A good introduction establishes certain clear expectations
with the reader--specifically the topic and genre of the piece and your ethos.
When the reader finishes the introduction (which may or may not be one
paragraph) s/he should be clear just what the paper will be about, what kind of
paper it will be (e.g., a policy proposal, a history, a literary
interpretation, a comparison of various theories), and your ethos (well-read,
fair-minded, closed-minded, sloppy, careful, dishonest).
Some teachers insist that you have your thesis in your
introduction as one way to ensure that the topic, genre, and ethos are clearly
established. I discourage you from doing that, as it's bad preparation for most
kinds of writing (in which putting your thesis in the introduction is a serious
misstep). It tends to lock you into an ethos of someone who is closed-minded on
the subject--you're announcing the answer to a question that's only barely been
posed.
And that raises what is really the best way to think about
an introduction. The introduction should persuade your reader that there is a
real question that the reader should want answered, and that you are the person
to answer it.
I generally recommend that you write the introduction after
you have a good draft--that is, the introduction that will really be the first
paragraph or three of the paper--but some very effective writers swear by
writing a perfect introduction first. They say the rest of the paper then zips
along. Try both ways, and see what works for you.
Despite what you have probably been told, there are many
different kinds of introductions. The most common for student purposes are:
summary, funnel, focussing incident, thesis, history of controversy, some say
(prolepsis), both sides.
Summary:
There is considerable controversy about whether small dogs are
implicated in the squirrel controversy, but a comparison between squirrels and
small dogs suggests that they are. Squirrels and small dogs are both about the
same size. Squirrels and small dogs all have "Napoleonic" complexes.
This complex causes them to hate larger dogs, and try to attack them at every
opportunity. Although squirrels do not yip like small dogs, they do make sounds
that are equally irritating. It is, therefore, clear that small dogs are
conspiring with squirrels to get the red ball.
In my experience, students are very good at the summary
introduction. That introduction tells 'em what you're gonna tell 'em. It
summarizes the whole argument of the paper. While this kind of introduction has
its uses, I cannot figure out why teachers put so much emphasis on it; it's
just one of many ways to begin a paper, and generally not the most effective.
Students who are good at this kind of introduction usually
write them last. Lots of students try to write them first, but it often doesn't
work for one of two reasons. First, most of us figure out what we think by
trying to write it down, so trying to write a summary introduction first is
trying to summarize an argument you haven't yet figured out. You can't
summarize it because you don't know what it is. That first shot at a summary
introduction is, therefore, often a summary of a much more simplistic argument
than a later version would be. The second problem is that it tends to be very
unpersuasive to an informed and intelligent opposition audience. They are
alienated by the list of arguments, more often than not.
Having said what's wrong with a summary introduction, I'll
say what's good about it. It's a great kind of introduction for circumstances in
which the reader is not open to persuasion--an essay exam, for instance, in
which the reader just wants to see that you've given the correct answer. (My
personal suspicion is that teachers who teach this kind of introduction
exclusively treat all student writing as exam answers.) In such writing
circumstances (e.g., exams), the summary introduction can serve as a blueprint.
Just as a blueprint keeps the builder from doing something unplanned and
therefore potentially dangerous, so a summary introduction will keep you to the
plan that you've already figured out. Also, there are circumstances in which
you are expected to summarize your argument--in an abstract or precis, for
instance--so knowing how to write a brief summary of a complicated argument is
a good skill to develop. Finally, if you're good at writing summary
introductions and bad at conclusions, one solution is to take your summary
introduction and make it your conclusion, then write a different kind of
introduction.
Just to be clear: the summary introduction is good in some
writing situations, but it is forbidden in this class. (Not because it's
inherently evil, but because too many students use it in every circumstances
just because that's all they know. If I don't forbid it, I won't get you to try
other introductions.)
