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So what? How to make your argument visible in your thesis

The question that drove me mad

When I was writing my PhD, my supervisor had a favourite comment. It appeared in the margins of almost every chapter I handed in, usually next to a paragraph I was rather pleased with. Two words. So what?

I hated it. I’d spent weeks on that blimming literature. I’d read the papers, made the notes, got the citations right and built what I thought was a careful, thorough review. And there it was again – so what? Why are you telling me this? Why does it matter to your research? I remember sitting at my desk thinking, well, obviously it matters, or I wouldn’t have put it in.

It took me an embarrassingly long time to work out what that comment meant. My supervisor could see I’d done the reading. What they couldn’t see was what I’d made of it. The connection was obvious in my head. It just hadn’t made it onto the page.

Your argument is probably already there

Years later, so what? is the question I ask most – of my own writing and of every researcher I work with. And nine times out of ten, the answer is already there. The PhD student knows exactly why that study matters. If I ask them out loud, they’ll tell me in a sentence. That argument gets lost somewhere between their head and the page.

Arguments get buried in predictable ways. Long stretches of what other people found, with the writer’s own voice arriving only at the end – if at all. Hedges stacked so deep the claim disappears. The point saved for the conclusion, like a big reveal. A colleague of mine at Swansea used to tell his students that a thesis isn’t a detective novel – nobody should have to wait until the last page to find out whodunnit.

A tall stack of academic books and papers bristling with sticky notes
Here’s everything I read

This week I’ve seen it at both ends of the doctorate. One researcher is writing an upgrade prospectus and working out how to make the gap (and why it matters) unmistakable. Another is revising a discussion chapter full of good thinking, packed so densely that the reader loses the thread. These are different stages but the same question is underneath.

Signposts that point and signposts that argue

A lot of the fix comes down to signposting. Many of us learnt to signpost like a tour guide: This section will discuss… Next, I turn to… Having considered X, I now consider Y. Those sentences tell the reader where they are but they don’t tell them what you’re claiming.

Compare that with: This section shows that feedback only improves revision when students are taught how to use it. This is the same spot in the section but does a very different job. Now the reader knows your claim before they read the evidence, so every citation that follows connects logically to the claim.

Empty signposts aren’t wrong but they could be doing more work.

When I’m reading a draft and feel lost, the writer may have told me where we’re going next but not why we’re going there.

Reading the margins differently

Which brings me back to the so what? (or ‘why are we here?!’) feedback. Supervisor comments can feel like judgements – especially the short ones. Unclear. Expand. Why? So what? It’s easy to read them as a criticism of you, and I know more than one researcher who’s put a chapter away for a fortnight after a page full of them.

Look closer, though, and many margin comments are asking the same thing. Unclear might mean I can’t find your point. Expand often means you’ve described this – now tell me what it means. Why is this here? is so what? with better manners. Read your feedback this way and it turns into something useful: a map of the places where you can highlight your claims or contribution.

What your supervisor's comments really mean: 'Unclear' means I can't find your point; 'Expand' means now tell me what it means; 'Why is this here?' means so what?

So what? was my supervisor’s gift, although it didn’t feel like one at the time. Every so what? marked a spot where the thinking was there but my writing hadn’t caught up.

Try this

Take a section you’ve already drafted and ask so what? of it – kindly, but properly.

  1. Backward outline it. Write one line per paragraph saying what that paragraph claims. If all you can write is what it’s about, that paragraph needs a so-what sentence.
  2. Find your claim. Finish this sentence out loud: This chapter argues that… Then look for that second part of the sentence in your draft. If you can’t point to it, you’ve found the problem – and the fix.
  3. Move it up. Put the claim at the start of the section, and open each paragraph with the point it makes. Let the evidence follow.
  4. Rewrite one signpost. Swap a this section will discuss for a this section shows that. Read both versions aloud and notice the difference.

Your argument is probably there already. Your job now is to bring it to the surface.

Answer the so what? before your supervisor has to ask!

What is an upgrade report (and how to write one)?

In the end, I finished my upgrade report a few months after my first son was born. I was writing in the gaps between feeds, on no sleep, rereading the same paragraph because I was so unsure if what I was meant to be doing. I was learning how to be a mum and how to write a kind of document I’d frankly never heard of until I had to produce one.

So let me save you some of that confusion.

