How to choose the right transition at the start of the third sentence in a storm description.

One word, big impact: how a transition can steer a storm description

Ever notice how a single word can shift the whole mood of a paragraph? In writing—especially when you’re describing something as visceral as a storm—the chosen transition is more than a bridge. It’s a leg you plant to move the reader from what’s happening to what comes next. For readers, a well-placed transition feels natural; for writers, it’s a small tool with outsized effect on clarity and rhythm.

If you’re digging into PACT-style writing tasks, you’ve probably spotted that the flow matters as much as the details. Transitions aren’t just niceties; they’re navigational markers. They tell your reader, in crisp terms, how ideas relate: is this a cause and effect? a comparison? is this a concrete example that illustrates a broader point? Nail the right connector, and your writing reads smoothly, almost conversationally, even when the topic is technical or descriptive.

The question that often pops up in storm descriptions

Here’s a tidy little example that captures the kind of decision a writer faces. Imagine a storm description with several sentences. The question asks for the best transition to begin the third sentence. The options are:

A. Accordingly

B. Similarly

C. First

D. For example

The correct answer is A) Accordingly. Why does that one fit best? Because it signals a consequence or a logical result of what has just been described. In other words, the third sentence should flow from what came before. “Accordingly” nudges the reader to see the cause-and-effect thread: the prior sentences describe the storm’s approach, and the third sentence reveals what happens as a direct result of that approach.

Let me explain with a quick, concrete example so you can feel the rhythm at work.

How the transition changes the mood in a tiny storm scene

First, set a scene that builds a shared sense of approaching force:

• Dark clouds gathered on the horizon, and lightning stitched jagged lines across the sky.

• The wind whipped through the streets, sending loose shingles tumbling and rain slanting in sideways sheets.

Now place the third sentence so it clearly follows from those two lines. Start it with Accordingly:

• Accordingly, streetlights flickered and the power lines hummed as the storm pressed closer.

Notice how that single word changes the whole cadence. The first two lines establish cause—the storm is approaching, weather is getting rough. The third line uses Accordingly to tell the reader, “because of those conditions, this is what happens next.” It’s a cue that there’s a direct connection: the environment sets off a chain of effects that the paragraph will continue to describe.

To keep the flow honest, you’d keep the movement going in the subsequent sentences:

• People pulled coats tighter, and shutters slammed shut in chorus with the thunder.

• When the first gust tore through the alley, the city breathed in a short, shared sigh.

That last line wraps the moment in a human touch—neighborhoods respond to weather, not just weather reacting to wind. The rhythm feels natural, the imagery vivid, and the transitions have been used to guide the reader without a stutter.

Why not the other options in this spot?

• Similarly would suggest a comparison to something else, as if you’re drawing a parallel to a different storm or situation. If the third sentence is meant to show a consequence rather than a comparison, Similarly would muddy the link rather than clarify it.

• First is a sequencing cue. It’s a good fit when you’re listing items or steps. But here, the third sentence isn’t launching a new step in a list; it’s continuing a cause-and-effect arc. So First can feel abrupt or out of place.

• For example sets up an illustration or instance. It’s useful when you want to pause and show a concrete example before making a bigger point. But if you’re already describing the growing impact of a storm, using For example at the start of the third sentence can interrupt the flow rather than deepen it.

The bigger picture: making transitions feel natural

Here’s the thing about transitions. They’re most effective when they reflect how people actually think and talk about events. In a storm scene, readers expect cause and effect, sensory escalation, and a growing sense of immediacy. Good transitions help them move from seeing to understanding to feeling the moment. They do not call attention to themselves; they smooth the ride.

That’s why “Accordingly” sits well here. It’s a quiet predictor of what comes next. It’s not a loud marker; it’s a hinge that keeps the narrative connected. You can think of it as a nod to logic: the description has laid out a setup, and the third sentence reveals the natural outcome of that setup.

Practical guidelines you can use right away

• Define the relationship first. Before you pick a transition word, name what the sentence will do in relation to the previous one. Is it showing consequence? a result? a comparison? a concrete example? Then choose a connector that signals that relationship.

