I can’t help but admire those who have this ability.
Put everything in strict chronological order–don’t make the reader skip back to understand anything–and don’t repeat information.
Every sentence after the first should refer to the previous sentence.
Note that there are many ways to do this, some of which are subtle and are part of how things are constructed.
Flow means just that - each sentence should lead logically to the next, grouped by paragraphs that each lead logically to its successor. (Note that the logic only has to be internal; if you’re writing Carrollian nonsense, it still has to flow for the reader.)
Build thoughts and concepts forward so that the reader never hits an idea or an exposition that isn’t supported or at least framed by earlier words. Obviously, make sure you give the reader any information they need to understand successive developments. (Which would differ if they audience is peer professionals, students or the general public.)
- I appreciate words and phrases that signal the author’s intended purpose in writing the sentences that follow. I’m talking about things like “first,” “on the other hand,” “as a consequence,” and so on. Following a writer who uses such signals judiciously is like following a friend to a party in a second car: easy. (Some writers, like some drivers, use their signals waaaay too often.)
To put it another way: I’ve heard these words called the “mortar” that holds together the “bricks,” or actual content, in a piece of writing. I like 'em in writing, though it seems like they can easily make spoken language sound patronizing or pretentious when overused.
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One common piece of advice is that sentence length and complexity should vary. Generally, most sentences should be at least somewhat complex, containing a few nicely linked clauses and phrases – but stringing together too many sentences of similar length and structure can create a singsong effect. The occasional short sentence will wake up the reader.
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Using active voice generally helps writing stay succinct; using parallel structure generally helps it stay cohesive.
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It’s a cliche and supposedly pretty culturally specific to Anglo-American standard English*, but people love to have things presented in groups of three. Three arguments for your position; three pieces of evidence for your argument; three items in your list. While it can sound very high-school-English-5-paragraph-essay when overdone, I do find that writing that consistently avoids clusters of 3, and especially writing that consistently presents things in clusters of two, sounds stilted, choppy, or otherwise “off.”
*Everything I said here is probably quite specific to Anglo-American standard English, but I hope it applies in the context you’re thinking of and at least somewhat meshes with what you mean by flow.
Um? No? That actually sounds horrible!
“Jack went to the grocery store. Groceries were vital to his self-expression. Jack was very expressive in his personal nature. Now, ‘natural’ is probably the last word anyone would use to describe Jack. Jack’s girlfriend often described him, but never successfully defined him. Jack defined himself by his needs…”
Either I’m completely misunderstanding what you meant, or else I must vigorously disagree with you!
IMO, good flow means that there aren’t any glaring discontinuities in the text, and each sentence is “comfortably consonant” with what goes before. There shouldn’t be any jarring saltations. (Or unexpected uses of very obscure words.) It should have a kind of smooth logic, where few demands are placed upon the reader.
Sentence length. Sentences should not be so long that the reader loses his place in he syntax, nor short enough to be choppy. Learn to use commas correctly, to divide the sentences into blocks of thought that the reader can keep track of. Make sure that in every sentence, the reader can easily identify and keep track of the subject/verb/object, careful to avoid a clutter of phrases that confuse those.
Omit needless words.
I’m thinking about this completely differently than the posts so far.
My current favorite example of “good flow” are the writings of David Sedaris. His recent essay collections are just chock full of stuff than just hums along in a nice, friendly way.
It feels like I’m reading along to him giving a reading of his works (which he does a lot of to promote his books, etc.) I can hear in my mind the pacing, the pauses, the changes in stress, etc.
Other stuff, like sentence length are bunk. Hemingway wrote the occasional humongous sentence. They were fine.
“Rules” about writing get in the way of good writing. The overall result is important, not oversimplified grade school teacher stuff.
Good punctuation, helps.
Avoid using the same word twice in a sentence – e.g., “just”. Avoid long convoluted parenthetical interruptions within the syntactical flow of a sentence.
Occasional outliers (like Hemingway’s occasional long sentences) are fine as long as they are a) infrequent, b) used for effect, and c) structured carefully to avoid the pitfalls of long sentences.
“Other stuff” is not necessarily “bunk”. I did not offer sentence length as a “rule”, but as advisory, to guard against things that impede flow. One short sentence does not choppiness make, nor does one long carefully-crafted one harm the flow. There are no rules about what makes it flow, but one should avoid obvious things that make it “not flow”, and sentence length is chief among them.
After writing, take the trouble to read over what you wrote, and go back if necessary and improve the flow.
