The Upside-Down Funnel
Up until junior year of high school, I hated writing. I wanted clear, accessible answers that writing did not seem to offer. I was much more at home in the science classroom, where I could collect, interpret, and conclude with confidence. The straightforward question and answer format was satisfying. As long as I used the right tools, I would arrive at the right answer. Writing was different; it was so subjective. I dreaded the lack of direction and procedure. However, one afternoon in my eleventh grade English class changed my approach to writing irreversibly.
Mr. Powell shuffled into class, put down his brief case, and picked up a piece of chalk. He sketched something that looked like a funnel on the blackboard. “Today you will learn how to write an introduction paragraph,” he articulated with conviction. He had just graded our essays on A Tale of Two Cities, and my guess was that he was not overly impressed with our performance. Mr. Powell explained that when writing an introduction, we must broach, or systematically familiarize the subject. At the mouth of the funnel was a broad statement that would prime the audience, initiating a connection with the topic of discussion. The introduction paragraph would move from general to very specific, reaching climax in the iconic thesis statement. This statement would lay out an organizational structure for the rest of the essay, serving as a road map for the argument ahead. Then the body paragraphs to follow would mimic that ordering precisely. Thus, an argument could be built and substantiated with evidence throughout the paper.
All of a sudden, writing made sense to me. The strategy of “broaching the topic” transformed writing into a formula, something almost mathematical. Writing wasn’t so subjective any more. I could put information into the mouth of the funnel and, like a well oiled machine, it would provide me with a statement, a thesis. I began to perceive my writing as a systematic proof, which, when substantiated with textual evidence, led to a clear and concise answer. This strategy radically transformed not only my understanding of writing but also my understanding of myself as a writer. I became a writing mathematician with a formula that could handle any problem.
The first tangible evidence of the change in my writing came with the return of my SAT scores. I had taken the PSATs every year of high school and was never able to achieve above fifty points in the writing section. However, when I took the SATs in the spring of my junior year, I was surprised to find that I not only improved, but also received a perfect score in the writing section. Seeing my success, Mr. Powell encouraged me to enter two local writing contests. In each essay, I made a systematic argument in the thesis statement, simplifying complex patterns into concrete observations with my handy funnel. My confidence skyrocketed when I found out that I had won first place in both writing contests. I felt empowered with my new structural understanding of writing.
As my view of self changed, so did my relationship with a larger community of thinkers. Mr. Powell’s template opened me up to a whole new culture of literacy. My thoughts were no longer isolated within the walls of my mind. I could effectively communicate my arguments in an organized and systematic way that my audience easily understood. I funneled information, converting complexity and chaos into simplicity and order. Structure allowed me to engage with a culture of writing in which intellectuals shared their insights with the greater community. I felt significant, like my words were important and contributed to others’ understanding.
My embracement of the funnel formula not only altered my ability to construct text; it also fundamentally changed the way I read and interpreted the work of others. I remember the comfort and satisfaction with which I read Cornell West’s “Democracy Matters” for the first time. A fellow writing mathematician, West presented a thesis statement that was divided into parts clearly introduced and explained within the body of his argument. He even marked the parts of his thesis by number, introducing them within the text in the same numerical fashion. I loved the clarity and explicit organization with which Cornell wrote and was extremely satisfied to think of us as having similar mental schemas in relation to writing.
Like Cornell, my writing style is explicit. It developed and flourished under an organizational template that clearly and definitively portrayed the argument. However, I often have to interact with texts that do not follow the funneling template that I have adopted into my own writing style. In these cases, the “thesis”, the argument, the point, the meaning...might not take the form of a written statement at the end of an introduction paragraph. Rather, the author might weave the message deep within the text, challenging the audience to interpret meaning. I cannot highlight the reflections of the thesis in the body of the text or underline the supporting evidence. I am forced to imagine a subtext hidden behind the explicit written word. This subtext is the one that I tackle with my mental highlighter. As a writing mathematician, I sometimes must simplify the equation before applying the formula.
My interpretation and creation of the subtext has allowed me to read works that do not abide by my explicit structural schema. However, for me, writing with implicit meaning is a completely unfamiliar realm. It involves a certain level of complexity that is contrary to my nature as a writer. I am able to simplify equations, but how do I complicate them? Even now, contemplating my own literacy, my own patterns, and my own culture of writing…I want to impose a structure. I want to put my literacy narrative into the funnel mechanism and transform the complex into simple. Every instinct within me craves to make a thesis, a logical and provable argument. This assignment begs me to forgo that which I hold to be natural and logical. The funnel must turn upside down, transforming simple into complex.
