I took Honors science all the way up through high school. For the students of Conestoga Valley High School, "Honors Science" means an Honors credit for a class of the same caliber as the "Traditional" course, extra brownie points with the teacher for being an "Honors student", and a ribbon at the school science fair if you're a half decent liar, but I took honors science seriously. I was one of the few people that actually attempted to conduct experiments for my science fair projects.
Looking back, I realize I would have been better off fudging data like everyone else. It would have been less work for one thing, and the winning projects were always made up. I could have won a ribbon or two and joined the Future Business Leaders of America to pursue a career in lying if only I had followed my peers. We were always told to write the introduction of our science fair reports last because it was the most crucial part. We got that speech every year along with the same instructional packet. The only difference from the Biology science fair packet to the Chemistry science fair packet was the quote on the cover page. Once it was a quote from Michael Scott, a character on the hit TV show The Office. It said, "You don't go to the science museum and get handed a pamphlet on electricity. You go to the science museum, and you put your hand on a metal ball, and your hair sticks up straight...and you know science." I think I kept the cover page of that packet, stuffed it into my journal where I could find it later for a good laugh. I threw the rest of the packet out after my project report was returned to me with a desirable grade on it.
I'm the kind of student that keeps all their notes just in case, but even I knew there was nothing in that dense pile of papyrus worth remembering. I also knew that if the teachers that had composed the science fair packet were the same teachers that were handing ribbons to first class liars on the night of the fair, then it was trash. The whole damn cycle was trash. Each year the same instructions, each year the same advice, each year the same liars, sorry wieners, wait.. winners, yes winners, excuse me.
There was no truth in the "science" we were doing. Science fair was merely a contest to see who could get away with the most outrageous data and still win a prize. As much as I believed that, I did end up taking away a small amount of truth from my experience with science fair. After four mediocre projects, I discovered that science was not my forte, and that the only thing saving me from a failing grade in both Biology and Chemistry was my ability to write. My procedure may have been flawed and sloppy, but my lab reports were so meticulously composed that I always pulled through in the end. Science was not for me, true. The second truth was actually a piece of advice from the science fair packet. The page explaining "The Introduction" of the project warned that it was the most vital section of the report because it would draw in judges. The only way to seduce the judges and win a ribbon was to actually talk to one of them at the fair. Put simply, the introduction determined whether or not your talent for lying would be discovered. As my career as a science student ended and I began to spend more time writing, I was surprised to find that my science teachers had been right.
The introduction or the opening paragraph of any work should be the most captivating part of the piece. If a publisher picks up your manuscript, reads the first paragraph, and falls asleep, it’s not likely that your career as a writer is going anywhere. So no pressure, but the first couple of sentences you put down on the page had better be as sumptuous as a full on feast. I’m certainly in no position to preach. I’ve never earned a cent from anything I’ve written, but I do enjoy reading. And as an avid reader, I reserve the right to be critical of writing. I’ve read books with opening paragraphs about as appetizing as a moldy clementine. There have even been books, published books, with openings so cliché, dull, or down right horrific that it takes me several chapters just to get the bad taste out of my mouth. I keep this all in mind while writing the introduction of any piece of work, and I remember my science teachers’ advice. Only now I’m not writing for science fair judges. I'm writing for an audience, seducing them with my words, and I can lie to them if I want. In fact, I do lie to them because lying is much more interesting for both of us and because lying is what wins prizes.
Looking back, I realize I would have been better off fudging data like everyone else. It would have been less work for one thing, and the winning projects were always made up. I could have won a ribbon or two and joined the Future Business Leaders of America to pursue a career in lying if only I had followed my peers. We were always told to write the introduction of our science fair reports last because it was the most crucial part. We got that speech every year along with the same instructional packet. The only difference from the Biology science fair packet to the Chemistry science fair packet was the quote on the cover page. Once it was a quote from Michael Scott, a character on the hit TV show The Office. It said, "You don't go to the science museum and get handed a pamphlet on electricity. You go to the science museum, and you put your hand on a metal ball, and your hair sticks up straight...and you know science." I think I kept the cover page of that packet, stuffed it into my journal where I could find it later for a good laugh. I threw the rest of the packet out after my project report was returned to me with a desirable grade on it.
I'm the kind of student that keeps all their notes just in case, but even I knew there was nothing in that dense pile of papyrus worth remembering. I also knew that if the teachers that had composed the science fair packet were the same teachers that were handing ribbons to first class liars on the night of the fair, then it was trash. The whole damn cycle was trash. Each year the same instructions, each year the same advice, each year the same liars, sorry wieners, wait.. winners, yes winners, excuse me.
There was no truth in the "science" we were doing. Science fair was merely a contest to see who could get away with the most outrageous data and still win a prize. As much as I believed that, I did end up taking away a small amount of truth from my experience with science fair. After four mediocre projects, I discovered that science was not my forte, and that the only thing saving me from a failing grade in both Biology and Chemistry was my ability to write. My procedure may have been flawed and sloppy, but my lab reports were so meticulously composed that I always pulled through in the end. Science was not for me, true. The second truth was actually a piece of advice from the science fair packet. The page explaining "The Introduction" of the project warned that it was the most vital section of the report because it would draw in judges. The only way to seduce the judges and win a ribbon was to actually talk to one of them at the fair. Put simply, the introduction determined whether or not your talent for lying would be discovered. As my career as a science student ended and I began to spend more time writing, I was surprised to find that my science teachers had been right.
The introduction or the opening paragraph of any work should be the most captivating part of the piece. If a publisher picks up your manuscript, reads the first paragraph, and falls asleep, it’s not likely that your career as a writer is going anywhere. So no pressure, but the first couple of sentences you put down on the page had better be as sumptuous as a full on feast. I’m certainly in no position to preach. I’ve never earned a cent from anything I’ve written, but I do enjoy reading. And as an avid reader, I reserve the right to be critical of writing. I’ve read books with opening paragraphs about as appetizing as a moldy clementine. There have even been books, published books, with openings so cliché, dull, or down right horrific that it takes me several chapters just to get the bad taste out of my mouth. I keep this all in mind while writing the introduction of any piece of work, and I remember my science teachers’ advice. Only now I’m not writing for science fair judges. I'm writing for an audience, seducing them with my words, and I can lie to them if I want. In fact, I do lie to them because lying is much more interesting for both of us and because lying is what wins prizes.
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