What I wish I’d understood back then: what an upgrade report (or prospectus in the US) actually is, and how to write one.

An upgrade report is a genre

That’s the first thing. An upgrade report is its own kind of writing, with its own purpose (well, a dual purpose) and its own expectations. It isn’t just a long draft. It does two specific jobs, and once you understand what those are, the whole thing gets easier to write.

It has two purposes

An upgrade report does two things at once, so make sure you do both.

One: it shows your reader that your project is worth doing

Your reader here is your supervisor or your panel. They want to know you’ve made progress, that there’s a genuine gap in the research, and crucially, why anyone should care about that gap.

Take an example. Say you’re an applied linguist and you’ve found a gap in the research on seminar discussions at universities. You’ve noticed that seminar discussion is almost always treated as debate. It isn’t enough to say that nobody has really looked at seminar discussion before. You need to show what we know, what we don’t know, and why that gap matters. Say that discussion is only ever taught as debate, and that we need to know whether there are other types of discussion so we can better teach our students (yeah, that was my research gap and reasoning!).

Two: it shows your reader that you’re the person to do the research

You want to show them you can synthesise the work you’re building on. That you have the research skills to present an argument.

Secondly, that you can engage with the processes of becoming an academic: publications, training, conferences, the professional development that comes with the role. In short, that you can hold your own with the wider academic community.

The exact shape of this second part differs from person to person, and it depends on what your institution asks for.

But the underlying question for both parts is the same for everyone: how can you convince your reader that you’re the right person to do this research?

How do you actually write an upgrade report?

Every institution does this slightly differently, so your first job isn’t writing. It’s finding your own department’s guidelines and reading them properly. They’ll hopefully tell you the word count, the sections you need, and the deadline (if there is one). Everything else follows from that.

Most upgrade reports pull together the same handful of parts. An overview of your project and your research questions. A literature review that makes the case for your gap – this is the heart of it, and it needs to build an argument, so your reader sees the gap the way you do. Your methodology, and why it fits the questions you’re asking. What you’ve done so far, with any early findings. And a plan and timeline for the rest.

That plan matters more than people expect. Treat the plan as a real plan, not a box to tick because your panel reads it closely.

Some institutions also ask for a sample chapter or a piece of your actual thesis writing. Check whether yours does, because it changes how long the whole thing takes.

On length: it varies enormously. Anywhere from a few thousand words to something close to a small dissertation. Don’t guess – your guidelines will tell you.

On timing: it takes longer than you think. Give yourself more runway than feels necessary, and try starting with the literature review, because that’s the part that shapes everything else. You don’t have to write it top to bottom. Draft the section you’re clearest on, and let the rest grow from there.

Want a hand with yours?

If you’ve got an upgrade report coming up and you’d like some guidance on how to approach it, I’m putting together something to help.

Over the years I’ve helped numerous doctoral researchers write their own upgrade reports and I know where people get stuck.

I’m planning a small group course for doctoral researchers writing their upgrade reports. You’ll get momentum from working alongside others, feedback on your own writing, and clear guidance on how to get the report done, rather than staring at a blank page wondering where to begin.

The first cohort is small, so places are limited to 6.

Join the waitlist to be first to hear when it opens.

Someone’s already published on my topic – now what?

The paper that stops you in your tracks

You’re deep in your literature review. A new paper pops up in your Google Scholar alerts. You read the title. Then you read it again.

It’s your topic. Possibly your research question. Maybe even your method.

Your stomach drops. Has someone just done my PhD?

Almost certainly not, so take a breath and read on.

Research was never a solo act

No research is created in a vacuum. The whole point is to build on what’s gone before – and most contributions are tiny steps forward, even the brilliant ones. So when someone else publishes on your topic, it tells you the conversation is live: people are reading in this area, citing it and arguing about it, and you’re part of that.

That’s good news. A topic nobody else is writing about can be much harder to justify. If no one else cares, why should your examiners? You’d spend half your literature review proving the question is worth asking, and a fresh paper on your topic does some of that work for you.

Read it properly before you panic

Panic reading is skim reading. You spot the overlap in the abstract, your brain fills in the rest and you close the tab. So go back and read the whole paper – slowly, with a pen. Give the methods section as much attention as the findings, because that’s usually where two studies that sound identical turn out to be quite different.

