Tag: Academic Writing

Creating Communities of Writers at our Dissertation Writing Retreat

Bronwyn T. Williams, Director

Twelve years ago, in my first year as director, we held our first Dissertation Writing Retreat. Every May since then we have brought together a group of 14 doctoral students from across the University for a week of writing time, individual consultations, conversations about writing – and food. We even did it online during the worst of the pandemic. We just finished our most recent Retreat, my last as director of the University Writing Center, and had writers from nine different disciplines participating. As you’ll see from their words below, it was a reminder, yet again, of why this is such a rewarding and productive experience for everyone involved and why it is the distinctive kind of work that University Writing Center provides to the University.

Dissertation Writing Retreat Participants – 2023

When the writers arrive at the first day of the Retreat they are often not entirely sure what to expect. Yes, they know they will write – a lot – and have individual writing consultations with a University Writing Center consultant, and take part in conversations led by our staff about dissertation writing issues. They are often hoping to get a lot written during the week, and that does happen. But what they are not always prepared for is how much they will learn about themselves as writers and scholars. Most of the people coming to the Retreat have not, during their time in graduate school, had a chance to have sustained conversations about the nature of writing as a researcher and scholar. Yet such conversations, about how they are positioning themselves in their fields, how they are understanding genres of research writing and making them their own, and how they are understanding and refining their writing processes, can provide them with both knowledge and confidence that allows them to find new momentum going forward with their projects. What we know is that, while getting words written during the week matters, the most important things we can offer are advice and insights that they can take with them as writers.

The idea that we are working on more than just on the draft a writer has with them at the moment, but trying to help them become stronger, and more confident, writers in the future is central to the work of most writing centers. What is different about the Dissertation Writing Retreat from our regular consultations is that the nature of the Retreat, of spending each days writing and talking with others, is also an opportunity for ongoing reflection and community building that is rewarding in every way. What I wrote in 2011 about the first Retreat was equally applicable to this year:

“There was the benefit of being part of a community of writers. Writing a dissertation – writing anything, really – can feel like such an isolated and lonely endeavor. This week all the participants in the retreat found themselves in a community of writers. They’ve talked about the benefit of the support that comes from talking with peers about writing issues and getting both suggestions as well as empathy. They found that talking, and often laughing, about writing, even when your field is far removed from writing studies, can be enriching. And they also found that simply being in a room with other people writing can inspire them to continue to create words.”

One of our ongoing goals at the University Writing Center is to nurture and support a culture of writing on campus, and the Dissertation Writing Retreat is a vital part of that effort. I want to thank all the writers who trusted us with their writing, all the consultants who brought their insights and enthusiasm to their work with the writers, and our amazing University Writing Center staff — Annmarie Steffes, Maddy Decker, and Kendyl Harmeling — who did the heavy planning and daily logistical work to make the event happen.

But, the best insights into the Dissertation Writing Retreat come from the writers and the consultants, and here is what they have to say. You can see why it’s one of our favorite weeks of the year.

Writers

Fatima Aldarweesh, Public Health

Participating in the “Dissertation Writing Treat” event was a truly enjoyable and productive experience. It is extremely beneficial to me; I received more than I expected. I appreciated how Dr. Bronwyn and his incredible team collaborated with us to form a supportive intellectual group; I enjoyed the small group discussions. They have influenced my productivity and helped me overcome feelings of isolation. I also appreciate Ms. Aubrie, my writing consultant, for taking the time to familiarize herself with my topic and assisting me with editing, revising, and proofreading even kept me accountable for my writing each day and inspired me to try new writing techniques.

Caitlin Allen – Rhetoric and Composition

The Dissertation Writing Retreat was an incredibly valuable experience. The Writing Center team and the rest of my retreat cohort created such an energizing and supportive environment. Working with a writing consultant every afternoon was especially useful; Christina provided wonderful and thoughtful feedback on my drafts, helped me talk through ideas, and celebrated my wins. At the end of the week, I felt much more confident in my dissertation project and my writing process. I strongly recommend the writing retreat to dissertation writers from any discipline across campus.

Meaghan Flynn – Psychology

I learned so much about myself as a writer and the writing experience during the dissertation writing retreat. I had never given much thought to the different aspects of writing and the retreat was a wonderful opportunity to explore my writing habits and how I can practice engaging in both deep thinking and communicating about my deep thinking. I greatly appreciated the individual writing consultations throughout the week. This was an excellent challenge to think deeply about what aspects of writing I was struggling with and how to communicate those needs. I am very grateful to have had this opportunity and would absolutely recommend the retreat to any graduate student for their dissertation.

Hannah Heitz – Education and Human Development

The retreat was immensely helpful! First, it provided me with a lot of motivation and helped me feel energized about the writing process. Second, it reminded me to use small goals to make progress when I’m feeling overwhelmed. Third, I was reminded that it’s ok to write badly—this opened the door for me to make great strides and avoid perfectionistic traps. I learned some other specific tools for revising and time management (I took many notes that I’ll be coming back to in the months and years to come).

Amanda Lacey – Education and Human Development

The Dissertation Writing Retreat has by far been one of the most helpful and empowering experiences of my doctoral journey. While I was extremely nervous (almost panicked!) coming in, convinced I’d spend the majority of the time helplessly staring at a blinking cursor at my screen, I instead wound up making significant progress on both my writing and my outline for future chapters. I credit this success to the structure of the retreat: each day has a pre-set schedule that includes not only individual writing time, but also group discussions on various writing strategies, an hour-long appointment with a writing consultant, and plenty of opportunities to reflect. Even the break for lunch proved to be productive, as all of us attendees spent the time getting to know each other and share ideas and strategies across content areas. We even created a special Teams channel after the retreat so we can all keep in touch and keep each other accountable. In short, this writing retreat is not merely writing non-stop for 8 hours a day; instead, it’s writing sprints mixed in with opportunities to acquire new strategies, build productive writing habits, and form a strong community of colleagues that will help you get to the end of your doctoral journey — and beyond. Indeed, through this process, I was able to complete more writing in the course of a single week than I did in the previous six months. Now that the week is over, I feel re-energized and ready to tackle the rest of my dissertation. I am so grateful to have had this opportunity and would recommend it to any doctoral student from any discipline that needs that little extra push to get across the finish line.

Renee Richardson – Pan-African Studies

I gained helpful strategies from my consultant, Olalekan. His advice about the writing process allowed me to craft research questions, themes, and topics for each chapter of my dissertation. Focused research question and themes helped me to develop key terms for finding better articles and books tailored to my literature review. Also, the discussions were valuable. I was able to gain insight from other students and professionals about responding to committee feedback, maintaining discipline and momentum after the retreat, and literature review tips. Discussion leaders like Kendyl shared resources with us that I can refer back to as I complete my project. Kendyl also suggested using a Double Entry Journal which I set up during the retreat.

