With two junior papers under my belt now, I’ve been taking some time to reflect on my writing strategies as I gear up to tackle my senior thesis next year. I’ve accumulated a list of what I think I would have benefited most from hearing, and I intend to take these lessons with me for my next year of work.
- Nail down your argument early. As a Humanities major, I’m given a certain flexibility with regards to my work. My argument doesn’t quite depend on hard-core data the way it does for STEM majors — it depends on my own interpretations of the literature and my arguments based on such. Of course, my work must rigorously be argued for, but there are many alleyways this can take. While I enjoy the creativity that this feature of humanities research allows, it’s also a double-edged sword. I’ve made the mistake of diving headfirst into writing without a clear sense of what I was actually arguing, and what followed was weeks of circling, re-reading sources I’d already read, rewriting the same pages again and again, and ultimately wasting hours of work. Your thesis is the axis around which everything in your paper rotates. Once you have it, a plethora of decisions become easier: this source is useful, that one isn’t; this paragraph advances the argument, that paragraph should be cut.
- Gather your evidence and plan your argument before you start writing. I’ve found that spending time upfront assembling quotes, mapping out the logical progression of my claims, and piecing together my evidence as it contributes to my thesis, saves an enormous amount of time later. When I start writing with this work already done, the pages start flying by, because I’ve already decided what I will say, what quotes and secondary sources I’ll use, and how it connects into my larger argument. When you sit down knowing exactly what you’re trying to say and what evidence you’re working with, the prose flows naturally.
- Write prolifically. Then, go back and delete the junk. I’m usually hyper-critical of my own writing, which means that I’m constantly writing a sentence, then thinking “that’s not a good thought” and deleting it immediately. This process leads to frustration and writer’s block, and hours of work with little to show for it. This perfectionism in the drafting process is paralyzing. I’ve found that it conflates two tasks that are actually quite different: generating material and refining it. Give yourself permission to write badly. Write the messy version, the over-explained version, the version where you’re clearly still working out what you think. The more you write, the more ideas you’ll be able to generate and connections you’ll be able to find. Then, come back with a sharper eye and cut ruthlessly, leaving a polished essay with your best and most relevant ideas in the final draft.
- Check in with your adviser regularly. A second set of eyes that will call out early problems with your argument is crucial. My temptation is always to disappear for weeks and come to my adviser with pages of polished work. But advisers aren’t editors you can consult at the end – they’re thinking partners you should be looping in throughout. I’ve brought half-baked ideas to office hours and walked out with a fundamentally clearer sense of direction. The earlier you surface a problem, the cheaper time-wise it is to fix.
These are some of the lessons I’ve learned the hard way as I’ve worked to improve as a writer. Writing is a difficult process, but it can be immensely rewarding given the proper time and energy. Incorporating these lessons will help make that happen. Here’s to hoping my senior-year self actually listens!
– Gabriel Ascoli, Humanities Correspondent