Then compare it with your own project on five points:

  • Question. What exactly are they asking? Is it your question, or a neighbour of it?
  • Context. Which country, sector, population, time period or texts?
  • Data. What did they collect, and how much?
  • Method and theory. How did they analyse it, and through which lens?
  • Findings. What did they actually claim – and what did they leave open?

Overlap on one or two of these is normal, but overlap on all five is rare (more on that below).

My own PhD is a good example. Plenty of people had studied seminar discussions, so on topic alone, I overlapped with all of them. But I looked at seminar discussion as a genre, and asked why we assume a good discussion has to be a debate. With a different question and a different lens, it was a different study.

Turn the overlap into your gap

Most papers tell you what they didn’t do, so read the limitations and the suggestions for future research. That’s often where your study lives.

Then try finishing this sentence:

[Author] has shown that … What we don’t yet know is … My study addresses this by …

If you can finish it, you’ve found your contribution. If you can’t yet, that’s useful too, because it tells you exactly what to talk through with your supervisor.

Look at what that sentence does. It puts your work in the conversation and makes a claim about where it fits. That’s an argument – and it’s what turns a gap into a contribution. (There’s more on getting your argument onto the page in So what? How to make your argument visible in your thesis.)

Cite it – generously

The temptation is to tuck the paper away and hope your examiners haven’t read it. They probably have, and if not, they’ll find it when they prepare for your viva.

Engage with it instead. Say what it adds, where it stops and how your work builds on it. Give it a proper paragraph, because a passing mention in a list of five citations won’t do it justice. Handling a close study well shows you know your field and can hold your own in it. Ignoring it does the opposite – and a missing key paper is exactly the kind of thing an examiner will ask about.

What if the overlap really is huge?

Occasionally it is: the same question, the same context, the same method. Even then, you have options:

  • Shift the context or population, so your study tests whether their findings hold elsewhere.
  • Change the lens. A different theory or method can produce a different answer.
  • Narrow or reframe your question around what the paper left open.
  • Frame your work as a replication or extension – valuable in its own right.

Whatever you do, don’t sit with it alone. Tell your supervisor early – they’ll have seen this before, and it’s far easier to adjust now than the month before submission.

Try this

  1. Read it in full. Make notes against the five points above.
  2. Highlight the differences. Every place their study and yours part company.
  3. Write your sentence. Has shown … don’t yet know … my study …
  4. Park the tangents. Drop any new ideas it sparks into your “For later” folder so they don’t hijack your plan.
  5. Take it to supervision. Bring the paper and your sentence to your next meeting.

Someone publishing on your topic means you picked something that matters. That sinking feeling is real, but it fades once you’ve done the reading and written your sentence. More often than not, you’ll come out with a sharper gap than you went in with. Now show your reader where you fit.

Why research writers (and seven-year-olds) need to get messy: how to get motivated again to finish your PhD

Year two had been to the art gallery in town. They’d drawn self-portraits, just like my older kids had done in previous years.

All the seven-year-olds came running out of school, beaming, waving their pictures at their parents.

Except my son.

‘Where’s your picture?’ I asked, excited to see it.

‘I scrumpled it up and put it in the bin. It was rubbish.’

Cue massive mum guilt.

Had we somehow set the expectation that art has to be good to be worth doing? I didn’t think so. What even is ‘good’ anyway?

Maybe it’s the oil paintings filling our walls – both my parents are artists, and their beautiful work is everywhere. Maybe my son doesn’t yet realise that Nana and Poppa weren’t born being able to paint like that.

But I also proudly display my kids’ toddler artwork (which, by the way, is just as beautiful).

Children's framed paintings on a wall with adults painting visible through a doorway
Forget the product for now and just get lost in the process.

Perhaps we just haven’t spent as much time doing the thing – getting messy, experimenting, playing – as we did with our older two. Poor third child.

He’s off to art club tonight (apart from anything else because we need the after-school childcare). There has been much complaining that he ‘doesn’t like art’. I told him just to go and enjoy it.

Because I’ve never forgotten something my dad once told me:

‘If you ever feel depressed, just create.’

Create. Do the thing and let yourself get lost in the process. Let go of the outcome and just enjoy.

And it struck me that this applies just as much to writing.

