When I inevitably revise, it usually involves inserting material into the stuff I've already written. Since my mind is still virtually convinced that I've got finished copy material here, this insertion process is met with much internal resistance because, while doing so, I'm almost convince that I'm just messing up already perfect material. When comparing the final copy with the first "perfect" draft, I usually can find little resemblance between the two. At that point, I have to grudgingly admit that the revision process was in fact useful, dammit.Faculty write about their own writing
In the Faculty Writing Seminar held in May, the thirteen participants wrote a series of impromptu essays exploring their own approaches to writing. This issue of Word Works reprints some excerpts from their writings. We wish to thank all participants for graciously allowing us to reprint these excerpts.
In the exploratory writings, participants addressed the following questions: (1) What gets you started writing? (2) How and when do you think about audience? and (3) How do you revise? The different approaches they described perhaps reflect special ways of knowing and writing in their disciplines, but they also reflect the rich variety in the participants' individual approaches to writing.
What gets you started writing?
I may sit for hours in front of a blank pad of paper or a computer screen trying to think through the things I've been working on, and as time goes by I get very frustrated with the apparent lack of progress (nothing to show for my work.) On the other hand, once I actually get to the writing part, I've processed things in my mind long enough that what I do write usually flows fairly freely and is in pretty good form in the first draft. This save time later on in the revising process, and puts my initial writing near to the final product.* * * I tend to be a formula writer. Give me the parameters, the questions you want answered, and I will address them one by one. This is reflected in the assignments I give my students. I choose textbooks with study questions and I assign one or two questions per chapter. Sometimes the questions are to make the students read and other assignments are more applied.* * * Where do my ideas come from? This may sound somewhat bizarre, but I think my best ideas come from my subconscious mind. I present an idea or question to myself, ponder the idea for a period of time, and let the solutions/ideas come to me. How much do I use writing as a means of thinking? I tell my math students to show all their work, to write each step when solving math problems. Students who follow this advice are actually more successful in my classes because they follow a logical sequence (thinking with their pencils) to the solution and are less likely to leave out or miss a step. I give them this information because I also practice it; I know it works.* * * Ideas for research/technical articles are normally the result of questions I have about clinical processes or untoward events. I usually start with the writing of the question and why I am interested in it. I then translate the question into two or three related topical areas. At this point, I may do additional reading on these areas, specifically looking at what other writers may say or find of interest. I return to my question statement and develop a tentative hypothesis. It is from this hypothetical statement that I pursue a literature review, develop a research design, etc.* * * When writing academically, I begin with theory. I love to read theories and about them. I start with the grand scheme and then begin thinking concretely and applying theoretical concepts to every day life to see where the theory is useful and where it is not. I am not sure what to say about the ease or difficulty of finding ideas. It seems to me that ideas are always present and that with enough searching, I can find that most everything has been at least discussed by someone else in their writing. I don't think a great deal before writing. I do, however, worry a lot. When writing academically, I usually stew for too long so that my deadline looms large, then sit down and write until my hands ache. I start with a vague outline, a map of where I want to begin and end, but in truth, I am envious of thinkers. I'm not a deep thinker, but I act with conviction. Writing is like speaking or acting, it is within action that I figure out what I want to convey and how I wish to do so.* * * Sometimes a felicitous turn of phrase occurs to me, but mostly my prose is utilitarian. I try to express ideas clearly and in some logical order. Often I generate lists first, which become outlines and then are developed into prose. Sometimes I simply start writing. If I am particularly bothered by something, either because I am angry or because I am worried, I compose in my head, while meditating, driving or walking. At this stage of my life, images offer more creativity to me than words. Visuals promise associations and connections that are less logical, less defined in their meanings than words, and hence more liberating, more dreamlike.* * * When an idea comes to me, I write down the broad concept and think about it. The thinking process takes time that varies in length from hours to days. At some point it feels right and I begin the actual writing. As I begin to write, I also begin to research components of the idea. Research helps to define the concept and helps to develop new concepts.