Consultants

Kendyl Harmeling, Assistant Director for Graduate Student Writing

This year’s Dissertation Writing Retreat was exactly that – a retreat. It’s a writing professional’s dream to work at such an event, where the sustained writing, writing discussion, and community building is fueled by (and fuels) passionate and hard-working writers across disciplines. To be in a room of writers writing is undeniably a privilege. As an assistant director of the University Writing Center, this was my first year helping to run discussions and days of the DWR and my second year as a consultant for our participating writers. The conversations we had all week about individual projects, the genre of the dissertation, and the writing process in general were maintained and tended to constantly in writing consultations, whole group discussions, and even on the walks back to the parking lots after a day’s end. Our participating writers and the energy they brought to the retreat this year are a reminder why these programs are so valuable – not just to each writer but to the University and the PhD process. They help us help each other.

Olalekan Adepoju

Having worked with writers at the dissertation writing retreat for three consecutive years, this year’s retreat was not short of the intrigues, excitement and motivation writers often exhibited throughout the five-day event. The most rewarding aspect of the retreat for me is learning about the incredible projects people are working on, and just generally experiencing the sheer joy with which these writers talk about their projects. This year, I had the opportunity to work with writers who are at different stages of their dissertation. While one was in the early stages, working on conceptualizing and framing the research questions and ideas for literature review, the other was working through their drafts to make connections across multiple drafts. For the writers, the efforts they put into their work are remarkable as those efforts helped to drive our conversations in a way that suits their needs throughout the retreat. At the end of the dissertation writing retreat, both writers affirmed to me that they now have an awareness of what their writing processes look like and a better understanding of how to apply writing concepts in their work.

Christina Davidson

While I spent the last year working in the University Writing Center, this was my first opportunity to work with writers during the Dissertation Writing Retreat. It was a delight. As expected, I was deeply encouraged by the determination and community-building among the writers throughout the week. The two writers I worked with specifically expressed similar thoughts. In fact, one of the writers I assisted called this retreat a “reset button” and said it restored her focus on her dissertation project. Many writers expressed feeling as though the retreat helped them to finally assume their scholarly authority through writing. They claimed the workshops and consulting sessions were the difference-maker in shaping how they viewed their writing project. What I noticed was the incredible attention to care the staff at the UWC gave toward helping these writers succeed. It’s an incredible service offered to the UofL graduate student community. I highly recommend this retreat to any PhD student at UofL looking for guidance, planning, and support in the dissertation process.

Jess Gottbrath

My experience at this year’s Dissertation Writing Retreat fostered an appreciation for the interdisciplinary nature of academia. Engaging in casual conversations and writing consultations exposed me to an array of research topics, methods, and perspectives. I learned about specific classes in other departments as well as overall programs of study quite different from what I have known in the world of Rhetoric & Composition. Despite these variations across content and coursework and committees, I sensed the connectedness in our pursuits. While we construct knowledge from diverse positions within the university, our collective work enables a complex understanding of the multifaceted issues in our society.

With Writing Always at the Center (Part II): Reflections on A Dozen Years as Director

Bronwyn T. Williams, Director

Here’s the thing about writing, it is a distinctive medium not just for communicating across space and time, but for connecting human consciousness. When we write, we lay out our thoughts in a way so that someone across the world, or across centuries, can understand our perspectives, our interpretations, our desires. Writing allows us to convey not only the surfaces we can see, but the thoughts and emotions that we hold most central to our lives and identities. Though not everything we write is of equal intensity and meaning, writing is always available to us to make these essential connections. The fact that AI platforms may be able to mimic broadly some writing is beside the point. When we want, when we need, to connect our minds to the minds of others, writing will continue to be there for us, and to matter deeply.

It is this ability to connect human thought, to make meaning, that makes writing the intellectual center of life in the university. Writing that truly asks people to solve problems, create, synthesize, critique, resist, advocate, and connect is writing that makes knowledge. Because humans are meaning-making creatures, we will continue to try to figure out the world around us, and our lives within, and good, thoughtful writing, will continue to be central to that endeavor. All of this is why the University Writing Center, overlooked, underfunded, and often misunderstood, matters so much. For the past twelve years it has been my privilege to serve as director of the University Writing Center. After this spring, however, I will be stepping aside as director and, before I do, I want to take a moment to reflect on why I think the work of the University Writing Center is so important, as well thank the people with whom I have shared in this work.

The Purest Teaching On Campus

The meaningful work in the University Writing Center is grounded in the talent and commitment of its amazing consultants. Though they come here from different backgrounds, and may use a variety of approaches to teaching, it is their commitment to individual, dialogic, and collaborative teaching that has made the Writing Center such rewarding and distinctive place to work. Many writers come to the University Writing Center thinking, or worrying, that what we will do is simply correct mistakes, because far too many faculty and administrators on campus mistake surface correctness for strong writing. Yet, when writers get here, what they find are collaborative conversations with our consultants where they work together to find out what it is the writers truly want to say in their own words, and in the most engaging and persuasive way possible. The approach we use, where we take our time, start with the writer’s concerns first, ask questions, — and don’t grade — makes this some of the purest teaching on campus. When writers leave after an appointment, they leave not only with new strategies for writing, but often with a greater sense of confidence as writers and students. We see these changes in writers’ identities reflected in our exit surveys and hear it in comments as people leave. People who know me have heard me talk about these ideas and experiences before, yet it is the changes in confidence, perceptions of agency, and in true learning that writers find here, that have meant so much to me over the past twelve years.

The other aspect of the work here that I appreciated in our consultants has been the ethos, the disposition they worked hard to take into each appointment. What they did, in appointment after appointment with writers from every college and discipline, and with most kinds of writing on campus, was listen carefully, and respond with respect and care. In short, they treated each writer as a writer, and not simply as a draft to be corrected. They also never lost sight of the fact that writing is deeply connected to issues of identity and power and to teach in a recognition of and response to issues of social justice. It has meant so much to me to work in a setting where the teaching is grounded in theories and practices of hospitality, reciprocity, inclusiveness, and equity. We learned from writers and they learned from us. Too much of education is based in rigid standards and punitive assessments and we have worked not only to provide a different model for teaching and learning here, but to to try to use it when we can as a model for change in the University (And I just published an article about those efforts, if you’re interested). Teaching is an ethical and political project and I’m glad to have been part of what we have been doing here over the years to work to build on student knowledge and for intellectual exploration and knowledge building.