If you’re writing anything that takes months or years and if you’re in the middle of a long project, you’ll almost certainly reach a point where motivation dips. You start judging yourself too soon, thinking about the product before you’ve allowed yourself to get lost in the process.

I can’t remember the number of times I said to my husband when I was writing my PhD: ‘That’s it. I quit’. Even though I’d been passionate about my subject to start with (and still am, by the way).

Maybe you’ve hit a difficult chapter and can’t see your way through. Maybe you’ve received feedback that’s knocked your confidence. Maybe you’re just tired of the whole thing and can’t remember why you ever cared.

You forget the excitement that got you started in the first place.

So here’s a small invitation for today: Remember what first fascinated you about your project. Write about your subject, not for your supervisor or publisher, but for you. Forget the audience for a moment. Forget structure. Just write what excites you.

I’m not thinking about Anne Lamott’s shitty first draft – Lamott’s advice is still about producing a draft, about writing something that will eventually become your finished piece. It’s still output-focused: write badly now, edit later. Useful, yes. But what I’m suggesting for when you need a radical motivation boost is different. I’m talking about forgetting drafts altogether for the moment. No beginning, middle, or end. No sense of what this will become. Just pure exploration and play. Write with no destination in mind at all.

Let it be a brain dump, a messy sketch – like a child’s self-portrait. We can think about the product later. For now, just let yourself play.

How to stay focused when every new idea feels too exciting to ignore

Curiosity almost cost me my PhD

Every new article, every unexpected finding, every what if … felt too exciting to leave unexplored. I told myself this was what good researchers did – that following ideas wherever they led was part of the process. But really I was avoiding the hardest part: finishing.

A close-up portrait of a woman with long hair, smiling slightly against a backdrop of greenery.

Towards the end of my PhD, I reached a point where I just wanted to get the darn thing written and submitted – to get it done and move on with the next stage of my life.

So I made a plan to get on track. I left my two under-fives with my husband for the weekend and drove back to my hometown in Pembrokeshire in West Wales to stay at my parents’ house and write. No distractions, no excuses – just time to focus.

For a few days, I sat at my laptop from morning till night, moving only for cups of tea and the occasional stretch. I was determined to make progress. But after a while, my body and brain were clearly struggling.

At one point I walked into town for a break, and an old school friend spotted me.
“Lizzy, you look like death warmed up.”

Thanks, Alth.

That moment stayed with me. I was doing what I thought I should be doing. I was pushing through, chasing every loose end – but it wasn’t working. I was tired, unfocused, and knee-deep in ideas that didn’t belong in the final thesis.

A blank spiral notebook surrounded by crumpled paper in blue, purple, and yellow, with a cup of tea beside it, symbolizing a writing space.

I didn’t need to explore everything. I needed to graduate.

Curiosity had got me this far, but it was quietly sabotaging me near the end. I needed to shift from exploration to completion – from discovery to delivery.

Asking myself the hard questions

Instead of asking:
What else could I do?

I started asking:
What do I need to do to submit?

I began to question my decisions more deliberately:

  • Does this idea strengthen my main argument, or is it one for later?
  • Am I adding this because it’s essential, or because I’m worried it’s not enough?
  • If I only had six months left, what would I prioritise?

These questions helped me draw a line between curiosity and completion. They didn’t silence my curiosity – they parked it somewhere safe until I had the energy to explore it again.

Something that helps me: the “for later” folder

That’s when I started my “For Later” folder.

A hand reaching into a blue file folder filled with brown paper documents.

Every time I came across a shiny new idea or a tempting tangent, I dropped it straight in there. That way I wasn’t ignoring my curiosity but I was giving it a place to live while not allowing it to distract me.

It sounds simple, but it worked. I stopped derailing my progress and started trusting that those ideas would still be there when I needed them.

And they were. I still have that folder now, and I still use it on every new project – whether it’s an article, a workshop, or a piece of research. It keeps me focused without shutting down my curiosity.

Focus gives your curiosity direction

Finishing a PhD isn’t about knowing everything or exploring every possible angle. It’s about shaping what you do know into something coherent and complete. Something you can stand behind.

Focus is what allows curiosity to become something real and shareable.

Rather than closing doors when you decide to finish, you’re choosing which doors to walk through first. The rest will still be there when you’re ready (and you can make the unanswered questions your next project, whether that’s in academia or not).

