An under-developed essay is like an under-developed body. You can plainly see what it is meant to be, but instead of inspiring confidence, it’s sickly, weak, and lacks color. There’s nothing to support the main points of the argument, and like an athlete who doesn’t train hard, there’s no reason to think the essay will succeed in the end. The muscle that should have been doing all the heavy-lifting can barely flex, and when too much relies on it, it strains under the pressure, ultimately causing a bad sprain or break. On the flip side, an essay with too much flesh is like a body with too much excess. It drapes awkwardly, it flops, it never picks up speed or attracts any interest. It fights to expand past its borders to grow even bulkier, pushing into realms it has no business being.

Finely toned and developed writing is like a toned and developed body. It’s fast and sleek. It effortlessly carries the burden of evidence. It neither lumbers nor shuffles as it reaches the finish line. It is beautiful, inspiring, and a delight to the viewer. Most of all, it is a winner. Well-developed and thought-out essays earn high marks because at the end of the grading day, that is what professors, writing instructors, and teachers are looking for—longing for, really. 

How does a body become developed and strong? Some people might be genetically predisposed to have that sort of build, as some people might be naturally inclined towards writing. But genetics and talent isn’t the full story. Muscles require building blocks, the protein compounds, and consistent, properly applied exercise. Writing is much the same process. The building blocks are the sentences.  The exercise is revising, reworking, and rethinking until the information is accurate and the argument is convincing.

That’s all well and good, you’re probably thinking, but how do we do that? The process is easier than you might think. Having a good outline is an important first step. At that point, the hard work of figuring out what you want to talk about and how you want to present it is completed. From there, it’s just a matter of crafting paragraphs. Your sentences are your protein strands, your paragraphs are your individual muscles, and the whole thing put together is the entire muscular system. 

If sentences are the protein compounds, then verbs are the peptide bonds holding it all together (don’t worry, I’ve now beat this metaphor to death and will stop here). A strong, well-placed verb can make all the difference between a good sentence and a boring sentence.

Last week, there was a rally in the state’s capital for workers’ rights.

The sentence is readable and grammatically correct. A perfectly serviceable sentence. But it’s dull and it lacks information. Who was at the rally? What rights? What state? And where’s the verb?

Last week, the International Association of Firemen held a rally in Indiana to support collective bargaining.

The sentence holds more information, so it’s already more interesting. But look at the verb. The first example is a passive sentence. It lacks a subject, and instead of an active verb, I used the passive was. The second sentence contains a subject and because the verb is held, the sentence is more urgent. Passive voice lacks urgency. A paper with nothing but passive, boring sentences creates nothing but passive, boring paragraphs. Always double-check your verbs and substitute strong verbs of weak verbs when revising.