Reader,

In a week-and-a-half, I'll be teaching a class about The Art of a Good Sentence.

It's hosted by The Porch, a Nashville non-profit that "inspires, educates and connects writers and readers of all ages and stages through classes and literary events." I've been a member of The Porch since 2021, and I'm grateful for this opportunity to explore the craft of writing with others.

(Which is to say: if you live in Nashville and are in town on October 12th, come out! I'd love to write with you.)

So, of all the classes I could teach, why did I choose to teach about sentences?

As I say in my course description, sentences are the building blocks of writing. They control, shape, and color are language. If we want to hone our writing skills, it's not enough for us to broaden our vocabulary or try out new narrative forms. We must start with our sentences.

Because if we don't write good sentences, no one will care about our vocabulary and forms.

Consider, for instance, Moby Dick, that formidable American classic. Would that book be read and highly regarded without its opening sentence?

If you step back, you have to admit that it's not an obviously impressive sentence. Melville doesn't dazzle you with his illustrious pen. There are no linguistic fireworks. It's only three words, for Pete's sake.

And yet, those three words do exactly what a sentence is supposed to do: they make you want to keep reading.

There are two reasons that this sentence was and is so powerful.

First, it subtly introduces you to the tone and character of the narrator. Most people don't introduce themselves this way. "My name is —," we say. Or, "Hi, I'm —." But here, the narrator begins with a gruff command. "Call me Ishmael," he declares, and you don't dare to question him.

Second, the name "Ishmael" is a curious choice, something Melville's biblically literate audience would have immediately picked up on. Of all the Bible characters you could be named after, Ishmael wouldn't be one of your top choices. He's best known for mocking his baby brother and being banished to the desert by his embarrassed father. Not the kind of person that makes a kid go, "I'm named after someone cool!"

Those two subtle points make this sentence surprisingly powerful and turned this interminable, sometimes perplexing novel into a perennial classic.

I can't promise that you'll write the next Moby Dick if you come out to my class. But you will get to play around with a bunch of great sentences—and if you ask me, that's better.

Keep your stick on the ice.

Frank.