An ink quill and parchment. Photo credit: Mushki Brichta.
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.
Thinking in Cannon Green (probably about a JP!). Photo Credit: Matt Raspanti.
It’s that time of year: I am writing a Junior Proposal as a molecular biology major. There are a few things I found about this experience that have humbled me very deeply. I obviously did not expect a cakewalk. I think it’s a good time for me to let juniors know; it’s not necessarily a difficult experience, but it’s strangely timed. The deadlines (at least for my major) are right in the middle of a somewhat hectic time between exams and the long stretch of spring semester post-spring break. Many of my peers (including myself) have been doing experiments for a while now, and working on the paper feels like coming up for air from a very deep lair at the bottom of the ocean. It can be very disorienting. The issue is that it requires a different way of thinking than when you’re in the midst of experimentation.
Historiographies are historical analyses of the historical scholarship written about a given subject. Rather than just identifying gaps in a scholarly conversation, historiographies analyze how that historical literature has been produced and how it has changed over time. Writing a historiography gives you the chance to make a historical argument about how the knowledge in your field has developed and evolved. However, approaching a whole new field of literature as an undergraduate researcher can be overwhelming. Here are some strategies I’ve used to parse historical literature and write historiographies for my independent work.
I start my historiographies in Firestone looking for a wide range of literature.Photo credit: Denise Applewhite.
Princeton and research go together so well they can almost feel synonymous. From the first-year writing seminar to the Junior Paper two years later, core milestones in the Princeton experience are research experiences. Every step of the academic journey undergraduates undergo feels as though it’s building up to the ever-looming thesis. However, nestled between Writing Sem and the JP is sophomore year, when students pursuing AB degrees declare their major. It’s a time to explore diverse courses and meet new faculty, an opportunity to engage with Princeton as the liberal arts institution it is. Often in the process it can be easy to forget about the role research plays in the experience of a major. As someone who needed until Declaration Day to decide his major, considering potential future experiences with research was crucial in my decision to declare Anthropology on the Medical track. With Dec. Day on the horizon again, I wanted to share some of the thinking that was useful for my decision-making process.
The Office of Disability Services’ AccessAbility Center in Frist Campus Center. Photo Credit: Denise Applewhite.
I have a physical disability, and when I entered Princeton, independent research was something that really daunted me. I have been surprised to find that independent research has been very accessible to me because of the flexibility and control it has given me over my work. Two years ago, I started an archival research project right after a surgery, which put increased limits on my ability. Since the project was self-managed, I was able to schedule archival research appointments around physical therapy appointments. I also received simple accommodations in the archive, like archivists moving boxes for me to support my limitations post-surgery.
That said, disability is diverse, as are research methodologies. Accommodations and approaches to research look different based on the kind of disability you have and the kinds of questions you want to answer. I spoke with Asha Nambiar, the director of Princeton’s Office of Disability Services (ODS), to gather advice on getting involved with research as a student with a disability.
Le Penseur (The Thinker) Statue, by Auguste Rodin (1904)
As I wrapped up the first of my two independent junior research papers and began brainstorming for the second (and much larger) one, I hit a familiar wall: too much possibility, with no clear direction.
This next paper is supposed to be around 30 pages. The topic is broad. My notes are abundant and scattered. Every passage and source I consider seems to open a new direction I could take. In theory, this is a researcher’s dream – I have abundant evidence, rich material, and intellectual freedom. In practice though, it can feel paralyzing. What is even relevant? How do I start this? What am I actually trying to say?
My high school English teacher gave me the most useful writing advice I’ve ever heard: “With focus comes depth, and with depth comes complexity.”
Entrance to Aaron Burr Hall, home to the anthropology department and my JP adviser. Photo credit: AccessAbleUSA
Whether it’s long hours alone in a lab or late nights in Firestone, research can feel like a uniquely isolating experience. The process of compiling existing knowledge and producing new knowledge invites us to dive deep into ongoing conversations that exist within our fields. These deep dives into the procedures, frameworks, and models that define research projects require a degree of focus that can narrow our view. One of the few moments in any research journey that disrupts this individual flow is the feedback process. That moment, when we are reminded that research is explicitly collaborative, is always critical and often dreaded. Having received my fair share of feedback over the years, I’ve learned just how important each step of the feedback process is. This goes beyond just receiving feedback, but instead really considering the importance of preparing for feedback too.
Lab members being lab members (Kang Lab). Photo credit: Matt Raspanti, Office of Communications.
Everyone knows the old mantras: “don’t be too harsh on yourself” and “everyone makes mistakes.” When I joined a lab, though, not only were those mantras pushed to the back of my head, but they also collected dust and withered. In a lab setting, when you are aware of the money and effort other people have put into the research, and when you sometimes feel less skilled as an undergrad, your mistakes can feel like grave failures.
New South, where many first-year writing seminars and sophomore research seminars take place.
First-year writing seminars are a rite of passage for all Princeton students, introducing you to the research and writing skills you need to craft an independent research paper. But what comes next? For many undergraduates, sophomore year is a year-long pause before you actually get to apply those independent research skills in your JP. The Princeton Writing Program’s sophomore research seminars offer an alternative.
After the first meeting of the semester with my adviser, whom I’ve been working with since my first-year spring, I looked at the list of papers I had to read for my junior independent work but chose to open the small birthday card my adviser gave me on behalf of the lab. Seeing everyone’s “Happy Birthday” made me feel, more than ever before, like I belonged.
And I was growing up.
I was energized, ready to take on a new responsibility. Since the conversation I had with my PI over the summer, I had been excited to get started. Coming into Princeton interested in memory and potential ways to manipulate unwanted or negative ones, getting to use eye trackers to exert top-down control over what people look at and induce forgetting by weakening the activation of the related pathways based on the eye gaze pattern seemed like a sci-fi movie coming to life. I couldn’t wait to feel ownership over my own project and contribute to the kind of work my lab cares so much about.
After two years, I started to feel like I was equipped to excel on all fronts at Princeton.