I want a thesis to provide answers. Here, in the reluctant embracement of complexity and ambiguity, I transform answers into questions. I shift from argument to discussion. When is a formula or template, like the funnel mechanism, useful? Is it a limitation?
In a typical tutoring session, I usually sit down with my peer writer and ask about the prompt. After reading the essay, I ask, “What is it that you want to convey?” In other words, what is the thesis? What is the funneled statement? I try to identify the thesis and use it as a road map for the rest of the paper. I have found that in practice, this approach, drawing out a road map, allows the writer to take the wheel and confidently navigate the argument. However, what are writing tutors to do when neither they nor their peer writers are able to identify the thesis, the very foundation of the funnel formula?
A freshman came into the center with a proposal for her upcoming paper about the book Watchmen. She formed a link between morality and behavior, stating that the characters’ behaviors were reflections of their understandings of morality. But her professor responded that this connection was too general, that she had to look deeper. There we were with no thesis. How can the funnel formula work without the building block? The writer had no idea what steps to take to further analyze the topic and tap into a deeper engagement with the material as her professor had requested. I knew what I would do if it were my paper. I would create a subtext from the examples, finding an underlying pattern that summarized or explained the link between the characters’ morality and behavior. But how was I to apply my formula and interpret the thesis hiding in the subtext without colonizing her perspective and method of analysis? Do I tell her what she is saying? Do I read her the subtext that I had formed from her original work?
My solution was to build a subtext together, combining our subjective perspectives. I circled certain words in the text that shared a common element. In each of her examples, there was some reference to either society or the individual. She also used words that specifically related to time, such as future, present, and change. I asked what she thought might be the relationship among morality, behavior, and these concepts of time and perspective. I probed and probed, attempting to elicit some original interpretation. However, the writer did not create the same subtext that I had. I am not sure if she saw a subtext at all. I decided to let her know how I interpreted her text. From my perspective, the subtext revealed that the characters’ temporal focus and societal level of analysis dictated their understandings of morality. I hoped that this interpretation would not colonize her thought process, but rather challenge her to search for an implicit meaning and communicate that meaning explicitly to the reader. Was my structural imposition a productive method? Did I overstep in proposing a subtext that she did not see herself?
These questions definitely create a level of complexity in the consideration of the funnel formula’s utility. However, is this complexity desirable? Upside-down, the mental funnel forces me to respond to my commonsense answers with questions: Can I write a successful argument without an explicit thesis? My orderly mind perceives questions such as this as hanging in the air, waiting to be systematically organized, funneled, and transformed into a systematic argument. One thing I know for sure: I like to hold my mental funnel right side up, efficient and simplified.
Mr. Powell shuffled into class, put down his brief case, and picked up a piece of chalk. He sketched something that looked like a funnel on the blackboard. “Today you will learn how to write an introduction paragraph,” he articulated with conviction. He had just graded our essays on A Tale of Two Cities, and my guess was that he was not overly impressed with our performance. Mr. Powell explained that when writing an introduction, we must broach, or systematically familiarize the subject. At the mouth of the funnel was a broad statement that would prime the audience, initiating a connection with the topic of discussion. The introduction paragraph would move from general to very specific, reaching climax in the iconic thesis statement. This statement would lay out an organizational structure for the rest of the essay, serving as a road map for the argument ahead. Then the body paragraphs to follow would mimic that ordering precisely. Thus, an argument could be built and substantiated with evidence throughout the paper.
All of a sudden, writing made sense to me. The strategy of “broaching the topic” transformed writing into a formula, something almost mathematical. Writing wasn’t so subjective any more. I could put information into the mouth of the funnel and, like a well oiled machine, it would provide me with a statement, a thesis. I began to perceive my writing as a systematic proof, which, when substantiated with textual evidence, led to a clear and concise answer. This strategy radically transformed not only my understanding of writing but also my understanding of myself as a writer. I became a writing mathematician with a formula that could handle any problem.
The first tangible evidence of the change in my writing came with the return of my SAT scores. I had taken the PSATs every year of high school and was never able to achieve above fifty points in the writing section. However, when I took the SATs in the spring of my junior year, I was surprised to find that I not only improved, but also received a perfect score in the writing section. Seeing my success, Mr. Powell encouraged me to enter two local writing contests. In each essay, I made a systematic argument in the thesis statement, simplifying complex patterns into concrete observations with my handy funnel. My confidence skyrocketed when I found out that I had won first place in both writing contests. I felt empowered with my new structural understanding of writing.
As my view of self changed, so did my relationship with a larger community of thinkers. Mr. Powell’s template opened me up to a whole new culture of literacy. My thoughts were no longer isolated within the walls of my mind. I could effectively communicate my arguments in an organized and systematic way that my audience easily understood. I funneled information, converting complexity and chaos into simplicity and order. Structure allowed me to engage with a culture of writing in which intellectuals shared their insights with the greater community. I felt significant, like my words were important and contributed to others’ understanding.
