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Every time I pass the local community garden I think of Ann Patchett’s “I am a compost heap.”
I feel like the signs on the compost heap could stand in for various stages of the creative process.
Over the past few months, in the lead-up to the publication of my book, I’ve used this space to share brief excerpts. Now the book is out! If you want a copy, you can order it from the University of Michigan website (or other popular book ordering places!). In case you haven’t decided whether this book would be a good addition to your library, here’s a brief overview.
I wrote Thriving as a Graduate Writer because I believe graduate students can reframe their experience of academic writing. We all know that writing is at the heart of the academic enterprise. It is both how we communicate and how we are assessed. That combination can be brutal for any writer, and it’s particularly fraught for graduate writers, who must learn disciplinary writing practices while being judged on their early efforts. Recognizing these challenges is valuable; graduate students are better off knowing that their difficulties with academic writing are entirely legitimate. This recognition, however, is only the first step. The next step must be to find ways to ameliorate those challenges.
In the book, I offer a discussion of principles, strategies, and habits that I think can help. (The table of contents can be found below, so you can see the breakdown of this material.) The principles point to a way of thinking about academic writing. Since writing takes up so much time and energy, it is worth exploring foundational ideas that can ground a writing practice: writing as thinking; writing as revision; writing as reader awareness; writing as authorial responsibility. Those principles lead into concrete strategies that can transform the experience of creating and revising an academic text. The heart of this book is the five chapters that unpack these approaches to working with text: managing structure; managing sentences; managing punctuation patterns; managing momentum; and building a revision process. The final element of the book is the consideration of writing habits. Even with a solid approach to academic writing and range of useful strategies to hand, we all still need to find ways to get writing done. Graduate writers, in particular, need exposure to writing productivity advice that is rooted in their unique experience of academic writing. This chapter provides a range of strategies to help build a consistent and sustainable writing routine: prioritizing writing; setting goals; finding community; developing writing awareness; and grounding productivity in writing expertise.
This book is a short (only 226 pages!) self-study text. You can read through the whole book—in whatever way works for you—and then use it as a reference. The manner in which you refer back to the book will depend on what you currently need to concentrate on. Most readers will benefit from returning to two chapters: Establishing a Revision Process (Chapter Eight) and Developing Sustainable Writing Habits (Chapter Nine). Those chapters are organized around charts that are distributed throughout the chapter (and that appear again at the back of the book). Since every writer has their own challenges and their own optimal writing process, I urge readers to take those charts and rework them—on an ongoing basis—to suit their needs. In addition to the charts, you will also find other resources at the end of the book: guides to using the book in a graduate writing course or graduate writing group and brief account of the blogs and books that I most recommend to graduate writers.
Overall, this book aims to inspire graduate writers to think differently about the nature of writing and then offers concrete strategies for managing both their writing and their writing routines. It was a labour of love to craft the writing advice that I offer everyday—here and in the classroom—into a more coherent and enduring form. I hope it gives you the capacity to approach this indispensable part of academic life with more confidence and more enjoyment. I look forward to hearing what you think!
Thriving as a Graduate Writer is now available from the University of Michigan Press. To order your copy, visit the book page. Order online and save 30% with discount code UMS23!
rcayley
What can Large Language Models offer to linguists?
It is fair to say that the field of linguistics is hardly ever in the news. That is not the case for language itself and all things to do with language—from word of the year announcements to countless discussions about grammar peeves, correct spelling, or writing style. This has changed somewhat recently with the proliferation of Large Language Models (LLMs), and in particular since the release of OpenAI’s ChatGPT, the best-known language model. But does the recent, impressive performance of LLMs have any repercussions for the way in which linguists carry out their work? And what is a Language Model anyway?
At heart, all an LLM does is predict the next word given a string of words as a context —that is, it predicts the next, most likely word. This is of course not what a user experiences when dealing with language models such as ChatGPT. This is on account of the fact that ChatGPT is more properly described as a “dialogue management system”, an AI “assistant” or chatbot that translates a user’s questions (or “prompts”) into inputs that the underlying LLM can understand (the latest version of OpenAI’s LLM is a fine-tuned version of GPT-4).
“At heart, all an LLM does is predict the next word given a string of words as a context.”