Funnel:
There are many animosities in
nature. In the animal kingdom, these take several forms. Orb spiders hate sea
lions, koalas hate Canadian Geese, and, perhaps most important of all,
squirrels hate big dogs, and are in a conspiracy to get the red ball. Small
dogs are also involved in the squirrel conspiracy.
The summary introduction has some merits, but that can't be
said for the funnel, the second most common kind of introduction that students
are taught. The funnel introduction moves from abstract generalizations to the
most specific statement, which is assumed to be the thesis statement [6]. This
is very much "student" writing--while it is very common in school
(and even required by many teachers)--it's very unusual to see any non-student
writing that uses this kind of introduction. It is very, very unpersuasive.
It's also potentially damaging for students. The funnel is
often far too broad, so the student is invited to ramble off into
generalizations. If this kind of paragraph is the first one you write, then you
will re-read it every time you get stuck writing. If the first paragraph raises
what are, ultimately, abstract generalizations, the paper can end up talking
about them. So, as with the summary introduction, the funnel introduction is
forbidden in this class.
Focussing incident:
On March 22, 2002, Hubert Sumlin was at Anderson Mill Park when a
Pomeranian ran away from its owner and bit Hubert on the nose. This was simply
one example of innumerable incidents of small dogs brutally attacking big dogs.
There are at least one thousand every year of such horrific acts. Why? What is
the goal of such behavior on the part of small dogs?
Much published writing, especially journalism, relies on the
focussing incident , a real or hypothetical example of the paper's issue. While
it can be cloying, and too much of it gets irritating (almost every article in
Newsweek and Time begins this way), it's so widespread in journalism because it
is effective. It focuses the attention of the reader and writer on something
specific; if well done, it means that the reader has a vivid image of the
issue.
Thesis:
Small dogs are conspiring with squirrels. Embittered by their small
size, permanently embarrassed by their foolish yippiness, and hoping to get
their owners to stop putting ribbons in the hair, small dogs have chosen to
join the squirrel conspiracy to get the red ball.
Editorials sometimes use
the thesis introduction, in which the first sentence is the author's thesis. It
is generally not appropriate in academic writing (except exams), and it is
usually not very persuasive. If the thesis is quirky or unexpected (were George
Will to begin an editorial "I love liberals!", for instance) then it
can be attention-getting, but that's about the limits of its merits. It's
mostly used in writing where the author is not trying to persuade an informed
and intelligent opposition audience, but entertain an "in" audience.
History of
controversy:
In 1988, Hoover wrote his famous mudraking article, "Chihuahuas
Look Like Squirrels--Coincidence?" in which he argued that Chihuahuas are
implicated in several important acts in the squirrel conspiracy. The next year,
Charlie published his three volume work, The Squirrel Conspiracy, 1876-1985, in
which he demonstrated squirrel collaboration on the part of Boston Terriers,
Corgis, and Westmorelands, raising the issue of whether small dogs in general
are implicated. Jet responded with three studies showing consistent hostility
between Cockapoos and squirrels ("I Hate Squirrels" 1989, "My
Friends Hate Squirrels" 1990, and "All Cockapoos Hate Squirrels"
1991), while Daisy pointed to several memoirs of famous Miniature Schnauzers
that emphasized their barking at squirrels ("Their Lives as Dogs: A Review
Essay" 1992). The question remains: is it a question of a few small dog
breeds, or are all small dogs involved in the squirrel conspiracy? If it is all
small dogs, how do we account for the research of Jet and the argument of
Daisy?
Probably the most common kind of introduction in academia is
one that gives the history of the controversy. Scientific papers, for instance,
begin by relating other studies on the same topic, philosophical essays begin
by discussing the history of the issue, and even literary essays often begin by
discussing the recent scholarship on the specific piece or topic. This is a
very useful model for students to use, and probably one of the two most useful
kinds of introductions for papers in this class, but students should keep two
things in mind.
First, it's possible (at least in this class) to discuss the
history of the controversy for you personally or for the class--to begin by
describing how the class discussion went, or how your own views evolved (in
fact, that can be a useful structure for a paper).
