Week 1 – Assignment:

Editorial

Five Steps to Writing More Engaging Qualitative Research

Kim M. Mitchell 1,2

and Alexander M. Clark 3

Why are we reading, if not in hope of beauty laid bare, life heigh-

tened and its deepest mystery probed?

Annie Dillard

Qualitative data speak to some of the most profound and trans-

cending human experiences. As researchers we write, we teach,

or we engage to give voice to the voiceless, and we often seek

to foster influence and understanding where none has been.

Yet, despite the most human of subject matter, our writing of

qualitative research often fails. It can be conventional, formu-

laic, and, sometimes, even stilted. Where can the potential of

our qualitative work find place in our qualitative writing?

Respectful of disciplinary norms, perhaps we filter our-

selves at source (Dolby, 2002). When our words are barely

formed, the supposed objectivism of science, drilled into us

from our first brushes with academic writing, exerts a stealthy

influence. Invisible gatekeepers, our first university professors,

a former advisor, and a cantankerous reviewer, leave us con-

demned with their scathing feedback, pejorative norms, and

harsh judgments. We assimilate these barbs into our identities,

and our writing suffers via safe, stilted, disengaged prose

(Sword, 2012). Creative word choices, elegant turns of phrase,

or heaven forbid, saying exactly what we really mean, are cast

as risks that descend us into academic purgatory: labeled as

biased, unprofessional, and not taken seriously (Mitchell,

2017). In a world in which academic writing matters to us so

much, counts for so much in our work, but is often so unenga-

ging (Sword, 2012), how can our qualitative research writing

improve? Whatever your qualitative method, we present five

strategies to foster more engaging writing.

Consider What You Are Writing

Writers write poetry, crime stories, mysteries, romances, lit-

erary works, or science fiction. No two categories carry the

same voice. Academics also have many voices: the research

paper, the grant application, the tweet, the journal review, the

textbook, the dissertation, and the editorial. These categories—

or genres—draw readers in via repetitive familiarity (Paré,

2014). Genre shapes writing by demanding specific conven-

tions, language and structural norms, and expectations

(Hyland, 2003). In this way, genres are social: They pay

homage to power structures and are simultaneously visible, yet

tacit, as Paré (2014) states, “Everybody uses them, but almost

no one pays any attention to the nature of their construction” (p.

A-85). Successful writing requires a writer to pay quiet diligent

attention to the construction of the genre they are working in.

Each genre has its own sense of verisimilitude—the bearing of

truth. Each places different constraints on the writer and has

different goals, forms, and structure. As you approach your

writing, consider more deliberatively which genre you are writ-

ing in—and what defines successful writing in that genre not

only in terms of its characteristics and appearance but also in

terms of its effects on the reader.

Identify to Whom You Write?

Ferris turns to the camera and speaks directly to the audience in

Ferris Bueller’s Day Off and we are instantly enwrapped.

Effective writers envision their unseen audience who may be

researchers, patients, practitioners, or government policy mak-

ers. Readers also envision the writer. Writers accept, once a

reader is involved, that written words no longer have the mean-

ing they imbued or intended (Palmer, 1969). The words, and

1 Red River College, Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada 2

Rady Faculty of Health Sciences, College of Nursing, University of Manitoba,

Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada 3 Faculty of Nursing, University of Alberta, Edmonton, Alberta, Canada

Corresponding Author:

Alexander M. Clark, Faculty of Nursing, University of Alberta, Edmonton,

Alberta, Canada T6G 2R3.

Email: [email protected]

International Journal of Qualitative Methods Volume 17: 1–3 ª The Author(s) 2018 Reprints and permissions: sagepub.com/journalsPermissions.nav DOI: 10.1177/1609406918757613 journals.sagepub.com/home/ijq

Creative Commons Non Commercial CC BY-NC: This article is distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 License (http://www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/) which permits non-commercial use, reproduction and distribution of the work without further permission provided the original work is attributed as specified on the SAGE and Open Access pages (https://us.sagepub.com/en-us/nam/open-access-at-sage).

their interpretation, are “out there.” Building the reader–writer

relationship is where writing magic happens, but care must be

taken in nurturing this complex relationship. A writer cannot

know what the reader already knows or what their predisposi-

tion is, and writers must find a balance somewhere between

defining too many details and not defining enough (Hayes &

Bajzek, 2008). This is challenging because readers of qualita-

tive research are also increasingly from numerous diverse dis-

ciplines. Misjudging, presuming, or most commonly failing, to

take account of your audience, puts connectivity at peril and

risks insulting, confusing, and bemusing readers.

