Print This PostAs the submission date for my thesis draws ever closer, my days have become increasingly predictable: my focus is on academic writing. I know for many of my current and former PhD colleagues, this stage of a PhD is particularly challenging. To me at least, there is something uniquely exposing about writing, particularly given that any piece of writing can be so difficult (if not impossible!) to perfect. It can be challenging to know where to get started with any given piece, and particularly with the amount of writing that is required for a thesis, the continual, day in, day out writing can feel monotonous and slightly isolating.
When I first interviewed for my PhD, my interviewers – now supervisors – asked me what I thought would be my main challenge when it came to doing the PhD, were I to be successful. I didn’t hesitate at all in identifying writing to be my main challenge. At that stage I didn’t have a single first author publication to my name, and it had been a long time since my undergraduate dissertation (over ten years!). As such, the idea of writing an academic piece that might be anywhere in the region of 70,000–100,000 words seemed extremely intimidating. When I told my interviewers that writing would be my main challenge, I explained that it was an area in which I had very little confidence, but that I felt eventually could be a real strength for me.
Perfectionism, deadlines and academic writing
Fast-forward a few years, and I can honestly say that writing has been one of my favourite parts of the PhD process. However, learning to love writing has been something of a process in and of itself. Early in my PhD, my perfectionism had a paralysing effect on my writing. It wouldn’t be unusual for me to spend an entire day on one paragraph, desperately trying to communicate something that I – as yet – probably didn’t even fully understand. Unlike during other stages of my education, there weren’t absolute deadlines for any piece of work – which meant that I could spend weeks or months attempting to perfect a chapter or piece of writing with limited (if any) returns.
Set a deadline. Share imperfect drafts. Protect writing time. Three lessons from Emily Spencer’s journey towards enjoying thesis writing.
Strangely, returning to my studies after maternity leave was helpful in this regard. My time felt so much more pressured – knowing that I had limited flexibility around the hours I could give to work. Instead of writing being an open-ended pursuit, I began to impose rigid deadlines on myself, committing to submit a piece of work to my supervisors regardless of how close I felt it was to the finished product. As uncomfortable as it might have felt at the time, this practice enabled me to make far better use of my time. More than that, it helped me to quieten the inner critic that sought to tell me that if they saw my works in progress, my supervisors would realise that I was stupid (something that, through coaching I received in my first year, I realised was a foundational belief).
Making space for academic writing
Since returning from leave, I have also come to realise how difficult I can find writing when my brain is trying to manage too many competing demands. And these don’t even need to be academic concerns – it could literally be anything! The background knowledge that I have to leave early to manage nursery pick-up. Wondering if we have enough milk. Deciding what to eat for lunch. I am a chronic overthinker.
For me, then, occasionally getting away from the everyday is the best way to make headway with my work. Right now, at the time of writing, I am in the final hour of an academic writing retreat: a three-day, facilitated, residential writing retreat in rural North Yorkshire. Run to a pretty strict schedule, it involves 12 hours of writing in a communal space, including time to share your goals with the wider group, reflect on your progress, and dedicate uninterrupted time to your work. Importantly for me, it also gives me permission to ignore my emails, disengage from my phone, and not have to think about the minutiae of the day-to-day.
In my case, the benefits of facilitated writing are clear to see. This is the fourth such retreat I have attended over the last three years, and on each occasion I have been increasingly productive, more attuned to the process of advance preparation, structuring my plans around the sessions available, and managing initial uncertainty. This time around, over the course of three days I have managed to draft an entire chapter of my thesis, coming up just shy of 10,000 words – something I never would have been able to achieve at my desk in the same time.
Is a writing retreat worth the cost?
Attending a retreat like this might seem like a luxury – and in many ways it is. However, even with the cost involved, I am confident that for me at least they represent incredible value for money, in terms of how many additional days of work would be required to achieve the same result. For any future funding applications, I will certainly try to argue that point! Where attending a residential retreat may not always be possible or feasible, however, there are often facilitated or unstructured writing events at one’s institution – whether that be in-person or online – which also serve as a good way to try out whether the concept works for you.
All this to say, while academic writing may be a daunting prospect for many new PhD students, it’s important to figure out an approach that works for you. In my case, that meant finding a way to stop feeding the inner critic, as well as identifying opportunities to gain the mental space I needed in order to focus wholeheartedly on the task at hand. Writing might not ever be something that you love, but given its necessity in academia, hopefully it needn’t be something that you hate. For me, I can safely say it is often my favourite aspect of my work.
Emily Spencer
Author
Emily Spencer is a PhD student at University College London looking at improving how GPs communicate with people with dementia and their family carers about their future care. She previously had a five-year career break to pursue a career as a musician, and has previously undertaken research on improving the care people with dementia receive from their GP practice, as well as end-of-life and palliative care provision in the community. Emily is also a parent, and writes about her experiences balancing family life with a research career.
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