Category Archives: Outlines

Shape out of chaos: The mysterious process of writing

Academic Writing, Argument, Book reviews, Centre for Academic Communication, Cognitive process and writing, Organization/ Order, Outlines, Productivity, Reading, Revision, Writing process

By Madeline Walker

 “Insisting on control, having a plan or outline, and always sticking to it is a prophylactic against organic growth, development, change. But it is also a prophylactic against the experience of chaos and disorientation which are very frightening.” (Peter Elbow, Writing without Teachers, p. 35).

As spring explodes into summer in the Northern Hemisphere, my thoughts are the upcoming year. Starting July 1, I will be taking a year’s leave from my job at the Centre for Academic Communication.

Since I started this blog in December 2016, we’ve published 44 posts – many by graduate writers graciously sharing their stories.  In my first blog post, Writing Undressed, I wrote about the messiness of writing, an uneven process that occurs in fits and starts and not according to some smooth trajectory. In this post, I would like to return to the mysterious and magical process of writing, a topic that continues to fascinate me.

A friend who self-published a novel asked me to write a review, and I was happy to agree because I enjoyed his story.  But getting traction on writing the review has been difficult. First I re-read the book, taking notes. The first read was for pure pleasure; the second time was purposeful—I was looking for key ideas and quotations to use in the review. I also looked carefully at the structure of the novel, which on my first read simply blended into the background.

Once I had my notes, the real difficulties began. How can I capture all of the different ideas I have? Where to start? Do I need to summarize the story first? But what about an engaging opening? Am I reading it correctly? Am I making too much of this idea?  Self-doubt flooded me and I felt like a novice writer. I’ve written several reviews before that were published, but somehow previous experience didn’t seem to give me a leg up. I felt mired in chaos.

And then I realized: This happens every time. Lately, my self-doubt is laced with the added tang of ageism: “you’re getting old and your mind is deteriorating, you’re losing vocabulary, you can’t do this anymore.” Different spice, same message, just the familiar devil of doubt sitting on my shoulder. Recognizing the pattern means I know what to do. Ignore the voice as I muddle through. And muddle through I always do! I spent several evenings writing fragments and re-starting the review, mulling over it when I wasn’t actually writing.

 “The turning point in the whole cycle of growing is the emergence of a focus or a theme. It is also the most mysterious and difficult kind of cognitive event to analyze. It is the moment when what was chaos is now seen as having center of gravity. There is a shape where a moment ago there was none.” (Peter Elbow, Writing Without Teachers, p. 35)

And then one morning as I rode my bike to work, it started to happen, the center of gravity for that review started to emerge. I need to trust that this always happens, eventually, if I muddle and mull long enough. It was as if my neurons were firing a mile a minute—ideas flowed and my center of gravity emerged like a hot sun around which my planetary thoughts revolved. I knew the key idea that I was to follow in the review and I had to stop twice, pulling my bike over to the side of Lochside trail to make notes so I didn’t forget what it was I wanted to say.

Peter Elbow’s wonderful metaphor for center of gravity suggests a place of equilibrium, where the ideas are pulled into a central mass of significance. And this happened for me when I recognized the argument I wanted to make about the book. Emergence of an argument signals the emergence of a center of gravity because for me, argument is the structuring principle of most of my writing. Once that starts to take shape, it gets easier.

I don’t make plans or outlines. Well sometimes I do, but they fail—they are provisional—I don’t stick to them. I’ve realized that I must honour the scary disorienting feeling of being groundless when I begin the process of writing. Tons of notes and scribbles and frustration and trying to find a thread.   I need to trust that the mulling and stewing and casting about for words and ideas is a necessary messy and chaotic stage I go through. When I try to force a solution or structure too soon, the process becomes distorted and prolonged.

One  dictum about writing is “clear thinking = clear writing.” I hazard a rewrite of that simplistic equation:  “chaotic thinking and messy writing lead eventually to clear thinking and writing.”  There really are no shortcuts.  One stage leads to the next: the emergence of an argument or significant idea or center of gravity or shape. And from that center of gravity the work will build itself.   At least that has been my experience.