Effective writing always anticipates audience. It fosters a

relationship with the writer for readers. When you sit down to

write, always ask yourself systematically “who is my audi-

ence?” Identify their most likely concerns, backgrounds, and

receptiveness to what you are writing. Only then can you begin

to write with connection in mind.

Persuade

Connection and persuasion are indispensable and interdepen-

dent. Centuries of proponents from the time of Aristotle have

taught us that persuasiveness is the basis for engagement and

influence. Accordingly, writers should use different means to

persuade readers (Leith, 2012): logos, the soundness of logic;

ethos, through an emotional connection with the message; and

pathos, through coming to believe that the persuader has emo-

tional authenticity and moral credibility (Van De Ven & John-

son, 2006).

Compelling writing not only requires the skilful use of these

three dimensions of persuasion but also their integration with

conventions of your chosen genre and of your likely audience.

Integration of genre, audience, and persuasive charisma is

essential when writing compelling qualitative manuscripts to

audiences less familiar with qualitative research, such as those

who read mainstream clinical- or practice-focused journals

(Clark & Thompson, 2016). Given tight word limits, it is chal-

lenging to convey the tenets of qualitative rigor and the nuances

of qualitative data, all with connection and persuasion, and

simultaneously avoid the pitfall of excessive simplification.

Such questions can lead writers of qualitative research to

lament: Why should we even attempt to write under such unde-

niable constraints (Clark & Thompson, 2016)? However,

instead of being seen as onerous, such constraints can inspire

us. For centuries, artists have worked with the curtailing lim-

itations of their chosen medium, of commercialism, and of

critical yet conservative judgments of their work (Bayles &

Orland, 1993). The presence of the challenges of persuasion

in the face of such constraints should motivate and inspire.

Drawing on techniques to persuade others through our writing,

we can better ensure that we bring the contributions of quali-

tative research to wider and new audiences (Clark & Thomp-

son, 2016). This can win others to our cause, and by extension,

our participant’s cause wins too.

Find Your Voice and Cadence

Personal connection drives the world, and writing voice is the

catalyst. This voice is formed from readers’ sense of the person

behind the words: the writer’s voice and identity. Expression of

authorial presence takes many forms: from writing in “the first

person” to take ownership of a statement, to describing yourself

situated in your research context, to personal histories to help

the reader understand why you are drawn to a topic or point of

view, and to full personal confessionals (Ivanič, 1998). Finding

the degree of voice allowable in a particular genre requires

intuition and experimentation. Where can you bring your voice

and stance more into your prose in ways that fit with the genres

you are writing within?

Writing is a method of inquiry says Richardson and St.

Pierre (2005), so developing your own reflexive sense of

style is important. In reading, cadence is the rhythm and

pace of words as they flow through a reader’s mind. Done

well, cadence leads to writing that truly grabs us. Aaron

Sorkin, awarded Oscars and Emmies for his writing of A

Few Good Men and the West Wing, writes his scripts in

meter. Each line has a rhythm to it and takes up a certain

amount of space—doesn’t cut off too soon, nor drag too

long. Cadence, if you are riding a bike, is how fast your

legs turn the pedals. You spin along steadily occasionally

adjusting your pace for obstacles, glide as the road slopes

downward, or hammer to make traffic light. Misjudging

cadence in your writing can cause your reader to crash or

to never reach your intended destination.