An LLM, after all, is nothing more than a mathematical model in terms of a neural network with input layers, output layers, and many deep layers in between, plus a set of trained “parameters.” As the computer scientist Murray Shanahan has put it in a recent paper, when one asks a chatbot such as ChatGPT who was the first person to walk on the moon, what the LLM is fed is something along the lines of:
Given the statistical distribution of words in the vast public corpus of (English) text, what word is most likely to follow the sequence “The first person to walk on the Moon was”?
That is, given an input such as the first person to walk on the Moon was, the LLM returns the most likely word to follow this string. How have LLMs learned to do this? As mentioned, LLMs calculate the probability of the next word given a string of words, and it does so by representing these words as vectors of values from which to calculate the probability of each word, and where sentences can also be represented as vectors of values. Since 2017, most LLMs have been using “transformers,” which allow the models to carry out matrix calculations over these vectors, and the more transformers are employed, the more accurate the predictions are—GPT-3 has some 96 layers of such transformers.
The illusion that one is having a conversation with a rational agent, for it is an illusion, after all, is the result of embedding an LLM in a larger computer system that includes background “prefixes” to coax the system into producing behaviour that feels like a conversation (the prefixes include templates of what a conversation looks like). But what the LLM itself does is generate sequences of words that are statistically likely to follow from a specific prompt.
It is through the use of prompt prefixes that LLMs can be coaxed into “performing” various tasks beyond dialoguing, such as reasoning or, according to some linguists and cognitive scientists, learn the hierarchical structures of a language (this literature is ever increasing). But the model itself remains a sequence predictor, as it does not manipulate the typical structured representations of a language directly, and it has no understanding of what a word or a sentence means—and meaning is a crucial property of language.
An LLM seems to produce sentences and text like a human does—it seems to have mastered the rules of the grammar of English—but at the same time it produces sentences based on probabilities rather on the meanings and thoughts to express, which is how a human person produces language. So, what is language so that an LLM could learn it?
“An LLM seems to produce sentences like a human does but it produces them based on probabilities rather than on meaning.”
A typical characterisation of language is as a system of communication (or, for some linguists, as a system for having thoughts), and such a system would include a vocabulary (the words of a language) and a grammar. By a “grammar,” most linguists have in mind various components, at the very least syntax, semantics, and phonetics/phonology. In fact, a classic way to describe a language in linguistics is as a system that connects sound (or in terms of other ways to produce language, such as hand gestures or signs) and meaning, the connection between sound and meaning mediated by syntax. As such, every sentence of a language is the result of all these components—phonology, semantics, and syntax—aligning with each other appropriately, and I do not know of any linguistic theory for which this is not true, regardless of differences in focus or else.
What this means for the question of what LLMs can offer linguistics, and linguists, revolves around the issue of what exactly LLMs have learned to begin with. They haven’t, as a matter of fact, learned a natural language at all, for they know nothing about phonology or meaning; what they have learned is the statistical distribution of the words of the large texts they have been fed during training, and this is a rather different matter.
As has been the case in the past with other approaches in computational linguistics and natural language processing, LLMs will certainly flourish within these subdisciplines of linguistics, but the daily work of a regular linguist is not going to change much any time soon. Some linguists do study the properties of texts, but this is not the most common undertaking in linguistics. Having said that, how about the opposite question: does a run-of-the-mill linguist have much to offer to LLMs and chatbots at all?
Featured image: Google Deepmind via Unsplash (public domain)
If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you will know that I’ve spent the last few years working on a book about graduate writing. That process is now drawing to a close: Thriving as a Graduate Writer will be published in June! Between now and then, I’m going to use this space to share brief excerpts. In addition to my discussion of principles, strategies, and habits for effective academic writing, the book has short ‘asides’ that allowed me to engage with topics outside that main narrative. Over the next four months, I’ll share my favourites of those asides. As always, I’d love to hear what you think!
Looking Productive
Any discussion of productivity must consider the aesthetics of productivity. Could you be working in ways that you think look like what hard work should look like—starting early, avoiding breaks, denying yourself things—rather than in ways that you have found effective? A good approach to productivity must pass a real test: Does it make you more productive, in the sense of making you feel in charge and stimulated by your work? Don’t think of a midday walk as a guilty pleasure; think of it as crucial to the overall health of your embodied mind. Rather than finding it random that you have great ideas in the shower, build in ways to capture those ideas. If you are helped by napping, then a nap is probably a good idea. Mindfulness or meditation breaks may do far more for you than would just sticking with your task. Your goal is positive writing experiences, not the appearance of hard work. The greatest hazard of trying to appear productive is the push toward long days; those sorts of writing endurance tests can be inhospitable to writing because writing is often too draining to be an all-day thing. Recognizing and respecting your limits might make you look less productive while nonetheless allowing you to build a sustainable and satisfying writing routine.
