This week I have been thinking about writing. As researchers, we spend our time with writing. We immerse ourselves in the works of other people, scrutinising arguments, and devouring ideas. As a doctoral researcher on the long countdown to thesis submission, however, I feel increasing pressure to spend more of my time engaged in the activity of writing.
The origin of these reflections can be traced to a recent suggestion from my DoS to write my first journal article and share the preliminary findings of my research project. To a new researcher this is a daunting task. Knowing where to start is often the problem. In seeking inspiration, I came across one idea that stood out,
‘Ask yourself what would have been the perfect paper for you to have read in order to understand everything you need to know. Then write it…’
(Jacksonville State University 2001, cited in Kamler & Thomson 2006: p.6).
Kamler and Thomson (2006: p.6) reject this suggestion as ‘reductive’ and ‘oversimplified’. I cannot agree. As an idea, it is simple, but as advice, it had proved invaluable. I can conceptualise the article that is missing from my field because I have searched for it, and have been left wanting. In fact, I can identify several missing articles, but for now, all I need is one, one article in which I can make a small contribution to knowledge.
The PhD, of course, is a contribution to knowledge, of which the thesis is the written expression. Framing the PhD process in this way, however, can be problematic for understanding the place of writing in the whole experience. In reference to thesis production, Kamler and Thomson (2006: p.3) argue that the common student phrase, ‘Oh, I’m just writing up’, is unhelpful. It reduces the status of writing to a periphery activity in research, instead of conveying the central place that it should hold. When I was interviewed for my PhD Studentship I told the panel that I was there because I wanted to write. That was true. Until now, however, I thought I was too busy with research to write. Was I misguided? Perhaps research is writing, the process and not merely the product of a PhD.
My supervisor reframed the writing process for me when he said that he engages in two types of writing, writing to speak and writing to think. Research is often writing to think, and this idea has helped me enormously. I am keen to read the thoughts of other MPhil/PhD researchers on research as writing. What do you think?
Reference
Kamler, B. & Thomson, P. (2006) Helping Doctoral Students Write: pedagogies for supervision. Abingdon, Routledge.
Hi Lizzie, like the post. It made me think. As an undergrad I felt like I sailed through my course without ever thinking about the quality of my writing, let alone the need to develop my own style. When I started my PhD I experienced a rude awakening. I had for a long time been aware that I wrote in order to understand my own thinking. Often I would write about a topic and realise that I was irritated by the ideas I had expressed. For me, this process of writing was a conversation with self. I was aware of this. What I hadn’t realised is that there was a difference between the writing that I produced in order to help me think things through.and writing that I needed to develop to communicate with others. I discovered that I am not a natural when it comes to this latter use of written language. It led me to the discovery that I am ‘dyslexic’ and the experience changed my perspective, my relationship with language and my self-understanding. It’s fair to say that it was a shattering experience and one with which I am yet to fully come to terms. Writing, for me, is research but it can be both disabling and enabling. To paraphrase Michel Foucualt (my hero), ‘I write in order that I have no face’. In other words, writing can be something that liberates us from our self-understandings, enabling us to look at the world through different eyes, to give expression to our wildest fantasies and ideas. I’m thinking that writing as research ought to tap into these rich seams. I worry however that I will remain locked in an inner world where my dyslexia holds all the keys. I try to take inspiration from Foucault.
You see, I hadn’t meant to write some of that, but there it is on the screen looking back at me. And I can smile because it really is what I think, just for here, just for now:
‘Do not ask me who I am and do not ask me to remain the same, leave it to the police to see that our papers are in order’ (yep, the big man again)