Category Archives: Academic Writing

Pictures tell stories: An interview with Dr. Thomas Darcie about writing for engineers

Academic Writing, Engineering, Figures, Organization/ Order, Structure, Visuals
Dr. Thomas Darcie

By Madeline Walker

Dr. Thomas Darcie (also known as Ted) joined UVic in 2003 after a long career at Bell AT&T and is currently a Professor in the Department of Electrical and Computer Engineering. He is known as a leader in the development of lightwave systems for analog applications in cable television and wireless systems.

One morning in early June, I  had the opportunity to meet with Ted in his office in the Engineering Office Wing. Dozens of articles—evidence of Ted’s productivity—were spread across his desk. A cool breeze entered the open window.

Ted has supervised many graduate students in Engineering over the years, and I wanted to hear his ideas about writing in his discipline.

“How is writing in Engineering different from writing for another disciplines?” I asked.

“In Engineering, you’re trying to get across a complicated idea as succinctly as possible. I think in other disciplines they tend to use more words to express things. Certainly when there is a lot of mathematics involved, you try to let the mathematics tell the story, and you’re writing words to support the mathematics.”

Ted and I talked about the kinds of challenges writing presents for his students. “I see challenges at every level of the writing process,” he said. “There’s the top level, the organizational structure of the story to be told. Then this breaks down to paragraphs—what is supposed to be in a paragraph and what separates paragraphs. Then there’s sentence structure, use of words, punctuation, syntax. I see challenges for writers at all these levels.”

“How do you help students face these challenges?” I wondered. “Do you work with them on their writing?”

“I do. We spend quite a lot of time cleaning up drafts. I mark-up drafts – I take a document and address all the levels at the same time. The first cut is the organization cut – what goes where. Then after the organization makes sense we break it down. It takes time, and in extreme cases I’ll work through several drafts with a student.”

I was curious about what Ted identifies as the biggest problem in graduate student writing. He used a metaphor to illustrate how students sometimes miss the point of writing: “People tend to want to write about what they spent their time doing whether or not that aligns with the story that needs to be told. A student might spend 80% of their time trying to polish something without breaking it, and they succeed. Then they spend 80% of their manuscript writing about the polishing, but what the reader wants to know is the outcome.” Ted’s example tweaked my memory; I’d seen corresponding situations in other disciplines, for example the data-driven thesis in the social sciences. A student might discuss her data for pages and pages without drawing any conclusions about it.

We moved from talking about problems to talking about successes. I asked Ted what characterizes the best engineering writing by students. “It’s well organized. Organization is key,” he answered. “In organized writing, the writer establishes a direct line between the introductory objective, the analysis, the results, and the meaning. The direct line is very important.”

I asked Ted to tell me more about the “direct line,” an intriguing phrase that reminded me of the “red thread” that some people refer to in argument-driven writing. “Well,” he said, “a technical manuscript is a concatenation of results, graphs, and equations, and you can tell the story with no words by lining up your graphs, figures, and equations in the right order. You can fill in the blanks between by joining those visuals. Visuals are telling the story, the words are just supporting the visuals. I badger my grad students to give me the story line in the visuals. Write in point form between the pictures, then expand each point into a paragraph. I’d much rather see a concatenation of 20 pictures telling a story than a concatenation of 20 paragraphs telling a story because I know which one would be better organized. You don’t need words to tell a story. Once the pictures are lined up, it’s easier to get the words right.”

The breeze from the open window lifts the top pages of the articles blanketing Ted’s desk. I thank him for his insights and go out into the bright day. I muse on disciplinary writing differences. My own love for art helps me know at a deep level that you can tell a story without words. I just hadn’t thought about how that idea can be applied in academic writing. I will now approach the engineering and math students I meet with this new perspective. For these disciplines, the word is often helpmate to the picture, and as Ted says, “once the pictures are lined up, it’s easier to get the words right.” Thank you Ted, for helping me to see writing in a new way.

An example of pictures telling stories
Credit: Smith, Jooshesh, Zhang, & Darcie. (2017). THz-TDS using a photoconductive free-space linear tapered slot antenna transmitter. Optics Express, 25(9). 10118-10125. https://doi.org/10.1364/OE.25.010118, p. 10120.

 

 

 

 

 

First diary entry of “The Little Prince” who just arrived in Victoria from his far home planet

Academic Writing, Centre for Academic Communication, EAL graduate students, Graduate student writers, International graduate students, Reading, Theatre history, Tutoring, Vocabulary, Writing resources

By Arash Isapour

New Ph.D. student Arash Isapour arrived in Victoria only six months ago.

The moment I received my admission letter from UVic, I experienced a weird feeling of anxiety, which was a combination of happiness and stress. Right off the bat, I can continue my educational career at the Ph.D. level, but at the same time, this Ph.D. fella felt the duty to come to grips with his academic flaws which are gathered under one title: language.

As a Theatre History student, I am aware that everything I’m dealing with is under the shadow of my English language abilities, including academic and literary writing, reading (not just journals or mathematical articles), speaking (not just at parties or for dating but for being a part of the interaction in a methodology class), and listening (not to Roger Waters’ new album but to a fast speaking English professor whose tongue takes you to the 18th century). And by the way, language is not just language, it is considered as a conveyor of culture.