If you’re nearing the end of your PhD and every idea feels like it might be the one that changes everything, remember this: you can always come back to it. You can write the next paper, or even the next project, once you’ve graduated.

For now, your job is to get it done.

And if it helps, make yourself a little “For Later” folder. It’s one of the simplest, most powerful tools I’ve ever used – and it’s saved every project since.

Transform deadlines into opportunities for creative triumph with a thinking aloud partner

Deadlines often come with a heavy dose of stress and anxiety, but what if we could reframe them as opportunities for creative breakthroughs, allowing us to produce our best work? Something I’ve found hugely helpful for allowing writers to reframe deadlines is to act as a thinking aloud partner.

Whether you’re an author racing towards a manuscript deadline, a professional finalising a report, or an academic wrapping up a research paper, how you approach deadlines can make a significant difference to your stress levels and the quality of your work.

A thinking partner aloud partner can help you reframe writing deadlines

Reframing writing deadlines with a thinking aloud partner

A ‘thinking aloud partner’ (or perhaps, a ‘thinking allowed partner’) inspired by Nancy Kline’s Time to Think and the work of Peter Elbow in Vernacular Eloquence, involves liberating assumptions and verbalising ideas.

This thinking environment your partner will help to create will be a space where you can freely express and develop your ideas without interruption and is crucial for deep, creative thought.

Why the thinking aloud approach works for writing deadlines

Kline emphasises the importance of giving yourself and others the time and space to think deeply and of focused questions in prompting this deep thought. By vocalising your thoughts, you can explore your assumptions and refine your ideas more effectively.

Thinking aloud helps you:

– Recognise assumptions that are stopping you meeting deadlines

– Clarify your thoughts by discussing them openly

– Identify areas needing further development

– Gain insights that are not immediately apparent through silent reflection

– Be challenged on what you may be overlooking

Focusing on creativity over word count

Earlier this year, I worked with a nonfiction author facing a publisher’s deadline. Instead of stressing about the ticking clock, she was able to reframe the deadline as a chance to enhance her creative vision. With me as her thinking partner, our discussions turned the deadline from a stressor (‘I haven’t got time to meet the deadline’ and ‘I’m not an expert on this topic’) into a tool for fine-tuning her ideas (‘what would I write if I knew I had time to meet the deadline?’ and ‘what would I write if if knew I was an expert on this topic?’). The result was a manuscript that exceeded her expectations and became a source of pride.

Focusing on ideas before language

A senior executive client for whom English was a second language faced pressure with an internal deadline. By focusing on refining her core message through verbal processing, she turned what could have been a stressful situation (‘my grammar isn’t good enough’) into a confident and clear presentation (‘what would I write about if I didn’t have to worry about my grammar?’). The thinking aloud approach helped her shape her thoughts and present them effectively without the earlier stress of the written word (after all, it’s impossible to edit a blank page).

Building confidence and claiming expertise

Currently, I’m helping a PhD student manage a challenging deadline. By using a thinking aloud approach, we’ve alleviated some of the imposter syndrome (‘I don’t belong on this programme’) and enhanced their understanding of their research project’s value (‘I don’t have anything to add to the conversation’). This verbal processing has made writing easier and they’ve become more confident (‘how would I tackle this deadline if I knew I was good enough?’ and ‘what would I write if I knew my research would make an impact?’).

What is a thinking aloud partner?

A thinking aloud partner is someone who listens to your verbalised thoughts, helping you shape and clarify your ideas. They support you by:

– Asking focussed questions that encourage deeper thinking and question your assumptions

– Helping you identify gaps or areas needing development

– Offering feedback without taking over the creative process

– Providing emotional support, especially when deadlines feel overwhelming

Tips for effective thinking aloud partnerships

1. Regular check-ins:

Schedule sessions regularly to discuss new ideas, brainstorm solutions, or review progress.

2. Free-flowing conversation:

Allow your thoughts to flow naturally; your partner can help organise them later.

3. Focused questioning:

Use the Time to think approach to facilitate deep thought.

4. Focused feedback:

Address specific issues or sections where you need help.

5. Accountability:

Use your partner as an accountability buddy to stay on track with deadlines.

6. Virtual or in-person:

Choose a format that suits you, ensuring a supportive space for idea exchange.