Please enjoy the blog as it is–we will not be adding content during my absence. However, I will check my email at mrwalker@uvic.ca if you wish to contact me with ideas for the blog’s future directions.

Take good care and enjoy the work and play of writing.

Madeline

 

 

Know thyself: A conversation with Dr. Lisa Mitchell about writing

Academic Writing, Anthropology, Cognitive process and writing, Creative writing, Dissertation writing, Environment, Faculty member, Feedback, Focus strategies, Inspiration and motivation, Make writing social, Motivation, Organization/ Order, Outlines, Planning, Productivity, Structure, Visuals, Writing process

By Madeline Walker with Lisa Mitchell

Last week, I wandered over to Cornett to visit Dr. Lisa Mitchell, Associate Professor and Graduate Student Adviser in the Department of Anthropology. We sat together in her cozy office on a cool March afternoon to talk about writing—a favourite topic for both of us.

Dr. Lisa M. Mitchell

I asked Lisa about her own graduate school experience—could she share any tips gleaned from writing her dissertation? Lisa admitted that she didn’t become as “deeply reflective about how to write and especially what to do if writing doesn’t go smoothly” until she had her own graduate students.  We agreed that we often learn best by teaching. Lisa’s experience supervising graduate students exposed her both to students who experienced writing as pleasurable and to students who experienced writing as terrifying, and this helped her to a realization.  “I needed to get more reflective about my own writing practice and what I might offer to them to work through problems or how to take the writing to a deeper level.” Here Lisa touched on a theme she returned to several times during our dialogue: self-reflection in writing. As we become aware of our writing process, we come to know and accept ourselves as writers, and therefore we become more effective at writing, making the most of our idiosyncratic methods.

Garnered from both her own writing experience and her experience supervising, Lisa shared some of the ways she guides graduate students when they run into writing trouble. “Don’t assume that writing is easy and don’t assume it’s something natural. Take it as an  aspect of your learning process. It’s a skill and needs to be practiced. Do it regularly so it becomes a habit and something you think about through that regular engagement.”

Lisa noted that in anthropology, writing is sometimes the site or space for analysis, and students may get stuck in their writing because they are “still in the process of figuring out the analysis and trying to sort it out.”  She went on to describe several ways to overcome barriers that arise when we try to think things through before writing them down.  “When I start a piece, it’s not unusual for me to have a very hazy, broad idea of what I’m talking about, but when I put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard, I am working out the analysis as much as I am working out the narrative structure.” Lisa paused thoughtfully. “When things don’t go well, when you start to stumble in writing, change it up a little bit. Pick a different topic for even a few minutes or a day or two. If you’ve been sitting with your computer, stop and try pen and paper. In some of my classes, I have a session where you get a sentence fragment to start and you have to keep writing for five minutes.  Just do freewriting. Unleash the initial apprehension about starting a writing session.”

Lisa also finds that using visual tools can help shift stuck writing.  “I rely very heavily on making diagrams with my students when working through not just writing but analysis. I need to move between the word, the mind map, and the flow chart, and sometimes it is enormously helpful to sit and talk about what you are trying to write and try to represent it visually. So you have both a sense of the component elements of your writing, but also there is something very freeing, very stimulating in moving away from the word and putting it into circles and arrows.”

Another method Lisa uses when she needs to change things up is voice. “I turn on a recorder and just start talking. Sometimes it’s just me and my dogs and I’m going to start somewhere, sometimes in the middle or sometimes I think this is where I want this paper to end up. It’s a bit time consuming because you have to go back and see if there’s anything you really wanted and at times there is and at times there isn’t, but generally that process begins to bring to the surface bits and pieces that I know need to be in the piece I’m working on.”

