Posted in Academic writing, Course Syllabus, Writing Class

Class on Academic Writing

This is the syllabus for a class on academic writing for clarity and grace, which I originally posted more than a year ago.  It is designed as a 10-week class, with weekly readings, slides, and texts for editing.  It’s aimed at doctoral students who are preparing to become researchers who seek to publish their scholarship.  Ideally you can take the class with a group of peers, where you give each other feedback on your own writing projects in progress.  But you can also take the class by yourself.

Below is the syllabus, which includes links to all readings, class slides, and texts for editing.  Here’s a link to the Word document with all of the links, which is easier to work with.

I’ve also constructed a 6-week version of the class, which is aimed at graduate and undergraduate students who want to work on their writing for whatever purpose they choose.  Here’s a link to that syllabus as a Word document.

 

“The effort the writer does not put into writing, the reader has to put into reading.”

Stephen Toulmin

Academic Writing for Clarity and Grace

A Ten-Week Class

David Labaree                            

Web: http://www.stanford.edu/~dlabaree/

Twitter: @Dlabaree

Blog: https://davidlabaree.com/                                                     

                                                Course Description

            The title sounds like a joke, since academics (especially in the social sciences) do not have a reputation for writing with either clarity or grace much less both.  But I hope in this class to draw students into my own and every other academic’s lifelong quest to become a better writer.  The course will bring in a wide range of reference works that I have found useful over the years in working on my own writing and in helping students with theirs.  The idea is not that a 10-week class will make students good writers; many of us have been working at this for 40 years or more and we’re just getting started.  Instead, the plan is to provide students with some helpful strategies, habits, and critical faculties; increase their sense of writing as an extended process of revision; and leave them with a set of books that will support them in their own lifelong pursuit of good writing.

This online course is based on one I used to teach at Stanford for graduate students in education who wanted to work on their writing.  It was offered in the ten-week format of the university’s quarter system, and I’m keeping that format.  But you can use it in any way that works for you. 

Some may want to treat it as a weekly class, doing the readings for each week, reviewing the PowerPoint slides for that week, and working through some of the exercises.  If you’re treating it this way, it would work best if you can do it with a writing group made up of other students with similar interests.  That way you can take advantage of the workshop component of the class, in which members of the group exchange sections of a paper they working on, giving and receiving feedback.

Others may use it as a general source of information about writing, diving into particular readings or slide decks as needed.

Classes include some instruction on particular skills and particular aspects of the writing process:  developing an analytical angle on a subject; writing a good sentence; getting started in the writing process; working out the logic of the argument; developing the forms of validation for the argument; learning what your point is from the process of writing rather than as a precursor to writing; and revising, revising, revising.  We spend another part of the class working as a group doing exercises in spotting and fixing problems.  For these purposes we will use some helpful examples from the Williams book and elsewhere that focus on particular skills, but you can use the work produced within your own writing group. 

Work in your writing group:  Everyone needs to develop a recognition of the value of getting critical feedback from others on their work in progress, so you should be exchanging papers and work at editing each other’s work.  Student work outside of class will include reading required texts, editing other student’s work around particular areas of concern, and working on revising your own paper or papers.  Every week you will be submitting a piece of written work to your writing group, which will involve repeated efforts to edit a particular text of your own; and every week you will provide feedback to others in your group about their own texts. 

Much of class time will focus on working on particular texts around a key issue of the day – like framing, wordiness, clarity, sentence rhythm.  These texts will be examples from the readings and also papers by students, on which they would like to get feedback from the class as a whole.  Topics will include things like:

  • Framing an argument, writing the introduction to a paper
  • Elements of rhetoric
  • Sentence rhythm and music
  • Emphasis – putting the key element at the end of sentence and paragraph; delivering the punch line
  • Concision – eliminating wordiness
  • Clarity – avoiding nominalizations; opting for Anglo-Saxon words; clearing up murky syntax
  • Focusing on action and actors
  • Metaphor and imagery
  • Correct usage: punctuation, common grammatical errors, word use
  • Avoiding the most common academic tics: jargon, isms, Latinate constructions, nominalizations, abstraction, hiding from view behind passive voice and third person
  • The basics of making an argument
  • Using quotes – integrating them into your argument, and commenting on them instead of assuming they make the point on their own.
  • Using data – how to integrate data into a text and explain its meaning and significance
  • The relation of writing and thought
  • Revision – of writing and thinking
  • The relation of grammar and mechanics to rhetorical effect
  • Sentence style
  • The relation of style to audience
  • Disciplinary conventions for style, organization, modes of argument, evidence
  • Authority and voice