The power of speaking for written projects

Peter Elbow’s *Vernacular Eloquence* highlights how speaking can improve writing by clarifying thoughts and refining arguments. This approach bridges the gap between mental concepts and written expression, making your ideas clearer before they hit the page. Often my clients will use freewriting to ‘write though the fog’ but many find that ‘thinking aloud’ can be even more powerful.

Reframing deadlines as opportunities for creativity and growth, rather than obstacles, is entirely possible with the right strategies and support.

How do you approach your deadlines? Have you used any strategies that help convert deadline stress into creative energy? Could a thinking aloud partnership be the key to navigating your next deadline more smoothly?

Let’s embrace deadlines as opportunities for creative triumph.

References:

Kline, N. (2011). Time to Think: Listening to Ignite the Human Mind. United Kingdom: Octopus.

Elbow, P. (2011). Vernacular Eloquence: What Speech Can Bring to Writing. United States: Oxford University Press, USA.

Dealing with feedback: A practical approach for PhD students and researchers

(Please note, this post is about the practical rather than the emotional labour involved in dealing with feedback on your research writing. They are equally important, and a post on the emotional side of approaching feedback is coming soon!).

Have you ever opened a document with your supervisor’s or PI’s track changes and just wanted to slam the laptop shut and never look at it again? Yep? Me too.

Feedback can feel like a massive blow, but breaking down can help us to make our writing better

If you have a supervisor who’s particularly generous with the track changes feature in MS Word, (especially when you may be at a stage when a  ‘summary approach’ to content would be more useful), you may be unsure of where to even begin. 

There are often plenty of gems in feedback from experienced writers. But sometimes comments need a little unpicking to help you get the most value from them.

The following is a practical approach to help you deal with ‘feedback- overload’.

Do you have multiple supervisors who give you different feedback?

This approach can be useful when you have multiple supervisors commenting on sections of your draft and you need a systematic way to keep track of who’s saying what.

You’ll also be able to document decisions about whose guidance you’ll follow when there are differing opinions (also very common).

By all means do slam that laptop shut and have a cry or a scream first.

Then, when you’re ready to come back to it, open your document (or print it out if you prefer to work on paper).

First, we’re going to break down the feedback into four main categories.

Four categories of feedback

  1. macro, content, or big picture feedback
  2. style
  3. formatting
  4. proofreading

Your master documents

Also, start two new documents: a proofreading checklist and a stylesheet.

We’ll come to what these all are later.

For now, just choose four colours (digital or actual highlighters) and open and name your documents.

Colour code the feedback

Now, go through the comments in your feedback document and colour code comments according to the categories 1-4 above: macro, style, formatting, and proofreading.  As you go, you’ll be adding to your proofreading document and stylesheet as well.

1. Macro feedback

This might include suggestions to include more information on a certain topic or to rearrange sections. It could also include suggestions on your argument or reasoning.

Comments could be something like: “The main thesis of this chapter is somewhat obscured by tangential discussions. Focus more on directly supporting your central argument throughout.”

2. Style feedback

Here, your reader may point out wordiness, length of sentences, and overuse of technical terms for example.

Comments may include: “You rely heavily on jargon in this section, which may alienate readers unfamiliar with the terminology. Aim to strike a balance between technical precision and clarity.”

3. Formatting feedback

This might involve adjusting headings or bullet points. Perhaps: “The formatting of your figures and tables is inconsistent throughout this chapter.” Or “should be a level 2 heading”.

4. Proofreading/ writing conventions feedback

This feedback focuses on the ‘correctness’ of language, including following writing conventions such as spelling, grammar, and consistent use of abbreviations and figures/ writing out numbers in full.

Comments might include “Ensure consistent use of acronyms (write in full on first mention).”

While you go through the comments, you’ll be adding to your style sheet and your proofreading checklist.

Add to your stylesheet

Your ‘stylesheet’ is a document outlining specific guidelines and preferences for writing, formatting, and presentation that will save you heaps of time.  This document will ensure you’re consistent in your writing, even if you’re just working on small portions at once. Your stylesheet is not about what’s ‘right or wrong’, just about preferences (or referencing conventions) for this particular document. 

Example stylesheet headings:

Numbers:

write in full up to nine

Hyphenated words:

re-elect vs. reelect

Other:

“PhD” vs. “Ph.D.” vs. “Doctor of Philosophy

Referencing: 

APA/ Havard

Language Usage: 

American vs British spelling

ise or ize verbs when there is a choice.