When I started thinking about this blog post I started thinking through some of the numbers that marked the past twelve years. There have been more than 55,000 appointments, more than 150 consultants and staff members who have worked here, more than 120,000 views of our online resources and videos, hundreds of workshops on writing issues, 15 dissertation writing retreats – and this is blog post number 425. Yet what those number really represent to me, what really makes me smile, is all the words, the ideas, the connections, that were started and sustained, because of work through the University Writing Center. It has been impressive, and often moving, to watch and I respect all the work the consultants and the writers have done together

A Place of Collaborative Accomplishments

There are programs and changes that have taken place in the last twelve years that I have helped facilitate and in which I do take some pride. We connected to graduate students, both in appointments and in workshops and dissertation writing retreats in new ways and greatly increased our presence in support of graduate student writing. We started an office down at the Health Sciences Campus and did both tutoring and workshops over the years. We created online resources from Writing FAQs, to videos and to handouts, to oral histories, for UofL writers but available to any writers looking for help. We helped design and move into a new space on the first floor of Ekstrom Library, to a larger, more flexible space that made us much more visible to the University community. And we did our best to try to find ways, despite increasingly shrinking funding, to nurture and support writing on campus and in our community through our writing groups, events such as International Mother Language Day and Open Mic Nights, and our community partnerships with the Western Branch Library and with Family Scholar House. We did our best to try to be a center for all writers

Our Old University Writing Center Space on the Third Floor of Ektrom Library

All those accomplishments I frame with “we” because all the work that has taken place at the University Writing Center has been a collaborative project. It has been my deep good fortune to work with people who committed themselves to this collaborative vision of work, both with writers and with each other. So many people over the years came up with new ideas or showed me new ways to do things. They kept my thinking fresh, challenging it when it needed challenging. And, just as important as anything, they kept their sense of humor and warmth. It made this a fun place to work.

I can’t list all the people who have worked here by name, but know that I am grateful to all of you, learned from all of you. But it is important to thank individually the permanent staff I’ve worked with. At the front desk and running the office, Robin Blackett, Amber Yocum, and Maddy Decker were the calm, friendly, and resourceful people at the front desk who set the tone for everyone who walked through our doors and reassured both anxious writers and weary staff. Also, I have worked with three associate directors, but that title is so misleading. I have enjoyed the great opportunity to have true working partnerships with these good and wise friends, Adam Robinson, Cassie Book, and Annmarie Steffes. All three of them provided the stability and professionalism to keep everything running. There was much more than that, however. They were always coming up with new and important ideas – and kept me from coming up with bad ones – and they were instrumental in shaping the positive and constructive emotional ethos among the consultants on staff. I once said we were co-pilots in all things Writing Center and it has always been true. I owe you all more than I can say.

Moving On and Changing Lives

In my years as director, people often have asked me how work was going. I would tell them that, even though I might be wearying of wading through administrative budget cuts and assorted other drudge, I still looked forward to coming to work each day. When I looked around me in the Writing Center, I would tell them, I see a group of people with a strong sense of community, doing the kind of teaching, learning, and caring that I wish were the model for the whole university. I will miss all of that when the next year comes around. I will miss working with the new group of consultants in the fall. I will miss the moment of a student writer stopping in my office to say that, in her mind, the writing center would be standing next to her when she received her diploma at graduation.

Still, it is healthy for institutions to have different people with different ideas and approaches in charge and the University Writing Center is positioned to have exciting times ahead under the leadership of Tim Johnson and Annmarie Steffes. As for me, I will be continuing to teach and to research and write about students’ experiences of the pandemic, climate change education, and participatory community writing projects. I’ll be around.

At the start of each academic year, when I talk to the new group of writing consultants at our orientation, I tell them about the writers who come to the University Writing Center, often anxious and uncertain, but leave both learning about writing, and feeling a stronger sense of agency and confidence. “Quite often,” I say, “We do change lives.” Certainly my time in the University Writing Center has changed mine. Thank you all.

The Importance of Reading the Syllabus and Assignment Sheets

Yuan Zhao, Writing Consultant

Not until recently did I notice that not all the students read emails, people tend to neglect group text messages, and I know most of you will skip this blog post. But please don’t apply such non-reading strategies to your syllabus and assignment sheets. In contrast, I suggest you read the following two types of documents—syllabus and assignment sheets—very closely.

For this term, in addition to working at the University Writing Center, I also teach one first-year composition class. This double identity gives me a lens to observe students’ reading behaviors to the abovementioned two documents and the possible inconvenient consequences. When opening a writer’s Writing Center appointment form, I usually see a writing draft uploaded by the writer, but not often do I see the assignment sheet. Even though sometimes, writers copy and paste parts of the assignment requirements to the appointment form, as a Writing Center consultant, I still expect more information relevant to the writing tasks. The in-person consultations are fine, but situations can be less ideal if it is a Virtual Writing Center appointment for written feedback. Without assignment sheets or writing prompts as references, it is hard for Writing Center consultants to decide whether the writing projects address or deviate from the expected topics. In consequence, Writing Center consultants can only pay more attention to local issues, such as the mechanism within paragraphs, transitions, topic sentences, formatting, and language styles, while it is comparatively difficult for them to give feedback on higher-level concerns, such as thesis statements, or whether the organization or evidence employed in the draft address the requirements of the writing task.

In the very first class of the first-year composition courses, I led students to read the syllabus and discuss the assignment sheets. But we all forget things, and forgetting is a process that we need to fight against, so after a few weeks, I did not feel surprised to receive student submissions that failed to meet the requirements of the assignment sheets. Some of them missed the due time without emailing me for an extension; some submitted a Google Doc link while the assignment sheet specifically required a Microsoft Word document; some seldom followed the required MLA or APA styles, collaging the font choice, spacing, margins, and headers/title pages. From their performance, I know they did not revisit the assignment sheets closely before submitting the papers. If students choose not to read the assignment sheets even before the due time of submission, when will they read them?

According to the course description for ENG102, one of the learning outcomes is that students’ writing should “analyze the needs of an audience and the requirements of the assignment or task.” Reading syllabus and assignment sheets closely is one crucial step to approaching that learning outcome. In addition, the first-year composition classrooms might be the first chance (and sometimes, the last chance) for a writing instructor to explain in the most meticulous manner the significance of different writing conventions and how they work in college. It means some instructors teaching intermediate or advanced courses might suppose students know well the basics of academic writing since they have completed the first-year composition courses. However, in some cases, students can fail their expectations. If some do not learn enough composition knowledge, I do hope they at least learn some skills to conduct learning—to know where to look for the assigned composition requirements. In fact, within the syllabus and assignment sheets, we can always find the resources that instruct us on what we should do.