As you can see, during my first days at UVic, I encountered all the aforementioned challenges at the same time with not even an epsilon of exaggeration. It was not just at the university but everywhere else I went. The neighborhood I am living in looks like a Hobbit village (Oak Bay). Not only were the people smiling at me but also the dogs. In public places, from groceries to banks, from standing at bus stops to sitting in non-stopping buses, people started conversations, and what I gave back was a smile, pretending as if I deeply got what they said, but I did not. The interesting thing was that they were not surprised by seeing me speak like a Martian, in other words like E.T. So, unexpectedly, I saw myself plunged into all these states. My first class was a methodology course in which the sweet, energetic professor wanted us to read books and essays by critical thinkers from Frye to Nietzsche, from Freud to Kristeva, from Hegel to Marx (my beloved), from McLuhan to Fredric Jameson (The reader killer, even for English speaking folks). I not only had to read and grasp all these frameworks but also had to discuss my opinions on them in class, each session. For the first days, the phrase “HOLY SMOKES” kept playing in my mind. I started recording the prof’s voice in class and tried to talk during class, despite the fact that I knew most of my words would make no damn sense, and those people were really looking at me as if they were saying “What in heaven’s name is he talking about!?” My self-esteem started to tremble as “The Earth Trembles” (My favorite Italian Movie).

In this dilemma, I had to choose either the easy way—let it go to any direction it wants to like the  wind—or the hard and better way—stand still and choose my own path even if it is against the stream. I might still be a successful Ph.D. student in the arts and humanities if I select the first, but I would definitely be a prosperous and industrious scholar from the beginning if I choose the second. In other words, when you find yourself in the uncomfortable zone, you either choose to surrender and pull back or challenge whatever jams you up. The first would be like a boring love story movie, and the second would be like an unpredictable romantic movie, such as “La La Land.”

So what I did was a bunch of silly sounding stuff that works:

  • I asked my sweet landlady to correct me whenever I speak, and she happily accepted to be my home teacher (which is free). And because she is from the 70s, I have learned a lot of nice expressions and am still learning. An example would be what people said when it was the first of May starting with “Hooray, hooray, it’s the first of May . . . . ” As you can see, I am learning a new culture, not just language in a technical way.
  • I carry a notebook with me wherever I go to write down whatever I hear from people in public places, see on the walls, hear from movies, TV series, and everything I need to learn while I’m reading something, from a book to an article, even if it is about my own country’s political and social news.
  • I make ten sentences with the new words to memorize them.
  • I read novels and stories in English that I have always wanted to read but never had time to. Now it has become a constant five-gold-star mandatory pleasure.
  • I go to the Centre for Academic Communication at the McPherson Library and try to learn everything I know about writing based on the papers I write. I share whatever I am confused about the language and ask as many questions as I need to ask, even if they make me look like a dummy, which might be cute.
  • I try not to meet too many people from my own nation, obliging me to speak English in order to keep the dynamic of my training zone. Remember, the more you are in the training zone, the more you improve in your career.

If you keep doing all these in an organized manner, gradually you will see yourself overcoming barriers. And you move to the next level of improvements. Yeah! It is exactly like a video game. But keep it steady and be patient. Some of these things are not new; you just have to deal with your daily jobs (e.g., reading news, watching movies, going out with friends), but you ought to use only the secondary language for all of these, except in one case: when you are speaking with your parents.

Arash Isapour arrived in Victoria in January 2017 from Tehran. He is a PhD student at UVic’s Phoenix Theatre. Besides being literature-crazy, he is a film buff, in other words a walking movie database.  

Purposeful pauses in writing

Academic Writing, Centre for Academic Communication, Cognitive process and writing, Deadlines, First draft, Posts by Nancy, Procrastination, Productivity, Writing process

By Nancy Ami

“I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by.”
– Douglas Adams

Nancy procrastinating with Lucy

A younger me learned to love deadlines, too, but for a different reason. A deadline was the only thing, I mean the only thing, that could force me to draft a piece of writing.

As a top-notch procrastinator who submitted assignments just in time for deadlines, I wondered why I struggled so much to get my thoughts down on a page. Why was drafting so hard? The “linear” process of writing: choosing a topic, generating ideas, planning, drafting, revising and editing – seemed easy enough.  What was it about the drafting – the movement of fingers across keys, translating ideas into text – that made it so painful?

Almost 25 years ago, I attended the 1993 ATESL (Alberta Teachers of English as a Second Language) Conference, eager to learn how I might teach writing better (and how I might write better myself). I attended Ernie Hall’s excellent presentation. He explained the cognitive processes writers engage in. He described the heavy demand these processes place on writers and that these contributed to writers’ frequent pausing.  He outlined the following intricate purposes for which writers pause as they draft: search, plan, evaluate, describe, question, and revise.

  • Search

We search for new ideas and the words to express them.

  • Plan

While we plan before we write, we also plan as we write. We consider order and arrangement of ideas. We plan our next steps as we draft, for in drafting, we gain insight into order and idea development.

  • Evaluate

We pause to judge as we draft. We wonder if it’s good enough. We critically analyze what is on the page before moving on. As a result of a pause to evaluate, we work back through our draft, revising and rewriting what we have already drafted.

  • Question (wonder)

We pause to wonder as we draft. We ask ourselves questions as we write. “How do I know that?” or “Where did I read that?” or “What else do I know?”

  • Revise

We pause to fix. We fix content, organization, word choices, sentence structure, grammar, and spelling. We revise so much that we forget to draft.

  • Decide (proceed without solution)

We pause but decide to proceed, to move on, to continue drafting. We may worry that we might forget the reason we paused. We capture the essence of our struggle, perhaps via track changes: “Add a citation here” or “Find more data for this argument” or we open an additional word document to note issues we face as we draft. We keep drafting, though, trusting a solution to the problem will emerge as we go.