• Favor cohesion over cleverness. The best transition is the one that readers barely notice because it feels inevitable. If you’re tugging attention to the word, you might be overcorrecting.

• Keep rhythm in mind. Short sentences are great for urgency; longer sentences slow the pace and give you space to linger on image or mood. Mix both, but tune transitions to the pace you want.

• Listen to flow aloud. Read your paragraph out loud. Where does the tempo feel right? Where does it stumble? If a sentence sounds like it’s starting a new thought instead of continuing a thread, try a different transition.

• Use real-world anchors. When you describe storms, you’ll often touch on cause (approaching weather), effect (power flickers, shutters), and human response (people seeking shelter). Transitions that clearly connect these elements tend to land best.

A quick companion exercise you can try

Take a short storm paragraph and rewrite the third sentence five different ways with different transitions. See how the tone shifts:

Original third sentence (for reference): Accordingly, streetlights flickered and the power lines hummed as the storm pressed closer.

Possible rewrites to compare:

• Similarly, streetlights flickered and the power lines hummed as the storm pressed closer.

• First, the streetlights flickered and the power lines hummed as the storm pressed closer.

• For example, the streetlights flickered and the power lines hummed as the storm pressed closer.

• Consequently, streetlights flickered and the power lines hummed as the storm pressed closer.

Which version feels most natural to you—and which best serves the overall mood you want to convey? Notice how the natural choice is often the one that preserves the cause-and-effect thread rather than introducing a comparison or a new example.

Bringing it back to the bigger writing picture

The storm example is tiny, but the principle scales. In longer pieces—be it a narrative, a report, or a descriptive essay—the same logic applies. Transitions aren’t decorations; they’re the invisible scaffolding that keeps your paragraphs upright and your ideas moving in a coherent arc. When you’re aiming for a clean, accessible voice, your transitions should feel like a good listener: attentive to what was said, aware of what’s coming next, and comfortable with where the conversation naturally leads.

If you’re reading widely—fiction, journalism, technical writing—you’ll spot how skilled writers use transitions without calling attention to them. They weave from sentence to sentence with phrases that feel inevitable, not forced. The moment you start spotting that, you’re well on your way to crafting writing that flows with ease.

A touch of conversational energy to keep things lively

Let’s be honest: writing well can feel a little like being in a storm yourself—you’re juggling imagery, tone, and purpose while trying not to slip on a slippery syntax. So give yourself permission to experiment. Try a few transitions, listen to the cadence, and then pick what feels most natural. It’s less about chasing a shiny trick and more about building a reliable habit: always be mindful of how one sentence leads to the next.

If you want to go deeper, here are a couple of friendly reminders:

• Transitions should reflect the logic of your argument or description. If the paragraph’s path is cause to effect, pick a word that shows consequence. If you’re building a contrast, a marker like “however” or “in contrast” might be more appropriate.

• Don’t overthink the exact word at every turn. A lot of times, the simplest option—like Accordingly—does the job just fine.

A final note on tone and audience

Of course, the same transition may feel perfectly at home in a classroom exercise or a field-report, but it might read oddly in a personal narrative or a blog post. Tailor your connectors to the audience you have in mind. If the goal is to convey a sense of immediacy and shared experience, you’ll tilt toward transitions that move quickly and clearly. If you’re aiming for reflective analysis, you might lean into slightly more formal connectors, or even longer sentences that let ideas unfold.

The bottom line

A single word can shape the reader’s journey through a paragraph. In a storm description, starting the third sentence with Accordingly is a precise, effective way to signal that what follows is a direct result of what has come before. It’s not flashy, and that’s the point. Strong transitions feel natural; they don’t steal the spotlight. They invite the reader to stay, to feel the weather, to picture the scene, and to follow the thread of your thought with ease.

So next time you’re shaping a storm—or any moment of high contrast—you might pause before that third sentence and ask: what relationship do I want to emphasize here? Then pick the transition that makes that relationship crystal clear. You’ll notice the rhythm tighten, the imagery sharpen, and the writing come to life in a way that’s unmistakably human. And that, after all, is the sweet spot of effective writing.