7.1 The bedrock – learning to enjoy

Writing is a craft skill, which can be improved with practice – lots of practice. So it is crucial to enjoy the art of communication and to take pleasure in the journey. Academic prose should not be too chatty but neither should it be dull. Between these extremes, there is ample scope to find a personal voice and to develop a distinctive style. After all, the great advantage of being oneself on the page is that no-one else can do the job so well.

In practice, the styles of history-writing can be hugely varied; and a good thing too. It’s a remarkably capacious genre: from high theory and meta-narratives, through to micro-histories and biography. Other people’s experiences and advice provide a useful starting-point, as summarized in many fine guides.¹ It’s also worth identifying impressive authors and then working out which elements of their prose style contribute to the impressive effect. But there are no formal rules.

For a start, it’s good not to be bored, since bored writers tend to write boring prose; and it’s even better to convey enthusiasm, without being too gushing. Historians characteristically need to command both big issues and much small detail. So it’s helpful to have some imagined readers in mind, and ask yourself: will this account make sense to them? It’s not possible to make every point instantly. Instead, it’s essential to consider carefully how arguments should be made, in what sequence, and with what evidence. And then to signal clearly how the intellectual journey will unfold. Readers who are forewarned will be far more receptive to the arguments.

One central, if negative, point should not need labouring. That is: writers should never plagiarize, which means using other people’s unchanged words without acknowledgement.² If writing that ‘Experience is the name everyone gives to their mistakes’, the statement should be shown in quotation marks, with a note to explain that it comes from Oscar Wilde’s play Lady Windermere’s Fan (1892).³ Failure to acknowledge direct borrowing is intellectual theft. It’s seriously bad faith, and is not forgiven. There have been cases of history students falsifying their dissertations by plagiarizing the words of published authors. One tiny slip may arguably be pardoned as a genuine mistake, from which experience can be gained. Yet anything more systematic means that the entire piece of work is failed outright.

Plagiarists are not only trying to cheat the educational system; they are also cheating themselves. They are spending time and money on the outer shell of learning, without gaining any worthwhile inner reality. Furthermore, they are likely to be detected in these days of techno-assisted checking – thus losing their good reputations for no purpose. Similarly, published authors who plagiarize are sailing under false colours – ultimately leading to their own detriment as well as deceiving sincere readers who expect better. But enough of negatives! Completing a big, original project offers an ideal opportunity for learning to enjoy writing and finding a personal voice.

7.2 Mind-mapping

A starting technique which suits many (but not all) is the exercise of mind-mapping. It’s an easy visual method of experimenting with plans for a given project. After an initial brainstorming exercise, all the main themes and sources are jotted down as key points, randomly distributed on a big blank page. Then multiple linkage lines can be drawn between them, as shown in the illustration that opens this chapter. And the maps can be scribbled and re-scribbled again and again. It’s a way of reviewing many variants of the intellectual terrain.⁴

Lateral thinking opens up new vistas. Then, after a while, the mind-map can be used as the basis from which a traditional linear plan can be devised. It should contain a list of chapter headings, with a broad indication of their contents. But nothing should be viewed as set in stone, since all plans are liable to be adapted as the research and writing unfolds. Some people don’t appreciate or gain from such visualizations. While one of the authors of this book employs mind-mapping for planning big projects (PJC), the other actively dislikes the technique (TH). So for those who don’t appreciate visualizations, it’s enough to start with a draft linear plan – written, revised, rewritten and revised again – running from point 1 (introduction) through to the final conclusion.

Another style of preparation is to start by reviewing the evidence and the secondary literature, essentially ordering the sequence of data (and footnotes) before settling down to write the prose. This approach has two advantages. It guarantees that the evidence governs the overall argument. And it also ensures that unsupported hyperbole is kept to a minimum. Again, however, this method is not for everyone, as some prefer to work out the overall argument as they write, rather than at the very start.

