Ep. 89 - My Top 5 Writing Pet Peeves

In this episode of Your Words Unleashed, I’m getting back to basics—the kind of writing advice that makes the biggest difference for scholars who want their work to actually connect. Too often, academic writing gets stuck in old habits that make our ideas harder (and way less fun) to read.

So today, I’m sharing my top writing pet peeves: the little quirks I see over and over  that keep brilliant scholars from sounding like themselves. I’ll talk about why these habits show up, why they’re a problem, and most importantly, how to break them. This episode will give you a fresh perspective and some practical fixes. 

Give yourself permission to speak truth to power by writing words that actually sound like you!

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Transcript

YWU Podcast Episode #89

My Top 5 Writing Pet Peeves

Hey there writers! Lately I’ve been doing a lot of podcast interviews that don’t center directly on writing.

So today I want to bring things back to the fundamentals of my coaching work, which is to help scholars write things they’re truly proud of publishing.

And they’re proud not just because they secure book contracts, get promoted, and win awards, which often happens as a result. 

They’re proud because they have expressed their ideas in exactly the way they wanted to.

This may sound rather obvious, but allowing yourself to say what you mean is not an easy task once you’ve truly committed to an academic path.

It means undoing a lot of grad school socialization that teaches students they need to sound like emotionless robots if they want to be taken seriously. 

It means going against the grain of mainstream academia. 

People must consciously give themselves permission to sound like an actual human being in their scholarly work. 

This is risky!

I’ve shared before how one of the reviews for my first book, which leaned heavily into storytelling, critiqued my writing for being “not particularly scholarly.”

Now, I wear that underhanded comment like a badge of honor.

Allowing yourself to write clearly and accessibly can be very uncomfortable. This is especially true for folks from minoritized backgrounds who’ve often had to work very hard to learn the academic writing style to find a place in the academy. 

Well, now that I’m no longer an academic I can see things much more clearly than when I was a faculty member.

Higher ed is in free fall in the United States and other countries as well.

American university budgets have been slashed repeatedly by Trump’s fascist, vindictive authoritarian regime. It is doing a quick job of tanking this country’s well-earned position as a global scientific leader. 

And the hits just keep coming.

It was just announced that $350 million dollars of allocated federal funding for a range of minority-serving institutions is going to be withheld.

Colleges and universities with high percentages of students of color and first-generation students were already struggling. 

Withholding funds is a form of violence perpetrated against those who need and deserve it the most, perpetrated by the government no less.

I’ve stopped being so reactive to this agenda of hate because it was really impacting my health, but I continue to be angry. 

Anger can be productive. It always motivates me to consider what I, as an individual, can do to shift things, even just a little bit. 

And this may sound ridiculous, but I’ve concluded that a primary way academics can speak more truth to power is by writing more accessibly. 

By this I mean, more accessibly in their scholarship—not just through op-ed pieces and social media posts (though those are incredibly important too, of course). 

But I believe that the academic writing style is a major barrier keeping many incredible scholars from making a real, tangible impact on society.

Ultimately, if very few people can understand what you’re writing or relate to it, then—intentionally or not—you’re sequestering your ideas within the Ivory Tower.

I know very few scholars who actually want to do this. But it’s the natural outcome of using the writing style that is encouraged and rewarded.

But let me pose a question: if higher education is unraveling at warp speed, and tenure as we know it may not exist in five years, what’s there to lose by expressing ourselves in ways that truly help and transform other people?

Isn’t that the point of our work?

So all of that informs today’s episode about my top five writing pet peeves. 

I will tell you what they are, why they’re a problem, and how to stop doing them!

You can find the full transcript of this episode at YourWordsUnleashed.com/89.

My Top 5 Writing Pet Peeves

So I decided to write this episode after being asked by a scholarly magazine to put together a short essay on the future of academic publishing.

I thought really hard about it before realizing that I don’t have a lot to say about publishing. 

Instead, as you may know if you’ve listened to me for awhile, the axe I have to grind is with academic writing.

I read A LOT of book chapters, articles, and proposals written by super intelligent, caring, conscientious scholars from a wide range of disciplines.

And I’ve learned that there are some common quirks to how scholars write that aren’t discipline-dependent. 

As in, these issues transcend the humanities, social sciences, and STEM fields.

I want to break people of these habits, but the first step is making people aware of them.

If you grew up with GI Joe, like I did (and who I can now see was a very problematic figure), you’ll remember that he said, “Knowing is half the battle.”

And it’s definitely true in this case.