Lisa then stressed the importance of sharing your writing: “We end up writing in little closed off spaces and there is much value in thinking about how you can make the writing more social. Talk to other people about writing – don’t assume that other people are writing without problems, without crisis.  Sometimes, talking to other people about what you are writing is a way to express it differently.”

This led Lisa to think about how she shares her own work with colleagues: “I think particularly among faculty we are unwilling to share our unfinished, our unpolished drafty drafts, and I think there is enormous value in working through even some of the basic foundational elements of an argument or the structure of a piece by being willing to open yourself up a bit.”  She elaborated on the metaphor of writing as conversation, a metaphor that can liberate us from the intimidating prospect of writing a thesis or dissertation:  “Think of writing as a creative process. If you load it up by saying ‘I have to write my dissertation,’ that’s such a daunting process, whereas if you say ‘I want to ask some interesting questions’ and ‘I want to engage in some conversations,’ it’s so much more doable, and it also feels like something that is much more like our everyday lives. Although there are certain requirements for a dissertation or a thesis in the level of academic language, and you are engaging sources in a way you wouldn’t ordinarily in everyday conversation, by metaphorically framing what you’re doing as engaging in a conversation and asking interesting questions, you don’t take on that huge burden: ‘Now I must create original knowledge’ in five or seven chapters or whatever.”

I agreed that the conversation metaphor is very useful in academic writing, mentioning a helpful writing text based on the idea of dialogue, They Say/ I Say: The Moves that Matter in Academic Writing by Graff and Birkenstein (2010).

As the clock crept closer to the end of our allotted time, I asked Lisa for any further thoughts on how she writes best, and she reiterated the importance of opening up about your writing:  “I sometimes think the reason we don’t talk about what we’re writing is there’s always a risk that we won’t finish it, so we don’t talk about it.” “Yes,” I said, “like telling people you’re quitting smoking then starting again.”  Lisa laughed. “The list of things we would like to write is always longer than the list of what we actually manage to write, but I don’t think there’s any real shame in that. Sometimes part of the creative process is working through the possibilities and then settling on the one or the two that you’re ready to actually write.  I tend to think of myself as a non-linear writer, so I really am one of those people that sometimes just starts in the middle. I kind of know where I should end up, but I’m not too sure where I’m starting from. I think by this point in my career I’ve made peace with that process; I don’t stress about it very much anymore and I’ve also made peace with the fact that sometimes I start articles or writing pieces that don’t get finished. Sometimes I lose interest, and other times I can’t figure out a way to tell the story that is compelling to others. It may be something I found deeply interesting, but I think why would other people care about this?”

The ancient Greek aphorism “Know thyself,” from a memento mori mosaic from excavations in the convent of San Gregorio in Rome

I responded: “What I am taking away from what you have said, Lisa, is that self-reflection, self-knowledge about being a writer is extremely important. Once we know what kind of writer we are, we can make peace with that, work with it, instead of thinking we ought to be a certain way.” Lisa nodded in agreement. I left feeling validated—I am one of those “start in the messy middle” writers, and I was happy to know that others worked productively, even confidently, in this manner.  Thank you, Lisa, for sharing these ideas.  There’s no shame in being the writer you know you are. . . in fact, it’s cause for celebration. Writer, know thyself.

 

 

Lisa M. Mitchell is Associate Professor and Graduate Advisor in Anthropology at UVic. Her research interests are at the intersection of bodies, technology, and inequalities. She has conducted research on prenatal testing, perinatal loss and reproductive politics in Canada, on the visualizing technologies of medicine, especially ultrasound fetal imaging, on experiences and meanings of body and risk among impoverished children and their families in the Philippines and among street youth in Canada, and on bereaved parents’ use of social media.

 

 

 

 

Candidacy Exams: Just get them done!

