Academic writing as craft

As a graduate student, I never received any writing training.

I took courses in subjects as diverse as cultural anthropology, sociology, economics, marketing, and statistics, but I never had a single writing course.

The issue of good writing was not even raised. So when I graduated and started my first faculty job, I did it without any training in how to write for academia. This absence of preparation continues to perplex me. Doctoral students receive almost no instruction in a pivotal facet of their future careers.

When I talk to American or British colleagues about the need for such training, they often dismiss it with the assertion that their status as native speakers absolves them from requiring such guidance. They believe academic writing courses are for others, for people who have not grown up with the English language.

I disagree.

Over the years, I have found that many native speakers produce texts that are uninteresting or so abstractly worded that I need a large number of flat whites to read their work. It is important to realize that regardless of your native language, you can always become a better writer.

Last year, I designed a course for graduate students called “Academic Writing as Craft.” The syllabus covers topics such as purposeful reading, clear writing, the intricacies of storytelling, and the vicissitudes of publishing. It is, in essence, the course I wish I had taken as a graduate student.

Why call this “academic writing as craft”? Some folks who know me well may find my likening writing to a craft as laughable, given that I usually struggle to put together furniture from IKEA.

Nevertheless, I firmly believe that academic writing is a craft that can be learned. Good writing, like any other craft, is not an innate talent. Even for native speakers, good writing requires conscious effort, instruction, and commitment.

Academic writing and the apprenticeship model

In medieval Europe, carpenters, tailors, and even brewers formed guilds to promote learning and maintain quality standards. Guilds distinguished between apprentices, journeymen, and master craftsmen to delineate different levels of skill development. An apprentice acquired knowledge under the expert guidance of a master.

Once this novice could work independently without supervision, they became a journeyman, traveling from guild to guild, perfecting their craft and style. Finally, the master craftsman, the epitome of skill, embodies their knowledge by creating a masterpiece. Having spent years perfecting their craft, master craftsmen were capable of creating true works of art.

1449 — PETRUS CHRISTUS, A GOLDSMITH IN HIS SHOP

In many areas, the apprenticeship model still creates wonders. Take the world of restaurants. Apprentices work closely with experienced chefs to master culinary techniques and use their time efficiently.

In the documentary “Jiro Dreams of Sushi,” we see an apprentice sushi chef perfecting his first sushi preparation, the tamago sushi. Despite its seemingly simple composition of egg and rice, an aspiring sushi chef needs to train for six months, merely on this dish, before achieving skill mastery.

Jiro Dreams of Sushi: Making Egg Sushi

At one level, this pursuit of quality already exists in academia. Anyone who has been through the arduous review process can attest that academic articles are scrutinized by reviewers. At the same time, I am always amazed that reviewers or editors make so few comments on the quality of the writing. Since academic journals are designed to communicate, it is puzzling to me that many journal editors allow poorly written prose to be published.

Especially as far as clarity is concerned, academic writing still has a long way to go. Most scientific papers tend to be awkward to read and often impossible to understand. As Nobel laureate Francis Crick laments in his book :

“There is no form of prose more difficult to understand and more tedious to read than the average scientific paper.”

At a time when we expect academics to make a difference and contribute to society, so much obscure writing seems absurd.

So why is academic writing so bad?

There are at least five factors that help explain the sad state of affairs that is academic writing:

1. Lack of training. The majority of doctoral students find themselves with minimal to no formal training in writing. Doctoral supervisors grapple with teaching responsibilities and administrative duties, leaving them with scarce time to dedicate to training their PhD students in the nuances of writing. As a consequence, the best writers are often those who pursued humanities degrees as undergraduates, or were lucky enough to co-author early on with a great writer. Unfortunately, a significant number of doctoral students find themselves without access to these opportunities.
2. Social isolation. Academia is a solitary business, unlike other professions where expertise remains tied to an apprenticeship model. In medicine, for example, medical students work closely with experienced physicians for years, observing their practice and gradually taking on more responsibility under their guidance. But after graduation, young faculty often find themselves alone and isolated, having to figure out for themselves how to improve their writing.
3. Little exposure to good writing. To learn how to write well, one must come into contact with good texts. Think of the world of wine and imagine only being able to drink very average wine. In such circumstances, it would be difficult to gain an appreciation for good or even great wine. If you could only drink Yellow Tail, it would be hard to appreciate what makes a Chateau Margaux such a great wine. Similarly, graduate students who limit themselves to reading academic articles will rarely come into contact with great writing. I remember visiting the office of a marketing colleague who proudly showed me his collection of psychology and marketing journals. Not a single book in sight. My fear upon seeing his bookshelf was that his collection of academic articles was also a collection of largely bad writing.
4. Over-specialization. Academic jargon is rife as scientists become increasingly specialized. In the 19th century, German universities (not Oxford or Cambridge) were the first to emphasize serious research and push for originality. Academics had to do more than just master the classics. They had to write in their own voice. Unfortunately, this drive for originality has led academics to occupy narrower and narrower subfields, making it almost impossible for them to understand even adjacent fields, let alone publish in them.
5. English as a second language. The academic world is increasingly global. But here global is another keyword for American dominance. To get good academic jobs, academics increasingly have to write in a language — English, and often American English — that they did not grow up with. As a French man, it took me several years to realize that many well-published academics are poor writers. Given their prestigious positions and my gallic background, I never dared to question my colleagues’ writing. After years of effort though, I am now in a better position to recognize good and bad academic writing. No more Yellow Tail for me please.

Treating academic writing as a craft

So what does it mean to treat academic writing as a craft ? Three essential things:

1.Take academic writing as a journey. Research shows that expertise takes years. The well-known phrase that it takes 10,000 hours to become an expert seems accurate when it comes to academic writing. It also means that learning does not stop with a PhD diploma. If we go back to the journey from apprentice to expert of medieval guilds, most PhD holders would be junior journeymen, on their way to mastery, but still far away from expertise.

2. Engage in deliberate practice. Research on expertise demonstrates that this path can be accelerated through deliberate practice. Deliberate practice involves testing the limits of one’s abilities. Academic writers must challenge themselves and work on their weaknesses. Through deliberate practice, they can shorten their path to mastery.

3. Create your own path. You can only become a good writer by figuring out what works for you given your own background and circumstances. I write from a very privileged position, as a white male with a tenured position at a research university. If we spin the wheel of academic privilege, I embody privilege in almost all aspects. Many of my colleagues in other Universities face the stress of job insecurity and the onslaught of administrative demands. In this context, for many, writing is a pleasant luxury.

So we cannot apply a standardized model to academic writing improvements. We need to consider each writer’s background, provide support and recognize that each journey is different.

References

Clark, W. (2019). Academic charisma and the origins of the research university. University of Chicago Press.

Crick, F. (1994). The Astonishing Hypothesis. Scribner.

Knight, J. (2003). Scientific literacy: Clear as mud. Nature, 423(6938), 376–379.