So, I’m writing an article. This one is a big hairy deal; I’ve already agreed to submit it by a particular date, and it is the ONE thing standing between me and my book. Well, aside for cleaning the garage. And finishing the task of putting in the fall garden. And, dates with Tom. But I digress.
So, again, I’m writing an article. And in order to commit article prose, it is necessary to Engage the Discourse. Which I do, regularly. In fact, I teach a class on this topic, and *always* teach with new literature, each and every time I offer it.
And yet there are so many juicy bits one never gets to. Article writing is time to gather the flock of “Unreads” and convert them into “reads.” Which I’ve duly been doing. At three articles a day, I should definitely be done sometime this year, though perhaps several months after my deadline comes and goes.
And the reality is, one does not need to read in article mode the way one reads in understanding mode. I know, I know, that sounds weird, but hear me on this.
When you’re reading for understanding, all the little bits are the compelling part. Those are where the next big insight may come from – the fragments of understanding that piece together to make the mosaic of the story come to life. It’s the nuance, the compelling document, the momentary “aha.” It’s the chaplain who didn’t collect from that family for three years that opens the door into “oh, something interesting there!” Read the footnotes, I tell my students, that’s where all the cool stuff lives! You’re never going to learn about the priest absolved from having 5 children with that woman until you read the footnote that also explains that he had to come back and ask forgiveness for having three more. (Now, darn, where did I put that citation? I know, just know it’s on my computer somewhere…)
Those kinds of details are the framing out of a localized picture that is going to change what you actually think about your own data. You’re reading deeply, and it’s so very, very cool.
That’s not the kind of reading you need to do for an article. If all goes well, you already know the broad strokes of what you’re trying to say. They say that writing is often a kind of discovery – and it is, but at a more local level, I think, because you already had the big picture in mind going into that writing spate. No, reading for an article is “I want to know the discourse on X,” or “this was contentious, and I’d decided I believe Y, now what were the details of the arguments about?”
Because reading for an article is grappling with human fallibility. The reasons *I* remember a particular article don’t always jibe with what the author was doing with the article, and it’s important to separate out those threads if you’re going to be citing the thing, and I believe in honoring the work of the author where I can.
So, when you’re reading for an article, you’re working on your fairness positioning: what did the other side of that debate argue, and why does it matter?
When you’re reading for an article, you’re looking for the delimiters. Do I need to say “after 1640,” or change “all” to “most,” or (savvy writing here) put “So-and-so argues that…”? Sometimes checking the boundary of a claim takes every bit as long as writing up the claim in the first place – and that’s going to be the part that matters most to at least one of your readers. So go that extra reading mile.
When you’re reading for an article, you’re looking for any latent misattribution habits. I remember Jones said this. Wait, was that Jones? Or even worse, “everyone says Jones says X.” Yeah, but DID they? If you haven’t checked it yourself, you aren’t allowed to write it down, people. That’s because scholarship is harder than fiction, as my daughter once reminded me. I have to check all my facts, while she just gets to make them up. Be slow; be thorough. When in doubt, (re-)read. Check.
When you’re reading for an article, you’re also looking for the formulation of information that is going to be most helpful to your reader – not necessarily the yummy archival documentary study that found “the thing” but the one that put that new detail into a broader context.
And, when you’re reading for an article and you get to the wild-ass claim that means you’d never willingly converse with this ____ (insert category of closemindedness here), you can STOP READING. Because if you wouldn’t have this person in your life, what would they be doing in your footnotes? Step away and find something written by a better human being. (I’m not saying you don’t need to know the literature. I am saying that you don't owe every published argument your attention merely because it exists. If someone else has already thoroughly deconstructed the claim, maybe that's the article you need to cite. Why contribute to the citation count of flaming trolls?)
Reading for an article is reading to a purpose. Be ruthless (and not Ruth-less, because Ruth has actually written some pretty compelling arguments there!). Stop reading on a topic if you’ve already got more information than is going to fit in its paragraph. More is not better, it’s just avoidance.
Instead, when you’re reading for an article, one of the most important questions to ask yourself is: am I ready to commit prose? And that’s your reading exit strategy. Don’t keep reading “just because.” Don’t keep reading for the beautiful writing, or the compelling narrative. Read for the purpose. This bolsters paragraph 3. That might be in the footnote for paragraph 7. This will make the assessment of the controversy more compelling. That shows the strange hoops that scholars have jumped through to ignore such-and-so. So sure, read on all these things. But stop as SOON as you can.
Reading is tempting. Washing dishes is tempting. Heavens to Betsy: even LAUNDRY is tempting when it’s time to commit prose.
So go forth, and read no more.
At least until it’s time to work on the next section of your article!
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Managing Bibliography By Spreadsheet: A pile of PDFs is not yet a literature review. Here’s the spreadsheet system I use to prioritize reading, track what matters, and turn an unruly bibliography into something that actually helps the writing move forward.
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