Generally, the key point is that history-writing does not lend itself to exposition by free-association and stream-of-consciousness. So there must be some coherent preliminary planning. One practical point is worth noting here: in general, over-long chapters (more than 7,500–8,000 words) should appear only sparingly, if at all. Again, however, there’s no absolute rule. All depends on context and the best way of making the case.

Then it’s vital to start with some preliminary definitions of the field. The first steps in the long journey need particularly clear signalling. However, there are often so many terms and concepts to confront that it’s not necessary to deal with everything at once. A torrent of instant explanations can be overwhelming. Instead, definitions can be spread throughout the text, as needed. Whenever they do appear, they should be explained clearly and used consistently. Readers are rightly annoyed if the terms of debate are covertly changed mid-course. And if a coherent analytical thread is lost, the project dissolves back into details, which alone don’t make a case.

During the writing process, by the way, it’s perfectly normal for definitions to be adapted and revised. But the crucial point is that, at the end, they should be standardized and rendered consistent throughout. The intellectual journey commonly entails revision and reconsideration along the route – but, finally, it needs to be presented with a coherent plan and clear way-markers.

7.3 Writing and annotating throughout

Researchers should write constantly, as explained earlier (section 3.4). It goes without saying that copies of the latest draft chapters and notes should always be kept safely. It’s also vital that filing systems ensure accurate ‘version control’, either by naming files clearly or by moving earlier drafts into separate folders. Otherwise it’s fatally easy to get confused between conflicting texts.

Once draft chapters are getting close to completion, it’s good practice to print them out in their entirety and to read them through, away from the computer. Some people even like to speak the whole text aloud – perhaps to an attentive audience of cat or dog. It’s certainly much easier to spot flaws when away from the screen. Otherwise, familiarity leads authors to develop blind spots for typos, errors and verbal tics.

History-writing then entails much polishing and editing. Often, first drafts are too wordy and gain from being firmly cut.⁵ Another element of good practice is to get a frank friend (as well as the supervisor) to give a critical reading. But the chosen person needs to hit the happy medium between complete adulation (useless) and complete vituperation (demotivating). In exchange, it’s comradely to return the service. Indeed, providing a friend with a fair critique is an invaluable skill.

Of course, all serious academic analysis (except for textbooks and some overview essays) needs the support of evidence. So the slog of annotation, whether in footnotes or endnotes, should be done concurrently – or close to concurrently – as the writing unfolds. In practice, fluent composition often runs a few paragraphs ahead of the laborious process of documentation. That’s fine, to keep the prose flowing. On the other hand, it’s crucial not to write too far ahead of completing the notes. Otherwise hours of merry writing will turn out to need complete revision, once the detailed facts, quotations, references and so forth are checked and inserted.

These days, online resources enable notes to be generated automatically and in the correct format as the writing progresses, thus keeping the whole process in synchronization (as explained in chapter 6). But – whether with or without technical aids – a serious historical study is not fully finished unless and until it’s fully documented.⁶ And, even so, it’s an annoying feature of life that some small errer is likely to have slipped under the radar (!): meaning that authors need to stay constantly vigilant.

7.4 Incorporating variety/light and shade

As a discipline, history has a strong track record of presenting complexity in accessible styles, even if, admittedly, not all practitioners live up to the ideal. So there’s a standing invitation to avoid monotony and incorporate variety. Historical studies are not the same as fiction, but many eloquent works of history do make admirable contributions to literature.⁷ Part of the impact of E. P. Thompson’s much-debated study of The Making of the English Working Class (1963 and still in print) stems from his impassioned and luxuriant prose style.⁸ It’s therefore good practice from the start (as already emphasized) to think creatively about the art of writing. And, having thought, then to hone a personal style.

Illustrations may well be integral to the discussion; but, even if not, their addition is very helpful in catching the reader’s attention. The same applies to maps, graphs, tables and all other forms of visual exposition.⁹ All these are admirable elements of the communications repertoire. At the same time, it’s stimulating to write with a good range of vocabulary and phrasing. And it’s also a pleasant challenge, should the need arise, to invent new words¹⁰ – provided that they make a genuine contribution to the debate.

