Entry Two: Writing as Inquiry
“I write because I want to find something out. I write in order to learn something that I did not know before I wrote it. I was taught, however, as perhaps you were, too, not to write until I knew what I wanted to say, until my points were organized and outlined” (Richardson, 2000, p. 924).
In rereading Laurel Richardson’s (2000) “Writing: A method of inquiry,” I just wanted to repost most of it here. The format, content, and style of this chapter is one I yearn to share with others. My copy bleeds with colored notations, highlights and scribbled notes – different each time I read it. I choose the quote above because it depicted something that perhaps we struggle with – or maybe I just struggled with – in my entry into academic writing.
The first part of this quote, “I write because I want to find something out…” has always been part of me. From a young age, I was more comfortable putting words on paper and thinking through these words than I was saying them aloud. In her desk drawer, my mother keeps a book of mine labeled as ‘poetry’ from when I was nine-years old. I never quite knew what I was writing or why I was writing – I did it because I felt I needed it. This writing was mostly for me (and will remain so).
Many (many) years later, I entered a doctoral program and was expected to do research. Perhaps because my notions of research were of a distant individual objectively collecting data to write up results in impassionate ways, I discovered part of me – within my writing – became lost. At times, I was pushed to follow structures (separating myself from the research; triangulating data towards a fixed point) that did not fit with my actual process (or what I felt and sensed). This is the second part of the quote – that we are taught “not to write until I knew what I wanted to say…” (p. 924). More and more, this mechanistic approach left me scratching my head, even angered at the words I had to put down on paper.
Moreover, if I never wrote anything “until I knew what I wanted to say,” this would be blank.
Then, discovering the essay by Richardson, as well as work by other scholars (Ellingson, 2009; Fine & Weis, 1996; Kuby, 2014), I was able to reopen a part of my writing (and myself) that had become lost in the passivity that had framed my idea of academic writing.
As an example, I return to my publication in Sport, Education and Society (Safron, 2020). I promise it is not because I want to promote myself. It is because, as I read through and continue to explore data from the encounter I describe in that manuscript, I want to share that I did (at times) use writing as inquiry. This was through the poetic transcriptions depicted (see entry one), as well as in different styles of memos – autobiographical, narratives, layered accounts. And, again, while not in the ‘final’ publication, writing as inquiry has become part of an ongoing process. It has offered ways to play around with approaches, sometimes for myself, sometimes to show others – and often to challenge and reimagine what I see, feel or sense through this work.
Next, I share one memo – a brief reflexive account written after the pedagogical encounter on that week of my dissertation research. I then reflect on possibilities that can be produced from writing as a method of inquiry – as well as some of the interminable cringing that engulfs me as I reread words that I put down on paper only a few years ago.
Almost two hours – and no one made a beeline for the door. No one turned their eyes away from the guest speakers who had graced us with their presence. Our attention was zoned in on the questions being asked, the words being used, and the emotions that moved our thoughts and bodies. I left the room that day, a year and a half after beginning to work with some of these youth – and felt an intensity I had not yet experienced. There were deep, gut-wrenching moments when Brenda shared how she was chastised by her doctor, by society for not being skinny. This was compounded by the realization on all of our ends regarding the economic, cultural and historic ties to physical appearance – and thus broader understandings of what it meant to be labeled ‘fat.’ The young people brought up that we live in a world where they – Black and Brown bodies – are targeted for their ‘unhealthy’ ways – being told to ‘fix it’ – at the same time that there are larger issues which continue to be ignored (e.g., media portrayal, accessibility to food, mental health and stress). I, as a White, able-bodied, physically fit looking woman left with more questions that day – wondering what happened that made this day (after all the other months) different?
I wrote down questions. As heartbreaking as it was to face the pressures of what these youth voiced, it was also inspiring to see the engagement on this one day. What was it about this conversation (or encounter) that led to not only deeply personal moments but also much laughter (Will saying the food he eats as a professional bodybuilder tastes like a paper plate) and acceptance (Will sharing how he too gets body shamed for his choices as a bodybuilder but knowing that he has to feel comfortable with himself as a large Black man)? What was it that made the four youth feel comfortable to not only take initiative with their questions, but to also open up to two ‘strangers’ with a remarkable honesty that moved me to a different place? Was it that we had built up to this point during previous activities? Was it the sincerity that came through from Will and Cesar when they spoke about their lives? Was it a sense of relatability in terms of culture and race – Will being Black and Cesar, Dominican? And, lastly, as this encounter moved me to further questions, I also wondered – what could this mean for us, for others – to hear and feel their way through unfiltered conversations with young people and fitness professionals on health and fitness? What might further explorations or conversations produce?
