Tweed Editing's Blog
Tips, Strategies, and Updates for Academic Writers“Behind the Tweed Curtain”: The Copyediting.com Interview
Copyediting.com (the current incarnation of the longstanding industry newsletter Copyediting) invited me to introduce the world of scholarly and dissertation editing. Of course, I agreed.
Today, the interview was posted, and the phrase “behind the tweed curtain” was born! (Copyediting’s online editor Dawn McIlvain Stahl came up with that gem.)
If you’re interested to know what I think about editing and why I love working with scholarly writers, head over to Copyediting.com and find out. Incidentally, I enjoy fielding questions about my work, so feel free to contact me anytime.
Also, are you going to be participating in Academic Book Writing Month (AcBoWriMo)?
“Tweed Pencil” Is the New Vermilion
I’ve always wanted to name a crayon.
Well, UNICEF’s new charitable promotion lets donors own colors (within the domain of the ownacolour.com website only).
I chose #ff3300, recognizable as the glowing vermilion used throughout the Tweed Editing website. I call it Tweed Pencil, which I feel evokes the red-pencil heritage of marking papers and symbolizes the glow of the mind alight with ideas. The single word I use to describe Tweed Pencil is “lettered.”
Join me in supporting UNICEF through this beguiling campaign. What color will you claim?
*Note: I’m not in any way affiliated with UNICEF. I, like many others, just fell for the charming OwnAColour concept. I’m also not profiting by promoting this opportunity to give.
Visit Me on Facebook
If you have a minute, come visit me on Facebook, where I post links and tips related to scholarly writing. You can also contact me through the Tweed Facebook page, or just email me. See you there!
Paul Krugman’s Four Rules of Research
A couple weeks ago, I drove to the Oregon coast with my sweetie, who is a Paul Krugman devotee. (Krugman is a professor of economics and international affairs at Princeton and writes an op-ed column and a blog for the New York Times.) As we wound through the forest, the two of us were listening to a podcast of a conversation between Krugman and CUNY’s Peter Beinart. Of course, they mostly talked economics and politics, but for a few moments the discussion became about the art and craft of writing—specifically, the challenges that an academic may have when trying to write for a broader audience.
Naturally, my ears perked right up. Krugman actually reveals his “four rules for economic research”:
- Question the question.
- Listen to the gentiles.
- Dare to be silly.
- Simplify, simplify.
They’re straightforward tips, but you should really hear all he has to say about them. (I’d love to ruminate on them and unpack them in a proper blog post, but I’m really booked up to my ears with academic editing projects for two university presses right now. I’ve been disappointed not to have more time to blog and create Tweed resources this month!)
So today I had a few minutes to transcribe the bit of the Beinart-Krugman conversation about writing, and I thought I’d share it with you all. What follows is just a rough, unedited transcription. By “unedited,” I mean that I only listened to the audio once while typing, and I didn’t even copyedit my own transcript. (As you can imagine, that’s out of character for me.) It is truly a crude rendering, but you can listen (and watch) the recording online if you want. I just hope that my making the transcribed snippet available sparks your interest.
Read on, and be sure to check out the full video and audio at Fora.tv, which has actually broken the talk into handy chapters. The bit on writing is chapter 12 and about four minutes long. If you download the whole thing, that part starts at about 33:20.
I do not own the rights to the following material. I make no promises about the accuracy of my transcription, but I did try to capture the speakers’ words as I heard them. Please check out FORA.tv for this and other excellent audiovisual resources.
Paul Krugman on Academics, Writing, and Public Intellectualism
Peter Beinart, CUNY: So one of the things that people often remark about you—with a certain degree of wonder—is how it is that you came through academia and ended up being such a good writer. And now that you’ve told me that the economists would have had a malevolent effect, if anyone were to be able to understand them, maybe it’s a good thing that none of your colleagues are able to write comprehensibly. But I’ve just wondered whether you’ve given any thought to how that came to be.
Paul Krugman: Yeah. So just a note on that: I think, actually, if economists were in general better writers, the process of being a good writer requires you to clarify your thought in a way that would have made the profession’s ideas a lot less malevolent. A lot of things, real business cycle theory, if anyone here knows what that is—and if you don’t, you haven’t missed anything—but it’s something that’s an enormously powerful thing because it’s expressed in complicated, sophisticated mathematics. And you can express it in simple language, and if you do, it becomes patently ridiculous. And so, I think if people were better writers, we would actually have better economics. First of all, I learned at the feet of Bob Solow at MIT, who is in fact a spectacularly good writer as well as a very great economist. And I always modeled my writing, even when I was doing economics papers, on his. And there is a style—in my days when all I did was write papers that three thousand people read—I did specialize in the really simple, sort of rifle-shot analysis. I had a list of rules, actually. My list of rules for economic research. There were four of them. One of them was question the question. What is the question we really want to ask here? Another one was listen to the gentiles. Pay attention to what people who are not part of the economics mainstream are saying because sometimes they’re right. Another one was dare to be silly, which meant that, you know, you’re doing a model. It doesn’t have to be realistic. It’s OK to do work with stylized examples. And the last one was simplify, simplify. Always, always make things—you know, what is the simplest possible way—even if we’re doing mathematics—what is the simplest possible way to tell the story? And the process of doing that, I think, really clarifies your thought. And all those things carry over very well into writing plain English. And then beyond that, there’s always the—I wish I had a transcript. There was, long ago, an interview with Isaac Asimov, who was one of my inspirations. And somebody asked him, How do you manage to write all of these books? How do you write so fast? And he said, I’ve given this a great deal of thought, and the answer is, I have no idea.