Writers employ strategic pauses, meaningful pauses, necessary pauses when drafting. Writers pause for a reason.  I had always thought that my pauses meant there was something wrong; that I couldn’t write; that I had nothing worthy to say. Now I understand the cognitive processes drafting involves. When drafting, I pause and analyze my pause. I strategically search, plan, evaluate, question, revise, or proceed without solution. Drafting is hard work because it involves constant, relentless monitoring and management.

I still love and need deadlines to get started on my drafts.  However, understanding drafting’s complexity and the intricate decision-making it involves helps me embrace the process, capturing my ideas into text just before the deadlines whoosh by.

As the Manager of the Centre for Academic Communication, Nancy loves working with her CAC team to support UVic writers, collaborating with UVic partners and faculty. As an EAL Specialist, she’s taught international students for 25 years, in both public and private institutions.

 

Why we worry: Writing as therapy

Academic Writing, Anxiety, Centre for Academic Communication, Goal setting, Mental health, Procrastination, Productivity, Time management, Tutoring, Writing groups, Writing process

by Jonathan Faerber

photo of author Jonathan Faerber
Jonathan Faerber

Many of us worry about our writing. We are apprehensive about an unfamiliar topic, or we are afraid of what others will think of our work. We anticipate getting things wrong. We exaggerate criticism and fear failure. We are overwhelmed by uncertainty and obsess over details that are outside of our control.

When I worked as a writing tutor and graduate student at UVic, I often lived in denial of these fears.  I like writing, I told myself. I enjoy it. But all too often, I found myself making excuses not to write: I had other work to do, or I needed to finish a few more books before completing a thesis chapter. I struggled to be honest with myself, but these were symptoms of a simple problem: I was terrified of my thesis.

Anxiety like this is a natural emotion. It is characterized by uneasiness, tension, and pessimism. The causes of anxiety are somewhat subjective, but there are some common patterns. Anxiety is often preceded by negative events followed by an expectation of continued difficulty or future disaster.

Fortunately, there are therapeutic activities and treatments for anxiety, and if writing anxiety is a special case of such worry, similar strategies can help writers as well. For example, psychologists often treat anxiety disorders with cognitive behavioural therapy or exposure therapy. CBT involves identifying our negative thoughts and focusing on positive or realistic thinking instead, while exposure therapy is a way to progressively familiarize ourselves with what worries us.

Similarly, it helps to be honest about our writing anxiety and to spend time getting comfortable with the writing process. For example, consider that writing assignment that you dread. Perhaps it is for a demanding instructor or it is on a subject or topic you do not like. Or perhaps the sheer amount of work you still have left is overwhelming. It is all too easy to push these thoughts into the back of our minds and turn to Netflix or Facebook and focus our attention elsewhere.

But this won’t help for long. We can’t ignore what we are afraid of forever. And in my experience, I can’t really forget about writing that I have to do unless I am writing. It was only in this honesty that I’d realize that my worries were often exaggerated.

So the solution here is to write. Of course, this is easier said than done. But it is important to write even when we feel that we cannot or do not want to. The more we write, the less writing will worry us. It does not matter exactly what writing you do, as long as you write. With that in mind, here are three suggestions that helped make my writing experiences more positive—even therapeutic.

First: try to focus on what you can control. We often are so preoccupied with the end product that we will not put pen to paper until we think we have the end product in sight. But that is never how writing works. The only way to know what you will write is to write. Do not obsess over what is outside your control. Do not obsess over the end product before the end. Set yourself achievable goals. Focus on the next step—the one you can complete right now: whether this is one paragraph, or one page, or one section, or one chapter. Either way, the only way to accomplish anything is through incremental steps.  Do what you can. You can’t do what you can’t, so don’t worry in advance about what you haven’t managed yet.

Second: make yourself vulnerable. Let others know what your worries are. Talk to people. Write with people. Share your writing with readers who aren’t grading you. There are many people who can help you and who will read your writing for the sake of helping you. This might be a close friend or a classmate. It might be someone at the Centre for Academic Communication.

Again, we all worry about writing. All the time. You are normal. You are not alone.

But then, there are times where being alone will help. Too often, we think writing is just for school or work, and we are often trained to think we are wasting time unless we are writing for someone or to accomplish something, and then we wind up getting nothing done. So my third suggestion is write things you don’t have to write. Sometimes, these can turn into parts of papers that you have to write. After all, it is hard to like what you write if you don’t like writing it. So remember to make time to write for you. You don’t always have to write. But don’t write only what you have to write. Remember to make time to write for you.

Of course, I cannot guarantee that following this advice will make your anxiety go away, but it might help you diagnose and understand its causes. The good news is that once we better understand our anxiety, we can predict or expect it. We can reduce it. We can manage it. But it may be unrealistic to think that we can eliminate anxiety altogether.

After all, anxiety is a difficult problem. But I think almost any solution to it will involve a conversation. This blog post is my contribution to this conversation and an invitation for you to face up to your worries in your own writing as well.

Jonathan is a UVic alumnus and former tutor at the Centre for Academic Communication. He is currently Writing Centre Associate at Royal Roads University.

 

Lessons learned from my first year in graduate school

Academic Writing, Centre for Academic Communication, Citation management tools, EAL graduate students, Feedback, First year in graduate school, Grammar and punctuation, Productivity, Time management, Transition, Tutoring, Writing groups

By Cindy Quan

photo of the author, Cindy

Technically, I’ve only concluded the first two terms, but I have yet to grow out of the undergraduate mindset of April signaling the end of a school year. Now that it is May, I have had the chance to reflect on the many types of writing that I completed since September. In this blog post, I hope some of my reflections may be of relevance to incoming graduate students, especially clinical psychology students.

