Category Archives: Engaging Academic Writing

Charles Halton

4 Tips for Better Writing in 2013

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It’s January 2. You’ve had some nice time off during the holiday season and you’ve recovered from New Year’s Eve. Now it’s time that we get back to work. I’m the first to admit that my writing needs improvement. With that in mind, here are four tips to help you and me become better writers in 2013.

  1. Sit down and write. There is nothing magical about writing. There are no silver bullets or four tips that will turn you into a great writer. It takes steady, diligent, grinding work and it has to start sometime. If you think that conditions have to be right in order to set the mood then you’ll never get around to forging words into sentences. As Verlyn Klinkenborg said: “Think of all the requirements writers imagine for themselves: A cabin in the woods, A plain wooden table, Absolute silence, A favorite pen, A favorite blank book, A favorite typewriter, A favorite laptop, A favorite writing program, A large advance, A yellow pad, A wastebasket, A shotgun, The early light of morning, The moon at night, A rainy afternoon, A thunderstorm with high winds, The first snow of winter, A cup of coffee in just the right cup, A beer, A mug of green tea, A bourbon, Solitude. Sooner or later the need of any one of these will prevent you from writing. Anything you need in order to write–Or be ‘inspired’ to write or ‘get in the mood’ to write–Becomes a prohibition when it’s lacking. Learn to write anywhere, at any time, in any conditions, With anything, starting from nowhere. All you really need is your head, the one indispensable requirement” (pp. 80-81).
  2. Read good stuff. This is the one thing that almost every writer agrees will actually help your writing.
  3. Get a good editor. We all need a second pair of well-trained eyes to go over our work–I know I sure do.
  4. Write as if you’re dead. Jeffrey Eugenides gave this advice to young writers and I think it is all the more important for people who write on biblical studies and theology. What would it look like if you knew that you would be dead once your book or article was published? It might give you the freedom to write what you really think and not what might impress certain people. It might free you from the fear of being fired or blackballed or ostracized as you speak truth to power. Maybe it would cause you to break free from the implicit expectations within the academic guild of faux objectivity, obscure jargon, and obtuse grammar. Maybe readers would actually enjoy your writing. Maybe your work would challenge them and change them for the better.
Charles Halton

Books that will Make You a Better Writer

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The world needs good writing. Whether we write emails to a love interest, status updates on Facebook, fictional essays, scholarly articles, or non-fiction books, we could benefit others by writing better. Here is a list of books that I’ve put together to help you do just that. It’s not a bare list; I’ve added a few thoughts and musings along the way. Feel free to add your own recommendations in the comments section below. Happy writing.

If you consult only one book to improve your writing, Several short sentences about writing by Verlyn Klinkenborg should be it. This book is not your typical “how-to-write” book filled with grammar and style discussions. It is a series of profound short sentences that will turn upside down your views of writing. You don’t read this book; you meditate on it. And you’ll be a better writer because of it.

If you can’t write a sentence then you can’t write. Sentences are foundational to writing, this is obvious. However, how much thought do you put into their construction? Many of us who are engaged in academic writing put a lot of time into structuring a book proposal or outlining a journal article but then spend relatively little time composing actual sentences. And then killing off half of them. And retooling the survivors. But this is what it takes to produce good writing. Stanley Fish’s How to Write a Sentence: And How to Read One is a fantastic guide that will help you deconstruct every element of the sentences you read and then expertly fashion your own.

Academic writers can learn a lot about the craft of writing from authors of fiction. Novelists spend their entire day forging prose while academics try to cram writing sessions in between teaching, grading, and administrative duties. And, if a novelist is a crappy writer odds are they won’t eat. This weeds out most of the hacks and those left standing generally know how to write an engaging string of words. Ann Patchett’s The Getaway Car is a reflection on her literary life. It includes inspiring personal stories as well as nitty gritty advice on how to plant your tail into a chair for hours at a time and smith some words. Plus, it’s a short read which is always nice.