Careful attention should also be paid to the length of both sentences and paragraphs. Varying these can add momentum. Text that is written throughout in long sentences, in densely Latinate terminology, is often hard to follow. Yet the other extreme has problems too. Text that proceeds by non-stop, rat-a-tat, terse, sub-Hemingwayian sentences, all studded with short, punchy Anglo-Saxon nouns, can start by being stimulating and then become numbing.

Variation is the key:

Here now, to take but one example, this considered statement is expounded with careful, even studied, deliberation, in order to emphasize a basic element of human understanding – so crucial to a globally dispersed and migratory species – which learns not only through the repeated, quick assimilation of many diverse nuggets of immediate information but equally through processes of deep pondering and prolonged slow fixation upon big substantive problems, whether close at hand or posing long-term opportunities/threats. (75 words)

Meanwhile, brevity can punch home a message:

Humans characteristically combine quick assimilation with deep thought. (8 words)

Both sentences make a considered statement of the same point, but the first version is virtually unreadable, while the brevity of the second may conceal its full significance. One self-monitoring strategy is for authors to upload their draft chapters onto online facilities, like Voyant Tools (discussed in chapter 6). This mechanism will provide textual statistics, including details of average sentence length; the range of vocabulary employed; and, if relevant, the overuse of pet phrases. Such stringent methods are not to everyone’s taste, but authors should find some means of self-checking to help their eventual readers.

7.5 Knowing and refuting the contrary arguments

Advocacy works best not by caricaturing opposite views but by understanding them, in order to refute them successfully.¹¹ The best courtroom lawyers and politicians are well aware of this rule. There’s no point in pouring scorn upon a caricature of a ‘straw man’, since its defeat leaves untouched those who believe in the alternative version that stands behind it. Thus the best way to refute an argument, if refutation is required, is to know it really well and then to point out its weakest points, while countering its strongest ones.

Learning to debate, fairly but firmly, is an essential art for history researchers. It entails both making positive points for a case and being able to refute critical objections to that case. Researchers are not exactly like courtroom lawyers, who are paid to take one side or another, whatever their private beliefs in the guilt or innocence of the defendant. Historians usually believe firmly in both their evidence and their arguments. Yet it’s still helpful to know how best to advance a case – and to defend it against criticism.

Techniques of argument can be honed by regular participation in academic seminars (see chapter 14). And mental agility can be developed by debating with oneself. From time to time, it’s salutary to look at the evidence assembled and to ask: ‘Have I got things completely wrong?’ ‘What other ways are there of interpreting this material?’ Indeed, it’s quite normal for historians to experience moments when they simultaneously hold three different views about an event or issue. Constantly reviewing the argumentative options as impartially as possible is the best way to test the strengths and weaknesses of an approach – and eventually to decide one’s own view.

When writing, it’s necessary from time to time to indicate one’s stance on disputed points. That is again best done courteously but firmly. However, it’s unwise to get stuck in just one controversy. Providing an all-out attack on a rival interpretation will attract immediate attention. But debates change over time. It’s not advisable to become known simply as the intellectual slayer of X, when in a decade’s time X might be completely forgotten, partly through the efforts of the critics who have cut him or her down to size. Cogent criticisms should therefore be blended with offering positive alternatives. In many respects, ‘good’, well-informed history drives out ‘bad’ work, which means that making a strong, positive intervention is a better way of changing the field than launching into vociferous attack.

Pure negativism dies quickly. Successful refutation, well supported with evidence, can, meanwhile, win an argument. Historical debates rarely stop absolutely dead in their tracks, just like that. Yet arguments are won or lost. Knowledge progresses. So, to take an already cited factual example, historians no longer assert that there were popular riots in England in 1752 over the issue of calendar reform. Why not? Because it has been shown conclusively (as noted previously in section 5.2) that no such riots occurred.