Writers with strong cadence know when and how often they

can get away with breaking the “rules” of style. Alternate short

and long sentences. Can your work be read out loud with

inflection or does it demand a dry monotone voice? Incomplete

sentences can change the rhythm of your writing or emphasize

a phrase. Very useful. When cadence is used appropriately,

even selectively ignoring grammatical conventions will slip

by unnoticed. Influence the intonation and pace with which

your reader explores your words by using less well-known

punctuation devices—like the double dash—or by italicizing

words for emphasis. Remember, your participant quotes will

lack grammatical perfection and uniformity. Good qualitative

writing blends the numerous voices of your analysis, so that the

transition from participant voice to researcher voice does not

feel like an attack on the senses.

Take Creative Risks

All writing is creative writing. When the surface is peeled

away, what traditional creative writers do and what academic

writers do are not dissimilar. Both require emotions, insertion

of the self, and connection with an audience. Logos, ethos,

and pathos are all important tools. Creativity is the je ne sais

quoi element of academic writing (Sword, 2012): You know it

when you see it, but can you define it? Creativity in academic

writing gives form to ideas using originality and innovation as

defined by a social context (Kelly, 2012). To make your

2 International Journal of Qualitative Methods

writing more creative, give yourself permission to resist oth-

ers (and your own) reservations: “that’s not how it is normally

done.” This requires reflexivity and reading widely. Instead of

looking at your work head on, take a step to the side and view

it with a new lens. In research that might mean methodologi-

cal creativity, borrowing a writing convention from another

discipline, or combining seemingly diverse ideas to create a

new whole. Writing well is often difficult, even messy.

Tangled. It becomes untangled the same way a box full of

wool gets untangled—one strand at a time. One word at a

time. Let your reflections permeate, experiment, and expect

to fail, then try again.

Life’s too short for bad writing. Readers don’t need it, and

writers of qualitative research should not be part of this crime.

References

Bayles, D., & Orland, T. (1993). Art & fear: Observations on the Preils

(and rewards) of art-making. Santa Cruz, CA: Image Continuum.

Clark, A. M., & Thompson, D. R. (2016). Five tips for writing quali-

tative research in high-impact journals: Moving from #BMJnoQ-

ual. International Journal of Qualitative Methods. Retrieved from

http//doi.org/10.1177/1609406916641250

Dolby, R. G. A. (2002). Uncertain knowledge. Cambridge, England:

Cambridge University Press.

Hayes, J. R., & Bajzek, D. (2008). Understanding and reducing the

knowledge effect: Implications for writers. Written Communica-

tion, 25, 104–118.

Hyland, K. (2003). Genre-based pedagogies: A social response to

process. Journal of Second Language Writing, 12, 17–29.

Retrieved from http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/S1060-3743(02)00124-8

Ivanič, R. (1998). Writing and identity: The discoursal construction of

identity in academic writing. Amsterdam, the Netherlands: John

Benjamins.

Kelly, R. (2012). Educating for creativity: A global conversation.

Edmonton, Canada: Brush Education.

Leith, S. (2012). Words like loaded pistols: Rhetoric from Aristotle to

Obama. New York, NY: Basic Books.

Mitchell, K. M. (2017). Academic voice: On feminism, presence, and

objectivity in writing. Nursing Inquiry, 24, e12200. Retrieved from

https://doi.org/10.1111/nin.12200

Palmer, R. (1969). Hermeneutics, interpretation theory in Schleier-

macher, Dilthey, Heidegger, and Gadamer. Evanston, IL: North-

western University Press.

Paré, A. (2014). Rhetorical genre theory and academic literacy. Jour-

nal of Academic Language and Learning, 8, A83–A94.

Richardson, L., & St. Pierre, E. A. (2005). Writing: A method of

inquiry. In N. K. Denzin & Y. S. Lincoln (Eds.), The Sage hand-

book of qualitative research (3rd ed., pp. 959–978). Thousand

Oaks, CA: Sage.

Sword, H. (2012). Stylish academic writing. Cambridge, MA: Harvard

University Press.

Van De Ven, A. H., & Johnson, P. E. (2006). Knowledge for

theory and practice. The Academy of Management Review, 31,

802–821.

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