PB: But when you talk to young PhD students or even assistant professors, if they write clearly and provocatively like you do, and in a way that’s accessible to the lay person, is that going to undermine their chances of getting tenure?
PK: It really is not advisable to do a lot of public intellectual stuff until you’ve got tenure. I have to say, I don’t know if there’s a—that’s not ideal, but on the other hand, it’s hard to see how you can avoid that. You really have to pay your dues. And Bob Solow somewhere says what matters is the simple stuff, not the fancy stuff, but I don’t trust somebody to do the simple stuff unless he can do the fancy stuff. So in a way, you have to prove that you can do that, and that’s OK. But these days, acutally, if you’re a smart economist, it’s a very fluid system, and people who turn out a series of really good papers often are tenured by the time they’re thirty or so. So it’s not like you have to wait until you’re a graybeard to do this. And the papers don’t have to be as unreadable as most of them are.
PB: What do you find—I mean, there are lots and lots of people who write about economics all the time, or at least are commenting on economics, who really don’t have any formal academic training in economics. How does that help you, and is there any way in which it actually can be a hindrance?
PK: On the hindrance side, it can be hard to switch styles. I’ve seen people who I regard as very good writers in their professional papers try to write for the broader public, and they don’t make enough of an adjustment, and it comes across really stiff and it doesn’t have the feel it should have. Though I think actually blogging is improving this, because a lot of people now are blogging and the econoblogosphere is actually very good, very interesting, and I think it’s improving. People are learning how to communicate without having to first go through and write a piece for the New York Times that nobody reads, so it’s a good way in. Not having the professional training is fine if you learn and, you know, Martin Wolf at the Financial Times is not an economics PhD, but he’s better at this stuff than just about any economics PhD I know. So that’s fine. But, look, from my point of view it helps because behind my eight hundred words, most of the time, is actually some very schematic little model that I’ve got in my head. And it structures it. You don’t need to know that, but it’s a tremendous help in structuring, and it’s not the only way to do it. I’ve found that there’s not that much discontinuity—that there is a lot of natural marriage of these things. And, you know, the basic rule for how to do it is actually the same for writing a paper and for writing a column, which is tell them what you’re going to tell them, then tell them—as simply as possible—and then tell them what you told them.
PB: You so dominate a certain sphere of discourse and are so associated with a certain set of policy positions, I just wonder, do you ever have the urge to write about the war in Libya, to write about abortion—something completely outside? Where you don’t have the same knowledge and expertise but, darn it, I care about it, have opinions, and want to do something different?
PK: I do it once in a while. I did a lot in 2002–2004, actually, because of Iraq. Not that I had any special expertise but that there was stuff that was as plain as the nose on your face that nobody was saying. So there, I just felt I had to say, this is my role as a citizen who happens to have access to this particular piece of journalistic real estate. Most of the rest of the time, if people are saying—if there isn’t a vacuum in the debate on other issues, then I don’t feel that I need to do it. So, I write about climate change, if only because there there’s enough overlap between what the climate scientists and I do that I can understand what they’re up to, but also because it is underemphasized. But something like Libya is—there are lots of people writing about that. Actually, the funny thing was, when I was hired by the Times, Howell Raines, who was then running the editorial page, his actual words, more or less, when hiring me were, well, we have five people writing about the Middle East, and nobody’s interested in that anymore, so we need someone to write about the economy. Obviously, the Middle East is still really interesting now, but I do feel like, in a way, I can stay within my natural habitat.
Go check out FORA.tv’s video, and I hope you feel inspired to work on your scholarly projects.
How to Unfile Research Paperwork
My filing cabinets had been bursting with grad-school materials for years. This weekend, I finally got around to addressing the problem. I’m calling the solution my unfiling system.
Recognize That Past Research Projects Take Up Precious Space
Something I’ve realized: if I keep all the hard-copy research I’ve done, I’ll be buried alive in paperwork.
I would wager that a pack rat lurks inside every researcher—but even for an academic, I boast a pretty pronounced hoarding instinct. My boyfriend generously calls it my documentarian nature. As a girl, I collected brochures and menus. Now in my thirties, I continue to amass stationery. Grad school was a paper heaven for me.
