My guess is that most academics find writing hard, a lot of the time – but that most of us think others find it easier than we do. So here is a thread on what academic writing is normally like for me. 1/n
First of all, even though I broadly enjoy it, it's nearly always an emotional journey. Days when I feel moderately confident about what I'm writing alternate with days, or weeks, when I feel like every word I squeeze out is banal or misleading. 2/n
I do get good days. I get days when I'm excited by what I'm writing, when I can re-read what I've produced and think it makes sense, and has a nice rhythm to it, and might even be interesting to other people. 3/n
On the bad days, I find everything else in my life gets coloured by the feeling of futility and frustration that flows from my writing. Why am I even bothering? What on earth made me think I had something to say? 4/n
That is no less true now than it was quarter of a century ago when I started my PhD – though I do now find it a bit easier to recognise the feeling, and trust (with some small part of me) that it will go away this time too. 5/n
For me, openings are hardest. The first sentence of a chapter, or a section, or a paragraph. I often find myself incapable of thinking of a way to begin that sounds remotely convincing to me. I write a phrase, delete it, write another, delete it, sometimes dozens of times. 6/n
And I procrastinate. I don't know how to begin, so I check Facebook. I check Twitter. I answer emails. I look at XKCD. Sometimes between every clause, let alone every sentence. And every time, I’ll be a little bit disappointed in myself. Which may not be healthy. 7/n
Sometimes, when I'm stuck, I'll change medium. I'll try writing out the structure of a paragraph or sub-section longhand. I'll open OneNote and create a bullet-point list. I'll go for a walk, pretend I’m on a phone call, and record myself talking. 8/n
I find I do a lot of my thinking when revising. That's when I begin to spot the shape of the argument that might be possible, the real concepts I might need, rather than the half-arsed ones I began with. The point begins, unevenly, to emerge from the mess. 9/n
But somehow that doesn't mean I'm able simply to get a breezy first draft down on paper without worrying how it is turning out. I still do the frustrated procrastination thing, still sweat over the flow and content, even for the version I know I'm going to rip up. 10/n
Questions of order and flow seem to occupy me far more than any others. How can I lead from one idea to another? How can I make clear what qualifies what, or what supports what? It feels like most of the thinking I do while writing is about structure. 11/n
I often read what I've written out loud – and try to do so as if performing to an audience. I find it sometimes helps me spot the places where the writing clunks more than normal, or where the line of my argument gets lost. Sometimes, I simply bore myself. 12/n
Quite a bit of the process of revision seems to involve me admitting where I've written something just for effect, or just to show off, or just to cover up my uncertainty, or just because it fitted the rhythm of the sentence. 13/n
A lot of the revision process is also about listening for the places where I have not quite convinced myself. Where I know my example doesn't really match the point I'm using it to support. Where I'm aware I'm cutting a corner in an argument. 14/n
When I realise I've got myself in a knot, I often take a sheet of paper, and write out in the simplest words I can find why I'm in that knot. I'm trying to say this; I'm trying to avoid saying that; I don't understand the other. 15/n
It has become a bit of a mantra for me: if I'm uncertain how to go on, write about the uncertainty. Sometimes it helps. 16/n
Oh, I should also say that quite a bit of my revision time is spent on shortening sentences. Or trying to. My first draft sentences sometimes go on for hours. 17/n
Most of the time, I hate talking about what I'm writing while I'm writing it. I don't know how to summarise what I'm doing, or name what might be interesting about it, until I'm done. Having to talk about it too early often tips me into thinking it banal. 18/n
When I get feedback on drafts, even from people I trust, I normally can't bear to read it at once. I'll see that the email has arrived, and put off opening it. And then I'll open it and skim very, very quickly – and close it again. 19/n
It's like watching Dr Who (Tom Baker era, of course) from behind the sofa. Sometimes, I'll go through this three or four times over several days before I actually sit down and read the feedback through properly. 20/n
I've written a few things I'm still proud of. I've written quite a few I'm embarrassed by. I've written a lot that I think is okay, but could and should have been better. I'm not going to tell you which is which. I think I'm getting better at it, but I'm far from sure. 21/n
So, there you go. If you find academic writing emotionally complicated, if you procrastinate, if your writing habits seem hugely inefficient, if you have mixed feelings about the results, you’re not alone. 22/n
Of course, my main reason for writing this is not to encourage anyone. It's because I'm meant to be writing something else, and I am, once again, procrastinating. 23/23