Academic Writing, Anxiety, Candidacy exams, Deadlines, Digital humanities, Distractions, Focus strategies, Goal setting, Graduate student writers, Inspiration and motivation, Mental health, Motivation, Organization/ Order, Outlines, Planning, Productivity, Reading, Research, Revision, Structure, Time management, Writing process

 By Tracey El  Hajj

If you are a PhD student and candidacy exams are part of your program, you are either already thinking about them or very glad to have completed them (congratulations!). Candidacy exams, in the English Department at least, are structured in a way that allows students to read for months and then take the exam (twice: A Major Field and a Focused Field) either in the form of a take-home exam over a three-day period or an on-campus exam written in five hours. The exams have three major components: preparing, writing, and defending. This post will focus on the writing process for the three-day take-home exam.

First of all, before the day your exam is set to begin, take a moment to realize the amount of information you have acquired over the preparation period, embrace the fact that you have accomplished what you have so far, and acknowledge the fact that you have done your best and the time has come for you to engage with your knowledge and skills. Now you have the questions and you are supposed to pick one from each of the three sections. It goes without saying that you should pick the ones that sound the easiest and most doable for you. However, make sure to choose ones that allow you to cover the different texts you have to engage with and ones that allow you to demonstrate your understanding of the field as fully as possible. Some supervisors advise their students to set a back-up fourth question they could go to as a plan B.

Once you have picked your questions, pick the texts you want to refer to in your answers. Make sure you stick to the number of texts advised in your exam prompt and that the ones you choose do not overlap across questions. Once you have this down, breathe and pat yourself on the back; you’ve already done something. As a next step, outline your answers–yes, all three of them. Writing the outline will reveal to you that you know what you want to talk about and how you are going to approach it. It also eases you into the process of writing, and prepares you for the second and third day of your exam, during which you will be thankful that you don’t really have to do much brainstorming. Note that it is important that you have a thesis, or something close to that, as part of your primary outline. Also note that it is okay if these outlines change a little. Their purpose is to rid you from the heavy load of planning and brainstorming on your two later days, so minor edits are acceptable and even expected. Next, you write.

Start with the question you are least comfortable with. You are on your first day, you are well rested, and quite alert. You can tackle the hardest question. Besides, once you are done with this first answer, you will feel more confident and more comfortable approaching the two “easier” questions. When you are writing, follow the process you are most comfortable with: if you free write then go back, add sources, edit, etc., stick to that; if you write and edit as you go, do that. The point is, this is a very structured setting, so call upon your most confident strategies and adopt them. Make sure, however, that you are aware of the time constraints and that you have time to go back and edit your essays before you submit. In addition, keep going back to your main argument and make sure that your claims speak to it. Just as with any other argumentative piece, your thesis is meant to guide the rest of your work; this exam is no different. Your committee wants to read a work that is clear, concise, and coherent. Though they are aware of your constraints (time and word count), they also know very well how capable you are, and they expect a certain level of competency, nothing you haven’t already achieved. Aim to finish the first question on the first day; set the tone for the rest of the exam. Don’t worry about final editing right away. As you may know by now, it is good to step away from your work and come back to it with a fresh look. However, if you feel like you need to completely finish every question on its own, then do whatever keeps you in a good mental space.

A few things might come up as you are writing. This is a very stressful time; acknowledge that. If you feel the stress creeping up, and you think you need a break, take the break. Go for a walk, grab a coffee with a friend, call someone dear, take a breather. If you engage in a conversation and feel the urge to brainstorm with a friend, do that, jot down some notes while you’re at it. Do whatever you feel will keep you going. You know you can do this, but the setting and the structure are definitely adding to the stress. Some of your colleagues may have smoothly cruised through their exams, and you might as well. But if you don’t, you’re not alone in this. Many students, including myself, give in to the haunting load of candidacy exams; we make it through nonetheless. One way I managed to overcome a writer’s block on day one is a change of scenery. I went to a nearby coffee shop where other students were also immersed in their work. I set a goal (number of words) and only left after I achieved it. Once back in the original setting I automatically acknowledged the progress and felt a little more confident. It’s the little things, the little steps, the brief moments of “I got this” and the large coffees/smoothies/juices/energy drinks or whatever keeps you running. It is important that you eat well and be well rested. These exams are doable, that’s why they’re there. These exams are not meant to be easy though, and that’s also why they’re there. Just write those answers; get it over with!