            Writing is a very personal process and the things we write are expressions of who we are, so it is important for everyone in the class to keep focused on being constructive in their comments and being tolerant of criticism from others.  Criticism from others is very important for writers, but no one likes it.  I have a ritual every time I get feedback on a paper or manuscript – whether blind reviews from journals or publishers or personal comments from colleagues.  I let the review sit for a while until I’m in the right mood.  Then I open it and skim it quickly to get the overall impression of how positive or negative it is.  At that point I set it aside, cursing the editors for sending the paper to such an incompetent reviewer or reconsidering my formerly high opinion of the particular colleague-critic, then finally coming back a few days later (after a vodka or two) to read the thing carefully and assess the damage.  Neurotic I know, but most writers are neurotic about their craft.  It’s hard not to take criticism personally.  Beyond all reason, I always expect the reviewers to say, “Don’t change a word; publish it immediately!”  But somehow they never do.  So I’m asking all members of the class both to recognize the vulnerability of their fellow writers and to open themselves up to the criticism of these colleagues in the craft. 

Course Texts

Books listed with an * are ones where older editions are available; it’s ok to use one of these editions instead of the most recent version.

*Williams, Joseph M. & Bizup, Joseph.  (2016). Style: Lessons in clarity and grace (12th ed.).  New York: Longman.  

*Becker, Howard S.  (2007).  Writing for social scientists:  How to start and finish your thesis, book, or article (2nd ed.).  Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

*Graff, Gerald, & Birkenstein, Cathy. (2014). “They say, I say:” The moves that matter in academic writing (3rd ed.). New York: Norton.

Sword, Helen.  (2012).  Stylish academic writing. Cambridge: Harvard University Press.

*Garner, Bryan A.  (2016). Garner’s modern English usage (4th ed.). New York: Oxford University Press.  (Any earlier edition is fine to use.)

Other required readings are available in PDF on a Google drive. 

Course Outline

Week 1:  Introduction to Course; Writing Rituals; Writing Well, or at Least Less Badly

Zinnser, William. (2010). Writing English as a second language.  Point of Departure (Winter). Americanscholar.org.

Munger, Michael C. (2010). 10 tips for how to write less badly. Chronicle of Higher Education (Sept. 6).  Chronicle.com.

Lepore, Jill. (2009). How to write a paper for this class. History Department, Harvard University.

Lamott, Anne. (2005). Bird by bird: Some instructions on writing and life. In English 111 Reader.  Miami University Department of English.

Zuckerman, Ezra W. (2008). Tips to article writers. http://web.mit.edu/ewzucker/www/Tips%20to%20article%20writers.pdf.

Slides for week 1 class

Week 2:  Clarity

Williams, Joseph M. & Bizup, Joseph.  (2016).  Style: Lessons in clarity and grace (12th ed.).  New York: Longman. Lessons One, Two, Three, Four, Five, and Six.  It’s ok to use any earlier edition of this book.

Slides for week 2 class

Week 3:  Structuring the Argument in a Paper

Graff, Gerald, & Birkenstein, Cathy. (2014). “They say, I say:” The moves that matter in academic writing (3rd ed.). New York: Norton.  You can use any earlier edition of this book.

Wroe, Ann. (2011). In the beginning was the sound. Intelligent Life Magazine, Spring. http://moreintelligentlife.com/content/arts/ann-wroe/beginning-was-sound.

Slides for week 3 class

Week 4:  Grace

Williams, Joseph M. & Bizup, Joseph.  (2016).  Style: Lessons in clarity and grace (12th ed.).  New York: Longman. Lessons Seven, Eight, and Nine.

Orwell, George. (1946). Politics and the English Language. Horizon.

Lipton, Peter. (2007). Writing Philosophy.

