and about yourself as a writer. You will establish a solid base (but not inflexible, mind) upon which you can learn, improve and grow in the future.
[9] After reading this book you may end up like some of my clients: they may not remember exactly what the counseling session or workshop was about (or my name, for that matter), but they will be haunted by the questions and the answers that they discovered for themselves. To be honest with you, I sometimes have to remind myself of some of the insights I have gained in the past, in order to solve a problem (sometimes my girlfriend takes on this task in a rather unsentimental tone).
I want you to have your own individual answers to these fundamental questions for long term use. Your answers should help to make you a skilled and flexible writer, meaning that you can adapt to different writing situations and deal with any writing problem that may come your way. As a byproduct, you will become a more satisfied and happier writer who enjoys the challenge that writing poses. No longer will you perceive writing as some version of your own personal hell; writing will become an obstacle course that you know you can master. This will feel different, I can guarantee you that.
In short, I want you to take full responsibility for your writing. Take charge and make decisions, instead of relying on others who might have the noblest of intentions but don’t have the answers or solutions you need. What the writing process looks like, how and why you take writing decisions, and how you act and feel as a writer is entirely up to you. Because, in the end, it’s you who has to defend your texts; nobody else will be responsible for what you have chosen to do (except your co-authors, who are equally invested, of course).
[10] What you can expect from this book
I will keep it as short and as concise as possible. You shouldn’t spend more time reading this book than necessary. You should rather read about what you need in order for you to get going and then return to your writing. That’s why I suggest that you read this book selectively: pick what you need and move on. Don’t feel guilty if you don’t end up reading the book from cover to cover.
In discussing the questions and their possible answers, I will be drawing on the experience of my clients and other writers (including myself). Sharing others’ experiences may help you reflect your own problems and solutions. Apart from that, the examples should show you that you aren’t alone. Everybody faces writing challenges from time to time. Acknowledging that may lift your spirits – “a problem shared…” and all that. It may also help you to avoid doubting your own character or psyche. Since all writers have struggled with writing, it’s fair to conclude that it isn’t because every writer is incompetent or dumb, but because writing is intrinsically a difficult and complex thing to do (see Zinsser 2006).
[11] 1. Why do you write?
Why, oh why! It sounds like a heretical question nobody asks themselves or others for fear of the writers’ inquisition. For many writers, though, this question could prove crucial. If you ask yourself this question from time to time, you will discover more about your motivation. Motivation is key when it comes to being happy with what you’re doing, and with being successful. Insufficient motivation will lead you in many directions, but ultimately not to where you’re meant to go. And even if you do end up in the right place, the process of getting there may have been a nightmare.
Remind yourself of something we all consider once in a while: life is short and anything can happen to end it. I know that sounds harsh; it’s nevertheless true for us all. And because life is so short, it’s a waste of your time and energy to spend it doing things that you don’t want to do. Hence the question: Why would you want to spend time and energy sitting in front of a computer screen or a piece of paper to write? Are there no other things that you prefer to be doing? I can think of many and yet I sit down regularly and write about things I know and have learned.
My motivation to write has changed many times since I became able to hold a pencil. From “I have to because my teacher says so” in primary school, to “I have to in order to get a decent grade” in high school, to “I have to and somehow also want to because I want to succeed in my studies” at university, to “I want to get a PhD” and eventually: [12] “I want to because I like the challenge and I want to communicate things that others can learn from.” If I can’t write on a regular basis – due to lack of a new topic to write about, illness, my kids sucking up my time and energy – I’m missing out on something and can become grumpy at times. Especially after having completed a book project without having something else to write, I suffer from Post Publication Depression. Thinking back to the times when writing felt like hell, this change in motivation motivates me even more.
So, again, why do you write? Is it for a degree, for reputation, because you have to (due to some extrinsic motivators), because it’s your life’s essence and without it you would shrivel up and die, or some other reason? No matter what motivates you or how your motivation changes over time, from project to project, you should be clear about it.
Your motivation may have two layers: a fundamental one that does not change for longer periods of time, on the one hand (my fundamental motivation has held true for the last six years), and a project-dependent motivation on the other. The latter will not likely conflict with your fundamental motivation, but may shift your focus.
Here’s an example of the second kind of motivation: one project motivates you because it offers an opportunity to communicate with influential experts in your field. Another feels like an obligation (your superior asked you to do it), although you see the potential for some kind of institutional kudos for it. Yet another project annoys you because it’s on a topic that you’re no longer actively researching or working on. You may be doing a colleague a favor and want to get it over with in order to spend more time on more motivating projects.
[13] Knowing your motivation for a new project and knowing if it goes against your core motivation puts you in a good position to stay true to your academic self (it sounds cheesy, I know), and to reject the project or modify it to the degree that fits your motivation.
[15] 2. What do you think your writing can do?
Does this question sound awkward or trivial? Then it’s definitely something that you need to consider at least once in your career as an academic writer. As far as I understand, many (novice) writers don’t have an adequate answer.
First, let’s ask this question in a completely different context: what do you think carpentry does? Yes, carpentry produces furniture, windows, doors and many other everyday things made out of wood and other materials (at least that’s what I understand as the son of a former carpenter). Of course, every carpenter would give you a more elaborate answer, but that’s what it boils down to.
First answer
So, what does writing do? What can your academic writing do? It certainly can’t produce the chairs and tables you’re putting your bottom and laptop on. What it does produce is nevertheless equally useful. Writing produces communication. I know that’s a self-evident statement, as you’re reading the very words that I have written, communicating my ideas to you. But do you apply this knowledge to your writing? Herein, I think, lies the crux.
Students and novice writers (as well as the old guard) need reminding that their writing should communicate [16] information to others, the writer’s audience. What many university curricula fail to include is teaching students to do just that. That’s why I want to make sure you know the answer to this ‘trivial’ question. With the wrong answer or concept, your writing might go awry – and you would never know why.
Writing
