Getting back to the keyboard

It’s been awhile since my last blog post. For months I’ve been thinking about getting back to blogging. But this took me much longer than I expected. In many ways, this process has been similar to picking up the pieces after an extended break from academic writing, which makes a lot of sense, especially because my blog is about dissertating.

If you are (or have ever been) a graduate student, you can probably relate to my experience. Health problems, deaths of loved ones, and other life issues come unexpectedly and disrupt dissertation writing. The longer one stays away from writing, the harder it feels to get back in the saddle. For one, as time passes by, the distance between the writer and her unfinished piece gradually grows, and reconnecting with it demands increasingly more energy. Not surprisingly, my mentor gave me an advice to write a sentence of my dissertation each time I have a few free minutes. That way, she explained, I would always stay close to my project. This valuable and seemingly simple advice rightly identifies the most effective solution to the problem of not writing, which is to start WRITING. Unfortunately, often this is easier said than done. As the prolific author and screenwriter Gene Fowler sarcastically pointed out, “Writing is easy: All you do is sit staring at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead.

In other words, finding a way to write a first sentence is a very emotional moment for many writers, probably because one’s writing (or inability to write) is closely connected to his/her identity. According to the psychologist Maja Djikic,

A writer is not a person who writes, but a person whose process of self-development depends on writing. The horrors incurred by not being able to write are then not just horrors of not completing a task at hand. It is not about one’s work, it is about self that without the necessary process – writing - cannot evolve with experience. Not writing then is not akin to failure at work, but failure at being oneself.

Thus, to find one’s way out of the impasse of not writing, these pertinent identity issues must be addressed. Dr. Cally Guerin, in her blog post “Starting again: picking up the pieces after an extended break from writing,” makes a similar point:

For those who have taken a break from that identity and are now trying to return, there are pressing questions to face: How does my identity as a new parent fit with my identity as a scholar? As a cancer survivor, will I have the energy required to complete this intense writing phase? After a major accident that involved head injuries, am I still the kind of person whose concentration span is sufficient to do rigorous, scholarly research? Now that I am a bereaved widow instead of a carer for my terminally ill husband, will the writing fill up that aching gap of grief or will it be too isolating when what I really need is human warmth? It’s important not to underestimate how confronting these questions might be, nor how far beneath the surface they might lurk, stalling progress but not consciously acknowledged.

In addition, to posing and valorizing these pressing identity questions, Guerin also recommends some specific steps for coming back to doctoral writing after an extended interruption, which include starting with taking stock of the existing chapters and notes of the literature, setting a plan of what remains to be done, in what order, and in what timeframe, breaking the work up into manageable chunks, etc. By discussing these steps, Guerin acknowledges the complexity of the problem of getting back to writing and the need of a multifaceted solution.

Gabriel Cohen, in his article “On Not Writing: And What Exactly It Means,” connects the inability to start writing to fear of failure, once again connecting it to identity issues. To him, a writer’s identity is not only a source of (not) writing problems, but also a way of resolving them:

In real life, getting to the computer is a matter of delayed momentum: I finally hit the keyboard not because I’ve been struck with a cinematic bolt of inspiration, but because the self-disgust of not writing finally gains enough mass to roll over my anxiety about what to write.

Cohen comes to realization that, although periods of not writing may be rather uncomfortable, they are not a problem or some obstacle, but a necessary part of the writing process: “Stress the conscious mind and the subconscious will eventually release words, phrases, bubbles of insight, sometimes even whole scenes.”

Caleb J. Ross also talks about the discomfort that often accompanies writing and argues for embracing it. He compares writing to traveling, which Ross allegedly doesn’t like, but does it regularly and always enjoys it afterwards, when he thinks back to his finished travels.

Reading all these blog posts, writings, and reflections on writing helped me realize that getting back into writing is a continuous process, not a one-shot enterprise, and that, to succeed, I need a multifaceted approach, which includes reevaluating my self-concept, seeking opportunities to reinforce my researcher identity, embracing the discomfort that comes with inability to write (or performing below my expectations), and developing a writing routine that helps me move forward. I'll let you know about my progress and would love to hear about your experience of starting writing, especially after an extended break.