When I was a young puppy, I was attacked by a Pekingese for no
particular reason. In obedience school, a Basset Hound kept trying to steal my
treats. There were two Scotties who kept peeing on my mailbox, and who snarled
at me on walks. At parks I've been attacked by Cocker Spaniels, Chihuahuas,
Dauschunds, Miniature Dobermans, and various small mutts. After this had
happened more times than I could count, I started to wonder--why are small dogs
always attacking me?
Second, given that you have limited time, don't try to start
too far back on the history of the controversy. When this kind of introduction
goes wrong, it turns into the "dawn of time" introduction.
("Since the dawn of time, people have been discussing Chester's obsession
with the red ball.") Start your history with where your audience and
argument need it to start.
Some say
According to Jet, small dogs, especially Cockapoos, hate squirrels as
much as the big breeds. As he says,
We hate them. WE HATE THEM. We
think they're evil. We want to eat them.
All. ("All Cockapoos Hate Squirrels" 1991)
Jet's main evidence is the tendency
Cockapoos have to bark at squirrels in trees, for hours on end, if necessary.
At the end of his article, he suggests that this evidence applies to many other
breeds of small dogs, who also bark at squirrels. He concludes that this
loathing demonstrates that small dogs could not possibly be involved in the
squirrel conspiracy. Does this demonstrate that small dogs hate squirrels? If
they do hate squirrels, does that mean that they could not be part of the
conspiracy?
The some say or prolepsis introduction is a lot like the
history of controversy introduction, except you only discuss one side of the
controversy--the side with which you will take issue. That is, it is the
opposite point of view from yours. This is very, very effective when you have a
hostile audience that you are trying to persuade. It generates a tremendous
amount of goodwill with your opposition readers to begin by summarizing their
argument. It shows that you are fair-minded and that you have listened. (If you
take any management or interpersonal communications courses, you'll find that
scholars in those fields make a big point about beginning a discussion,
especially a potentially heated one, by confirming what the other person has
said.) In other words, it's virtually the opposite of the summary introduction.
Rather than begin by summarizing your argument, you begin by summarizing the
opposition. For this to work, however, it has to be genuinely
fair-minded--beginning by summarizing a stupid version of your audience's
argument just persuades them you're too much of a dork to get their point.
Both sides
I only recently included this introduction, as it’s really
just a version of the history of controversy (you don’t necessarily give both
sides chronologically). But it’s worth explaining on its own:
Many
scholars have argued that little dogs are part of the squirrel conspiracy.
Chester Burnette, for instance, in his seminal Little Dogs are Part of the
Squirrel Conspiracy famously argued that little dogs were just as implicated in
squirrels’ getting to bird feeders as were squirrels themselves. Hubert Sumlin,
in a series of articles for The Journal of Big Dogs, insisted that the
chittering noise that squirrels make was linguistically similar to the yipping
of various small breeds.
This claim of participation has not gone unchallenged. Many scholars,
ranging from Jet to Charlie, have cited instances of little dogs effectively
(and sometimes fatally) attacking squirrels. The biography of Sugar Bear, a
miniature Schnauzer, narrates her smacking into the bird feeder repeatedly,
sometimes sustaining damages, as evidence of her commitment to hating
squirrels.
Hence, the question is: are small dogs part of the squirrel conspiracy
or not? If not, why do squirrels seem to make a noise similar to that made by
small dogs? If so, why have so many small dogs hurt squirrels, sometimes hurting
themselves in the process?
There are also some gimmicks you can use in your
introduction, such as beginning with a quote, a definition, or a personal
narrative. Those are perfectly fine (although general usage dictionary
definitions are of limited utility in college--discipline specific ones are
better), but they're not different kind of introductions because they can be
used with any of the above. (That is, a some say introduction might begin with
a quote, definition, or personal narrative, as might a history of controversy
or a funnel.)
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