7.6 Developing a message

Every piece of writing needs an argument or core message. Otherwise, the effort won’t be worthwhile. Yet the full interlocking details of the message will emerge only in the course of writing. So researchers often begin with working titles for chapters and sub-sections, and then finalize them about three-quarters of the way through the writing process. Unfolding a message throughout a big project is a fine art. If things are too clear-cut and fixed at the very start, then there’s no scope for growth and development.

On the other hand, if the discussion is too nebulous at the start, it may well remain nebulous throughout. The message emerges as ideas are tested against evidence, and vice versa. By the end, the researcher should know where the journey has led – and can tell the world. It may also mean going back to the start to revise for consistency, as already advised when talking of definitions.

Far from every historical study will lead to conclusions of cosmic significance. It’s perfectly valid and important to have results which are local and contingent. So the requirement to put a study into its wider context is certainly not a call for the sudden insertion of a grand theory. Historians don’t have to sign up to any single ideology or faith or worldview. Some do write with one big concept or interpretation in mind, organizing their material accordingly; and it is impossible to escape entirely the insistent present and its present-mindedness. Still, many historians take a distinctly eclectic approach, collecting and probing masses of diverse data.

Nonetheless, it is deeply disappointing if, after a big research project, no assessment of its wider importance is offered. What big picture has been illuminated? Or should a big interpretation be amended? Or be challenged outright? Does a specific case fit into any long-term trend? Or does it subvert such a postulated trend and suggest an alternative? Or was it a complete exception to prove the rule? And so forth.

Answers may be couched as interim or provisional assessments. But, after years of study, researchers are experts in their fields; and people want to hear their conclusions. By way of summary, it is becoming increasingly common for authors to be asked, whether by supervisors, journal editors or seminar organizers, to write a short abstract (say, 200 words) of their arguments. It’s an invaluable discipline, extracting, from a mass of details, the message.

7.7 Summary: ending strongly

Endings should therefore be conveyed strongly, even if the topic is a sad one and the conclusion is pessimistic. Just to clarify, this advice does not propose that all final words must contain nothing but pollyanna-happiness. But it means that endings should not be so evasive or so bland that in effect they say nothing.

It’s equally dispiriting for a research study to end with nothing other than a call for more research. That conclusion is not only lazy; it is also self-undermining. If the research done to date is so feeble that no conclusions can be drawn, then why bother to complete it at all?

What then? Much the best recommendation is to draw all the threads together emphatically. The message may be upbeat or downbeat or somewhere in between. It may be expressed as a snappy dictum or, alternatively, as a longer magisterial statement. Yet the outcome should be strongly expressed. Readers as well as authors have been on a journey and they want to know where they have arrived. Conclusions matter immensely. The better they encapsulate each historian’s mix of evidence and arguments, the better they nail the case.

7.8 Coda: historians’ writing spaces and writing rituals

Historical studies are big, complex and slow to write. They cannot be scribbled hastily in a coffee bar or on a train. So it’s fruitful to think carefully about a suitable writing space, where it is no penance to spend a lot of time – and where there is space for reference books, personal notes and sundry drafts.

Obvious things help: finding a suitable desk with a comfortable chair in a quiet working area at home or in a library. Or, ideally (shades of Virginia Woolf), setting aside an agreeable workroom at home.¹² Historians without access to such resources, who write on a table at home after the family has gone to bed, should place the table in a quiet location that helps to provide focus. The workstation should be as conducive to mental and physical health as possible – bearing in mind too that some authors prefer to write while standing.¹³ In all cases, good lighting that shines a concentrated pool of light on the working area is invaluable. And some writers also find that ear-plugs or a good set of sound-excluding headphones help to foster a cocoon of heightened concentration.

Other practical tips are worth noting briefly. It’s essential from the start to institute good filing and storage arrangements for notes, drafts and supporting documentation, as already noted in chapter 6. Regular removal of clutter and debris is also good practice. Meanwhile, it’s essential to keep track of all proposed illustrations, which can be hard to find a second time round. And of course it’s vital to back up unfailingly after every batch of writing. The first disastrous time when a big footnoted research chapter, representing months of work, mysteriously ‘goes missing’ without a back-up should be the last. Today’s cloud-based facilities should avert such old-style disasters; but even new-style technology can develop gremlins. Authors: remain vigilant!