My embracement of the funnel formula not only altered my ability to construct text; it also fundamentally changed the way I read and interpreted the work of others. I remember the comfort and satisfaction with which I read Cornell West’s “Democracy Matters” for the first time. A fellow writing mathematician, West presented a thesis statement that was divided into parts clearly introduced and explained within the body of his argument. He even marked the parts of his thesis by number, introducing them within the text in the same numerical fashion. I loved the clarity and explicit organization with which Cornell wrote and was extremely satisfied to think of us as having similar mental schemas in relation to writing.
Like Cornell, my writing style is explicit. It developed and flourished under an organizational template that clearly and definitively portrayed the argument. However, I often have to interact with texts that do not follow the funneling template that I have adopted into my own writing style. In these cases, the “thesis”, the argument, the point, the meaning...might not take the form of a written statement at the end of an introduction paragraph. Rather, the author might weave the message deep within the text, challenging the audience to interpret meaning. I cannot highlight the reflections of the thesis in the body of the text or underline the supporting evidence. I am forced to imagine a subtext hidden behind the explicit written word. This subtext is the one that I tackle with my mental highlighter. As a writing mathematician, I sometimes must simplify the equation before applying the formula.
My interpretation and creation of the subtext has allowed me to read works that do not abide by my explicit structural schema. However, for me, writing with implicit meaning is a completely unfamiliar realm. It involves a certain level of complexity that is contrary to my nature as a writer. I am able to simplify equations, but how do I complicate them? Even now, contemplating my own literacy, my own patterns, and my own culture of writing…I want to impose a structure. I want to put my literacy narrative into the funnel mechanism and transform the complex into simple. Every instinct within me craves to make a thesis, a logical and provable argument. This assignment begs me to forgo that which I hold to be natural and logical. The funnel must turn upside down, transforming simple into complex.
I want a thesis to provide answers. Here, in the reluctant embracement of complexity and ambiguity, I transform answers into questions. I shift from argument to discussion. When is a formula or template, like the funnel mechanism, useful? Is it a limitation?
In a typical tutoring session, I usually sit down with my peer writer and ask about the prompt. After reading the essay, I ask, “What is it that you want to convey?” In other words, what is the thesis? What is the funneled statement? I try to identify the thesis and use it as a road map for the rest of the paper. I have found that in practice, this approach, drawing out a road map, allows the writer to take the wheel and confidently navigate the argument. However, what are writing tutors to do when neither they nor their peer writers are able to identify the thesis, the very foundation of the funnel formula?
A freshman came into the center with a proposal for her upcoming paper about the book Watchmen. She formed a link between morality and behavior, stating that the characters’ behaviors were reflections of their understandings of morality. But her professor responded that this connection was too general, that she had to look deeper. There we were with no thesis. How can the funnel formula work without the building block? The writer had no idea what steps to take to further analyze the topic and tap into a deeper engagement with the material as her professor had requested. I knew what I would do if it were my paper. I would create a subtext from the examples, finding an underlying pattern that summarized or explained the link between the characters’ morality and behavior. But how was I to apply my formula and interpret the thesis hiding in the subtext without colonizing her perspective and method of analysis? Do I tell her what she is saying? Do I read her the subtext that I had formed from her original work?
My solution was to build a subtext together, combining our subjective perspectives. I circled certain words in the text that shared a common element. In each of her examples, there was some reference to either society or the individual. She also used words that specifically related to time, such as future, present, and change. I asked what she thought might be the relationship among morality, behavior, and these concepts of time and perspective. I probed and probed, attempting to elicit some original interpretation. However, the writer did not create the same subtext that I had. I am not sure if she saw a subtext at all. I decided to let her know how I interpreted her text. From my perspective, the subtext revealed that the characters’ temporal focus and societal level of analysis dictated their understandings of morality. I hoped that this interpretation would not colonize her thought process, but rather challenge her to search for an implicit meaning and communicate that meaning explicitly to the reader. Was my structural imposition a productive method? Did I overstep in proposing a subtext that she did not see herself?
These questions definitely create a level of complexity in the consideration of the funnel formula’s utility. However, is this complexity desirable? Upside-down, the mental funnel forces me to respond to my commonsense answers with questions: Can I write a successful argument without an explicit thesis? My orderly mind perceives questions such as this as hanging in the air, waiting to be systematically organized, funneled, and transformed into a systematic argument. One thing I know for sure: I like to hold my mental funnel right side up, efficient and simplified.