By the way, this needs another comma, or none at all. And ‘stuff’ is a singular noun.
Misunderstanding. There are many ways to refer to the previous sentence: pronouns, repeating words, parallel construction, time references, place references, linking conjunctions, etc. (I don’t have my copy of Quirk and Greenbaum handy to list more).
If you look at any piece of writing, you’ll note that each sentence does refer back. Take this example (I’ve put the references italics):
“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.–That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, –That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security.–Such has been the patient sufferance of these Colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government. The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world.”
Or this:
"My father’s family name being Pirrip, and my Christian name Philip, my infant tongue could make of both names nothing longer or more explicit than Pip. So, I called myself Pip, and came to be called Pip.
“I give Pirrip as my father’s family name, on the authority of his tombstone and my sister – Mrs Joe Gargery, who married the blacksmith. As I never saw my father or my mother, and never saw any likeness of either of them (for their days were long before the days of photographs), my first fancies regarding what they were like, were unreasonably derived from their tombstones. The shape of the letters on my father’s, gave me an odd idea that he was a square, stout, dark man, with curly black hair. From the character and turn of the inscription, `Also Georgiana Wife of the Above,’ I drew a childish conclusion that my mother was freckled and sickly. To five little stone lozenges, each about a foot and a half long which were arranged in a neat row beside their grave, and were sacred to the memory of five little brothers of mine – who gave up trying to get a living, exceedingly early in that universal struggle – I am indebted for a belief I religiously entertained that they had all been born on their backs with their hands in their trousers- pockets, and had never taken them out in this state of existence.”
Now this isn’t a guarantee of good writing, but without it, the writing doesn’t flow. If you look at any good writing, you’ll be able to pick out the connection, even if you generally overlook it when reading.
Disagree, then. Take a look at the great Shakespearean monologues, Hamlet’s, Macbeth’s, etc. There is definitely a cohesion of ideas, and there is a level of back-reference.
But you significantly overstated it when you said every sentence needs to refer to the previous sentence. Shakespeare doesn’t even come close, nor do modern writers like J.K. Rowling, et al. You took a good idea, but stretched it way too far.
It’s harder for poetry, because it’s harder to define a sentence, and plays, because you can refer to an actor on stage with you, but it still works (my notes on the less obvious ones):
To be, or not to be- that is the question:
Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them. To die- to sleep- (refers to “not to be”)
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks 1755
That flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummation (contains “It”)
Devoutly to be wish’d. To die- to sleep.
To sleep- perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub!
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There’s the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th’ oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely, (Parallel constructions)
The pangs of despis’d love, the law’s delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th’ unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would these fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death-
The undiscover’d country, from whose bourn (refers to death)
No traveller returns- puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
*Thus *conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action.- Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia!- Nymph, in thy orisons (Ophelia is present in the scene)
Be all my sins rememb’red.
The issue is that the link can take on dozens of forms, but it’s always there.
Totally disagree. The reference to Ophelia does not come from the sentence prior to it. A great many of the sentences don’t refer to the immediately preceding sentence.
You made up too strong a rule.
Look again. They all do. Ophelia is a special case because it’s from a play, but I clearly marked the references. Your only argument is that one or two may refer back more than one sentence, which hardly invalidates my point.
Oh, and I found my Quirk and Greenbaum (A Concise Grammar of Contemporary English. Chapter ten covers sentence connection. Some points:
The book goes on to list 44 different types of connections. Too many to list here, of course, but the general areas are time relators, place relators, logical connecters, discourse reference, and structural parallelism.
I think the best examples of writing flow belong to Isaac Asimov. He was able to explain a complex concept by first using simple and easy-to-understand concepts, then build on them layer by layer like an onion. By the time he makes his main point, you realize you went on a very pleasant ride that didn’t tax your brain and left you feeling enlightened.
A good example is his essay on the The Relativity of Wrong: the Earth’s shape still doesn’t have a strict definition, because it’s constantly being refined in accordance to our ever increasing powers of observation.
If anybody ever wrote a sentence that did not refer back to the previous sentence, he would have to have been doing so with premeditation, for the purpose of confusing the reader. It also killed eight people and damaged about 2,500 homes in neighboring Guatemala. The human mind’s linear thought stream follows pretty much the same pattern, whether reading or writing.
(Note: Of those three sentences, I put the second one in to illustrate my point. No writer would have done that as a part of the flow of the thoughts he was expressing. In other words, “flow”, in the sense illustrated by this rule, is natural and automatic, but is often defective in other ways…