* * * For me invention is related directly to the discovery of what I am thinking. Of course it all depends on the context. When I am doing writing on the technology, the act of writing somehow clarifies things for me. Perhaps what is most important, just being engaged in the process of writing shows me where I do not understand things. I am forced to reassess my understanding, go back to the "sources," and the loop continues. It is as if I am involved in an elaborate feedback system and I am "floating."* * * I quite enjoy the processes of reading and research, so much so that I find it difficult to stop this part of the process; I am constantly searching for that "perfect" answer in yet another article or book. When a deadline finally forces me to sit down to pull the material together, I tend to work initially on yellow pads turned side-ways; I simply jot down mnemonic phrases and skeletal ideas in a rough approximation of what I perceive to be their "geographical" alignment to one another (analogous to a flow chart, I suppose). Finally at some point (usually late at night) I have to overcome my fear of the dreaded white screen/page and start writing. Rather than allowing myself to be overwhelmed by the immensity of the greater project, I tend to try to start atomistically with a smaller, accomplishable part of the task: a description, an overview of a source, some small portion of easy information summary/delivery - and then build to either side from there - or suture several blocks together. At this point I may go back and outline my thoughts in a more cohesive manner. I frequently tell my students: war is hell, writing is hell. I often liken the experience to medieval depictions of the martyrdom or St. Erasmus, who had his intestines drawn out on a windlass. How and when do you think about audience? Audience awareness is often a conundrum for me. For a long time, I was oblivious to the concept, well past undergraduate school. I was accustomed to two kinds of writing - academic, of which we did a lot in high school, where I learned to do research papers. I suppose I was writing for my English teacher, who was, fortunately, an excellent teacher and taught my English courses through my four years of high school. The other kind was "creative," especially poetry, which I'd written since childhood. In this case, I was aware only of wanting to write what looked and sounded "good" or interesting to me - a work that contained beauty and expressed what I intended. Therefore, I developed this notion that artistic work was effective if it pleased me, based on my criteria. To some extent, the idea of an academic audience can interfere with my writing, because I may be attempting to convey ideas that are counter to or critical of what I perceive to be commonly held or mainstream academic assumptions. However, if I concentrate too much on this aspect of my project, I am in danger of watering down my thesis, in order to win the attention of the audience.* * * For research papers, I always have one particular individual in mind when I write. He's a friend who teaches at U.C. Berkeley. He has the following gifts: he's extremely bright, technically proficient, on a mathematical plane way above most of us mortals. However, he's not particularly intuitive. Since intuition is my only comparative advantage in this game, I go with it. My approach to reports and policy papers is somewhat similar, but with a different audience member in mind. I think of someone who is interested in the particular topic. The person is picking up my report while at their desk near the end of the workday. They've been listening to All Things Considered on NPR for the last twenty minutes or so. Although they are interested in the topic, they decidedly don't want to crunch a bunch of empirical or analytical detail. How can I pique their interest enough so that they'll switch off NPR and at least thumb through the report somewhat diligently? If I can picture them sitting back in the chair, crossing their legs, nodding, and occasionally going "Hmmm" in an interested way, I know that I'm on the right track.* * * I write to myself. I develop the paper and argument or support. When I am satisfied with the structure of the paper, I will then examine it as towhere it is going: a proposal, a submission, or a memo. Then I edit as appropriate for the final destination. I become immobilized if I try to do the "end" without lots of prep work in writing. The audience is part of my later considerations. I need to be reflective of topic, theme, and approaches to these before I start to put parameters around myself or my writing. If I consider the final end I blunt myself off or find that I have nothing "right" to say.* * * The majority of my writing is for an academic audience. As a result, I start the writing process with audience in the forefront of the process. Considering audience helps me maintain the structure and organization of my manuscript; it keeps me much more formal in my presentation of ideas and concepts. On those occasions when I do write for other audiences, I find the writing process to require much more of my attention. I try to make my writing less formal and more relaxed at these times. This more relaxed style actually seems to require much more effort for me - more translating into a personal voice.* * * During planning I frame my thinking to be in accord with audience. Certainly audience dictates the style during the writing process. Audience even changes my self-perception at the time of writing. For example, I assume a slightly different persona when writing to faculty, to the Provost, to agency directors, or to students. This makes writing a fascinating mental game. It's like putting on different costumes in my mind. This flexible approach does not inhibit my writing; instead it directs it. How do you revise?
