I have been writing—and writing for publication—for a long time. While I know the kind of writing I’ve done professionally is very different than what I will undertake as part of this program, I can say, at least, that I am no longer intimidated by the writing process itself. I’m not over-confident—I’m definitely a better reviser than I am a writer—but I’m comfortable, and I think that’s a decent place to start. I like being edited. I can handle criticism. And I doubt I will encounter language that’s any saltier or feedback more vitriolic than what I sometimes received in response to my news writing.

All that said, I have a difficult time abiding the “don’t take it personally” mantra. Writing, like any other creative endeavor, is pretty personal. The words, the way I wrote them, didn’t exist but for me. And I care about them. Raw feelings and frustration seem like completely reasonable responses to negative criticism. I suppose what matters is not getting stuck there.

My natural inclination is to respond defensively to criticism. I know that. I can process that. Allowing myself an internal temper tantrum when editors inevitably call me out for, say, overusing the em dash gives me a way to cut through my frustration quickly, to see the well-intentioned insight underlying what is no doubt constructive feedback, and to start making the work better.

In class, our conversation about voice was sort of brief, but I enjoyed it. Voice is such a difficult thing to describe and define and discuss. While I absolutely agree that we shouldn’t try to mimic another writer’s voice in our work, doing just that can be useful as an exercise. One of my favorite ways to wrestle with voice is to read a meaty passage—a good 500 words or so—by a writer with a very strong voice, Junot Díaz, maybe, or Hemingway, or Didion. Anne Lamott, for that matter. And then to read it again, and again once more so that it’s really ringing in your head. Then, write out a description of your day in that writer’s voice. Then try writing the same description, but in your own voice. It’s a good way to sharpen sensitivity to all the elements that help build voice: word choice, sentence length, and rhythm, for example.

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We were asked, this week, to identify an example of good research – of a piece we might like to emulate with regard to writing and approach. I started with a search for articles in my area of interest, hoping to narrow things down. I’m not sure, in the end, that this was the best strategy because it left me far less sensitive to the writing and mechanics of the pieces than to their topics.Nonetheless, taking a closer look at one of the “also-ran” articles in my stack helped me refine some thoughts about what I consider good research and good writing.

I initially selected an article from Canadian Journal of Media Studies on the way issues of gender influenced media coverage of the debate around child care in a national election. The subject really appeals. I’m very interested in finding a way to marry two big interests – media and child care – and this piece offers an example of one way to achieve that. But ultimately, the piece seemed more to me like commentary – albeit strong and insightful and effective commentary – than it did research.  Stepping back to think about my conceptions of the two and the differences I see between them helps me better sculpt an idea of the kind of research and writing I’d like to do here. That the author is a practicing journalist helped in a similar way – providing a strategy for drawing the clarity, precision and fluidity I consider part of good journalistic writing into scholarly writing, and further clearing a path to explore similarities and differences in these two forms of inquiry: research and reporting.