Thriving as a Graduate Writer will be available in early June from the University of Michigan Press. To pre-order your copy, visit the book page. Order online and save 30% with discount code UMS23!
rcayley
Book Cover showing title: Thriving as a Graduate Writer
If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you will know that I’ve spent the last few years working on a book about graduate writing. That process is now drawing to a close: Thriving as a Graduate Writer will be published in June! Between now and then, I’m going to use this space to share brief excerpts. In addition to my discussion of principles, strategies, and habits for effective academic writing, the book has short ‘asides’ that allowed me to engage with topics outside that main narrative. Over the next four months, I’ll share my favourites of those asides. As always, I’d love to hear what you think!
Breaking Points
Managing paragraph breaks sometimes works easily. You find that each topic fits comfortably within a single paragraph, with obvious breaking points. Other times, however, inserting a paragraph break can feel awkward. Here’s a familiar scenario: a paragraph that is too long to be a single paragraph but that has too much unity to naturally become more than one paragraph. If you choose to stick with one paragraph, you would likely need to lessen the detail to emphasize the unity. A second option, one that frequently makes the most sense, would be to create more than one paragraph. But if the first paragraph sets up the topic, can you break up the exploration of that topic into two or more paragraphs? This question is one that I’m asked all the time! The answer is that you definitely can, provided you manage the opening of the subsequent paragraph—or paragraphs—effectively. The beginning of the next paragraph would need to announce how it acts as a continuation of the larger topic. By echoing the language used in the first topic sentence, you can alert the reader that you are offering a continuation of that topic in the new paragraph. Finding breaking points can be challenging, but as long as you offer the reader the topic sentences that they need, you have the option of spreading your ‘single topic’ over as many paragraphs as you want.
Thriving as a Graduate Writer will be available in early June from the University of Michigan Press. To pre-order your copy, visit the book page. Order online and save 30% with discount code UMS23!
rcayley
Book Cover showing title: Thriving as a Graduate Writer
If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you will know that I’ve spent the last few years working on a book about graduate writing. That process is now drawing to a close: Thriving as a Graduate Writer will be published in June! Between now and then, I’m going to use this space to share brief excerpts. In addition to my discussion of principles, strategies, and habits for effective academic writing, the book has short ‘asides’ that allowed me to engage with topics outside that main narrative. Over the next four months, I’ll share my favourites of those asides. As always, I’d love to hear what you think!
Conservatism of Expectations
It’s hard to talk about meeting reader expectations as a graduate writer without attending to the conservative implications of prioritizing established expectations. Rather than conform to expectations that feel allied to outdated and inequitable systems, some graduate writers may wish to write differently, in ways that confront or subvert the norms of standard research communication. Resisting those expectations can take many forms: normalizing World Englishes; refusing white supremacy in language; understanding subjectivity in research imagination; drawing upon Indigenous research epistemologies; integrating multimodal research into doctoral theses. Any one of those endeavors could easily be hampered by the replicative nature of doctoral education. And writing in a manner that requires adherence to existing academic practices can be demoralizing; making changes to those practices is central to why some people undertake graduate work. As a result, some writers may choose to discount those norms during graduate work. It’s worth noting that some writers may share those critical commitments while being uninterested in challenging existing norms. Despite wishing change to happen, these writers may feel that their academic work is already unfairly scrutinized or that it isn’t their job to transform academic writing practices. What’s more, some writers in this situation may feel particularly anxious to gain access to a hidden curriculum that others seem to assimilate more easily. Given that range of attitudes and pressures, I think there is value in laying out established conventions in a way that leaves the writer the freedom to choose their own path. Certainly, working around norms—or making norms work for you—is easiest when those norms are well understood. I don’t want the ideas contained within this book to be an impediment to writing in ways that support the work that feels urgent to you; instead, I hope they can be deployed in the service of the academic work that you want to do in the way you want to do it.
Thriving as a Graduate Writer will be available in early June from the University of Michigan Press. To pre-order your copy, visit the book page. Order online and save 30% with discount code UMS23!
rcayley
Book Cover showing title: Thriving as a Graduate Writer
Somehow, it took me 21 years to see Lilo & Stitch. A huge pizza night blockbuster with our crew.