Productivity is greatly improved, finally, if researchers can find a good, unbroken span of time for writing, without distractions from phone calls, text messages, emails or any other medium of communication. Many find that at least two ‘clear’ hours constitute the minimum to get into the zone of creativity. Some authors also follow a specific start-ritual, to signal that their writing time has arrived – and that interruptions are to be discouraged.

People have invented many variants. For instance, the prolific Charles Dickens liked to patrol his house, checking that everything was in order; and he insisted that his writing room be kept completely quiet, with an extra door as a noise baffle. He then arranged nine specific objects in their set positions on his desk, before picking up his pen.¹⁴ These days, many use the sequenced processes of activating computers as their personal starting signal. It’s enough to have a known routine and to stick with it. Clearing the decks, getting everything ready – and then a complete focus upon writing – is an invitation to unleash the creative intellect.

1. 1  J. Bolker, Writing Your Dissertation in Fifteen Minutes a Day: a Guide to Starting, Revising and Finishing Your Doctoral Thesis (New York, 1998); M. E. Page and R. A. Marius, A Short Guide to Writing about History (Harlow, 2014); A. Brundage, Going to the Sources: a Guide to Historical Research and Writing (Hoboken, N.J., 2018).

2. 2  For a legal expert’s critique of examples in literature, art, film, music and academic life, see R. A. Posner, The Little Book of Plagiarism (New York, 2007).

3. 3  O. Wilde, Lady Windermere’s Fan (London, 1892), in The Complete Works, ed. V. Holland (London, 1968), p. 418: spoken by Mr Dumby in Act 3.

4. 4  Among many guides, see T. Buzan, Mind-Mapping (Harlow, 2006).

5. 5  Editorial control generates the evocative detective story by C. McCabe, The Face on the Cutting-Room Floor (London, 1937, 1986), p. 15: ‘You have to re-edit the junk’.

6. 6  Discussed fully in sect. 6.1.

7. 7  For relevant discussions, see A. Curthoys and J. Docker, Is History Fiction? (Sydney, 2006); A Curthoys and A. McGrath, How to Write the History That People Want to Read (Basingstoke, 2011).

8. 8  See E. P. Thompson, Making of the English Working Class, and A. Curthoys, ‘History as a form of literature: E. P. Thompson’s The Making of the English Working Class’, in TEXT Special Issue 28: Fictional Histories and Historical Fiction – Writing History in the Twenty-First Century, ed. C. Nelson and C. de Matos (April 2015), pp. 1–14.

9. 9  K. Hentschel, Mapping the Spectrum: Techniques of Visual Representation in Research and Teaching (Oxford, 2002).

10. 10  J. Green, New Words: a Dictionary of Neologisms since 1960 (London, 1991); E. Mattiello, Analogy in Word-Formation: a Study in English Neologisms and Occasionalisms (Berlin, 2017).

11. 11  R. DuCann, The Art of the Advocate (London, 1993); B. Brunwin and M. Smith, ‘Making Your Case’: a Process for Developing the Language of Argument and Persuasion (Howden, 2004).

12. 12  See inevitably V. Woolf, A Room of One’s Own: an Essay on Women in Relation to Literature (London, 1929).

13. 13  K. Bowman, Don’t Just Sit There: Transitioning to a Standing and Dynamic Workstation for Whole-Body Health (Chichester, 2015).

14. 14  ‘What would Dickens do? The rituals and routines of famous writers’, The Writers Domain (June 2016): <http://blog.writersdomain.net/what-would-dickens-do-the-rituals-and-routines-of-famous-writers> [accessed 29 April 2021]. See also M. Currey, Daily Rituals: How Great Minds Make Time, Find Inspiration and Get to Work (London, 2013); M. Currey, Daily Rituals: Women at Work (London, 2019).