Some will be put off by Stephen King’s “colorful” writing in On Writing, but it is a fantastic book. King does not approach the act of writing as a detached observer. Instead, he tells you his own story of how he became a writer. Like Patchett he gives plenty of very practical tips on how to think up new ideas (take frequent walks) and how to cultivate the self-discipline it takes to write (pick a consistent time and place in which to write and only write).

Lastly, and most importantly, to be a good writer you must be a good reader. You need to nourish your literary sensibilities with a steady diet of good writing. Especially if you are an academic writer. Let’s be honest, shall we? Most academic writing is terrible. It’s difficult to follow, hard to understand, and a bore to read. If this is all you read then don’t be surprised if you’re a crappy writer. Supplement your diet with fantastic writing–fiction or non-fiction or both, just make sure it’s good. You can drop by your local bookstore and ask for recommendations or consult various lists of writing that others have judged as good such as the Booker or the Pulitzer prizes. Good examples of well written scholarly monographs can be hard to find. But–and I know she will be embarrassed by this–I think an outstanding example of a well crafted book, from start to finish, is Angela Roskop’s The Wilderness Itineraries. It’s tough subject matter (try making biblical lists interesting to a modern audience!) but this book is clear, concise, and even engaging. Study it and then go and do likewise.

Charles Halton

Pay Attention, Because It’s Really, Really Simple: Writing is a Gift

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Pay attention, because it’s really, really simple:

If in January, you sit there contemplating what you should report and write in order to win a Pulitzer Prize during the coming year — or if you harbor such thoughts at any point during the year – you are hack and a whore and part of the problem.

–David Simon

I’m a huge fan of The Wire and Treme so naturally I was ecstatic when David Simon started putting stuff up on his blog. In the quote above he discusses the Awards-Industrial-Complex and how it distorts journalism. However, I think there is a significant application to be made to those of us who do academic writing. To be sure, there aren’t many awards for us to win but there is favor to curry with administrators and there are pats on the back to win from colleagues.

I’ll admit it. A few years ago I was a hack and a whore. I thought up an entire book project to pitch to a specific publisher because I thought it would help me win the graces of a former employer. Thankfully, after writing the first few chapters I threw it in the bin. The problem wasn’t the writing per se but the motivation that produced it which in turn tainted the writing. I knew it was poisoned at the time I started but it took a while to sink in and when it did I’m thankful that I had the wherewithal to cut my losses and start on something new.

I might be going out on a limb here but I think this is something we all struggle with, especially those of us who are young in our careers. There is a game to academics that can be played if you know how. One of the elements is getting some publications under your belt, preferably more than your colleagues or fellow job applicants and placed in more prestigious places. It may seem hard but actually it’s quite easy. Need to generate a few quick and easy articles? No problem. Find an obscure word or phrase, gin up a new interpretation on something, or, if all else fails, troll ancillary disciplines for methodologies that have yet to be applied to your field and, presto, “An X Reading of the Book of Whatever.” You just triangulate something novel enough that it has the luster of newness but make is familiar enough so you’re not dismissed as a loon. Easy peasy. But is it really what we need?

A year or so after my aborted attempt at academic whoredom I read Alan Jacobs’s book–A Theology of Reading: The Hermeneutics of Love. It gave definition to my unformed, intuitive perspective of what writing was, or better, what it should be. Instead of viewing writing as something to better the writer–whether that be monetary compensation (in our fields? yeah, right), fame, or what have you–he framed writing as a gift. It’s a gift you give the world. If they embrace it, great. If they reject it, so be it. But the real key to this paradigm is that it frames writing as something you do to serve and better others instead of yourself–an externally oriented act.

We are awash in words. It’s just too much. Of the many problems associated with higher education, a major one is the impetus, either explicit or implicit, that you’ve got to constantly produce. There are too many monographs, too many journals, too much stuff to keep up with. You think I’m kidding? Harvard–the richest university in the world–can’t even afford their journal subscriptions. Even in really niche sub-sub-disciplines we can’t keep up. Something has to stop. We don’t need anyone to write anything more unless they further the conversation, reveal something new, put material into a more accessible package, or cause us to ponder something again from a different angle.