It is so satisfying to me when you see something and you think, “This is so unlike everything else… how did this even get made?” And the answer turns out to be: “Well, it wasn’t made like everything else.”
In “An Oral History of Lilo & Stitch,” the writer Bilge Ebiri tells the story of how the movie came to be. Basically, it was done for a tiny (for Disney) budget, with a tiny (for Disney) crew, in a “secret hangar” in Florida, far away from the eyes of Disney leadership in Burbank. They’d just worked on Mulan, which was sort of a nightmare, and this time they wanted to do things differently:
We said, “Okay, here’s the deal. We have a lot less money. We have less time. But we want to figure out how we can make this movie so that everybody goes home at night to have dinner with their loved ones. Everybody gets a weekend. We’ll figure out how to make this and be happy doing it.” That became the spirit of making the film.
They did wild stuff like going old school and choosing to use watercolor backgrounds like in the 1930s. The only trouble was, almost nobody was alive who knew how to do it. Luckily they went to see Maurice Noble, who painted backgrounds on Snow White:
Maurice Noble was one of my heroes, and he was in his 80s. He used to work for Disney in the ’40s and ’50s. He could hardly see. One great technique that he told me about: There were these rocks in Peter Pan, in the Mermaid Cove, with beautiful rock texture. I asked, “How’d you get this texture?” He said, “The secret is sea salt — very coarse-grain sea salt.” Now, I had tried to get that texture so many times, and I knew about the salt technique, but I never knew you used sea salt. So all the lava rocks in Lilo & Stitch — it was all sea salt. It came right from Maurice Noble.
They also went on location in Hawaii because they didn’t believe you could really get the light and color right without visiting:
One day we were sitting on the beach at night having dinner by the ocean. The sun was setting and the waves were coming in. The water was turquoise, but the sea foam was pink. “How can the white foam be affected that much by the color of the sky, but not the water?” You’ll see in the surfing scene, we did that. Most people would’ve just done the water with white foam or grayish blue foam. We made it pink because that’s what we saw.
The whole piece is worth reading. (It reminded me a lot of reading about the making of Mad Max: Fury Road. That movie really shouldn’t exist. It is what it is because of the process of making it.)
In fact, now I’m wondering if that’s one way you know something is great? When you say: “How does this even exist?”
If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you will know that I’ve spent the last few years working on a book about graduate writing. That process is now drawing to a close: Thriving as a Graduate Writer will be published in June! Between now and then, I’m going to use this space to share brief excerpts. In addition to my discussion of principles, strategies, and habits for effective academic writing, the book has short ‘asides’ that allowed me to engage with topics outside that main narrative. Over the next four months, I’ll share my favourites of those asides. As always, I’d love to hear what you think!
Say Less or Say More
Here’s a common scenario in a writing consultation:
Me: I think this word/phrase/sentence could perhaps be removed.
Writer: Absolutely not, that idea is crucial.
Me: Okay … but as it’s presented here, it doesn’t seem important.
Writer: How could it be unimportant? This idea is essential to my whole project!
Me: But you haven’t taken the time to show that importance. If the reader does need to know, you’ll need to say more.
This principle–say less or say more–can be helpful as you decide the level of detail required in your writing. When you confront a sentence that you’re unsure of, first ask yourself if all the detail is necessary. If you decide that everything must stay, then ask yourself a second question: Have you said enough about it? Given all the length restrictions at play in academic writing, writers often try to cram in too much without having the space to do it all justice. Because you yourself know that a detail is significant, you may decide to include it despite the fact that you can’t squeeze in an explanation of that significance. As a writer, you might feel better if you’ve included at least a mention of everything, but your reader might feel worse. Say less or say more.
Thriving as a Graduate Writer will be available in early June from the University of Michigan Press. To pre-order your copy, visit the book page. Order online and save 30% with discount code UMS23!
rcayley
Book Cover showing title: Thriving as a Graduate Writer
If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you will know that I’ve spent the last few years working on a book about graduate writing. That process is now drawing to a close: Thriving as a Graduate Writer will be published in June! Between now and then, I’m going to use this space to share brief excerpts. In addition to my discussion of principles, strategies, and habits for effective academic writing, the book has short ‘asides’ that allowed me to engage with topics outside that main narrative. Over the next four months, I’ll share my favourites of those asides. As always, I’d love to hear what you think!