Slides for week 4 class

Week 5:  Stylish Academic Writing

Sword, Helen.  (2012).  Stylish academic writing. Cambridge: Harvard University Press.

Check out Helen Sword’s website, Writer’s Diet, which allows you to paste in a text of your own and get back an analysis of how flabby or fit it is: http://www.writersdiet.com/WT.php.

Haslett, Adam. (2011). The art of good writing. Financial Times (Jan. 22).  Ft.com.

Slides for week 5 class

Week 6:  Writing in the Social Sciences

Becker, Howard S.  (2007).  Writing for social scientists:  How to start and finish your thesis, book, or article (2nd ed.).  Chicago: University of Chicago Press.  It’s fine to use any earlier edition of this book.

Slides for week 6 class

Week 7:  Usage

Garner, Bryan A.  (2016). Garner’s modern English usage (4th ed.). New York: Oxford University Press.  Selections.  Any earlier edition of this book is fine to use.

Wallace, David Foster. (2001). Tense present: Democracy, English, and the wars over usage. Harpers (April), 39-58.

Slides for week 7 class

Week 8:  Writing with Clarity and Grace

Limerick, Patricia. (1993). Dancing with professors: The trouble with academic prose.

Scott Brauer. (2014). Writing instructor, skeptical of automated grading, pits machine vs. machine. Chronicle of Higher Education, April 28.

Pinker, Steven. (2014). Why academics stink at writing. Chronicle of Education, Sept. 26.

Labaree, David F. (2018). The Five-Paragraph Fetish. Aeon.

Slides for week 8 class

Week 9:  Clarity of Form

Williams, Joseph M. & Bizup, Joseph.  (2016).  Style: Lessons in clarity and grace (12th ed.).  New York: Longman. Lessons Ten, Eleven, and Twelve.

Yagoda, Ben. (2011). The elements of clunk. Chronicle of Higher Education (Jan. 2).  Chronicle.com.

 Slides for week 9 class

Week 10:  Writing with Clarity and Grace

March, James G. (1975). Education and the pursuit of optimism. Texas Tech Journal of Education, 2:1, 5-17.

Gladwell, Malcolm. (2000). The art of failure: Why some people choke and others panic. New Yorker (Aug. 21 and 28).  Gladwell.com

Labaree, David F. (2012). Sermon on educational research. Bildungsgeschichte: International Journal for the Historiography of Education, 2:1, 78-87.

Slides for week 10 class

Posted in Academic writing, Writing, Writing Class

Rothman: Why Is Academic Writing So Academic?

In this post, Joshua Rothman addresses the problem of academic writing by comparing it to what’s going on in journalistic writing.  As a journalist who was once a graduate student in English, he knows both worlds well.  So instead of the usual diatribe against academics for being obscure and deadly, he explores the issue structurally, showing how journalism and academia have drifted apart from each other in the last 50 years.  While academia has become more inward turning and narrow, journalism has become more populist, seeking a large audience at any cost.  In the process, both fields have lost something important.  The piece first appeared in the New Yorker in 2014.  Here’s a link to the original.

Rothman throws up his hands at the end, suggesting that writers in both fields are trapped in a situation that offers no escape for anyone who wants to remain a member in good standing in one field or the other.  But I partially disagree with this assessment.  Yes, the structural pressures in both domains to constrain your writing are strong, but they’re not irresistible.  Journalists can find venues like the New Yorker and Atlantic that allow them to avoid having to pander to the click-happy internet browser.  And academics can push against the pressures to make disinterested research uninteresting and colorless.  

There are still a lot of scholars who publish articles in top academic journals and books with major university presses that incorporate lucid prose, lively style, and a clear personal voice.  Doing so does not tarnish their academic reputation or employability, but it also gets them a broader academic audience, more citations, and more intellectual impact.  I’ve posted some examples here by scholars such as Jim March, Mary Metz, Peter Rossi, E.P. Thompson, and Max Weber.  

For lots of examples of good academic prose and stellar advice about how to become a stylish scholarly writer, you should read Helen Sword’s book, Stylish Academic Writing.  I used this book to good effect in my class on academic writing.  (Here is the syllabus for this class, which includes links to all of the readings and my class slides.)  I also strongly suggest checking out her website, where, among other things, you can plug your own text into the Writer’s Diet Test, which will show how flabby or fit your prose is.