Why Should We Read the Syllabus

A syllabus might be less directly relevant to writing tasks, but it is a framing document for the whole course where we can find detailed information. For example, some instructors allow extensions, while others can be very strict on the time to submit assignments. According to the details in the class policies, students can predict what kind of assignment writing strategies they can employ before submitting their projects. For another example, most syllabi contain a section for assigned reading lists. When reading the class plan and the list of assigned readings, students can notice clues for the course design, and sometimes can get themselves better prepared for the class by reading the materials in advance. In addition to the course policies, some instructors include various university resources in their syllabi, and as far as I know, most students skip reading them. For sure, it is not necessary to read them closely. Just a kind reminder, if you encounter some difficulties and need assistance at the campus, besides using Google or ChatGPT to look for answers, your syllabus often contains more direct answers for what you need.

Why Should We Read Assignment Sheets

If a syllabus provides us with scaffolding instructions on what a course expects us to do, what assignment sheets offer is often something more practical and manageable. For a particular writing task, reading prompts from an assignment sheet can inform a writer what topic they should be attentive to, what arguments they might head to, and what evidence or examples they should prepare. Reading prompts is more like conducting a reading comprehension quiz. Sometimes, highlighting the key phrases in the prompts can be very helpful. From the highlighted keywords, we can always refer to our class readings and see if there are potential connections we can make so that we can transfer them into writing. The assigned reading materials sometimes are great sources when students need to include evidence or examples, and some instructors prefer seeing students doing so. Their preference lies in that instructors know the reading materials well and it is convenient for them to provide more engaging feedback. In addition, if the assignment has some particular formatting requirements, please guarantee your writing project follows them strictly. Prior to reading your writing content, instructors read your paper format first. The formatting details from your writing often lead instructors to take it for granted whether you are serious about your writing. As a side note, you can also find useful information about format editing from the webpage of the University Writing Center, including the most updated MLA, APA, and Chicago styles.

Don’t Read Your Assignment Sheet Alone

Now, I assume you will read your assignment sheet closely, highlighting the keywords and checking the specific formatting requirements. I also understand that after applying the close reading strategies, you might still be confused about the writing tasks. Don’t leave the confusion unresolved before you embark on your writing. In addition to reading alone, you should read your assignment sheets with other people. First and foremost, whenever you find something unclear that needs further explanations in the assignment, you can always make use of instructors’ office hours to raise your concerns. Reading with your instructor who is also the author of the assignment sheet is the most effective approach to untangling the confusion. Second, you can read with your classmates. In fact, when you read the assignment sheets with your peers, you are doing something more than teasing out the requirements of the assignment sheets, since you are working as a literacy community. Since you and your peers know a lot about the course context, when reading the assignment sheets, why don’t you brainstorm for the writing task? Everyone can roughly share their writing purposes, outlines, resources and even discuss some practical writing strategies to address instructors’ expectations for the writing projects. By listening to your peers’ writing plans, you can build and revise your writing plans, too. Finally, you are always more than welcome to read the assignment sheets with the University Writing Center consultants. And I highly suggest you do so when you make an appointment with us. All of the consultants are experienced graduate students and some of us have teaching experience. Based on your verbal descriptions about the project and the written requirements from the assignment sheets, we can offer constructive feedback addressing your project, and hopefully, we can help boost your confidence to help you become a better writer.

Reading syllabi and assignment sheets cultivates important professional reading skills. It is the prerequisite condition to writing, which requires specific responses to meet the requirements of different tasks. The reading activity entails responsibilities as a reader, a communicator, an executor, and a writer. As a responsible reader, you have to read the materials closely; as a reliable communicator, you are expected to talk to different parties to make sure you understand the tasks; as an executor, you have to make decisions on what to write and how to write it; and as a dedicated writer, you compose a writing product as a response to a series of specific requirements. So start your writing by reading the syllabus and assignment sheets.

Sustainability is More Than Science: Exploring Climate Change Education Across Cultures

Bronwyn T. Williams, Director

The weather report: Today in Louisville it is partly cloudy and 68 degrees. In Manila, Philippines it is 88 with thunderstorms. In Graz, Austria it is cloudy and 60 degrees, in Rustenburg, South Africa it 85 and sunny and in Sydney, Australia it is 63 and raining. If you are teaching a classroom of students about climate change in any of these places, their immediate experience of climate will be the transitory weather they see out the window. Yet, from the perspective of the global climate emergency, things look quite different. In Louisville and in Graz, there have been increases in flooding and heat emergencies in the summers. The Philippines continues to be battered by stronger and more frequent typhoons. The countryside around Sydney still shows scars of the unprecedented wildfires of 2020 and, in Rustenburg, increasing heat and drought conditions mean that sometimes students are sent home from school when there is no water.

Louisville students talk with South African students by video

Climate change is simultaneously global in scope, yet experienced locally in quite different ways. From the perspective of education, it can be a challenge to convey to students how what is happening to the climate is more than the immediate weather out the window, but also not as abstract as an image of a polar bear on an iceberg. Currently I’m involved in a climate change education project focused on thinking of new ways of learning – and writing – about climate change across cultures. This interdisciplinary education project is initially focused on connecting middle-school students from around the world share what they are learning – and experiencing – about how climate change affects their local communities. The researchers and teachers involved in the pilot stage of this Global Climate Change Education Project – from Austria, South Africa, the Philippines, Australia, and the US – will gather here at the University of Louisville next week for a planning conference funded by a Spencer Foundation grant. The goal of the project is to help students learn about climate change not only from the perspective of science, but also how it affects, and is affected by, history, politics, culture, and the media. We hope that making these kinds of human connections across cultures can make climate change seem less abstract and, as a result, can lead to a greater sense of empathy and an increased commitment to the behavioral change and political action required to address the climate emergency.

The project brings together teachers and researchers from the sciences, education, and social sciences, and all have crucial roles to play in our planning. But, from my perspective as a literacy researcher and writing teacher, I also see writing and communication as key parts both of how students learn about climate change, and how they will communicate with people in their communities and with their peers across cultures. Part of what intrigues me about working on this project are the interdisciplinary possibilities. The science part of it is crucial, of course, but issues of sustainability are also about culture and community. And our explorations of culture and community are through science, but also through stories, history, poetry, images, film, and more. If we are to communicate and build relationships across cultures, we need to understand more about place and identity, and how those shape both science and our daily lives. What’s more, there is substantial research that indicates that what persuades people to act on social issues is not only facts and evidence-based reasoning, but also narratives, emotions, and relationships.

So I’ve found myself thinking about how science, art, narrative, oral history, poetry, and more might be brought together in climate change education, both in this project and others. This raises questions that are shaping many of my research and teaching interests right now. How is sustainability more than science? How must we also explore and examine issues of culture, community, history, and relationships in terms of climate change? What experiences and relationships motivate people toward action in a given context? How do we promote agency in students? And how is all of that mediated through interpreting and creating texts – both in print, but also in sound, video, images and other media and modes?