Many types of writing

There are many types of writing to learn in graduate school. In the first year, there is a great demand on time: the course load is high, you must learn psychological tests, get familiar with the research in your advisor’s lab, and write literature reviews. This can distract from other types of writing, especially mastering the writing of assessment reports and scholarship applications. Yet both these types of writings are essential for long-term success as a clinical psychology student and deserve dedication of time and effort. During the first two semesters, I allocated little time to learn these skills, and becoming more proficient at both is one of my goals for the summer months. I have found plenty of resources in the library about both types of writing. This site has a lot of specific suggestions for proposal writing that I adopted for writing my tri-council scholarship application.

Extensive feedback from your advisor

If your advisor is anything like mine, you might be surprised and even feel a bit startled the first time you open a review paper or a research proposal with feedback. The many comment boxes may be unnerving, but they are actually great news. (At least, that is the perspective I have chosen.) First, they indicate that the advisor took time to read the text closely. In other words, your advisor cares about the work you do. Second, the comments are useful. I recognize that this might not always be the case, especially for “senior” students who have committee members who may provide conflicting suggestions or students who have developed a sufficient foundation in the area and their informed opinions differ from their advisors’. As a first-year student, I have always found adopting the suggestions improves my research. Third, the advisor may provide grammatical corrections and editorial comments. This brings me to my third realization.

Compensatory strategies for being a non-native English speaker work

As a non-native English speaker, I believe I spend more time revising than peers who are native English speakers. This habit partly stems from a lack of feedback on papers submitted during my undergraduate years. Not knowing why I received a better grade on one paper than another encouraged my neurotic and perfectionist tendencies – I just kept revising until a deadline. This is not necessarily a bad habit; it helped me improve the clarity and conciseness of my writing. As Gillian wrote in a post a few months ago, good punctuation and grammar requires practice. But in reality, as a graduate student there is little time for extensive rewriting. When time permits, I now try to read a style guide or visit the CAC experts who can efficiently point out recurrent grammatical errors I make. Also, simply incorporating the comments my advisor provides on my work improves the quality more than trying to revise on my own and it saves time! When revising, I now stop at the point of diminishing returns. A great law…

“Piled Higher and Deeper” by Jorge Cham
www.phdcomics.com

Experiment with writing

Since I had to do a lot of writing this past year, I experimented with systems of organization and writing settings to see how to become more productive. I finally started using a citation manager. Since I do my work both on a Mac and a PC I use Zotero; it syncs the information seamlessly. There are many other citation tools. You can find a nice comparison chart for what suits your needs here. Some people enjoy writing in groups, finding the presence of others to keep them accountable. Writing in a group did keep me from browsing online shopping sites and checking emails, but I also felt awkward. I tried writing in cafes, but the noise was distracting and the cost of snacks adds up quickly. Ultimately, I found that home is the best place for me to work – I can drink my weight in coffee and tea for free, and there is silence.

Somewhat surprising to myself, I find that my confidence in writing increased after the first year and the writing process is easier. I am looking forward to writing the introduction to my thesis over the summer. Anyway, happy writing!

Cindy Quan is a Master’s candidate in Clinical Psychology at the University of Victoria. Her research interests include the intersection of culture and mental health as well as risks and protective factors in vulnerable families. When not working, she loves spending her time playing racquet sports, travelling and cooking.

How to write a dissertation when you’re really busy and love to travel

Academic Writing, Centre for Academic Communication, Conferences, Dissertation writing, Focus strategies, Goal setting, Graduate student writers, Political science, Procrastination, Productivity, Time management, Tutoring, Writing process, Writing resources

By Marta Bashovski

It’s the end of April, the end of another academic year, and the beginning of another summer. This can be a tricky time for “senior” PhD students like me. On the one hand, my usual sources of funding and the duties that take up most of my time – teaching, TAing, and tutoring at the CAC – are on hold until the fall. On the other hand, we’re now in the midst of “conference season,” and since defending my dissertation proposal, committing to writing conference papers has been how I’ve found time to write the chapters of my dissertation. The “perks” of attending conferences – travelling to interesting places, catching up with old friends, and seeing new work in my discipline – are not bad either!

What I hope to offer in this post isn’t suggestions for how to approach conference abstracts, networking, papers, or presentations. There are many excellent guides already out there. See here, here, and here, for instance. Instead, I would like to share some reflections on the dissertation writing benefits I’ve found to regularly attending conferences.

Writing to a clear deadline

I need deadlines to be productive. The daily life an ABD PhD student with non-writing duties and commitments often means that writing gets pushed to the bottom of my to-do list. The long-term, amorphous deadlines of a dissertation project also mean that, for better or for worse (usually worse), writing happens very slowly and in tiny chunks. This is where I’ve been able to make strategic use of conference deadlines. Since the conferences I attend have application deadlines six months to a year in advance, I am able to plan when I’ll be forced, by the stress of necessity, to draft a concise version of a dissertation chapter that I can later develop further. The commitment to submit a paper draft and the accountability to a group of colleagues has helped me to prioritize scheduling – and following through on – writing time.

comic from Piled Higher and Deeper
“Piled Higher and Deeper” by Jorge Cham (published with permission)
www.phdcomics.com

Clarifying the project

If your dissertation proposal was anything like mine, you quickly found that your aims were far too broad to make for manageable dissertation chapters. Taking your chapter outlines – and your ambitious plans to cover all of the relevant literature for the questions you address – and making them into conference papers is an excellent way to focus your argument to emphasize only the most important themes. I’ve found that for a typical conference paper, I write about a third to half of what I had originally planned to cover in a given dissertation chapter – and this is fine! I have the opportunity to complete a skeleton draft and can always supplement and revise this later. I have found that my original ambitious plan did not serve the purpose that I hoped to achieve in the chapter. (This post offers some more specific suggestions on writing a conference paper in a limited time – in a mere two days!)