The next day, I saw Cesar and Will at work. (We worked at the same commercial fitness center.) They reiterated that the four teenagers impressed them and shared that they continued to talk amongst themselves after leaving that day. They spoke with each other about difficulties coming from Black and Latino families who want to show love through food. Cesar acknowledged this as an “eye-opening experience,” leading him to add “we really need to do a better job with these kids. It’s a shame the messages that they get.” I had spent nearly a year and a half working with some of the young participants here. Yet, I immediately felt it wasn’t until this encounter – our engagement here – that I began to really notice how much is going on (from families, doctors, peers, schools, media) and how much we (researchers, fitness professionals, adults, educators) have to continue to listen and open up spaces to do things differently.
That excerpt is from my researcher journal, written a day after the pedagogical encounter. It is not meant to recall everything that took place. It is one of many short notes that I would jot down after the ‘activities’ of the week.
One of the main points I want to share from this is that, through writing as inquiry, it is not about a final product. It is about playing with different approaches or genres that work for you (and your research). In building upon Richardson’s notion, Ellingson (2009) wrote, “Resist the urge to plan every single detail in advance and allow the page to lead you” (p. 164).
The page continued to lead me – it led me through further conversations, interviews, memos, rereading of transcripts, poetic transcriptions, drafts and more conversations. Eventually, it led to a ‘final’ publication. And – as you have read (and may continue to if I haven’t lost your interest), it is still going. Yes, I cringe as I look back at some of these memos – those what was I thinking moments? There is a constant awareness of how much I miss and how difficult it is to write about young participants and all that is going on in any given moment.
But, Richardson (2000) assured me (and maybe others) that “There is no such thing as ‘getting it right’- only ‘getting it’ differently contoured and nuanced” (p. 930-931).
So, the meme above sticks with me whenever I write. It is part of one participants’ scrapbook, taken from the week in which I asked them to “tell your own health and fitness story.” Sara selected this meme as a way to bring a little humor to the activity and to share how she typically feels after working out. I have adopted her use of this meme in a completely different way…
This is often how I feel when I sit down to write – especially when I take myself too seriously or in thinking about a ‘final’ publication. Each time I sit down to write something ‘new,’ I feel like the woman in the meme. I have an urge to end up sprawled out on the floor, only I would be covered in piles of papers – transcripts, readings, notes and drafts that become illegible through my writing process. Writing is messy and challenging. Even with the freedom of writing as inquiry, Richardson (2000) wrote “the work is harder. The guarantees are fewer. There is a lot more for us to think about” (p. 936).
Still, I have hope in writing as a method of inquiry. It developed a closeness that I first thought I had to give up in academic writing. It provided a creative outlet to play with multiple genres. It offered freedom to shift lenses, while recognizing I can never include all that has happened.
So, in ‘ending’ this entry, I return to the beginning quotation from Laurel Richardson. I want to encourage two thoughts (always remembering that there is more that led up to this and more that follows).
First, play around with writing – and do not necessarily stick to words. Even though I am more comfortable with the written word, I witnessed the potential in entangling writing, making images, collaging, and other creative analytic practices throughout my dissertation.
Second, recognize that anything I (or we) write is partial and situational. I can never tell a full story. I can never share a single approach that works for everyone (or even for me). However, it is possible for writing to “nurture” our voices (Richardson, 2000, p. 936), expand perspectives, and honor our (researcher) identities as part of the entire process (Ellingson, 2009).
I hope this can encourage you to play around with different writing styles, read further and just have some fun. As I finish this, I do have papers surrounding me in every direction – on the desk, on the floor, on the bed – but, fortunately am not sprawled out on the floor in despair. Sometimes writing for fun and with passion can make the struggles even more worthwhile.
References (for further engagement):
Ellingson, L. (2009). Engaging in crystallization in qualitative research: An introduction. Sage.
Fine, M., & Weis, L. (1996).Writing the "wrongs" of fieldwork: Confronting our own research/writing dilemmas in urban ethnographies. Qualitative Inquiry, 2(3), 251–274.
Kuby, C. R. (2014). Crystallizartion as a Methodology. In R. N. Brown, R. Carducci, & C. R. Kuby (Eds.), Disrupting Qualitative Inquiry: Possibilities and Tensions in Educational Research (pp. 129–151). Peter Lang.
Richardson, L. (2000). Writing: A method of inquiry. In N. K. Denzin & Y. S. Lincoln (Eds.), Handbook of qualitative research (2nd ed., pp. 923–948). Sage.
Safron, C. (2020). Health, fitness, and affects in an urban after-school program. Sport, Education and Society, 25(5), 556–569. https://doi.org/10.1080/13573322.2019.1625318