About Tracey

Tracey is  a PhD student in the English Department at the University of Victoria. She received her Master’s from the American University of Beirut, after developing a Social Network Analysis tool for post-war Lebanese Anglophone novels. She currently works in the field of Digital Humanities, focusing on Critical Technical Practice. Her research focuses on the intersections between computing and culture, looking at how the humanities can help shape more socially aware technologies.  She is also a TA in the English Department and a tutor at the Centre for Academic Communication. Tracey has a passion for teaching alongside research.

Being passionate about your project is not enough: Be specific and plan well

Academic Writing, Education, Focus strategies, Graduate student writers, Organization/ Order, Outlines, Planning, Productivity, Professional degree, Research, Structure, Writing process
Satty Virdi

By Satinder Virdi

Whenever I am asked what I’m studying at university, my response is always “I’m doing my Masters in Education.” This isn’t technically true as I’m actually completing a Master of Education known as the M.Ed. degree program. Apart from their titles, significant differences exist between a Master of Arts (M.A.) and an M.Ed. degree.

The M.A. in Education is a research degree primarily for students who have an interest in conducting research in the field of education. It is well suited for those who intend to pursue doctorate level study. In order to earn an M.A., students must complete and defend a thesis.

In comparison, the M.Ed. can be classed as a professional degree, which is ideal for licensed educators looking to expand their career options. This degree often focuses on more practical, field-based research and experiences, which critically evaluate educational practices. The M.Ed. does not require a thesis; however, it does contain research elements on par with the standard required by an M.A. This requirement can take the form of a capstone project, development of a portfolio, and/or comprehensive examinations.

At UVic, the final requirement of the M.Ed. program is a comprehensive examination. The penultimate task is the completion of a research project, which cannot include human subjects. The project is typically 50-70 pages and can take a number of different forms. While some projects are more theoretical, the majority aim to serve a practical purpose. Projects can range from policy development to the implementation of arts-based workshops.

The focus of my project is the mental well-being of schoolchildren. I am carrying out research that will be used by the Ministry of Education to establish guidelines for school leaders on how best to support the mental wellness of children in their schools. Mental well-being has become a recurring theme in my work over the last 10 years. During my time as a classroom teacher, I frequently came across students feeling stressed due to the fear of failure. In addition, a course I completed earlier this year sparked my interest in the mental well-being of schoolchildren further. This was a project that was completed for the Ministry of Children and Family Development. It focused on the provision of sexual health education in the schools of British Columbia. According to my research, one of the key elements associated with young people making sensible and informed sexual decisions was directly related to their mental health. This led me to investigate the Ministry of Education’s research priorities. I was unsurprised to learn that mental well-being in schools is a big agenda item for the Ministry at present. This motivated me to involve myself with the project in an attempt to support current research and investigate developments in this area.

My interest and passion for the subject led me straight to the UVic Library. I spent hours searching through various databases to find everything I could that has recently been written on mental well-being. At this point, I had no research questions or framework to work with, and I knew my approach wasn’t ideal. I downloaded paper after paper and had highlighting everywhere! When I attended my research methods class, my project supervisor taught me the importance of being specific. It was exactly what I needed to bring order to the chaos I had unintentionally created. Now that I knew exactly what I was searching for, it also lent a hand in beginning the writing process. There is no set format for writing your project. However, it is a good idea to use a basic outline regardless of the approach you use. Supervisors seem to like the three-part structure and it is what I am using too.