Enjoy.

Why Is Academic Writing So Academic?

by Joshua Rothman

Feb. 21, 2014

Rothman Photo

A few years ago, when I was a graduate student in English, I presented a paper at my department’s American Literature Colloquium. (A colloquium is a sort of writing workshop for graduate students.) The essay was about Thomas Kuhn, the historian of science. Kuhn had coined the term “paradigm shift,” and I described how this phrase had been used and abused, much to Kuhn’s dismay, by postmodern insurrectionists and nonsensical self-help gurus. People seemed to like the essay, but they were also uneasy about it. “I don’t think you’ll be able to publish this in an academic journal,” someone said. He thought it was more like something you’d read in a magazine.

Was that a compliment, a dismissal, or both? It’s hard to say. Academic writing is a fraught and mysterious thing. If you’re an academic in a writerly discipline, such as history, English, philosophy, or political science, the most important part of your work—practically and spiritually—is writing. Many academics think of themselves, correctly, as writers. And yet a successful piece of academic prose is rarely judged so by “ordinary” standards. Ordinary writing—the kind you read for fun—seeks to delight (and, sometimes, to delight and instruct). Academic writing has a more ambiguous mission. It’s supposed to be dry but also clever; faceless but also persuasive; clear but also completist. Its deepest ambiguity has to do with audience. Academic prose is, ideally, impersonal, written by one disinterested mind for other equally disinterested minds. But, because it’s intended for a very small audience of hyper-knowledgable, mutually acquainted specialists, it’s actually among the most personal writing there is. If journalists sound friendly, that’s because they’re writing for strangers. With academics, it’s the reverse.

Professors didn’t sit down and decide to make academic writing this way, any more than journalists sat down and decided to invent listicles. Academic writing is the way it is because it’s part of a system. Professors live inside that system and have made peace with it. But every now and then, someone from outside the system swoops in to blame professors for the writing style that they’ve inherited. This week, it was Nicholas Kristof, who set off a rancorous debate about academic writing with a column, in the Times, called “Professors, We Need You!” The academic world, Kristof argued, is in thrall to a “culture of exclusivity” that “glorifies arcane unintelligibility while disdaining impact and audience”; as a result, there are “fewer public intellectuals on American university campuses today than a generation ago.”

The response from the professoriate was swift, severe, accurate, and thoughtful. A Twitter hashtag, #engagedacademics, sprung up, as if to refute Kristof’s claim that professors don’t use enough social media. Professors pointed out that the brainiest part of the blogosphere is overflowing with contributions from academics; that, as teachers, professors already have an important audience in their students; and that the Times itself frequently benefits from professorial ingenuity, which the paper often reports as news. (A number of the stories in the Sunday Review section, in which Kristof’s article appeared, were written by professors.) To a degree, some of the responses, though convincingly argued, inadvertently bolstered Kristof’s case because of the style in which they were written: fractious, humorless, self-serious, and defensively nerdy. As writers, few of Kristof’s interlocutors had his pithy, winning ease. And yet, if they didn’t win with a knock-out blow, the professors won on points. They showed that there was something outdated, and perhaps solipsistic, in Kristof’s yearning for a new crop of sixties-style “public intellectuals.”

As a one-time academic, I spent most of the week rooting for the profs. But I have a lot of sympathy for Kristof, too. I think his heart’s in the right place. (His column ended on a wistful note: “I write this in sorrow, for I considered an academic career.”) My own theory is that he got the situation backward. The problem with academia isn’t that professors are, as Kristof wrote, “marginalizing themselves.” It’s that the system that produces and consumes academic knowledge is changing, and, in the process, making academic work more marginal.

It may be that being a journalist makes it unusually hard for Kristof to see what’s going on in academia. That’s because journalism, which is in the midst of its own transformation, is moving in a populist direction. There are more writers than ever before, writing for more outlets, including on their own blogs, Web sites, and Twitter streams. The pressure on established journalists is to generate traffic. New and clever forms of content are springing up all the time—GIFs, videos, “interactives,” and so on. Dissenters may publish op-eds encouraging journalists to abandon their “culture of populism” and write fewer listicles, but changes in the culture of journalism are, at best, only a part of the story. Just as important, if not more so, are economic and technological developments having to do with subscription models, revenue streams, apps, and devices.