One strategy for managing the discomforts of exploratory writing is to choose a special font that is just for you: a for-your-eyes-only font. By designating a font as one that only you will ever see, you create more freedom in your composition process. Using your new font, you can expand on whatever you are thinking. The fact that you are writing in something other than your usual writing font will remind you that your eventual reader need never see these ruminations, thus lessening your own reticence. Rather than allowing problems to derail writing, you can use writing to confront the problems. Why aren’t you writing the next sentence? Because you’re worried you’re contradicting yourself? Because your supervisor is skeptical of this approach? Because you’re suddenly afraid that this topic is insufficiently novel? Because you’re worried that you lack the authority to frame this critique of existing work? Letting yourself write about your own writing hesitancy can facilitate resolution. The variant font isn’t strictly necessary, but it does give you a visual assurance that you are exploring your ideas—including your doubts and worries—in a safe space.
Thriving as a Graduate Writer will be available in early June from the University of Michigan Press. To pre-order your copy, visit the book page. Order online and save 30% with discount code UMS23!
rcayley
Book Cover showing title: Thriving as a Graduate Writer
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Over the past decade or so, cars have become pretty complicated machines, with often complex user interfaces. Mostly, the industry has added touch to the near-ubiquitous infotainment screen—it makes manufacturing simpler and cheaper and UI design more flexible, even if there's plenty of evidence that touchscreen interfaces increase driver distraction.
But as I've been discovering in several new cars recently, there may be a better way to tell our cars what to do—literally telling them what to do, out loud. After years of being, frankly, quite rubbish, voice control in cars has finally gotten really good. At least in some makes, anyway. Imagine it: a car that understands your accent, lets you interrupt its prompts, and actually does what you ask rather than spitting back a "Sorry Dave, I can't do that."
You don't actually have to imagine it if you've used a recent BMW with iDrive 8 or a Mercedes-Benz with MBUX—admittedly, a rather small sample population. In these cars, some of which are also pretty decent EVs, you really can dispense with poking the touchscreen for most functions while you're driving.
If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you will know that I’ve spent the last few years working on a book about graduate writing. That process is now drawing to a close: Thriving as a Graduate Writer will be published in June! Between now and then, I’m going to use this space to share brief excerpts. In addition to my discussion of principles, strategies, and habits for effective academic writing, the book has short ‘asides’ that allowed me to engage with topics outside that main narrative. Over the next four months, I’ll share my favourites of those asides. As always, I’d love to hear what you think!
Since graduate students are so often on the receiving end of advice, some of you might find it helpful to be able to engage in a quick translation process.
Advice: You should do X.
The person telling you to do X is probably suggesting a way to achieve something (let’s call it Y). Unfortunately, they aren’t talking about the importance of Y or telling you how you might achieve Y; they are just telling you to do X. If all you do is attempt X, without understanding its connection to Y, you might actually make your situation worse. A little further investigation on your part can help translate the advice into something more helpful:
Translation: You should do X because Y.
Once you have that formulation, to can adapt the advice to your own purposes:
Advice you can use: You should do something to achieve Y.
To make this more concrete, let’s consider a perennial favourite bit of writing advice:
Advice: You should write in the morning.
This advice is fine if you are a morning person; however, if you are not, you may end up struggling to force yourself to write according to someone else’s temperament. Or maybe you are a morning person, but your life circumstances–the demands of paid work or care work–prevent you from using that time for writing. To avoid the frustration of advice that doesn’t work for you or your life, you can try to understand the underlying reason for the advice:
Translation: You should write in the morning to avoid wasting your best energy of the day.
Advice you can use: You should find ways to avoid wasting your best energy of the day.
Now the ball’s in your court. You need to identify when you have the most energy and find ways–within the context of your life–to preserve that time for writing. This translation technique has the potential to help you to use supervisory advice, especially when you find it overly attuned to the specificity of someone else’s writing situation. The cliché that all advice is a form of nostalgia can be true. But it’s possible to translate such advice into a more suitable form, thereby deriving the benefit of advice in a way that makes sense in your writing life.
Thriving as a Graduate Writer will be available in early June from the University of Michigan Press. To pre-order your copy, visit the book page. Order online and save 30% with discount code UMS23!
rcayley
Book Cover showing title: Thriving as a Graduate Writer
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