I grew up in China and was still developing my English skills, so I was nervous when I emailed my Ph.D. supervisor the first draft of a manuscript. One week later, he sent it back full of changes. At first, I was frustrated that my writing required so much editing. But after I took a closer look, I realized where I’d gone astray. He had shortened many of my sentences and commented that I should avoid unnecessarily long and complicated phrases. The advice was counter to what I’d learned when studying for English language proficiency exams. Showing off complex grammar and advanced vocabulary had always brought higher scores, so that’s how I approached writing. But I clearly had more lessons left to learn.
I started to learn English when I was 14 years old. I needed to pass a written English exam to be admitted to high school in China, so my teacher had us practice vocabulary and grammar. In later years, I needed to pass other English exams to gain admission to university, and to graduate. Writing wasn’t a huge component of them—instead, they consisted mostly of multiple choice questions testing reading comprehension, vocabulary, and grammar.
The first time I needed to write anything substantive in English was during my master’s program in China, when I wanted to submit a manuscript to an international journal. I didn’t have enough confidence to compose a first draft in English, so I wrote it in Mandarin and used an online translation tool. The paper was accepted, which gave me a feeling that my strategy worked. But as I read more papers in English and reassessed my own writing, I realized my approach wasn’t ideal. The tool had translated my text word for word, creating sentences that were technically correct but sounded unnatural, in part because sentences are structured differently in Mandarin and English.
I knew if I wanted to continue publishing, I would need to write in English directly—and when I moved to the United Kingdom for my Ph.D., I had no choice. Suddenly, I not only had to publish papers in English; I also had to write emails and prepare proposals in that language. (I needed to speak English, too, which was its own challenge—but that’s a different story.)
At first, I sometimes sat at my computer all day and only ended up with 200 words of text. I couldn’t tell whether my writing was any good. Every time I composed a sentence, I imagined someone laughing at it.
One day I’d had enough of writing the same sentence over and over. I decided to write the first draft of a manuscript as quickly as possible. That’s when something magical happened: The sentences seemed to flow out of me, and in a few hours I had a rough draft. I had to go back and edit my work later, but it was a relief to have text to work with—and to know that my draft could only get better.
My supervisor’s feedback on the draft was another turning point. Without his comments, I wouldn’t have figured out that complicated sentences and big words might confuse my readers. He also helped me see the importance of telling a story as clearly as possible, paring down tangential details.
I now think through my simplified message before I start to write. I also try to get a first draft down quickly, doing my best to quiet the perfectionist voice in my head. Then I go back and take a closer look to see whether I can make my sentences more concise and trim any unnecessary details. I’ve also become more relaxed about editing: Even if I receive a manuscript full of changes again, I will just take it as an opportunity to discover problems I am not aware of. Lately, though, I’ve noticed that my supervisor has made fewer revisions, which gives me confidence I’m making progress.
It’s frustrating to know I will probably never write as well as my supervisor. But I take solace in the fact that writing is hard for many native English speakers, too. It’s not like solving a straightforward math problem—there’s an art to it, and it can take years of practice. I hope my journey can help others develop writing strategies that work for them.
No comments:
Post a Comment