Add to your proofreading checklist

As you go through comments in this final category, it’s a good idea to make notes on a separate checklist of common errors to use before resubmitting or submitting your next chapter. This will be your proofreading checklist.

These might be notes like:

acronyms written in full on first mention 
figures 
subject/ verb agreement 
Create a proofreading checklist when going through feedback

Next steps

Once you’ve highlighted the comments and populated your checklist and style sheet, you can tackle thee comments based on your current mental capacity and time availability.

What feels doable right now? 

If you’re feeling up to it and want to focus on the big picture, start with the macro feedback. Consider moving sections around or adding or removing content.

tackle the stage of editing that feels most doable first

If you’re low on brain power but have some time to spare, focus on formatting first. Set up your word styles and ensure headings and other formatting elements are consistent throughout the document. This task doesn’t require as much mental energy so you can do it when you’re feeling tired.

Style feedback can be saved for later in the process, after you’ve addressed the big picture issues. There’s no point in obsessing over sentence structure or word choice if you’re going to end up deleting or moving entire paragraphs. 

When you’re tackling proofreading you’ll be glad you set up your checklist and stylesheet as you’ll be able to check over anything you added or changed in the macro stage or when you were looking at style.

By breaking down the feedback and tackling it in sections while adding to your master stylesheet and proofreading checklist, you’ll make the revision process more manageable and less overwhelming. 

Remember, everyone has their own process, so find what works best for you.

And, if something different works, you’re not doing it wrong!

If you’re wondering how you get more usable feedback, you may find this post on asking for the right kind of feedback useful.

Why am I not writing?

‘I know you’re not my therapist but…’

You might think that as I have a background as an applied linguist and writing teacher, my work with clients is all about the words on the page.

But writing is rarely just about the words on the page.

Sometimes you need to talk about more than the words on the page.
Sometimes you need to talk about more than the words on the page

Here are a few moments from a week I documented a while back:

Monday morning: a client began our session with ‘I know you’re not my therapist, but…’.

That’s right. I am NOT a therapist and nor do I try to be. But sometimes we need to explore the reasons that the writing isn’t happening (maybe now is not the time to write). Or why the words are flowing but just not getting out the door (often the hardest part).

Monday afternoon: final edit of a manuscript (ok, this was mostly about the words).

Monday afternoon: text from a client. ‘Do you think this is ready to submit?’ She knew it was. We’d already agreed it was. But she needed that extra confidence to press send.

Tuesday morning: a client messaged to ask if she could book an additional session.

We weren’t due to meet for a while, but she had a chapter to submit to her doctoral supervisor.

I know this client well. I’ve seen an early draft of this chapter.

What she’s submitting isn’t meant to be anywhere near a final draft and it doesn’t need to be perfect (it’s already pretty good).

Honestly, she didn’t need a session. All she needed was a little nudge, a friendly reminder that a PhD is an apprenticeship and that those first drafts should be gloriously imperfect. It turned out a reply to her message was just the nudge she needed.

I’ve been down that road. Taking forever to submit a first draft of anything during my first years as a PhD student (shout out to my endlessly patient mentor at that time, Ramesh Krishnamurthy). I understand.

If writing is giving you more angst than pleasure right now, maybe you just need to let go of the idea that it needs to be perfect. Or maybe you need someone by your side, cheering you on.

Sometimes you just need someone to walk the path with you (client message shared with permission).

Is there something that you can send into the world that doesn’t feel high stakes? A blog post perhaps, or an email?

Do you have a friendly colleague you could send a draft to for feedback or reassurance (if that’s what you need)?

Or you can take this post as that gentle nudge and allow yourself the space for your writing to be imperfect.

Writer’s block? Try this unblocking exercise

Are you struggling with consistency? Is your writing going slower than you’d hoped, or just not happening at all?

Is it lack of time, or is there something else that’s really stopping you writing (not knowing what to write about? having too many ideas? fear of finishing and having to publish/ submit? perfectionism? comparing yourself to other writers?).

Try some exercises for overcoming writer’s block

Before I share one exercise that works wonders for my clients and students, a few thoughts:

Perhaps slow writing isn’t bad. Ideas need time to gestate.

Trying to work too quickly, trying to work in too polished a way too quickly, expecting clarity too soon, can set us up for failure.

