Warning: mostly trivial.
I have several friends who are ready to die on the hill that’s the plurality of “data”. Writing “the data suggests” or “the data is strong”, for these folks, isn’t just wrong: it’s a crime against the sanctity of the English language, and a grievous insult to right-thinking scholars everywhere. And for some reason (probably because they know I wrote a book about writing), these particular friends turn to me for backup. But here’s the thing: once, I was on their side; but I’ve thrown in the towel. Continue reading
Writing is hard, and over the years I’ve developed a bunch of tricks that make it a bit easier for me. Some are weird, some are complicated, and some are idiosyncratic enough that they probably work only for me. But if I had to pick one trick that could work for just about anyone, I’d pick one that might seem too simple and too obvious to be worth mentioning. It isn’t, though. It’s this: pay attention to the topic sentence.
Wait! Don’t click away just yet. Yes, you learned about topic sentences in high school (so did I). Continue reading
Image: “It was a dark and stormy night…”, from Edward George Bulwer-Lytton’s novel Paul Clifford (1830). Check out similarly wretched prose at the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest.
I’ve been prepping recently for two different writing workshops: one on my home campus, and another half-way across the continent at the University of Wyoming. A funny thing happens when you write a book about scientific writing: people infer from that authorship that you know things about writing, and even that you’re good at it. I’ve come to accept the first half of that, although not the second.
I’m certainly a better writer than I once was. (Writing The Scientist’s Guide to Writing helped me improve quite a bit; I can only hope that reading it has a similarly salubrious effect.) There’s nothing unusual about my improvement: all of us learn to write better as we practice the craft. And that means we get to look back and cringe at the offenses we’ve committed in the past. Continue reading
Image: Writing, CC 0
I teach a scientific writing course, and I think I’m doing it wrong.
I don’t mean that I’m teaching my course wrong. It might not be the course you’d teach, but I’m happy enough with it, and my students seem to be too. What I mean, I guess, is that we’re doing it wrong, as a department. That’s because I’m teaching my course to grad students and 4th year (Honours-by-thesis) undergrads – and it’s pretty easy to argue that that’s way too late.
I’ve come to understand that writing is one of the most important things we teach our undergraduates.* And while I teach scientific writing, I think writing is also one of the most transferable things we teach. Continue reading
This is a joint post by Scott Ramsay and Steve. The topic was Scott’s idea, and Scott (mostly) wrote the part about scare quotes. The boring stuff at the beginning is (mostly) Steve’s.
Photo: scare quotes by Scazon via flickr.com, CC BY 2.0.
Quotation marks seem, on the face of it, the simplest of the punctuation marks. Commas are rampantly misused; semicolons drive us to distraction; hyphens, en-dashes, and em-dashes are cryptic to all but the cognoscenti. But quotation marks? Nothing to it, right? Ah, not so fast…
The rarity of direct quotation
The most obvious function of quotation marks is (and hence their name) to mark a direct quotation. Issues of typography aside*, it’s pretty hard to get that wrong. Except in one way: should you use a direct quotation? Continue reading
Image: Polishing the chimney of a Burrell Traction Engine. © Oast House Archives, CC BY-SA 2.0. What? You think this is only tenuously connected to the post? My friend, tenuous connections are my thing.
One of the most exciting parts of being a mid-to-late-career researcher is seeing the scientific writing produced by the early-career researchers (ECRs) I’m mentoring: Honours undergrads, grad students, postdoctoral fellows. It’s a treat to see a new manuscript (or more often, a new piece of a manuscript*) ping its way into my inbox. A treat, but of course also a new obligation, because I put a lot of effort into editing ECR manuscripts. The question, though, is how much effort? And what kind of “editing”?
Once upon a time, I would simply take an ECR manuscript and make “track changes” edits until I was happy with the results. In other words: I would polish the writing (albeit with the use of “track changes” so the ECR could see and learn from the edits I made). I don’t do that any more. Continue reading
Image: You know what you’re walking into. © Gary J. Wood via flicrk.com, CC BY-SA 2.0
This is a joint post (argument and rejoinder) from Steve Heard and Simon Leather. You can find it on either of their blogs.
Should a paper title tell you what the paper is about? Yes, but not the way Simon thinks.
Steve opens with – A few weeks ago, Simon Leather blogged about one of his writing pet peeves: “titles of papers that give you no clue as to what the paper is about”. I read this with great interest, for a couple of reasons – first, Simon is consistently thoughtful; and second, I’m terrible at titles and need to learn as much about good ones as I can! Much to my surprise, I found myself disagreeing strongly, and Simon was kind enough to engage with me in this joint post.
I don’t mean that I disagree that a paper’s title should tell you what it’s about. That’s exactly what a good title does! My disagreement is, I think, more interesting. Simon offered some examples of titles he scored as failing his tell-you-what-it’s-about criterion, and some he scored as passing. I found myself scoring those examples exactly the opposite way: the ones that failed for him, succeeded for me; and vice versa.
What gives? Well, most likely, I’m just wrong. Continue reading
Image: Proofreading marks, by volkspider via flickr.com, CC BY 2.0
Like many of us, I suspect, I have a love-hate relationship with writing. I love having written. And I enjoy certain kinds of writing and certain parts of the writing process (oddly, I really like shortening things; even more oddly, I just added this parenthetical that lengthens this paragraph). Other kinds of writing (Gantt charts, anyone?) I dislike; and there are a few parts of the writing process that I truly despise. Checking proofs? I’d rather remove my own gallbladder with a rusty spoon. Continue reading
Image © Sasquatch I via flickr.com, CC BY 2.0
This is a guest post by Katie Grogan. Her Twitter thread on this topic got lots of traction, but Twitter threads are a bit ephemeral, so I invited her to share her experience and advice here.
Disclaimer: These opinions are my [Katie’s] own, garnered from research and experience. But people aren’t the same, and what works for me may be the worst strategy for you. Remember that as you read.
A few weeks ago, inspired by graduate students struggling to write, I shared some hard-won writing experience in a Twitter thread. A week later, it was still accumulating likes (>2.7k) and retweets (>1k); and I received >100 requests to join the Writing Support Slack group I mentioned. Apparently, a LOT of graduate students, postdocs, and faculty identified with how HARD it is to write. And that’s the truth – academic writing is incredibly difficult. Anyone who seems able to dive into a manuscript without anxiety, stress-eating, procrasti-cleaning, or hand wringing is either lying or a survivor of an earlier, stress-ridden period in their writing lives that you missed seeing. Continue reading
Image: a snippet of the (excellent) copyedit for my forthcoming book.
Over the last six months, I’ve had several pieces of writing go through the copyediting process: a few papers, and one book. Over my career, I’ve seen closer to 100 pieces of writing through copyedits. It’s a stage of publication that was, for a long time, rather mysterious to me, but contrasting two of my recent experiences provides a pretty good illustration of what good copyediting is, and what good copyediting very definitely isn’t. Continue reading