Revising is a joy. I delight in revisiting the subject matter I am writing about and seeing more clearly what I really want to say. When revising I ask myself: where am I going with this? What am I saying? But revising becomes a very different task when I do not like the subject I am forced to write about. Under such conditions revising is an unpleasant task. Ha. I have realized through this brief reflection that I have a problem. Most probably my students have this problem as well.* * * I am not an eager reviser. I don't mind revising other people's work, but I often find my own writing painful or at least uncomfortable to read, unless a considerable amount of time has passed since it was created. I know I'm done revising when the document flows smoothly when I read it aloud and when no reader or editor finds significant conceptual or mechanical problems with it. Sometimes I have been accused of too much revision. In seeking clarity and smoothness, I sometimes produce material that is too bland, too lifeless, too conventional.* * * The other day while I was walking with a friend, who is currently writing a novel, we laughed at how much time we spend revising. We both noted that we rarely wait to finish a full draft before we go back to start at the beginning and revise our way to where we last left off. I wondered to what extent such revising is not simply a delaying strategy, much as I use cleaning my house as an excuse to put off grading papers on the weekend. Recently, though, I was writing a speech. I approached this task differently than I usually do when writing professionally. I decided to write all the way through without revising. The actual composition progressed over roughly six or seven sittings. At the start of each, I read through what I had written to get reacquainted with what I had done and where I still wanted to go. This time, however, I did not mark the draft to fix my errors or reword awkward passages. What I found interesting about approaching my writing in this way was that I was more relaxed and more willing to delete entire passages. I became less wedded and committed to each word, idea, sentence or passage. The feeling was one of liberation from a task that so often simultaneously repels and compels me.* * * I revise after the major suturing together of the various components of my written work in order to smooth over the scar tissue - or to make sure that the various limbs and appendages of my Frankenstinian project are in their proper places and functioning accurately. A deadline usually gets me going; an extremely critical imaginary reader further motivates me (but may also contribute to my frequent over-revising - I find it difficult to let go of my work).* * * As a perfectionist, I find the act of revising both an essential ally and a relentless tormentor. It is often difficult for me to stop revising, so I find myself walking the ridge between excellent and over-done. Certain phrases from my past help me: in early graduate school an ABD colleague reminded me, "Done is good." I still hear my mother's advice, "You must know when to put down your brush." Often I don't "start" revising; it is a continual process that begins as soon as I start typing. Though intensely focused on the purpose of the message, my mind continually tests the unfolding message as far as audience, tone, and style. True joy occurs when all of these aspects flow together seamlessly. During these occasional highs, revision waits until the end, then serves as an ally for mere polishing. More frequently, revision swoops in as a tormenting critic, appealing for one more revision, always critiquing a less than perfect (though eloquent) paragraph.* * * I like to revise. In fact, I look forward to it. Several things happen. Not only do I get the satisfaction of cleaning up the first draft - which I handwrite, often - but also, inevitably, I come up with new ideas, vocabulary, and sometimes new direction or digression that becomes essential to the work. I try to let my mind wander, in a sense, when revising. That is, I try not to be too invested in my initial ideas or expressions, so that I can be free to consider new ones, perceive the subject or question in different ways, and even discard my initial approach for something more interesting, cogent, or to the point.* * * I detest revising. When I write, I try to do finished quality copy right off the bat. Even though I've never actually accomplished this feat, I always think that this time it's going to happen. So rather than just "get the ideas down," I will agonize sentence-by-sentence to get just the right word or phrase. No wonder that the writing process for me is very slow.