Writing for an audience

As writers generally, and PhD students in particular, we are often told to consider who our readers will be when we write. As with elusive dissertation deadlines, though, our audiences can also be vaguely defined (our committees? other scholars in our field?). Writing for a conference comes with a built-in audience –even if that audience ends up being not many more people than your discussant and fellow panel members. Writing for a particular conference and panel, you now have a sense of the themes expected of your paper, the concepts you will need to explain, and the debates to which you hope your work will contribute. I have also found that writing for a specific, tangible audience also helps me to personify my usually densely theoretical work – it helps me to cut the jargon and focus on the takeaway I’d like the audience to remember from my talk.

Feedback and revisions

As we complete our highly specialized dissertation projects, most of the feedback we receive as we go along comes from readers who know us and our projects well – supervisors, committee members, and if we’re lucky a few friends or department colleagues. These people are mostly “insiders”: they have a sense of the orientation of our projects, our goals, and the conceptual vocabularies that frame our writing. I have found it very helpful to receive feedback from people who are interested in my project – and may be experts in the field – but do not necessarily begin from the same assumptions (and, relatedly, institutional background) as I am. Feedback from outside our own “bubbles” can offer new perspectives, new reading suggestions, or even reframe major aspects of the dissertation. The latter happened to me when a particularly conscientious discussant asked whether I would pursue a particular concept later in my dissertation – I hadn’t planned on it, but now this discussion forms the last chapter of my dissertation.

Possible caveats

Directing your dissertation writing through conference papers – and conference attendance in general – comes with several caveats, of course. First, you might find that the feedback you receive on your work is sparse or not at all helpful. Second, you might find yourself writing papers or participating on roundtables not related to your dissertation work at all. This could be a downside or not. Working on other projects might seem like a waste of time, but it might also be a welcome distraction from dissertation burnout, and an opportunity to develop new ideas for future projects and meet a new network of scholars.

I have two more conferences this summer – the British International Studies Association annual meeting in Brighton, UK and the Gregynog Ideas Lab in Newtown, Wales. At both, I’ll be presenting parts of the last chapter of my dissertation – yet to be written! In Brighton, I’m excited to be on a panel that both fits my research well and includes scholars I am eager to talk to further. In Wales, I’m looking forward to reconnecting with old friends and both sharing my own research and getting inspired by their research. In the meantime, I’ll be taking part in another long-honoured academic writing tradition – the writing retreat, in my case my brother’s sunny apartment in Sofia, Bulgaria. Have a wonderful summer and happy writing!

Marta Bashovski is a tutor at the CAC and a PhD Candidate in Political Science and Cultural, Social and Political Thought at UVic. She is most enthusiastic about food, travelling, and her cat.

 

The first rule of Write Club is you have to write

Academic Writing, Centre for Academic Communication, Dissertation writing, English Department, Goal setting, Graduate student writers, Posts by Kaveh, Procrastination, Productivity, Time management, Writing groups

By Kaveh Tagharobi

Having a full time job and writing a thesis is not easy. Actually, this is an understatement because sometimes the task appears utterly impossible. Work projects alone require your undivided attention, and at the end of the day, there is not much intellectual power left to read about your topic, organize your thoughts, and more importantly, to weave those thoughts into the paragraphs, sections, and chapters of a thesis. The most important factor in writing a thesis is consistency, and having a full-time job, and (occasionally) a life, makes it too hard to maintain that consistency. You might manage to make a Write Club posterbreakthrough on a weekend or during “holidays,” but as soon as you spend a whole week on the work roller coaster, you find yourself back at square one, detached from your thesis, needing to review stuff that is now weeks old.

This is where I kept finding myself for two years trying to finish my MA thesis while working at the CAC. As an EAL Specialist, I knew in theory how to go through the writing process and how to break down writing tasks into smaller chunks in order to make incremental progress. I did not, however, find the place, time, or the motivation to put what I knew into practice.

But things changed in the summer of 2016, when I started to go to Write Club, a group writing initiative started by Stephen Ross in the English Department for faculty and graduate students to write together. The ad for Write Club described it as “a no-pressure, no distraction setting for getting that pesky writing done,” and it encouraged bringing any writing project because “No one cares what you write, so long as you write.” This simple, crisp, and forthright invitation was all I needed to start building a simple, crisp, and forthright habit: to carve two hours out of my workday (by going to work a couple hours earlier) and writing about four paragraphs during that time. It was as simple as that, and I wrote my thesis (the whole 50,000 words) in the same rhythm, two hours a day, four paragraphs at a time. Of course, on some days, I spent my two hours reading, planning, and revising, but I tried to keep the same habit rain or shine. In the fall, when I got busier at work and could not go to Write Club regularly, I still kept my two hour routine early in the morning or after work in the evening. It was surprisingly easier to keep the momentum once I got into a groove, and I actually worked for much more than two hours during Christmas holidays and as I got closer to the finish line. Write Club helped me finish my thesis, and as someone who had tried to start writing groups at the CAC as part of my role, I went back to Stephen to ask him about the reasons for Write Club’s success.