In exploring these, and other questions about location, culture, and sustainability, I am also interested in how we can use digital technologies to create these kinds of texts and opportunities for communication. We’ve already been doing some pilot projects among the students involving writing, video, and other forms of communication. Down the line we may explore other ideas, such as possibly creating a digital repository of student climate change narratives, interviews, podcasts and more, where people can upload video or audio or print and then they are available to others for teaching and research. Sharing this kind of writing would be another way to get students communicating about local knowledge across cultures and, I hope, increasing knowledge and empathy.

We are in the early days of this project, but I am eager for the conversations and work we will engage in next week in the planning conference and to think about how writing and literacy will play a role in climate change education going forward. As a teacher and researcher I have always been interested in the knowledge people have in their daily lives and how we draw on that, and connect it, to issues and ideas in school. I believe that, to engage in kind of broad-based change needed to address the climate emergency we need to explore new perspectives for that are grounded in local knowledge, languages, and cultures. We’re taking what we hope will be a helpful steps next week for learning and action across communities and cultures. Stay tuned.

Put Your Heart in It: Creative Writing’s Place in an Academic Space

Liz Soule, Assistant director

After a two-year break from creative writing, I stumbled my way back into it through fan fiction this past March. Although I would never judge another writer for finding inspiration in fan works, I confess feeling a bit ashamed by my own admission. Halfway through a 2,000 word story exploring a deeply emotional conflict between two characters that were not my own creation, I started to wonder: shouldn’t my time be taken up by more intellectual pursuits? I could have been reading for a class or starting a paper. Wasn’t this a waste of precious time and mental energy?

Whether you’re writing that crossover fanfic you’ve had percolating in your brain for the past six months or even something more traditional, I am sure that you, too, have wondered where your creative writing endeavors fit in within the grand scheme of your academic journey. In an academic culture that focuses so intently on making the grade, it is hard to see the benefits of any pursuit that does not result in some kind of marked increase in your GPA.

But if writing pedagogy tells us anything, it is that writing processes extend far beyond the context of one assignment, genre, or even discipline. Academic writing and creative writing doubtlessly have a symbiotic relationship. But what does this look like? How can we rationalize our continued pursuit of creative writing?

Hoping to learn more about this, I spoke with two of my colleagues at the University Writing Center, Maddy Decker and Andrew Messer. Maddy serves as the senior program assistant in the University Writing Center, and is pursuing an MFA in creative writing at Eastern Kentucky University. She also leads the creative writing group! Andrew is a writing consultant, and is pursuing an MA in English at the University of Louisville. Both are prolific creative writers! In brief interviews, I asked them how creative writing and academic writing have interacted for them.

For Andrew, writing creatively has revealed new ways to express himself across the board. “Creative writing helped me find a voice,” he explained. That voice carries through to his academic assignments, allowing him room to creatively approach essays and apply his unique style to many different kinds of writing. He intentionally practices this, developing creative ways to complete assignments each time he gets one.

Similarly, Maddy describes creative writing as granting her “a little bit more flexibility.” Like Andrew, she doesn’t feel locked into a particular formula when it comes to academic writing. Rather, the perspective she’s gleaned through creative writing gives her “a different idea of what forms academic writing can take.” She also brings her own stylistic flare to her academic work through the use of heightened figurative language.

Likewise, the two have found that academic writing can influence their creative processes. Andrew’s experiences with writing academically, particularly in composition courses, made him become much more aware of the role of audience in any piece of writing. “I became a lot more aware of the external audience and now try to be cognizant that people are going to read it and they need to understand,” he said. When it comes to creative writing, this means making what is implicit more explicit.

Speaking on the influence of academic courses in her creative writing, Maddy said: “They feed each other a lot.” She has used the material from courses, such as a forensic anthropology course, to create new content. Some of her current projects stem from past courses she took during her undergraduate career.

Andrew and Maddy aren’t alone in feeling this way. For me, I have found that creative writing helps me gain momentum. I put aside my perfectionism to write silly stories about characters, and it remains suspended as I transition into other activities. Starting an assignment is always a struggle for me, but when I begin with creative writing, I feel like the words fly out of my fingers and onto the page. And, perhaps more importantly, my experiences with creative writing have taught me to be open to revision. I know that I can (and should) write, rewrite, and rewrite again.

In closing out our interviews, I asked both Andrew and Maddy to share any words of wisdom they had for maintaining creative writing endeavors while in school. After all, even if you know the benefits of writing creatively, it can be hard to make the space for it.

Andrew recommended taking literature courses, if possible, because “you’ve gotta read for those courses, so you’re still expanding your repertoire.” He also shared a nugget of wisdom from his creative writing professors: “If you wanna write, then read!”

Maddy insisted that writers make time for creative writing, even if it’s in small ways. She advocated for writing whatever comes to you. “Having that interest stay alive is the priority. Just make sure your heart is still in it,” she said.

I hope that you find validation in what we’ve shared here today. Know that if you’re ever in doubt of the place your creative writing has within your process or program, here at the University Writing Center, we are happy to help you build those connections and find your flow.

Interested in writing creatively? Join us at the Creative Writing Group, led by Maddy! Meetings are held in person in the University Writing Center (Ekstrom 132) from 5:30 – 7pm on the following Mondays:

October 10th

November 14th

December 5th

For more information, please email us at writing@louisville.edu or call us at 502-852-2173.

It’s All About the Conversations in the Writing Center – Looking to the Year Ahead

Bronwyn T. Williams, Director

Those of us in colleges and universities often feel like the energy and anticipation of starting a new year happens every August, rather than in January. We draw up new plans for the year ahead, make hopeful resolutions, and take part in the rituals, both formal and informal, that mark new beginnings. At the University Writing Center one of our important, and always energizing, rituals takes place when the new group of consultants show up for the coming academic year. This past Thursday we all met as a group for the first time at the our orientation. That day we began the conversations, that will continue throughout the year, about how best to support the writing of all members of the UofL community. Central to our values and practices are seeing our work with writers as helping them strengthen the drafts they bring to an appointment, but also to offer strategies and advice to help them be stronger, more confident writers in the future.

**University Writing Center Consultants – 2022-23**

The best way to support writers and strengthen their drafts, writing processes, and skills, is to engage in collaborative conversations. We’re excited to be able to have our schedule available again for in-person appointments. Both my experience as a writing teacher, and research in writing studies, make it clear that the best way to help a person improve as a writer is through dialogue. In our appointments, writers tell us their concerns about their drafts, we tell them what we see as strengths and areas of concern, and then we have a conversation about different strategies available to improve their drafts. Throughout our appointments there is time for both writers and consultants to to be able to ask questions and explore new ideas. Through listening to writers and asking questions, we can help them discover for themselves how best to improve their writing. These in-person conversations are collaborative and energizing for everyone involved, and they are what make writing center work so rewarding for those of us who do it. The realities of the COVID-19 pandemic have meant that many people in the UofL community have not had the experience of an in-person consultation, but I hope people will give it a try this fall and see what a difference such a conversation can make in terms of their writing, now and in the future.

