Most of us can write a first sentence. We own the faculties of benign intellect at least. We can say what we think, or how we feel or repeat what we heard.
The Second Sentence, aye, there’s the rub.
The Second Sentence may be a non sequitur. The Second Sentence may be the rough equivalent of the Follow Up Question. The Second Sentence, well, you are there ahead of me. The Second Sentence is hard to come by, at least for me, at least for now.
I have a First Sentence. It goes, “The most well meaning pacifist must see back and forth; one day receded, the next day resolute for change.”
Yes, you are right. My First Sentence is three or four sentences, knotted together by some fearfully tatted punctuational gymnastics. Unfurl your First Sentence, you might tell me, and your Second Sentence will unfold on its own.
No matter how I try to untie the Second Sentence never emerges. I suppose the Second Sentence is like a caterpillar “helped” by a human hand to hurry out of its covering. In so doing the human hand dooms the butterfly that is to come, for the process of emergence matures the creature’s wings; to “help and hurry” the creature means it will never fly and cannot live.
I want to say, in my Second Sentence, something like, “The least astute among us must occasionally be disturbed by our cultural penchant to accede continually to each and every demand of the lesser culture, so long as it comes from one extreme or the other.”
Yes, I know, that is more a paragraph than a sentence, Second or otherwise. And, I know, I need some pithy way to invite the reader into a social setting falling apart from the inside out day after day. We do not know which bathroom to use anymore, which is fine if an anatomically correct girl wants to enter the Spartan bathrooms made available to Males, but, frankly, I do not want any male wandering into the bathroom where my grand-daughters would usually go. I also do not want a ban on religious persons coming to or going from this nation.
In truth, we seem to have a problem knowing when and where to go, don’t we?
So, my Second Sentence is still out there, somewhere. A few of its fellows have taken their turn mounting the gallows. I allow them a moment to state their piece, put a dark hood on them, noose their figurative necks and pull the lever on them. I have a great many Second Sentences, moving about like dim purgatorial souls waiting for their disposition.
I want to say something to the effect that globalization is not just commercial. Jet planes started to make borders more fluid, but the internet made them wavy, and they all washed away. We can no more hold back the torrent of immigrants with a Peso Wall, but we have to do something, right? We have to make the boogey-person go away.
My Second Sentence starts that way. I just have to catch up to it.