I know the pressures of trying to pad resumes and gain a following, to “build a brand” or “gain a platform” within the academic world. Resist it. Save your words for stuff that really counts and in the long run it will benefit you because people will actually listen to what you say because they will regard it as valuable. And if you happen to say things that people don’t want to hear but they desperately need? You many not see a reward but you’ve given us a gift. You served us and in return we ignored you or maybe a few angry folks threw sand in your face. But you kept your integrity; the egg is on our face.

So, if you’re a good scholar whose sold out to slinging books by selling sensationalism or if you’re playing the game of ginning up empty articles or rehashing books then David Simon has a few words for you: “you are hack and a whore and part of the problem.” In the words of Alan Jacobs: “You’re welcome.”

Charles Halton

The Value of Revision

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This was originally a reflection on fiction writing but is equally applicable to academic writing (which in many cases is, again, fiction, but I digress…):

I think revision is hugely underrated. It is very seldom recognized as a place where the higher creativity can live, or where it can manifest. I think it was Yeats who said that literary revision was the only place in life where a man could truly improve himself.

–William Gibson

Charles Halton

On Self-Editing – via Lingua Franca

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Reading your own work objectively is a trick that some master more easily than others. The best-known tactic is highly effective: Put your paper away for as long as you’re able and then read it with a fresh eye. Unfortunately, that trick is available only to those who work ahead, have no deadlines, or research in fields that change slowly. Most writers don’t have the luxury of putting their work in a drawer for a month.

As a copy editor, I’ve noticed some glitches that writers often fail to see in their own work, as well as a few imagined flaws that they appear to monitor needlessly.

via Lingua Franca – The Chronicle of Higher Education.

Some helpful tips in the full post.

Charles Halton

Ezra Pound’s Advice on Writing

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In preparation for my upcoming trip to Venice I am about half way through John Berendt‘s The City of Falling Angels. Berendt includes a letter that Ezra Pound, one of the greatest literary figures of the twentieth century, wrote to his fifteen year old daughter and aspiring author, Mary. In this letter Pound gives her advice about learning how to write:

CIAO CARA

To learn to write, as when you learn tennis. Can’t always play a game, must practice strokes. Think; how as it different from when one when tot play in Siena?? Write that. Not to make a story but to make it clear. It will be very LONG. Wen one starts to write it is hard to fill a page. When one is older there is always so MUCH to write.

THINK: the house in Venice is not like ANY OTHER house. Venice like no other city. Suppose Kit Kat or even an American needed to be told HOW to find the Venice house? How to recognize you and me going out of the door to go to the Lido. He gets off train, how does he find 252 Calle Q.? Describe us or describe Luigino arriving at ferrovia? has he money, have we, ho doe we go? A novelist could make a whole chapter getting protagonista from train to front door. Good writing would make it possible and even certain that Kit Kat could use the chapter to find the house.

ciao.

THINK about this quite a good deal before you try to write it out.

While this reflection did not have scholarly writing particularly in mind, Pound highlights a couple things that academics should note.

First, he points out that young writers often have a hard time filling out their word counts while older authors write too much. Students and freshly minted PhDs should take heart that they are not alone if they struggle with putting words on a page and there are some established scholars who should meditate on this deeply (and their editors need to grow a backbone and actually *edit* but I digress).

Also, Pound offers a picture of good writing as describing the way to a house so that a person unfamiliar with the area could find it. Pounds seems to tell his daughter that she should practice her writing skills by doing this (and, yes, practicing your writing is something that academics should do also) but I think that this is also a good analogy for academic writing in general. What we try to do is introduce people to established ideas and concepts so that they clearly understand them. In a sense, this is leading a reader through foreign (cerebral) territory. Furthermore, we guide readers to our new ideas in a way that should be relatively concise and easy to understand. However, I find much scholarly writing overly wordy, cumbersome, unclear, and just flat out boring. If we stick with Pounds analogy, many readers of monographs and articles would never get out of the train station much less arrive at the house.