In academia, by contrast, all the forces are pushing things the other way, toward insularity. As in journalism, good jobs are scarce—but, unlike in journalism, professors are their own audience. This means that, since the liberal-arts job market peaked, in the mid-seventies, the audience for academic work has been shrinking. Increasingly, to build a successful academic career you must serially impress very small groups of people (departmental colleagues, journal and book editors, tenure committees). Often, an academic writer is trying to fill a niche. Now, the niches are getting smaller. Academics may write for large audiences on their blogs or as journalists. But when it comes to their academic writing, and to the research that underpins it—to the main activities, in other words, of academic life—they have no choice but to aim for very small targets. Writing a first book, you may have in mind particular professors on a tenure committee; miss that mark and you may not have a job. Academics know which audiences—and, sometimes, which audience members—matter.

It won’t do any good, in short, to ask professors to become more populist. Academic writing and research may be knotty and strange, remote and insular, technical and specialized, forbidding and clannish—but that’s because academia has become that way, too. Today’s academic work, excellent though it may be, is the product of a shrinking system. It’s a tightly-packed, super-competitive jungle in there. The most important part of Kristof’s argument was, it seemed to me, buried in the blog post that he wrote to accompany his column. “When I was a kid,” he wrote, “the Kennedy administration had its ‘brain trust’ of Harvard faculty members, and university professors were often vital public intellectuals.” But the sixties, when the baby boom led to a huge expansion in university enrollments, was also a time when it was easier to be a professor. If academic writing is to become expansive again, academia will probably have to expand first.

Posted in Academic writing, Rhetoric, Writing Class

Tilly: Why? Different Ways that People Give Reasons — and Lessons for Scholars

In this post, I explore the issue of the different ways in which people give reasons to each other.  It draws on a lovely little book by sociologist Charles Tilly: Why? What Happens When People Give Reasons…and Why.  One of the things that makes his account valuable is how it gives scholars a way of understanding the yawning chasm between how they explain things to other experts and how ordinary people explain things to each other. 

Bridging this gap is difficult for scholars but it’s absolutely necessary, if our insights are going to gain acceptance in a broader audience.  I’ll get to that part later on, but for now let’s explore the basic typology or reasons that Tilly lays out.

Tilly -- Why

Here’s a table of the different ways in which people give reasons for events, categorized according to whether they take a popular or expert form and whether they are formulaic or a really explanatory.

Popular Specialized/Expert
Formulas Conventions Codes
Cause-Effect Accounts Stories Technical Accounts

Formulas:  giving reasons without providing a causal account.

Cause-effect accounts:  the focus is on explaining why something happened.

Popular:  generally accessible explanations that are used by the general public.

Specialized:  reasons that are used by and accessible only to experts.

Conventions:  Conventionally accepted reasons for whatever happened:  traffic is terrible, it’s your turn, I’m clumsy, he’s smart, bad luck.  They don’t pretend to be real explanations, but they’re sufficient for the social purposes at hand, which really don’t require such an explanation.  Especially prominent with everyday events that are unremarkable.

Codes:  Understanding events through an arcane code like law, church canons, bureaucratic regulations, scientific methodology, medical science.  Not a real explanation; it just locates the issue as connected to a specialized domain and for the civilian that is sufficient:  it’s the law, it’s God’s will, it’s regulation, it’s policy.

Stories:  Narratives about cause and effect, with reasons, actors, morals, heroes, and villains.  They are called upon to explain events that are more unusual, troubling, often carrying a normative element of praise or blame.  This is the way regular people explain things.  It’s the most accessible and effective way to explain things to the broadest audience.

Technical accounts:  Expert efforts to establish some kind of valid and reliable explanation of cause and effect using specialized expertise.  A medical explanation of disease, a social scientist’s explanation for why A (not C-Z) caused B.