We are, as always, committed to work with any writing, with any member of the UofL community, at any point in the writing process. People are welcome to come in and brainstorm ideas about how to respond to an assignment, or bring in a draft to develop strategies for revision. For all writers, our work will continue to be grounded in an ethic that draws from principles of hospitality, service, care, empathy, patience, and respect. We are also always committed to be a safe, inclusive, and equitable space for all writers on campus. It’s these principles that help consultants and students work together to create more effective, critical, and creative writing.

We also continue our work to create and support a culture of writing on campus. We will continue to facilitate our writing groups (Graduate Student and Faculty Writing Group, Creative Writing Group, and LGBQ+ Writing Group), hold writing-focused events such as readings and open mic nights, and work with our community partners on our community writing projects. And we will continue to have more ideas about writing in this blog and well as on our social media feeds (Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, and YouTube).

On Monday morning, we will begin to a new year of working with writers to make their writing stronger. Those Monday appointments will be the first of thousands we will hold in the year to come. We’re excited about sharing the journey ahead with all of you as we all work to being a positive focus and force for all the writing, in all its many forms, that takes place in this university community.

Positive Vibrations

Tobias Lee, PhD Candidate and Writing Consultant

One of the things I love about working in the University Writing Center is the exposure I get to so much fascinating and important work. I’ve read about entrepreneurship among Rohingya refugees, the impact of sexual health on longevity, green building practices in sports venues, what Afrofuturism tells us about our history…. Pardon my childlike gushing, but it’s so cool! This is why I love academia. People are creating knowledge here! Aaaand that leads me to what I’ve been writing about. Yep, knowledge.

What, really, does it mean to create new knowledge? What is knowledge? Wait! Don’t go away yet! I promise, it’ll be interesting. I won’t put you to sleep. Well I might… but you’ve been needing to catch up on sleep, haven’t you? Knowledge… well, let’s begin with a bromide: they say “knowledge is power.” Get the knowledge, then you’ll have power. Go to school, learn some stuff, and now you’re Captain America. We all want to feel powerful. Nobody’s angling to be powerless. Well yes maybe but… But let’s think this through a bit. Power is the ability to do something, it’s potential. You learn some stuff to empower yourself to do things. But it won’t mean much if you don’t actually ever do. So it’s the doing that matters. You might “know” some things, but it’s what that does, it’s how that shapes your behavior and creates material effects in the world, that has any importance or value. You might know what the capital of Georgia is or how to juggle five balls, but unless and until that brings you glory at your local pub quiz or impresses everybody at the party including that certain someone, it’s uh, purely academic. It’s just information, neutral and inert, until its usage has material effects. And the imperfect predictability of these results and the results of those results and of everything is what elevates knowledge over information.

So maybe the phrase, “knowledge is power,” while pithy, doesn’t quite get us there. A focus on material effects, on application, urges us toward a different understanding of knowledge. I think Wanda Orlikowski (2002, 2006) gets it right when she talks about knowledge as practice. Ah. So it’s doing something. It’s in the doing. Knowing about car engines versus actually getting that car right there to run again. Knowing physics versus actually getting someone to the moon.

Orlikowski elaborates. “Know-how” is a capability generated through action. And this requires repeated actions. These sustain the “know-how” while also, of course, adapting it, improving it, expanding it, in some way changing it. So the idea that knowledge is some inert, stable thing or repository of things is an illusion. It looks that way because we keep repeating it. It’s a bit like how a movie looks real because our mind does that little trick of stitching all those individual images together into a fluid whole. Except in this case the individual images are events, actions, each very similar yet slightly different from the last. Or it’s like how an insect wing looks like it’s not moving but is actually flapping a zillion times a second. Just remember that the wing itself is not stable either. It’s also changing, growing, aging. Did you know that trees vibrate? Knowledge, then, is like a tree, always changing, or okay but really more accurately, knowledge, as practice, is change. There is nor was there ever no stable thing that then changes slightly. It’s always changing. Indeed, this is how we know change, and recognizing change is how we mark time, and for that matter, space. How you like them apples? But let’s not bite off more than we can chew in one blog post…

What does this mean for knowing how to write? That’s what you tuned in for, right? I thought knowing how to write was, basically, you know, learning some vocabulary and nailing down the grammatical rules. That would be nice. Then it’d be a simple matter of collect all twelve! Buy the Happy Meal, get the toy, put it on your shelf, repeat. Trade them with your friends. Trade them for money! But surely thou didst know that language changeth over time and space. Aye, ’tis ne’er so stable a thing as me lord thus willeth thou what okay nevermind. No it doesn’t work that way. The rules are mere conventions, and dig a little and you’ll find considerable disagreement about and variation even within those conventions. Word meanings are always changing (read the etymology of your favorite word on the OED or spend five minutes browsing the Urban Dictionary), sustained through practice and but also thereby always changing. This isn’t a movie, no nice tidy plots. Knowing how to write, like all knowing, is an “ongoing social accomplishment, constituted and reconstituted in everyday practice” (Orlikowski, 2002, p252).

So when you’re learning to write (or more accurately, when you’re writing), you’re participating in and contributing to the way things are (more accurately, appear to be) for a given context (or to be fancy, discourse community), such as your discipline. An interesting little thought exercise, no? It calls into question all sorts of things that we take for granted, and it’s massively inconvenient. It gums up the works. How do we know what’s right any more? Goodness me. But on the other hand and at the very least, it also means you should stop berating yourself, if indeed you were. That whole impostor syndrome. That anxiety. That feeling of inferiority. You can dial that back a bit. You’re not “bad at writing” and they are not always and everywhere good at it. You’re joining a community (such a nice-sounding word), and that community has a way of doing things. They’re a bit anxious to keep it that way ’cause it seems to work, to produce some desirable results. But it is nevertheless changing, a living thing, and it lives, in part, because of you.

References

Orlikowski, W. (2002). Knowing in practice: Enacting a collective capability in distributed organizing. Organization Science, 13(3), 249-273.

Orlikowski, W. (2006). Material knowing: The scaffolding of human knowledgeability. European Journal of Information Systems, 15, 460-466.

Navigating Burnout

Hi, my name is Eli and I am burnt out. I hear my alarm go off in the morning and I say “no”. My loved ones ask me how much work I have to do before the end of the semester and I say, “I’m not comfortable answering that question right now”. As much as I want to lay down right this very minute and take a big fat nap for five or six or seven days, that’s not really an option right now. Instead, I have to write. I like writing. I’m good at writing. As a general rule, writing brings me joy. At this moment in my life, writing has become a chore. My joy from and talent for writing are still there, but I’m having a hard time sifting through the stress and exhaustion from a particularly rough semester (both academically and personally) to find them. As much as I don’t want to write today, but I have to. It’s nonnegotiable. In the spirit of this, I thought I’d take this blogging opportunity to share three ways I try to manage my own burn out and get writing done even when I don’t feel like it:

Pace yourself with structured work time and break time.