Perhaps, if more academics *practiced* their writing and spent more time *editing* it we would have far less secondary literature to deal with but the quality would hopefully be much better.

Charles Halton

How to Write

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There are many ways to write, however, many people will tell you that you must stick to a strict writing schedule–each and every day at a particular time you must plant yourself in a chair and write even if you have an appendectomy scheduled for that afternoon.

I try to do this but often times it just doesn’t pan out. Instead, I tend to write in spurts and I was encouraged to read that Marilynne Robinson does something similar:

“I really am incapable of discipline. I write when something makes a strong claim on me. When I don’t feel like writing, I absolutely don’t feel like writing. I tried that work ethic thing a couple of times—I can’t say I exhausted its possibilities—but if there’s not something on my mind that I really want to write about, I tend to write something that I hate. And that depresses me. I don’t want to look at it. I don’t want to live through the time it takes for it to go up the chimney. Maybe it’s a question of discipline, maybe temperament, who knows? I wish I could have made myself do more. I wouldn’t mind having written fifteen books.”

Recently I have adopted an approach similar to the strategies concerning prayer within Judaism–keva, or fixed and structured times, and kavanah, or spontaneous moments. Within Judaism keva and kavanah are both valued and integrated into religious life.

In like manner, I try to write on weekday mornings yet I am ready to abandon a particular day’s work if my well is just flat dry. Also, I readily write, even if it is inconvenient, if I have a moment of inspiration or motivation.

So, next time someone asks me if I stick to a writing plan or if I just write when I feel like it I am going to simply respond by saying, “both.”

For more on keva and kavanah see this reflection on the Union for Reform Judaism site.

Charles Halton

First Sentences

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After finishing Stanley Fish’s new book, How to Write a Sentence: And How to Read One, I am totally obsessed with noting, analyzing, and assessing the first sentence of every book–academic or otherwise–that I come across. I thought that I would share this obsession with you. So, when the occasion warrants, I will dutifully pass along a first sentence accompanied with some commentary.

The first first sentence, deservedly, is from David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest:

“I am seated in an office, surrounded by heads and bodies.”

This sentence starts off innocuously enough, almost mundane, pedestrian even–I am seated in an office. What could be more boring, make for a snore of a book, than opening in an office? But then Wallace describes the entirely normal phenomena of other humans filling out the space of an office yet he does so in a way that disorients the reader.

Surrounded by heads–are these human heads? Are they mounted on the walls or rolling around at his feet? Are they independent or attached appendages?…and bodies. The people themselves are relatively unimportant, they are brain matter, hair, legs, and toes, but their names or positions are of no immediate matter; they are filling the space in an office.

And so Wallace begins with a breath-taking sentence.

Charles Halton

Dealing with Rejection

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Academics constantly have to deal with rejection. Whether rejection takes the form of having someone stand up after your presentation at a meeting and gruffly stating in front of a room full of people that you are an idiot, having a grant proposal turned down, a paper rejected by a journal, a publisher passing on a book proposal, or an institution telling you “We are pleased to announce that we have filled position X and we wish you the best in all your endeavors [because we didn't pick you for the job].”

I deal with rejection in a number of ways. I take my teaching and publishing very seriously and try to do the best I can at it, but there are many things that are more important to me than my scholarly reputation. So, whenever I experience a form of professional rejection I put it into perspective. Furthermore, in most cases I get some feedback with rejection. For instance, if a journal passes on an article they often (but not always) send constructive criticism that helps me rework the essay for the next try.

All these things are great but what I really enjoy is seeing the instances in which boneheaded editors, music publishers, etc. passed on talent or work that later became extremely successful (I guess it is a form of schadenfruede or something). Here are a few that I really enjoy:

Disney telling Tim Burton that his work was “too derivative of the Seuss works to be marketable” (this is before he landed a job as at the Animation Studios)

The president of Millennium Records saying that Madonna was “not ready” so he failed to sign her.

Alfred Knopf turned down a “very dull” and “dreary record of typical family bickering” which he “did not see a chance for.” This was Anne Frank’s diary.

What is your favorite way to deal with rejection?