The information in each paragraph must be related to that idea. In other words, your paragraphs should remind your reader that there is a recurrent relationship between your thesis and the information in each paragraph. A working thesis functions like a seed from which your paper, and your ideas, will grow. The whole process is an organic one—a natural progression from a seed to a full-blown paper where there are direct, familial relationships between all of the ideas in the paper.

The decision about what to put into your paragraphs begins with the germination of a seed of ideas; this “germination process” is better known as brainstorming. There are many techniques for brainstorming; whichever one you choose, this stage of paragraph development cannot be skipped. Building paragraphs can be like building a skyscraper: there must be a well-planned foundation that supports what you are building. Any cracks, inconsistencies, or other corruptions of the foundation can cause your whole paper to crumble.

So, let’s suppose that you have done some brainstorming to develop your thesis. What else should you keep in mind as you begin to create paragraphs? Every paragraph in a paper should be:

Unified: All of the sentences in a single paragraph should be related to a single controlling idea (often expressed in the topic sentence of the paragraph).
Clearly related to the thesis: The sentences should all refer to the central idea, or thesis, of the paper (Rosen and Behrens 119).
Coherent: The sentences should be arranged in a logical manner and should follow a definite plan for development (Rosen and Behrens 119).
Well-developed: Every idea discussed in the paragraph should be adequately explained and supported through evidence and details that work together to explain the paragraph’s controlling idea (Rosen and Behrens 119).
How do I organize a paragraph?
There are many different ways to organize a paragraph. The organization you choose will depend on the controlling idea of the paragraph. Below are a few possibilities for organization, with links to brief examples:

Narration: Tell a story. Go chronologically, from start to finish. (See an example.)
Description: Provide specific details about what something looks, smells, tastes, sounds, or feels like. Organize spatially, in order of appearance, or by topic. (See an example.)
Process: Explain how something works, step by step. Perhaps follow a sequence—first, second, third. (See an example.)
Classification: Separate into groups or explain the various parts of a topic. (See an example.)
Illustration: Give examples and explain how those examples prove your point. (See the detailed example in the next section of this handout.)
5-step process to paragraph development
Let’s walk through a 5-step process for building a paragraph. For each step there is an explanation and example. Our example paragraph will be about slave spirituals, the original songs that African Americans created during slavery. The model paragraph uses illustration (giving examples) to prove its point.

Step 1. Decide on a controlling idea and create a topic sentence
Paragraph development begins with the formulation of the controlling idea. This idea directs the paragraph’s development. Often, the controlling idea of a paragraph will appear in the form of a topic sentence. In some cases, you may need more than one sentence to express a paragraph’s controlling idea. Here is the controlling idea for our “model paragraph,” expressed in a topic sentence:

Model controlling idea and topic sentence — Slave spirituals often had hidden double meanings.
Step 2. Explain the controlling idea
Paragraph development continues with an expression of the rationale or the explanation that the writer gives for how the reader should interpret the information presented in the idea statement or topic sentence of the paragraph. The writer explains his/her thinking about the main topic, idea, or focus of the paragraph. Here’s the sentence that would follow the controlling idea about slave spirituals:

Model explanation — On one level, spirituals referenced heaven, Jesus, and the soul; but on another level, the songs spoke about slave resistance.
Step 3. Give an example (or multiple examples)
Paragraph development progresses with the expression of some type of support or evidence for the idea and the explanation that came before it. The example serves as a sign or representation of the relationship established in the idea and explanation portions of the paragraph. Here are two examples that we could use to illustrate the double meanings in slave spirituals:

Model example A — For example, according to Frederick Douglass, the song “O Canaan, Sweet Canaan” spoke of slaves’ longing for heaven, but it also expressed their desire to escape to the North. Careful listeners heard this second meaning in the following lyrics: “I don’t expect to stay / Much longer here. / Run to Jesus, shun the danger. / I don’t expect to stay.”
Model example B — Slaves even used songs like “Steal Away to Jesus (at midnight)” to announce to other slaves the time and place of secret, forbidden meetings.
Step 4. Explain the example(s)
The next movement in paragraph development is an explanation of each example and its relevance to the topic sentence and rationale that were stated at the beginning of the paragraph. This explanation shows readers why you chose to use this/or these particular examples as evidence to support the major claim, or focus, in your paragraph.