Following an abstract and table of contents, the first part of the write-up is an introductory chapter that explains the overall purpose and objectives of your project. It provides the general context that helps readers understand the problem being tackled and the significance of your research. Chapter two is where you outline the theoretical foundations and framework of your study. References to literature can help demonstrate your understanding of similar studies and the findings of scholars in your area of interest. The final chapter, which is what I am currently working on, is where you showcase your findings. Depending on the type of project you complete, this can take the form of a report, a workshop, or a piece of artwork. As part of the discussion and conclusions section, you can share ideas for further research or make specific recommendations.

At times writing my project has been challenging. Referring back to my original handwritten draft outline is what has always helped me stay on track. In my experience so far, being truly passionate about the subject alone hasn’t proven to be enough. What we learn and what we may know mean very little unless we can translate them into written words. Feedback from my supervisor states that my writing is persuasive and effective, which reassures me that I’m heading in the right direction. Focusing on one aspect at a time and writing in short bursts is working out well for me. As writers, our approaches and styles may vary, but I honestly believe that good planning can help lead the way for us all.

 

About Satty

Satinder (Satty) Virdi is a UK qualified secondary school teacher with 10 years of classroom experience. Since moving to Victoria in August 2016, Satty has been an M.Ed. Leadership Studies student in the Faculty of Education. She is currently completing her final project, which focuses on the mental well-being of schoolchildren. Along with her studies, she also works at the University of Victoria as a CAC tutor and the Teaching Assistant Consultant for the Educational Psychology and Leadership Studies department. Off-campus, Satty works as the Executive Director of The Society of Friends of St. Ann’s Academy; a non-profit organization, which raises awareness of and tackles issues of gender and social justice.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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.​

 

 

Smudging the lines of the outline

Academic Writing, Centre for Academic Communication, First draft, Outlines, Posts by Kaveh, Road map, Writing process

Madeline Walker’s post, Writing undressed, made me think about my process of planning for academic writing and my beliefs about it. It also reminded me of a conversation we had a few months ago about the value of making an outline before starting to write.

I am all about planning. Before writing a paper, journal article, or a thesis chapter, I always spend a long time mind mapping and creating an outline. I try to make sure I know what my thesis statement is and how many sub-points I need to support that thesis. I organize all my ideas and try to imagine the line of argument as specifically as possible. Then I order the ideas on an outline and try to make it so detailed that I end up with topic sentences for each paragraph, basically creating a template for my paper that I will fill in later with supporting sentences for each paragraph.

My conversation with Madeline was on the effectiveness of this approach. She raised a question about the possibility of having such a detailed outline before writing, whether we really can know exactly what we want to say before we start to write, and I defended the idea of preparing before writing, that the argument can get off track and confusing unless we have such a specific outline before we start.

Kaveh Tagharobi is a graduate student and an EAL specialist at the CAC

Reading her blog post about the stages of undress, however, I now see what she meant that day. Those stages of disarray that Writing undressed talks about are so familiar for me as well. With all my mind maps and topic sentence outlines, I constantly find myself reorganizing, merging and adding paragraphs, and even changing direction altogether. My apparently carefully dressed outline gets disrobed during the writing process, as I discover that two of my main ideas are actually the same and need to be merged, or that I need one more paragraph to discuss this or that topic.

But does this mean that I give up on my outlines? Probably not. I still see the value in having the road map outlined before I embark on writing, even if I have to accept that this is only tentative. I believe I can at least draw a sketch of my outline and then be prepared to smudge the lines as I write. The number of modifications and alterations probably depends on the complexity of that particular piece of writing I am working on. I think I can make my outline with more certainty when I am writing a five paragraph essay for a first-year English course, and I probably should expect more changes when I am writing the first draft of my thesis.

I still think that I would be too lost if I start writing without an outline, but after reading Madeline’s post, now I feel much more comfortable when I adjust the outline as I write. The outline is the suit that I thought I’d wear to the party, dry-cleaned and carefully laid down on the bed, but my room is a mess with all my wardrobe out and I am trying them all on and throwing them around before I am happy with the look I want to leave the house with…or to submit my manuscript!

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.