Last spring, I finished my undergrad, where I drug myself through a severely disoriented and disorienting thesis. Among the many lessons I learned in the process, I discovered something that deeply hindered my academic writing: I hated it. This revelation surprised me because I entered that research project believing I liked it and did it well. Now, I could barely sustain either of those beliefs.

Among the many qualities of scholarly writing I now found deplorable: it was infinite, and its vastness offered no longer to enchant but to consume me whole. Every book or article contained a bibliography…

Read More > > >