Continue the pattern of giving examples and explaining them until all points/examples that the writer deems necessary have been made and explained. NONE of your examples should be left unexplained. You might be able to explain the relationship between the example and the topic sentence in the same sentence which introduced the example. More often, however, you will need to explain that relationship in a separate sentence. Look at these explanations for the two examples in the slave spirituals paragraph:

Model explanation for example A — When slaves sang this song, they could have been speaking of their departure from this life and their arrival in heaven; however, they also could have been describing their plans to leave the South and run, not to Jesus, but to the North.
Model explanation for example B — [The relationship between example B and the main idea of the paragraph’s controlling idea is clear enough without adding another sentence to explain it.]
Step 5. Complete the paragraph’s idea or transition into the next paragraph
The final movement in paragraph development involves tying up the loose ends of the paragraph and reminding the reader of the relevance of the information in this paragraph to the main or controlling idea of the paper. At this point, you can remind your reader about the relevance of the information that you just discussed in the paragraph. You might feel more comfortable, however, simply transitioning your reader to the next development in the next paragraph. Here’s an example of a sentence that completes the slave spirituals paragraph:

Model sentence for completing a paragraph — What whites heard as merely spiritual songs, slaves discerned as detailed messages. The hidden meanings in spirituals allowed slaves to sing what they could not say.
Notice that the example and explanation steps of this 5-step process (steps 3 and 4) can be repeated as needed. The idea is that you continue to use this pattern until you have completely developed the main idea of the paragraph.

Here is a look at the completed “model” paragraph:
Slave spirituals often had hidden double meanings. On one level, spirituals referenced heaven, Jesus, and the soul, but on another level, the songs spoke about slave resistance. For example, according to Frederick Douglass, the song “O Canaan, Sweet Canaan” spoke of slaves’ longing for heaven, but it also expressed their desire to escape to the North. Careful listeners heard this second meaning in the following lyrics: “I don’t expect to stay / Much longer here. / Run to Jesus, shun the danger. / I don’t expect to stay.” When slaves sang this song, they could have been speaking of their departure from this life and their arrival in heaven; however, they also could have been describing their plans to leave the South and run, not to Jesus, but to the North. Slaves even used songs like “Steal Away to Jesus (at midnight)” to announce to other slaves the time and place of secret, forbidden meetings. What whites heard as merely spiritual songs, slaves discerned as detailed messages. The hidden meanings in spirituals allowed slaves to sing what they could not say.
Troubleshooting paragraphs
Problem: the paragraph has no topic sentence
Imagine each paragraph as a sandwich. The real content of the sandwich—the meat or other filling—is in the middle. It includes all the evidence you need to make the point. But it gets kind of messy to eat a sandwich without any bread. Your readers don’t know what to do with all the evidence you’ve given them. So, the top slice of bread (the first sentence of the paragraph) explains the topic (or controlling idea) of the paragraph. And, the bottom slice (the last sentence of the paragraph) tells the reader how the paragraph relates to the broader argument. In the original and revised paragraphs below, notice how a topic sentence expressing the controlling idea tells the reader the point of all the evidence.