My main question for Stephen was how he managed to spark interest and keep people going to Write Club. I had tried to do the same, and I had noticed that the initial enthusiasm would dissipate rather soon. He reassured me that it is part of the nature of such initiatives to “bloom and fade” somewhat quickly, and that it is fine. To increase persistence, Stephen believed that you should “go slow burn”: “You don’t need to go for huge numbers to make a big show and a big deal out of it.” This was true. It was somehow the simplicity of the idea that attracted me and kept me going. He said that it was just him in the beginning and then he decided to send out an invitation to faculty and graduate students. “I never advertised it outside English or to undergraduates.” This allowed him to keep it easy and simple, and that helped with consistency.

One other way to keep it simple was to limit the activities and functions of the group. The invitation simply said “come and write.” I asked if there was any sharing of writing or plans to give feedback. “Very informally,” Stephen said. “Once Adrienne [Dr. Adrienne Williams Boyarin, an Associate professor in English] had a question about her paper, and we made her deliver her paper. It became a discussion.” But it seemed that for the most part, Write Club was just about being there and quietly beavering away. “The emphasis was on not disturbing other people. I did not want anybody to hijack the session,” said Stephen. I agreed. The idea was to provide encouragement and motivation by showing that we are all in it together. I remember being there, and as I got tired, I would look at others writing and would feel that I was not alone, and that helped me continue. Stephen confirmed this: “It is somehow like physical education. You need a workout partner. For writing, it is kind of the same principle.” They key is to know that someone is doing the same thing you are doing. He thinks that you do not even have to be in the same room to do this. You can have a “writing appointment” with someone and write at the same time.  “Not everybody likes to write around other people. It is weird for them, and that’s fine. For me it is all about accountability.” He continued with his delightful frankness, “Like many academics, I am driven by shame. If I create conditions for myself, I don’t want to embarrass myself.” I definitely felt that sense of accountability. Knowing that other members would show up to the writing session every morning gave me not only the motivation to commit to my writing, but also a sense of being watched by kind, yet panoptic co-writers, and this kept me leaving home a couple hours earlier every day even when I really didn’t feel like it.

It is not all about being kept in check though. “Equally it is about support,” Stephen said. “We are all suffering. Writing is not easy for anyone. Anyone who tells you it is easy, then they are not writing good stuff!” He was also straightforward in admitting the hardships: “some days were just so terrible, and I wanted the students to know that.” He showed it as a way of “modelling” for student participants because he thinks we must accept that blocks are part of writing. Yet there are solutions. He thinks that taking a break and coming back later can work, as “the brain cooks up the solution” when you go about your day doing other stuff. “Go have lunch or go for a walk and think about something else. At some point, you will have an ‘aha moment.’ Create space for those.”

Creativity and productivity come with a healthy balance: “Write for three hours a day max, and then do other things. The window of productivity is relatively tiny.” This makes Write Club perfect because in those two hours “you can prime the pump.” Longer periods of work “lead to frustration. Because you are working too hard. Not smart. You shouldn’t be writing for more than three hours per day. You do that, and your brain quality and quantity falls down.” Stephen said that he wrote a book and several journal articles during the summer with the same routine of 2-3 hours per day, and he still managed to lead a normal life: “I pick up my kid from school, go for a run, etc., and if I have an idea while doing these, I would dictate it into my phone for later.” I think this is clever, healthy, and reasonable, and he agrees: “this is actually the kind of life an academic should lead.”

Dr. Stephen Ross
Dr. Stephen Ross

I thank Stephen for his time and leave his office, with a little bit more hope and motivation for my future academic writing projects. The power of group writing is immense, and Write Club proved that by helping me and others accomplish important writing projects. I hope there are more programs like this across the campus to help graduate students get their writing done. Maybe all we need is an uncomplicated plan and a healthy balance of accountability and support.

Kaveh Tagharobi is an EAL (English as an additional language) Specialist at the Centre for Academic Communication.  He is also in the English Department’s MA Program with a concentration in Cultural, Social, and Political Thought.

 

Comma chameleon: Transforming punctuation and grammar in your writing

Academic Writing, Centre for Academic Communication, Editors and editing, Graduate student writers, Grammar and punctuation, Posts by Gillian, Reading, Tutoring, Writing resources

By Gillian Saunders

It wasn’t so long ago when I found out that I didn’t really know how to use a comma. I mean, I knew how, but I didn’t really, really know. I could put them in the right place about 95% of the time, but not explain why I was adding them or choosing not to. Sound familiar?

I wasn’t a poor writer, making word salad with a careless handful of commas tossed in; I’d been admitted to a graduate program in English Language and Literature. And I didn’t know how to begin to fix this problem. At this point, the finer points of punctuation seemed mysterious and probably unlearnable.

As an English as an Additional Language Specialist at UVic’s Centre for Academic Communication and as an instructor, I meet a lot of students experiencing this same frustration. Writers who learned English as an additional language may be at an advantage: for the most part, they have been “taught” a lot of what they need to know to be able to master the use of commas and other fun and useful things like colons and semicolons with relative ease. In order to know whether you need a comma in any given situation, you need a functional range of metalanguage: relative clause, dependent clause, conjunctive adverb, etc. Native English speakers under a certain age, however, were mostly just told to throw a comma in when they “felt like they needed a pause,” which, unfortunately, isn’t a real rule of comma usage. As adults pursuing graduate degrees, not having been taught real rules isn’t doing us any good now. In fact, it’s kind of embarrassing.