When I’m staring down the barrel of a very homework-y day, I organize my time in 20- or 30-minute chunks. 20-30 minutes of reading for class, 20-30 minutes of reading for fun. 20-30 minutes of writing an outline, 20-30 minutes doodling. 20-30 minutes of writing a blog post for the University Writing Center website, 20-30 minutes of taking a walk. Pacing myself and strictly limiting both my work and break time helps me keep my energy up for the day. Also notice that I didn’t say anything about “20-30 minutes on Facebook reading about that person from high school’s really messy breakup” or “20-30 minutes of looking up ‘how long until they finish cloning that Wooly Mammoth they found in Siberia last year?””. I know that once I start goofing off on the internet, then all of the nice discipline I’ve observed throughout the day will go out the window and suddenly four hours will have elapsed, and I’ll still be texting my friends screenshots of articles quoting arrogant biologists claiming that we shouldn’t try to bring back prehistoric mammals with the caption “can you believe this chump?’” And then I will wonder where my day has gone and why I haven’t gotten anything done. Maybe you’re better than me and know how to use the internet in moderation when tasked with something you don’t have the energy to do. Or maybe you and I are more alike than either of us want to admit.

2. Establish physical boundaries between you and your work

Ah, “boundaries”. My second-favorite “b-word”. I don’t know about you, but I love a good boundary. Whether its boundaries with work, friends, or even the cashier at CVS who felt compelled to tell me about what life was like leading up to her most recent colonoscopy, I use boundaries to protect my (waning) energy and (frail) emotions a lot these days. Unfortunately, this this current cultural moment doesn’t really support my affection for boundaries. And that pesky plague we’ve all been surviving for almost 25 months has made the issue worse. Possibly the most effective boundary I have with work is determining where I do my work. I let myself work on the computer or read wherever I’m comfortable –in my office, in my yard, at a coffee shop, even on the couch if that’s what I need that day— while also establishing a few spaces as “no work zones”. My bedroom is one of those places. By making my room a “rest only” area, it is easier for me to shift out of work mode and have more meaningful and effective rest. I know some folks don’t have the luxury of being able to spread out enough to make their entire bedroom a “no work zone”, and when I was in that position as an undergraduate, I made my bed the “no work zone”. Even in a cramped dorm room, I made these boundaries work by dropping $30 on trampoline chair that I could fold up and slide into a corner when not in use. Separating work spaces from break spaces is a trick I have employed since I was in high school and it has helped me to make the most out of my rest, even when I am not getting very much of it.

3. Let yourself be kind of a smart aleck

The other two tips are pretty general “navigate burnout” tips. This one is specifically for writing. Have you ever found yourself staring glassy-eyed at the blinking cursor of a blank Microsoft Word document wondering how the hell you are going to write a paper about an assigned reading that you absolutely despised? A reading that made your stomach spasm a little? A reading that made you question if learning how to read was even worth it? I know I’ve had plenty of those readings in my life as a student and they usually leave me with nothing nice to say. And in those cases, I let the bitterness out. I write the snarkiest intro paragraph I can muster. And by the time I have something vile written down, I’m not staring at a blank Word Document anymore and I’m able to proceed with the paper. Being a smart aleck during the preliminary writing stages doesn’t necessarily get you any closer to hitting your page count, but it will help you exorcise some of your frustration and can help you power through and get it done.

*Please note that your smart-aleck interludes should not be included in your final draft. Do not turn in something rude and unpleasant to your professor. It’s not cute and they are not paid enough to deal with that.

Burnout is a monster. It is also transient and won’t last forever. When I am at the very end of my rope, I like to remind myself (or, more often, let someone else remind me) that being in school is a blessing. An education is one of the few things in the world that nobody can take from you. It is an investment in yourself. This experience is stressful and overwhelming, and we are all so tired. And it’s manageable. Pace yourself, make you physical spaces work and rest-friendly, trust the process and don’t be afraid to indulge in some silliness along the way. Friendly reminder that you’re here for a reason, even if that reason isn’t clear yet. Read your readings, write your papers, and manage your burnout the best you can. I’m right there with you, and I’m rooting for you.

Theory Writing/Writing Theory

“The task of critical reflection is not merely to understand the various facts in their historical development (…) but also to see through the notion of fact itself, in its development and therefore in its relativity.”
― Max Horkheimer, Eclipse of Reason

Theory provides a critical language, argumentative framework, and stylistic approach to writing. Working in the field of critical theory—a genre of writing developed by thinkers like Frederic Jameson, Jacques Derrida, Judith Butler, and the academics of the Frankfurt School—blends critical analysis with artistic inquiry. Critical theory combines the creative and critical by capturing abstract ideas in linguistic concepts, while also depending on intertextual reference to convey is meaning—making a unique academic form for writers. Moreover, the dialectical foundation of theory enables clearly delineated rhetorical structures that depicts the associations between seemingly separate ideas. Thus, theory’s creatively critical genre asks for a writing style that questions exactly what style is—illustrating its unique position between the margins of academic objective analysis and creative expression.

Critical theory offers a specialized language that blends objective criticism with creative intertextuality. Language is obviously an essential characteristic of writing: the unique language of theory not only conceptualizes abstract ideas that help writers articulate difficult thoughts, but the concepts of critical theory also depend on an intertextual history—intertextuality being an artistic device closely related to parody or satire that means to use a word, name, or image in an artistic creation that refers back to a previously created artistic form, generating a new meaning in the reference (like when Anthony Hopkins quotes Shakespeare in HBO’s Westworld)—of cultural criticism that pluralizes the meaning of its concepts, making theory resemble an art form like poetry that requires close attention a multitude of literary devices. Indeed, a term like “logocentrism,” a word coined by Jacques Derrida to illustrate the hierarchy of speech over writing, exemplifies a concept that contains a radically abstract idea that allows academic writers to articulate specificity in their argument. However, feminist and queer scholars developed a special interest in the term (also coined by Derrida) “phallogocentrism,” which indicates the patriarchal occupation of spoken language. By adapting “logocentrism” to a feminist and queer focused analysis, scholars have pluralized the meaning of the term by multiplying its reference points: the definition of the term “phallogocentrism” not only refers to the research of the feminist and queer thinkers who developed it, but also to Derrida’s philosophical work. The adaption of the terms illustrates the intertextual dependence of critical theory concepts, making the genre of theory a unique field of academic criticism and artistic creation. Thus, theory’s combination of objective analysis with poetic intertextuality to interrogate language and convey ideas that simple denotation cannot express illustrates a unique writing style that makes theory critical and creative. The style of theory writing transforms academic research into a version of artistic commentary that expresses profound ideas in a creative form.

