Oh my goodness. This was helpful and necessary. I've seen 'plain language' as a key part of my job as an ed dev (taking 'academic/ed speak' and translating it for workshops and discussions), but I've been wrestling with the idea of being a 'scholar' and/or a 'writer' in our field... Inspired by another John Warner missive ("If you want to write a book, write a blog..."), I've approached my blog posts as an experiment in communication and voice - how much research do I link to, how much do I draw from my experience as a student/teacher, and how much do I connect seemingly disparate ideas to make a point about what matters in teaching and learning.
Beyond the absence of ads, one of the things I like about Substack is that finding writers doing the sort of writing you describe seems easier. You can find it in the world of magazines, but there are stylistic and editorial conventions that make many a promising-sounding essay slide into boring thanks to the house style or overzealous editing.
This may be wishful thinking, but the freedom feels conducive to preserving voice.
I'm writing a textbook and my editor keeps taking out exclamation marks. At first I was pretty huffy about it, until I did a search and realized he had only taken out about 1/2 of them. Thankfully, I have an editor who is willing to split the difference with me and let some of my enthusiasm shine through the writing.
I wrote one article for an academic journal when I was in graduate school. My adviser, who was sort of an expert at gaming this system, did a lot of the heavy lifting for that article, which did get published and helped me get a job at a place where I never had to write and publish another academic journal article again, praise the Universe!
I am very confident in my writing abilities, but I am no good at a writing style in which you basically are required to erase yourself as an author and a person. It is the WORST.
Also, Adam Mastroianni at Experimental History has a lot to say about the whole, "Let's take this fairly interesting and potentially useful information and make it as boring and unintelligible as possible" model that is academic journals.
Thanks for this comment, Robyn. Imagine if we could make interesting and potentially useful information ... accessible and interesting! That's my hope for our work.
Thank you so much for this! It resonates with several conversations that I have had recently and my own general feelings about writing, academic and otherwise. I generally enjoy writing, and I have found that the pieces where I am able to get out of my own way—just write what I think and feel, rather than getting tied up what I’m supposed to be writing—are generally stronger writing and more engaging to read.
One thing that has supported this approach to writing has been practicing writing fiction. During the pandemic, I took some one line creative writing classes with authors whose work I admire, and I discovered that I enjoy writing fiction. I’m now trying to take what I learned from fiction writing—like setting a scene and characterization—and bring it into my academic writing.
I’m really looking forward to James Lang’s forthcoming book about writing. He led an online workshop a couple of years ago about bringing what we know about teaching into our writing that has changed a lot about how I think about academic writing.
Thankfully, social anthroplogy had a big moment of reckoning (Writing Culture), where it reminded us all that what we do is tell (other people's) stories. That loosened up parts of the discipline and allowed in some fresh and experimental styles of writing. But most journals still stuck with the mainstream old school style. When we have to teach that, it petrifies students, immobilises them, gives unfair privilege to those who went to 'good' schools, while excluding those whose speech registers are most distant from it. This is, of course, exactly the point of it. A tool of exclusion.
Oh my goodness. This was helpful and necessary. I've seen 'plain language' as a key part of my job as an ed dev (taking 'academic/ed speak' and translating it for workshops and discussions), but I've been wrestling with the idea of being a 'scholar' and/or a 'writer' in our field... Inspired by another John Warner missive ("If you want to write a book, write a blog..."), I've approached my blog posts as an experiment in communication and voice - how much research do I link to, how much do I draw from my experience as a student/teacher, and how much do I connect seemingly disparate ideas to make a point about what matters in teaching and learning.
Beyond the absence of ads, one of the things I like about Substack is that finding writers doing the sort of writing you describe seems easier. You can find it in the world of magazines, but there are stylistic and editorial conventions that make many a promising-sounding essay slide into boring thanks to the house style or overzealous editing.
This may be wishful thinking, but the freedom feels conducive to preserving voice.
LOVE THIS, thank you Liz!
I'm writing a textbook and my editor keeps taking out exclamation marks. At first I was pretty huffy about it, until I did a search and realized he had only taken out about 1/2 of them. Thankfully, I have an editor who is willing to split the difference with me and let some of my enthusiasm shine through the writing.
I wrote one article for an academic journal when I was in graduate school. My adviser, who was sort of an expert at gaming this system, did a lot of the heavy lifting for that article, which did get published and helped me get a job at a place where I never had to write and publish another academic journal article again, praise the Universe!
I am very confident in my writing abilities, but I am no good at a writing style in which you basically are required to erase yourself as an author and a person. It is the WORST.
Also, Adam Mastroianni at Experimental History has a lot to say about the whole, "Let's take this fairly interesting and potentially useful information and make it as boring and unintelligible as possible" model that is academic journals.
Thanks for this comment, Robyn. Imagine if we could make interesting and potentially useful information ... accessible and interesting! That's my hope for our work.
Thank you so much for this! It resonates with several conversations that I have had recently and my own general feelings about writing, academic and otherwise. I generally enjoy writing, and I have found that the pieces where I am able to get out of my own way—just write what I think and feel, rather than getting tied up what I’m supposed to be writing—are generally stronger writing and more engaging to read.
One thing that has supported this approach to writing has been practicing writing fiction. During the pandemic, I took some one line creative writing classes with authors whose work I admire, and I discovered that I enjoy writing fiction. I’m now trying to take what I learned from fiction writing—like setting a scene and characterization—and bring it into my academic writing.
I’m really looking forward to James Lang’s forthcoming book about writing. He led an online workshop a couple of years ago about bringing what we know about teaching into our writing that has changed a lot about how I think about academic writing.
Love this!!!! More authenticity >>>>>
Long live authentic academic writing. It's the only kind I want to do.
Thankfully, social anthroplogy had a big moment of reckoning (Writing Culture), where it reminded us all that what we do is tell (other people's) stories. That loosened up parts of the discipline and allowed in some fresh and experimental styles of writing. But most journals still stuck with the mainstream old school style. When we have to teach that, it petrifies students, immobilises them, gives unfair privilege to those who went to 'good' schools, while excluding those whose speech registers are most distant from it. This is, of course, exactly the point of it. A tool of exclusion.
I am so glad I have you in my life as a teacher and a friend! So much for me to think about in this article, and I feel so very seen.