With academia come piles of paperwork. I don’t just mean bureaucratic detritus and the kinds of program brochures and promotional materials that I love to collect. I mean research, class notes, syllabi fodder, teaching materials, past dossiers, old cover letters, and handouts that may not be useful in the future but that I’m lazy enough to keep anyway. I’m guessing you, gentle reader, might exhibit the same tendency from time to time.
Weigh Practicality and Sentimentality
I have a pretty extensive filing system for all of my academic research; what I’ve lacked is a way to make space for current and future projects. To do that, I know I must make peace with the past and move along.
At least I had hanging files set up to categorize the papers I kept. Teaching materials and coursework are sorted according to class and semester. My thesis and dissertation research have their own files, several for each project. Thank goodness I’d (uncharacteristically) instituted that sorting system at some point in my graduate-student career.
Still, these files have been taking up entirely too much drawer space for me. I’m looking forward to procuring some actual office furniture—made of wood instead of particleboard, for instance—in the near future, and I’ll feel a failure if I carry my lazy filing over to the new cabinetry. (I should have been on top of this long ago, but imminent home-office improvement is the final impetus.)
If you’re like me, you want to leave heavy and bulky paperwork behind, but you’re still a little sentimental about records of your past, and you have a nagging suspicion that some of your files might someday become useful again. These competing interests mean that we have to devise some rules for sorting through the stacks of paper.
Trim Back, as Dramatically as Possible
The pile in this picture is made up of what I did actually manage to cut out of my files this weekend. It’s twenty-three inches high, and heavier than heck.
Still, I did not recycle anything that I was attached to or may need later. These are the principles I let guide me:
TOSS documents that are printouts of materials now available online or in print, of poor quality, or related to projects that won’t be picked up again.
KEEP anything handwritten, unique, or almost impossible to find again.
The recycling pile is full of printed journal articles now available through online databases such as JSTOR and Project Muse. I also had lists of books to check out from the library. As helpful as I initially felt those could still be, many volumes have been published since I compiled these lists. If I ended up using any of those sources in my work, they would appear in document bibliographies saved on my computer anyway. This is my idea of ruthless unfiling; you may be even harsher in your criteria.
Class projects, colleagues’ papers, graded writing, and notes remain in my possession. Now everything fits in one drawer of my vertical filing cabinet. And the files are still organized by class and term or by project.
Make Unfiling Painless
The whole unfiling process does take time—an evening or weekend afternoon—but it’s really not something to be dreaded. Once I realized that I was hanging on to what was basically deadweight in paper form, I was actually raring to go.
- Pour yourself a drink—whatever kind that will get you in the unfiling mood.
- Arrange for some background entertainment. Listen to music or a light podcast. Or watch a TV series or film that you’ve already seen. Might I suggest Murder, She Wrote?
- Proceed drawer by drawer. Just pull out one chunk at a time
- Follow the criteria I set forth above. For any past projects, keep unique materials; toss anything that can be found easily online or in print.
- Remove paperclips and binder clips as you go. A cursory Internet search reveals that staples can be recycled, so I wouldn’t suggest you worry about those. (I only figured this out after I had ripped stapled corners out of half of the documents in my two-foot pile.)
- If you so desire, place single-sided papers in their own pile so that they can be used as scratch paper and for printing drafts of your next project.
- Set aside any confidential material that needs to be shredded. This includes financial information, others’ drafts, and papers related to work with human participants.
- Place the now-much-smaller files into the original drawers and those drawers into the cabinet.
- According to the piles you’ve created, recycle and shred.
- Dream about your next project.
- Whenever you’ve put one project to bed and are moving on to another, repeat the process.
Close the Drawer
As you can tell, I’m pretty pleased with this progress, but I haven’t truly conquered the beast. The topmost cabinets in my kitchen are filled with those more sentimental of academic artifacts: binders and folders of class notes. Right now, I’m not too worried about them. They’re so nicely bound and out of sight, you see!
How Do You Do It?
I sincerely hope that you’ll soon find I’ve written a follow-up to this post, one in which I tell the tale of liberating the binders and notebooks held captive above my kitchen sink.
In the meantime, I want to know what tricks you have for taming the academic-paperwork beast. Comment below or send me an email.
Monograph, She Wrote
In honor of the television series that I have been streaming online, I’ve added a new pair of postcards to Tweed’s collection.
I just watched an episode of Murder, She Wrote in which Jessica Fletcher lectures at a prestigious university, which gave me the idea for an academic version of the show’s title: Monograph, She Wrote. There’s even a Monograph, He Wrote version.
Send some postcards to your hardworking friends working on academic manuscripts. To access a full-size image, you could actually click on the thumbnail of the one you like and add it to your blog or Facebook profile. (All I ask is that you not alter the image.)
Have a great weekend, all! As for me, I’ll be dreaming of an active retirement in Cabot Cove.