“What am I supposed to do about it now?” you might be wondering. Here’s the abridged version of how I’ve filled my own vacancies in the punctuation and grammar puzzle: first and foremost, my education is in a very reading- and writing-heavy field. I studied writing and linguistics with some very inspiring and knowledgeable instructors, and then I started teaching grammar and composition myself. At that point, I had to learn everything there was to know, or else risk being shown up by students who had mastered not only their own first languages, but mine as well, and better than I had. I completed a Certificate in Editing by distance. I read books like Michael Swan’s Practical English Usage, Strunk and White’s classic The Elements of Style, and everything by Kate Turabian and Diana Hacker. I Googled. A lot. “Which vs. that?” “What is an appositive?” I tugged at the knots of obscure grammar forum threads until I was satisfied that I could explain when and why you need a comma before “such as.” I started reading my work, and the work I edited, aloud, with verbalized punctuation: “The semicolon has two main uses COLON it separates long items in a list COMMA which may also contain commas COMMA and it joins two independent clauses that are closely related PERIOD.” I questioned my identity as a writer, as a native English speaker, and in other areas of my life. Had I also been singing the wrong words to my favourite songs at the top of my lungs in the car all along? (I had.)

Learning the “right way” to use punctuation (and the correct lyrics to all my favourite 80s and 90s songs) clearly took time and the kind of dedication that may not be available to you when your literature review is due next week. Thankfully, there are other options available. First, get a diagnosis from someone who knows a lot about these things. Maybe you’re guilty of conjunctive adverb abuse because you’ve got them confused with subordinating conjunctions. Maybe you’ve never thought about restrictive and non-restrictive clauses. Half the battle is just knowing what to Google.

It may seem painful at first, but picture yourself at some point in the future when it pays off: your perfectly punctuated cover letter just got you your dream job. You didn’t have to hire an editor before you submitted your article for publication. You’ve met the girl of your dreams online; her profile said she only dated people who texted with correct punctuation, and she really meant it. Good punctuation matters to a lot of people, more than you might think, but at the end of the day it’s up to you how accurate you need your writing to be and how much you are prepared to invest in your writing practice. Like doing yoga or learning how to knit a sweater, it takes time and dedication to develop the skills and ability you need in order to have a practice you’re satisfied with. A good practice requires a good instructor that you trust, clear instructions, the ability to detect errors, the skills to be able to fix them, the confidence to take risks, and the humility to ask for help when you’re not sure what you’re doing. Who can you ask? The CAC. We’re here to help!

Gillian is an English as an Additional Language Specialist and Business English and Communications instructor at UVic, and has taught in Canada and South Korea. In her spare time she can be found reading about grammar and English language teaching and patting herself on the back for not pointing out every single writing error she encounters during her day.

 

 

Hidden gems: A conversation about writing with Dr. Anne Bruce

Academic Writing, Centre for Academic Communication, Creative writing, Dissertation writing, Faculty member, Feedback, Graduate student writers, Outlines, Productivity, Reading, School of Nursing, Tutoring, Voice, Writing process, , ,
Dr. Anne Bruce

By Madeline Walker

Late one Friday afternoon in January, I sat across from Anne in the Bibliocafé to talk about writing. The metal gates were being drawn around the food counter, and most seats were empty as students went off to their week-end activities.  In her role as the Associate Director of Graduate Education at UVic’s School of Nursing, Anne meets with many graduate students struggling with writing their theses and dissertations. The first thing I asked Anne was, “How can students be effective writers?”

Anne was quick to respond: “Write a lot. Engage in conversation with what you are reading—make notes, be in conversation with the author.” Anne recommended that students engage in note-taking at every stage of the dissertation.  Take notes during your coursework, your research, your data analysis.  “Very soon,” she said, “you will start to make connections.  The analytic process is fostered through organizing one’s thoughts through writing.”

Note-taking, Anne suggests, can also be in the form of a reflective journal, a vehicle that gives you “permission to be footloose and fancy free. Especially when doing research. You can include everything. Include whatever’s happening, the feeling of being blocked, the emotional experience of writing, the personal—everything—follow all lines of thought.”  Anne’s eyes lit up when she remembered how an entry she made in her reflective journal while on vacation led to musing about the verb “to vacate,” an observation that ended up in her dissertation.  “You never know what gems will come up,” Anne smiled.

This talk of gems got us onto the topic of voice: How do students find their own way of writing?  Anne suggested you be alert to writing that really engages you, writing that evokes a sense of aliveness. “Read to get a sense of what moves you,” she said. “If a writer really speaks to you, acknowledge that—take the writing apart—ask yourself, what is it about the style that is evocative? Don’t mimic the writing, but look at structure and style and make it your own.”

“Who do you like? Who moves you?” I asked.  Anne didn’t skip a beat. “Gary Rolfe writes with passion. I’ve found his voice clear and strong, the confidence.  He has an opinion,” she continued. “His writing borders on polemic, and my tendency is to be temperate, but polemic has its place,” she said with a wry grin.

Engage in note-taking at every stage of dissertation writing.

“Anybody else?” I asked. “Sally Gadow, a poetic philosopher,” Anne replied.  “She gave me permission to write that way. And another writer is Patti Lather—she writes fractured text, visually
‘saying’ what she means.  For example, she embeds boxes in her work that disrupt the writing.”

Anne and I talked about how students can gain inspiration from writers they admire, how they can play with writing, not taking it too seriously.  She reminded me that just as an academic writer’s body of work changes over time, so does the writing of graduate students as they develop their own styles and voices.

We shifted to another topic.  What about writers who struggle with writing and self-expression?  Anne suggests that grad students do an honest self-assessment of their writing, and if they need to learn the basics, then they can set out to learn them. It’s never too late to figure out how to work with an outline, to practice using mind-maps, to learn how to signpost and summarize.  This was the perfect opportunity for me to point out that graduate students can make appointments with tutors at the Centre for Academic Communication to work on any aspect of their communication skills.

