8.3 Including Your Voice

Move 1: Establishing a Territory [the situation]

This is generally accomplished in two ways. First, by demonstrating that a general area of research is important, critical, interesting, problematic, relevant, or otherwise worthy of investigation and, second, by introducing and reviewing key sources of prior research in that area to show where gaps exist or where prior research has been inadequate in addressing the research problem.

The steps taken to achieve this would be:

• Step 1: Claiming importance of, and/or [writing action = describing the research problem and providing evidence to support why the topic is important to study]
• Step 2: Making topic generalizations, and/or [writing action = providing statements about the current state of knowledge, consensus, practice or description of phenomena]
• Step 3: Reviewing items of previous research [writing action = synthesize prior research that further supports the need to study the research problem; this is not a literature review but more a reflection of key studies that have touched upon but perhaps not fully addressed the topic]

Move 2: Establishing a Niche [the problem]

This action involves presenting a clear and cogent argument that demonstrates the importance and value of your particular area of research. This can be done by indicating a specific gap in previous research, by challenging a broadly accepted assumption, by raising a question, a hypothesis, or a need, or by extending previous knowledge in some way.

The steps taken to achieve this would be:

• Step 1a: Counter-claiming, or [writing action = introduce an opposing viewpoint or perspective or identify a gap in prior research that you believe has weakened or undermined the prevailing argument]
• Step 1b: Indicating a gap, or [writing action = develop the research problem around a gap or understudied area of the literature]
• Step 1c: Question-raising, or [writing action = similar to gap identification, this involves presenting key questions about the consequences of gaps in prior research that will be addressed by your study. For example, one could state, “Despite prior observations of voter behavior in local elections in Detroit, it remains unclear why some single mothers choose to avoid….”]
• Step 1d: Continuing a tradition [writing action = extend prior research to expand upon or clarify a research problem. This is often signaled with logical connecting terminology, such as “hence,” “therefore,” “consequently,” “thus,” or language that indicates a need. For example, one could state, “Consequently, these factors need to be examined in more detail….” or “Evidence suggests an interesting correlation; therefore, it is desirable to survey different respondents….”]

Move 3: Occupying the Niche [the solution]

The final “move” is to announce the means by which your study will contribute new knowledge or new understanding in contrast to prior research on the topic. This is also where you describe the remaining organizational structure of the paper.

The steps taken to achieve this would be:

• Step 1a: Outlining purposes, or [writing action = answering the “So What?” question. Explain in clear language the objectives of your study.]
• Step 1b: Announcing present research [writing action = describe the purpose of your study in terms of what the research is going to do or accomplish. In the social sciences, this also relates to answering the “So What?” question.]
• Step 2: Announcing principal findings [writing action = present a brief, general summary of key findings written, such as “The findings indicate a need for…,” or “The research suggests four approaches to….”]
• Step 3: Indicating article structure [writing action = state how the remainder of your paper is organized.]

We Need Voice in Academic Writing, Too

A common misconception among writers is that writing for college, especially in a fancy-looking, citation-filled essay, should have the complexity and difficulty of Pride and Prejudice: “She is all affability and condescension, and I doubt not but you will be honoured with some portion of her notice when service is over” (Austen). That is, we sometimes assume that academic writing is where we say things with big words and in roundabout ways that seem sort of something like what we imagine talk is like around a gilded dinner table in a palace, somewhere.

I think this assumption is wrong. Even when reading essays that were written for college classes, readers don’t want to be bored or confused. They want liveliness; they want voice.

I recently taught a class that focused entirely on blogging for the first thirteen weeks of the course, followed by a final academic essay at the end of the semester. Students regularly asked me what style they should adopt in their final essay, how formal to be, what kind of voice to adopt. To most of the students, my reply was, “Write it how you wrote your blog!” To which almost all of them said, “Huh? That was informal. This is formal.” To which I said, “You’re partly right. You paid less attention to details when you were blogging, sure, but your voices were there. You used sentences that sounded like you! They were resonant! I was moved! Do you hear the italics in my voice? That’s how good your writing was! So don’t lose that by putting on a new coat of formality when it doesn’t fit well!” As the one who was going to read their academic essays, I was afraid that I was going to get a bunch of essays that sounded like Pride and Prejudice, with big words and roundabout sentence constructions. I wanted big, complex ideas in these final essays, but I also wanted stylistic liveliness, sentences that made me sit up straight and open my eyes wide. I admit that after the students had written first drafts of their essays, I backed off a little, and we talked about the ways that formal writing situations do indeed demand a different kind of voice than a blog post—but I was always insistent that no writing situation called for bored readers.

You should know this: teachers talk about their students. And I’ve heard the following story, or some variant of it, something like twenty times: “My student wrote this awful draft that confused me to no end. So I emailed the student and told him to come into my office to talk about it. And he gets there to my office and I say, ‘What are you trying to say on page 2?’ and he explains it, and—get this!—he explains it in this beautifully clear language, and it becomes clear that he knew all along what he wanted to talk about and how to defend it and even how his ideas relate to his sources. So I asked him, ‘Why didn’t you write it that way? Why don’t you write the way you talk?’ and you know what he says? He says, ‘Because I thought I was supposed to write formally.’ I swear, sometimes I think students get into more trouble trying to write formally than it’s worth.”

I’m serious. Every semester, I hear that story.

Of course, I see the other side: there’s a place for formality in a lot of writing. Depending on the circumstance, sometimes our most formal coat is indeed what we need to wear. In your future college classes, you might not get much of an idea from your professor about what kind of coat she expects you to wear, so you’ll probably have to do some asking. (“Dear Professor X, I’m baffled about what kind of voice to use in my essay. For example, may I write the word baffled? Please send examples. Sincerely, Judy Jetson.”)

My favorite trick here is one I learned from a small writing textbook called They Say, I Say: purposefully mixing the formal and informal in a single sentence or two. If you want to talk about something using a formal term, which is often a good idea in formal writing, use the formal term but then turn around and say it again informally. Like this: “Spoken voice is affected by our use of the epithelium, the vocal ligament, and the vocalis muscle. We’ve got a lot of ways to make sound.” The authors of They Say, I Say remind us that “translating the one type of language into the other, the specialized into the everyday, can help drive home a point.” (Graff, Birkenstein, and Durst 118)

That leads me to the stuff you’re probably here for: actual ideas about how to get this elusive thing called voice into your writing.

Suggestions