If you are writing for a journal in the natural or applied sciences, or that has a more ‘traditional’ approach to journal article structure, you may be given your subheading (Introduction, Materials and Methods, Results, and so on). This is a more reader-friendly approach, and more likely to engage the readers with the argument itself, than with the way the argument is structured. The value of trying to use repetition, carefully, to build connections between ideas, as well as complexity of ideas, over the course of a paper, is that you show the reader what your argument is (and why it is useful), rather than telling them what it is. This term, in a different way, is then repeated under the sub-heading, and the effect for the reader is to see, without being told in a sentence that starts with ‘The next section will …’, that they are going to read about what the writer thinks this bridge is, and how it is connected to knowledge in the disciplines. And, how they have connected this idea of a bridge to disciplinary knowledge structures. See how these writers have used the term ‘bridge’ in the text, and then again in the sub-heading. Repetition is often discouraged in academic writing, but there is a use for it, when it consolidates and advances the development of your argument. This, in essence, is a tool that uses clever repetition to create links in the readers’ minds between paragraphs, and sections, of the paper. These are ‘foreshadowing’, descriptive sub-headings, and clear transitions. There are a couple of tools that I use, as ‘sign-posts’, to guide readers through my argument. This is where you need to start thinking about structure, coherence, and the tools you can use to ensure this. Where the more conscious connecting, and care, comes in is usually on draft three or more, where you have to start making the thread of the argument clear, and overt, for the reader. You start to worry that you have lost your argument thread – what are you actually saying anymore? How does this all fit together? Does it, even? This is all the first draft (and maybe second draft) process of working out what you are actually trying to say, and whether and how you can say it in this paper. You start writing, and the argument develops and may take a somewhat different turn to what you originally thought. You have done your reading, and have notes around the evidence that will go with these claims to support them. You have a basic argument in mind – a claim, or series of claims that you know you need to make. What we need to be putting out there for our readers is a text where the ‘moves’ we are making in putting the story together are clear, and signalled, so that the reader’s work is less trying to work that all out, and more trying to engage with and appreciate the story itself. So, as a writer, putting this kind of text out there is risky. Readers who have to work too hard may give up and move on to reading something else. As a reader it is frustrating, because it’s hard work. But, when the text is ‘patchy’, and the links between the pieces are unclear, this sense-making work becomes harder. When the writer has worked hard to ensure that what we are reading is well thought-out, and carefully put together, this is easier. When we read, our brains work to make sense of what is in front of us. In this post I want to reflect specifically on ‘signposts’, as a tool to create a more coherent, reader-friendly text. And, while this work is difficult, and can be really draining of my own writing energy, it has the benefit of giving me a deeper awareness of what makes a piece of writing work, and what does not. I spend hours each year immersed in people’s words, ideas, arguments and theses. Readers of this blog may know that a big part of my work-life is reading and commenting constructively on other people’s writing – PhD scholars, postdoctoral fellows, peers.
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