Original paragraph
Piranhas rarely feed on large animals; they eat smaller fish and aquatic plants. When confronted with humans, piranhas’ first instinct is to flee, not attack. Their fear of humans makes sense. Far more piranhas are eaten by people than people are eaten by piranhas. If the fish are well-fed, they won’t bite humans.
Revised paragraph
Although most people consider piranhas to be quite dangerous, they are, for the most part, entirely harmless. Piranhas rarely feed on large animals; they eat smaller fish and aquatic plants. When confronted with humans, piranhas’ first instinct is to flee, not attack. Their fear of humans makes sense. Far more piranhas are eaten by people than people are eaten by piranhas. If the fish are well-fed, they won’t bite humans.
Once you have mastered the use of topic sentences, you may decide that the topic sentence for a particular paragraph really shouldn’t be the first sentence of the paragraph. This is fine—the topic sentence can actually go at the beginning, middle, or end of a paragraph; what’s important is that it is in there somewhere so that readers know what the main idea of the paragraph is and how it relates back to the thesis of your paper. Suppose that we wanted to start the piranha paragraph with a transition sentence—something that reminds the reader of what happened in the previous paragraph—rather than with the topic sentence. Let’s suppose that the previous paragraph was about all kinds of animals that people are afraid of, like sharks, snakes, and spiders. Our paragraph might look like this (the topic sentence is bold):

Like sharks, snakes, and spiders, pirahnas are widely feared. Although most people consider piranhas to be quite dangerous, they are, for the most part, entirely harmless. Piranhas rarely feed on large animals; they eat smaller fish and aquatic plants. When confronted with humans, piranhas’ first instinct is to flee, not attack. Their fear of humans makes sense. Far more piranhas are eaten by people than people are eaten by piranhas. If the fish are well-fed, they won’t bite humans.
Problem: the paragraph has more than one controlling idea
If a paragraph has more than one main idea, consider eliminating sentences that relate to the second idea, or split the paragraph into two or more paragraphs, each with only one main idea. Watch our short video on reverse outlining to learn a quick way to test whether your paragraphs are unified. In the following paragraph, the final two sentences branch off into a different topic; so, the revised paragraph eliminates them and concludes with a sentence that reminds the reader of the paragraph’s main idea.

Original paragraph

Although most people consider piranhas to be quite dangerous, they are, for the most part, entirely harmless. Piranhas rarely feed on large animals; they eat smaller fish and aquatic plants. When confronted with humans, piranhas’ first instinct is to flee, not attack. Their fear of humans makes sense. Far more piranhas are eaten by people than people are eaten by piranhas. A number of South American groups eat piranhas. They fry or grill the fish and then serve them with coconut milk or tucupi, a sauce made from fermented manioc juices.
Revised paragraph

Although most people consider piranhas to be quite dangerous, they are, for the most part, entirely harmless. Piranhas rarely feed on large animals; they eat smaller fish and aquatic plants. When confronted with humans, piranhas’ first instinct is to flee, not attack. Their fear of humans makes sense. Far more piranhas are eaten by people than people are eaten by piranhas. If the fish are well-fed, they won’t bite humans.
Problem: transitions are needed within the paragraph
You are probably familiar with the idea that transitions may be needed between paragraphs or sections in a paper (see our handout on transitions). Sometimes they are also helpful within the body of a single paragraph. Within a paragraph, transitions are often single words or short phrases that help to establish relationships between ideas and to create a logical progression of those ideas in a paragraph. This is especially likely to be true within paragraphs that discuss multiple examples. Let’s take a look at a version of our piranha paragraph that uses transitions to orient the reader:

Although most people consider piranhas to be quite dangerous, they are, except in two main situations, entirely harmless. Piranhas rarely feed on large animals; they eat smaller fish and aquatic plants. When confronted with humans, piranhas’ instinct is to flee, not attack. But there are two situations in which a piranha bite is likely. The first is when a frightened piranha is lifted out of the water—for example, if it has been caught in a fishing net. The second is when the water level in pools where piranhas are living falls too low. A large number of fish may be trapped in a single pool, and if they are hungry, they may attack anything that enters the water.
In this example, you can see how the phrases “the first” and “the second” help the reader follow the organization of the ideas in the paragraph.

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