DeSalvo, L (2014).

What helps me write:

Writing something else, just to flex that muscle (an email or a LinkedIn post?).

Setting myself deadlines. I often set myself mini deadlines for before the actual deadline (if it’s something I’m submitting to an editor or supervisor). If there is no official deadline, you can still challenge yourself to finishing that chapter or post by a certain date (even if it’s not as good as you like).

Putting writing on the calendar and sticking to my sessions (for me, it helps to have a writing buddy, but you may not need the extra motivation!).

Using scheduled sessions to write through the block (even writing about why I’m not writing helps me get unstuck).

Mixing up my writing tools. This may seem daft, but switching from a screen to using a fountain pen and notebook works for me. My sister-in-law gave me this beautiful pen from Papier. I highly recommend.

Try switching from your screen to pen and paper

An unblocking exercise for writers

(I’ve found this works well with academic writers and nonfiction writers writing for business though it may work for other writers too.)

This is an exercise that always leads to animated discussion and lots of brilliant suggestions whenever I’m working with classes of writers.

Write for a few minutes about these questions.

What keeps me writing?

What stops me writing?

What would I write if there were no barriers?

What if I didn’t write it?

Once you’ve tried the exercise, share your thoughts below or drop me an email. I always love to hear what helps others write!

What I read:

DeSalvo, L. (2014). The Art of Slow Writing: Reflections on Time, Craft, and Creativity. United States: St. Martin’s Publishing Group.

How can I start writing after a break?

This morning I felt it. That staring-at-a-blank-screen feeling.

How to get the first words down on the page? Whether it’s after an illness, a planned holiday or an unexpected life event, we all have times when it can be hard to get writing again after a break.

For me it was a month of renovation upheaval and way too long with no kitchen (please never make me eat a takeaway again).

This followed by the endless summer holidays. While I’ve kept client editing work and coaching ticking over, my own writing has been on the back burner.

Heading text reads: Get your writing mojo back after a break. Photgraph of two boys on a cobled street with backs to camera. Shorter boy behind in yellow tshirt with arms outstretched.

We took the kids  to the town hilltop in Italy where I had my first teaching job. There, we caught up with my old housemate, who now runs a delightful winery with his wife. Like me, Laura and Ali combine running a new(ish) business with parenting three kids.

Our boys dove into Italian card games, relished dinner at the kids’ table and discovered that Italian children have a THREE month summer holiday. Not only that, they get to ride mopeds when they’re 14… Talk about feeling short changed!

I did spend a few espresso-fueled mornings scribbling at the local ‘bar’ (I’m the early riser in our family). These notes might become anecdotes for other projects one day, but at the moment they’re just scribbles in my notebook and were more about just enjoying the feeling of writing in a different environment (no way I could make my own coffee because the shop only sells fresh milk on Thursdays).

But my main interaction with words over the summer was consuming copious amounts of fiction and dredging up what remains of my rusty Italian.

So the question is, how do you get back into writing after you haven’t written seriously for a while?

First, be kind to yourself.

Recognise that life has seasons and that your writing will find its time.

The moments you spend away from the keyboard are as crucial as the moments you spend writing.

Why not start with a little sketch of something that happened recently. An observation? A reflection? Just to remind yourself that writing can be a joy. You don’t have to share it with anyone (but if you want to, I’d love to see it!).

How I’m getting back into writing:

I’ll be resuming my weekly sessions with my writing buddy

I met my writing buddy Sarah in a writing workshop a few years ago. We like to catch up about life, writing, business (and usually the motherload), before we get down to a few writing sprints. Meeting Sarah helps me turn up for my writing (and look forward to it), and keeps me motivated to write in between our sessions. (Sarah’s a mediation teacher and I always feel lighter after our sessions even though we’re just chatting and writing!)

I’ll be remembering that changing my writing environment can be a good motivator

I write best at home (when it’s just me!), but I do find that being in a different environment can be great for the idea generation stage (favourite notebook required of course). So as well as arriving early to cafe meetups with friends, I’ll be checking out my new cafe up the road (which I’m pleased to note opens at 7am).

And I’ll be diving into two fun projects

And now I’ve written all that down, I’m starting to feel motivated again!

What are your main writing projects for the next few months?

And how do you start writing after a break?

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