All of these efforts to give reasons – popular and technical, formulas and explanations – exist in part to establish, maintain, reinforce, define, or deny relationships with other people.  Formulas are a formalistic bow to the need to give reasons to others and preserve civil relations: sorry I’m late, couldn’t find parking.  Nobody takes the reason too seriously but they appreciate the message of mild apology.  Formulas frequently announce relations of inequality:  I give you a formulaic response because I don’t consider it necessary to give you a real explanation given your lower status; it’s often just a brush off.  Demanding explanations is a social move asking to be taken seriously and treated like an equal.  Here’s how Tilly explains the relational element (recall: he’s a sociologist).

All four kinds of reasons commonly do relational work. The most invisible work simply confirms the relation between giver and receiver, for example as a penitent accepts a priest’s interpretation of her sins and the priest’s prescription for proper recompense to man and God in a code that has little or nothing to do with causes and effects. More visibly, reason giving often establishes relations, as in the case of an interviewer who explains the purpose of a survey when calling to ask about preferences in food, television, or politics. It sometimes negotiates relations, as when the author of a technical account displays professional credentials to make a claim on a listener’s respect and compliance. Finally, much reason giving repairs relations, as someone who has inflicted damage on someone else tells a story to show that the damage was inadvertent or unavoidable and therefore, despite appearances, does not reflect badly on the relationship between giver and receiver. The phrase “I’m sorry, but . . . ” often starts a story that does relational repairs. Both formulas and cause-effect accounts do relational work.

Formulas identify an appropriate correspondence between Y (the event, action, or outcome at hand) and X (its antecedent), but enter little or not at all into the causal chain connecting Y to X. Cause-effect accounts trace causal lines from X to Y—even if we observers find those causal lines absurd or incomprehensible. “Popular” reasons obviously vary from one public to another, for example as a function of religiosity and religious creed. Specialized reasons likewise vary strikingly from discipline to discipline; theologians elaborate both codes and technical accounts that differ deeply from those proposed by medical practitioners.

There’s a warning here for scholars and other experts.  As Tilly puts it,

Sophisticated readers should guard against an easy and erroneous pair of assumptions: that popular reasons peddle inferior, ignorant, and excessively simplified versions of codes and technical accounts, and that truly sophisticated people therefore never resort to conventions or stories. We sophisticates easily make the mistake because we frequently have to translate our own codes or technical accounts into terms that people who work in other idioms will understand.

We take justified pride in our expert knowledge, and we rely on rigorous research methodologies to give our conclusions scientific credibility.  So most of our reason-giving is directed at other experts, who can understand our theories and methods and appreciate their validity.  

But when we have to communicate our findings to nonexperts, we run into a problem.  We feel like we can’t explain results to civilians without dumbing down the discourse in a way that invalidates the rigorous methods involved in producing the results in the first place.  As a result, we commonly find ourselves making a stand on the general credibility of our expertise.  Trust me, I’m an expert; I know what I’m doing.  One way of doing this is to blow away the civilian reader with a flurry of stats and tables and Greek letters and institutional affiliations and scholarly citations.  Look at all this expert evidence, we say.  This is why you need to listen to us.  

Misuse of the “I’m the expert” approach is part of what has undermined public faith in science over the years.  After all, experts gave us the bomb, the Vietnam War, and the plastic garbage patch in the Pacific.   We need to be able to communicate more clearly and still credibly to nonexpert audiences, but that’s not easy.

The civilian approach is to tell stories.  These stories are organized around actors and actions, motives and outcomes, and they usually come with a moral defined by a struggle between good guys and bad guys.  The problem for serious academic research is that the story is more complex than that, and good and bad are difficult to discern.  We do a disservice to the richness and complexity of our findings by oversimplifying them in this way.

But we scholars often slide into simplifying mode anyway, especially around issues we care about a lot and which are fraught with emotion and concerned with  fairness.  Think race, inequality, policing practices, immigration, climate change, war and peace.  Evidence, methods, and reason don’t seem to be sufficient for these subjects, so we shift from scholarly explanation to political advocacy. 

Being a political actor is good and necessary for any citizen, including a scholar, but the danger is in suggesting that your political position is a simple extension of your scientific research — e.g., saying “Research shows we should do this.”  But research never tells us what we should do.  At best it gives us solid information upon which to make choices about issues whose core concerns are normative, political.  Recall Weber’s point in Science as a Vocation — that science can’t answer Tolstoy’s question, “What shall we do, and how shall we arrange our lives?”