Fittingly, my last question for Anne was about finishing; how do students finish a long writing project when they feel stuck?  Her answer was that we need to “acknowledge and work with fear and resistance. It’s part of the process, inherent to a sense of identity. It feels vulnerable to write, but we must find a way to be with it.”

One of the reasons students get stuck is that they get paralyzed by feedback from supervisors and committee members.  Anne had this recommendation: “Try not to take feedback personally, learn from it, and know that you don’t have to accept it, especially comments about style or approach. You can differentiate what is helpful and leave the rest.”  Anne also cautioned about “seeking feedback too early. In writing’s formative stages, things are in process. It’s a messy incubation period, and if you seek feedback from your supervisor too soon, the work can become even messier. You may get advice you don’t want to follow, which complicates your relationships. Instead, find peers who might be helpful, trustworthy, and honest.”

The winter sky turned purple and orange beyond the quad: It was time to part ways.  Anne had to go meet some PhD students at the Grad House and my work day was over.  But before we left each other, Anne added a lovely parting gift: “I know that students, as they build confidence, will write themselves into their dissertations.”

Thank you for the wise and encouraging words, Anne.  May we all trust the writing process.

Dr. Anne Bruce has been with UVic since 2003. Her approaches to research and teaching invite students into (un)speakable and in-between spaces of our professional and personal lives. Her current scholarship includes understanding nurses’ experiences with medical assistance in dying and integrating contemplative approaches into teaching and learning. She believes education can inspire, transform, and generate life-long friendships.​

 

 

A few tips to help with the writing process

Academic Writing, Distractions, Focus strategies, Graduate student writers, Procrastination, procrastination, Productivity, Reading, Slavic studies, Time management, Writing process

By Kate Ehle

I’m assuming that you and I have something in common. It’s probably something to do with writing, and I’ll risk a guess that it’s related to the frustration that can often come with the writing process. Sure, exams are stressful, and graduate school has introduced me to a whole new level of self-scrutiny and subsequent existential drama, but nothing causes me to clench my jaw or neglect to feed myself quite like a long and arduous writing task.

Riding high off a couple of successful papers and nearing the completion of my first thesis chapter, I volunteered to write an article for the newly launched Graduate Student Writers’ Community. I jotted down a few ideas and shifted my attention to other tasks, allowing just enough time for my momentum and conceit to prove that they are, indeed, fleeting. I sat down at my desk, reviewed my notes, and was briefly consumed by writer’s block and an acute awareness of other jobs waiting on the backburner. Well, now is the perfect time to test those writing tips that I scribbled down in a bout of apparent overconfidence.

Here’s the first tip: Create a title that is creative, specific, and catchy. The idea is to jumpstart the writing process in a way that is fun and not too challenging, with the desirable side effect of articulating your topic in a fun and creative way. What should naturally follow is the creation of an outline and abstract, and a consultation with your professor to get some feedback.

The scenario outlined above certainly sounds like the best case. But even with my very own writing tips sitting right in front of me, I’ve been finding myself staring at a blank screen, thinking about the lemon cake sitting in the department kitchenette, and wondering if my gut can handle another cup of coffee. Do I even like lemon cake?

It seems the issue at hand begins with an initial stumbling block that opens up a whole plethora of focus-related challenges. In situations like these, what can actually help are immediate, targeted strategies that work to channel your attention and help you feel diligent. A good place to start is by reading a few articles by writers whose style you like, taking a moment to think about how they begin their writing, and using it to inspire your own (thank you, Masha Gessen). Try to stick to this task without interruption for a full 30 minutes. If you just can’t get any words out, ask yourself, “What am I trying to say?” Jot the answer down, regardless of how sloppy, and then refine it. Use a thesaurus whenever you need.

A few paragraphs in and I am already beginning to feel like a wrung-out dishrag. There has got to be more to say on the subject, but it is becoming increasingly difficult to focus and my output is slowly declining in quality. Now is the time to utilize some strategies to help maintain focus.

Generally, sensations that are soothing to the senses are useful. Making tea and drinking it as you read and write can help you to remain focused and in one place for as long as the tea is hot. And, recent research suggests that the polyphenols contained in green tea could contribute to the maintenance of a healthy brain.

The human brain also loves music. Research suggests that there are parts of the brain that respond solely to sounds that we categorize as musical. If you’re one of the lucky people who can read and write while music plays in the background, it is worth taking advantage of that fact. Do you have a couple favourite albums that you like to listen to while reading or writing? Herbie Hancock’s Maiden Voyage has been on heavy rotation in my office these days.

Some people use scents to help focus. Please be considerate of those who may be sensitive to fragrance. I have recently had luck with burning palo santo, a type of wood used in traditional South American ceremonies and medicine, that has been shown to have anti-inflammatory properties. Maybe it helps to relieve the jaw clenching and related neck tension. Regardless, I recommend sticking to techniques that are calming and complementary to your writing environment.

So, what am I trying to say in this blog post? That I finished my writing, and that you can, too. It may be frustrating, but you’ve got some new ideas in your back pocket to help you stay focused. Now get ready to try them out, and go consult some of your favourite writers to get some inspiration.

Also, I checked the expiry date on the lemon cake in the kitchenette and strongly recommend steering clear of it.

Kate Ehle is a second year MA student in Slavic Studies, editor of the Department of Germanic and Slavic Studies’ graduate journal, Verges, and a drummer. She is a strong proponent for music, eating, and writing, as safe and healthy ways for understanding and interacting with people and the world.