On Anti-Writing (Qualitatively)

• In Event: Writing and the Articulation of Qualitative Research

Abstract

I don’t know why I think I have anything to say about writing qualitatively. Beyond a persistent doubt that my writing is remotely worth reading, I hate writing. I am the last person I would turn to for thoughts or advice on what writing means and how to write (well). My favorite part of writing is being done, the sweet relief of the strike through on my exponentially reproductive list of writing tasks: Conference paper. Grant proposal. Manuscript. Recommendation letter. Other manuscript. Abstract for book chapter. What I lack in zest for writing, I more than amply make up for in *avoiding* writing. I’m really, really good at not writing. I don’t keep a journal. I don’t schedule time for writing. I don’t… oh, was I supposed to take notes? And… yet… I do write and I conduct and teach qualitative research. I try to do those things well, or at least well enough. Perhaps there is something to be said about hating writing and getting on with it? That is the thrust of this chapter – to mount a defense of writing qualitatively that strays, avoids, counters, or, as my 11-year-old son would say, hacks, most accounts I’ve read so far on qualitative research writing (e.g., Janesick, 2016; Weaver-Hightower, 2019; heck, even Wolcott, 2009). After reviewing sage writing advice (pun intended), I give an honest and comparative account of my avoidant writing process. Along the way I build a theory of anti-writing qualitatively, not writing as ‘slow’ (Ulmer, 2017), ‘lazy’ (Gildersleeve, 2016), or ‘useless’ (VanCleve, 2017), but as a creative and creationary process that perhaps does not (always, necessarily) involve effort and energy. Part confessional, part defense, I hope this chapter resonates and gives hope to those who love qualitative research and hate writing a little, as much, or even more than me.

Author

• Jennifer R. Wolgemuth, University of South Florida
  Presenting Author