It’s still possible, however, for scholars to connect with people who don’t understand the methods we use to develop our conclusions.  We can find ways to tell compelling stories that will make an effective case for a particular understanding of events without recourse to either arcane methodologies or emotional appeals.  

In my writing class, I found that one way to dig out the core story in your research is to try something called a fast-write.  Sit down in front of the computer and spend no more than 10 minutes writing a paragraph about the central issues in your study.  Be sure you do so without using any academic jargon, scholarly citations, theoretical references, or methodological procedures.  Pretend you’re talking to an educated person, not a specialist in your field, who just asked you about your work over a glass of wine.  Think about what got you interested in the subject in the first place, what you found most compelling among your findings, what you feel is the coolest thing you uncovered. 

What you’ll find you’re writing is a story.  It probably won’t have heroes and villains and a simple moral, but it will have a narrative that civilians can connect with.  When you’ve done this you may well find that you have written the ideal opening paragraph for the written version of your study — where you lay out the big issues in the work before delving into the technical details that shore it up.  You’ll be doing your technical readers a favor by framing the analysis this way up front, allowing them to see the significance in what follows.

Here’s an example of what I mean, the opening paragraphs of one of the classic texts in organizational theory, Karl Weick’s paper, “Educational Organizations as Loosely-Coupled Systems.”

Imagine that you’re either the referee, coach, player or spectator at an unconventional soccer match: the field for the game is round; there are several goals scattered haphazardly around the circular field; people can enter and leave the game whenever they want to; they can throw balls in whenever they want; they can say “that’s my goal” whenever they want to, as many times as they want to, and for as many goals as they want to; the entire game takes place on a sloped field; and the game is played as if it makes sense (March, personal communication).

If you now substitute in that example principals for referees, teachers for coaches, students for players, parents for spectators and schooling for soccer, you have an equally unconventional depiction of school organizations. The beauty of this depiction is that it captures a different set of realities within educational organizations than are caught when these same organizations are viewed through the tenets of bureaucratic theory.

Here, in a few simple words, Weick gives a quick window into the heart of his richly complex theory of schools as loosely-coupled systems.  It’s accessible to anyone, and it evokes the larger implications of his story while at the same time luring the reader to plunge ahead into the analysis that follows.  It simplifies without dumbing down.  It compels without pulling out the emotional stops.  It shows how good academic storytelling is both possible and necessary.

Posted in Course Syllabus, Writing, Writing Class

Academic Writing Class — Complete Course Materials in One Document

Earlier I posted course materials for my academic writing class (both 6-week and 10-week versions via a link to a Google drive that contained the syllabus and class slides.

Here I’m posting a more compact and convenient version of each class.  The syllabus for each class contains embedded links to both the readings for the class each week and the slides for that week.  So all you need is the syllabus.  This also makes it easier to share with other people: send the syllabus and they’ll have everything they need.

Feel free to forward to anyone you like.

Syllabus for 6 week class

Syllabus for 10 week class

Posted in Writing, Writing Class

6 Week Class on Academic Writing for Clarity and Grace: Syllabus, Readings, Slides, and Text for Editing

Here are the complete materials for my 6-week class on academic writing (syllabus, readings, slides, texts for editing). It’s aimed at graduate and undergraduate students who want to work on their writing.  Ideally you can take the class with a group of peers, where you give each other feedback on your own writing projects in progress.  But you can also take the class by yourself.

Here is a link to the full set of course materials.

Posted in Educational Research, Writing, Writing Class

10 Week Academic Writing Class — Including Syllabus, Slides, Readings, and Text for Editing

This is a class on academic writing for clarity and grace.  It is designed as a 10-week class, with weekly readings, slides, and texts for editing.  It’s aimed at doctoral students who are preparing to become researchers who seek to publish their scholarship.  Ideally you can take the class with a group of peers, where you give each other feedback on your own writing projects in progress.  But you can also take the class by yourself.

Later I’ll be posting a 6-week version of the class, which is aimed at graduate and undergraduate students who want to work on their writing for whatever purpose they choose.

Here is a link to all of the necessary materials in one place.

Enjoy.