Accelerated Adolescence

The Five Paragraph "YOU-KNOW-WHAT"

The other day I had a profound experience. I returned to several papers that I wrote last semester and I actually read them. This is where the problems start, but I’ll get back to that later. As I read through each paper I was fascinated by the distinct approach I take to writing anything, whether essay, short story, or a blog post. I wondered how any of my teachers, ever, have managed to read my papers and then proceed to give me a passing grade. Frequently, though, I am even given high marks! I was absolutely flabbergasted, the papers, for the most part, had the same fundamental flaw.

I never realized it, but I am a literary Robespierre. Like the frost to the lilly, I decapitate my assertions. At the pinnacle of my argument, my writing makes the intuitive leap that has been brewing in my mind for the duration of the piece. The result is a paper with two topics and probably more theses. I read my papers and thought that they were well written… until I discovered the last four paragraphs, or so, of each piece. The self-revelation, all too clear to others, was that my own writing leaves strong and reliable conclusions unarticulated, seemingly beheaded.

I knew that my teachers in highschool were all trying to tell me something about my papers. Some of them could almost articulate the degree to which I had guillotined their prompts. However, they never formed the sentences, could never provide me with a solution or guidance. And so, I came to college writing dead papers, massacred by the cruelty of my train of thought. Yet, to some degree my professors here shouted for joy, I can write in complete sentences, a noticeable improvement over many other students. Dr. Cayton knew there was something up with my writing but didn’t have the heart to be harsh, so she said less painful things to hear about my writing (it should be noted that Dr. Cayton and the blogs are, largely, responsible for the current quality of my writing).

Well, when I finally began rereading my papers, years after teachers had told me that this was fundamental, I discovered what I was doing. My best writing, like anyone’s best, has been revised several times. That’s the trick, I’ve never known how to revise my papers. I was never really taught how. On a certain level I want to blame the school and its lack of creative writing, but I will not behead this blog post! My teachers told us how to revise but never supervised us in the process, never schooled us in the art. And, when I got lost in my writing, I didn’t know how to backtrack and rearticulate the point.

I’ve finally gained an ability to reread my work (something we all dread) and to acknowledge where my argument has gone astray. This has helped me to improve my writing significantly; I have finally understood the need for conceptualizing one’s argument prior to writing the piece. I’ve begun to use prewriting techniques, organize my thoughts, and, finally, can shape the neck for my papers (however much they are alike unto Frankenstein, at least they’re alive!). I guess then, with everything said about my writing skills, a conclusion is in order. How ironic, then, that I should make an effort to claim that I am a better writer, have reformed my ways, yet have the audacity to make such proclamations in the form of a five paragraph “You-Know-What.”