The dialectical foundation of critical theory enables abstract associations to be formulated in an understandable written organization. Dialectical argumentation has been performed for thousands of years—Aristotle was one of the first philosophers to advocate dialectical techniques in rhetorical analyses. It was Frederick Hegel and Karl Marx who developed the dialectical model to a critique of culture, then carried on by Jameson, the Frankfurt School, and Derrida as a core characteristic of their philosophies. The most basic dialectical model is the thesis, antithesis, synthesis structure, which takes one phenomenon (like the content of a story) and compares it with another seemingly different phenomenon (like the form or medium of a story) to show that the meaning of an artwork depends on a relationship between its content and form. In argumentative writing, dialectics works by comparing one claim to its opposite in order to (synthesize) illustrate the similarity between the two ideas. If someone wants to claim that wealthier individuals should pay higher taxes, a dialectical argument will point out the benefits of the claim, but also the (antithetical) claims supporting the opposing side who believes taxes should be lower. The dialectical synthesis, therefore, combines the two ideas to illustrate how the original claim supplements the arguments of the opposing side—not simply how one side is better, but how both sides combine to create a new understanding of the problem. Thus, structuring essays dialectically creates a roadmap for nuanced analysis, as well as a consciousness for how the meaning of a written work is conditioned by its presentation in a particular form. The dialectical model illustrates the creative and the critical aspects of the theory genre because it asks writers to be aware of the metaphysical aspects that inform interpretations of their work, while also acting as a structure for argumentative analysis.

Theory lives on the margins of objective analysis and creative inquiry, making it a unique style of academic writing. Critical theory twists the supposed difference between academic criticism and creative production because it is a writing style that blurs categories. Theory blends the poetic with the positional, which creates a distinctive style of academic writing that questions the separation of objective analysis and subjective understanding. Critical theory is creative because it steeps in the ambiguity of language and relies on pluralized, intertextual association to convey the meanings of its ideas. It remains critical, however, because the subject of its inquiry is cultural conditions and phenomena. Thus, theory writing embodies a unique writing practice—conveying truths in a decentered form.

Taking Stock of Your Revisions

I have made chicken stock more times than I can count. Four times a week over the course of a fifteen-year culinary career really adds up. There is a large pot of stock simmering on my stove as I write this, a weekly ritual I cannot abandon despite trading my chef knife for a pen four years ago. And while I want to talk about a few generalizable revision tips today, I am reminded how all those years of cooking have informed my writing process, so let’s start by discussing the perfect batch of broth.

I started making stock eighteen year ago. Back then, I aimed for excellence, mirroring my mentor’s movements, seeing how he chopped the culinary trinity of mirepoix—two parts onion, one part carrot, and one part celery—breathing in the aromatic cauldron of rosemary and thyme while I learned from the best. The six-hour repetition of producing liquid gold became my obsession, and by the hundredth pot I foolishly thought I had attained a mastery. After five hundred, I realized I was only scratching the surface. Like with any craft, there was a wealth of nuance and depth I’d never even considered. I began reevaluating details, trying to notice every modifiable aspect of the process. Was I roasting the bones too long or not long enough? Should I have blanched them? Why did I put the parsley in so early? I also started reading books by great chefs like Escoffier, Child, and Keller, taking in the identical elements of their methods and blending them with my own. Each subsequent attempt became a chance to learn and improve, with every minor modification written down. The herb infused pot bubbling in my kitchen is a result of those efforts. Is it the perfect batch? No. After all that effort, I learned perfection isn’t the point. Discovering my own process is what has mattered most.

I started writing stories the week I turned thirty. While it was a tough transition at first, the more I wrote and revised, the more I realized those culinary lessons could translate to my writing. Just like with my stock, it was all about figuring out my own style. I found that I write my best stories in the morning, and that if I’m excited about an idea, the story tells itself. I trained my creativity by reading greats like Baldwin, Bradbury, and Vonnegut, taking the best ingredients from their styles and whisking them into my own. But most of all, like with the daily process of improvement I had picked up in the kitchen, I figured out how my writing ticked from the iterative act of revision.

One of the biggest questions I get when consulting with creative writers in the UofL Writing Center is: How do I know if I’m going in the right direction? The only answer I’ve found, as simple as it sounds, is that we all learn best through thorough revision. And although every writer is different, here are some basic revision principles to help any writer find what works for them, my own culinary trinity of noticing, asking why, and putting it away.

#1 Notice: A critical aspect of revision, from beginning to end, is noticing the choices we make and turning them into a list. I mean this in the simplest of terms: Read your draft and mark down any line and or that doesn’t feel quite right. Try rereading the piece faster and see what happens. Does the feeling go away? If it doesn’t, you have isolated a concern. The key to finding successful revision strategies comes from learning to notice the peculiar aspects of your own writing, turning those thoughts into a list, and adding to the list when you see something new. Sound simple? That’s because it is. The repetition of noticing is one of the most essential tools in a writer’s kit.

# 2 Ask why: To make the best stock I could, I questioned every aspect of the process, from how large I cut my vegetables, down to what kind of strainer I used to obtain the final product. The same goes for my writing. Why did I start with a long sentence in the second paragraph of this blog? What’s with the whole ‘culinary trinity’ thing? Is it cheesy? Probably. With your newfound noticed list in hand, critically question your own process. Write those questions down as they appear and keep reading. Oftentimes, an answer will arrive unannounced moments later and resolve an entire paragraph of concerns. Even when you think you have found that magical solution, ask why and when and where. Never stop questioning, because the more you do, the more you will notice about your process, resulting in a deliberate approach.

#3 Put it away. After reading a draft a dozen times, you might start feeling stuck. Put the piece away and let your thoughts simmer. I’ve struggled with individual scenes from a story for weeks, eventually tossing the draft aside in frustration, only to stew on the idea and find a fully cooked solution when I least expected it. You never know when an idea will appear, but it is vital to trust that it will. This also goes for unused scraps. If you notice a sentence or paragraph isn’t working, paste it to a new document or scrap of paper and forget about it. I’ve had scraps from one story save a scene in another after weeks of failed solutions. Those opportunities disappear when you delete bad lines. So put it away for a while and know that the answer will come, even if it doesn’t happen today.

The toughest part of writing is figuring out the fine details of our process. There are no quick workarounds to that. To find those answers, we must become vigilant noticers, examining every aspect of our writing, and organizing strategies around what we consistently see. There will never be a perfect recipe for chicken stock or immaculate revision strategy, but by surrounding our processes with attention, we have the chance to make them wonderfully ours.