#1: Viewing academic writing as different to other types of writing

So my first pet peeve is more about perspective than habit.

One thing I often see scholars do is divide writing into two separate, unrelated categories.

The first is creative, expressive, and fun writing while the second is dense, difficult, and boring academic writing.

For example, I once worked with a brilliant faculty member who was having a very hard time engaging with their scholarly book. 

They wrote many conference papers and grant proposals on their fascinating topic—which, incidentally, received a lot of interest from editors. 

But composing the manuscript was a painful series of starts and stops. They had spent many years being held back by a mixture of self-doubt, anxiety, and negative self-talk. 

Maybe this is a familiar pattern to you as well.

What’s fascinating is that this very same person also wrote a 100,000-word novel over the same period of time they were struggling with their research monograph. 

It was a complete work of fiction that was nevertheless informed by their scholarly expertise. 

And they achieved this while also raising kids and juggling a very heavy teaching and service load! 

You know how they did it? 

It comes down to the fact that it was pleasurable. 

It was a creative escape from the drudgery and alienation many people experience when writing for academic audiences.

So it wasn’t that this person couldn’t see themselves as an author, per se. 

They just couldn’t see themselves as a scholarly book author because of all the baggage and harsh critique that gets tied up with it.

The big shift here is in how you view your audience. 

If you imagine you’re talking only to subfield experts, any desire for self-expression will likely  disappear quickly. 

But what if you were writing for your biggest fan or a favorite student who’s fascinated by your topic but they don’t know much about it yet?

Or what about writing for yourself as a young person who was just discovering their own interests?

Imagining a welcoming audience and trying to meet THEIR needs can help authors move their writing back into a sphere of curiosity, discovery, and creativity.

Here’s another example you might relate to.

A client admitted to me that they truly dislike reading academic books. 

They find them too dense, too theoretical, too long, or just really dull. 

They would rather read novels, which makes sense. I prefer reading novels, too!

Not surprisingly, this person hasn’t felt much motivation to write their own book.

My response was, “Great! I want you to think about the things you love about novels—the storytelling, the presentation of ideas, etc. And we are going to find ways to channel them into your scholarly work.”

That’s their challenge and their new starting point.

I want people to stop unquestioningly putting academic writing into its own rarefied category because this reinforces very problematic hierarchies within and beyond higher ed. 

To me, writing is writing.

#2: Implications that are FAR too narrow

Pet peeve #2 is research implications that are far too narrow or, worse yet, not having any implications at all.

So this one I see constantly in the work of folks who are revising their dissertations into books. 

It often sounds like: “The primary implication of my research is in filling gaps in current scholarly debates occurring in my subfield.”

Or, “This work offers new theoretical insight into [insert very specific] phenomenon.”

Or, “My project contributes to scholarship in X, Y, and Z areas.”

Now, these are certainly scholarly implications. But in the grand scheme of things, the stakes are very, very low.

Don’t get me wrong. Before I left the academy, I wrote like this as well. 

I look back at my two book proposals and can see how narrowly they were written when I actually thought I was being much broader. 

So why we do this?

Well, I think that especially within the social sciences and humanities, the emphasis is always on situating findings within existing scholarly debates. 

So if you have a practical takeaway, others in your field can tear you down as oversimplifying things or diluting nuance.

People’s fears of being critiqued for making broader claims are justifiable. 

I think we’ve all received, and probably given to our students, feedback along the lines of, “How do you know this to be true? Can you prove it using your evidence?”

Moving up in academia means specializing. 

But it has the adverse effect of causing authors to state extremely limited claims.

Many academics also believe that their job is to produce knowledge and it’s the job of other people—like journalists or policymakers—to figure out how to apply it. 

In other words, many researchers don’t feel like it’s their role to prescribe any kind of action. 

And, going back to the previous point about not wanting to dilute their findings, they often actively shy away from doing so.

But let’s get real for a second. 

I’m starting to interact with more journalists these days. And for the most part, they are NOT reading many peer-reviewed journal articles and research monographs.

They’re reading papers put out by think tanks. They’re reading press releases from universities announcing new research. They are definitely reading social media posts.

Scholars often don’t consider how much work is involved in taking dense academic writing and turning it into something usable by the general public.

There’s a reason that celebrity writers like Malcolm Gladwell and James Clear have become so prolific. 

They take complex research and present it in a clear, streamlined way with take-home points that, if implemented, actually change how people think and act.

And then they get all the credit! How fair is that?

Of course, I want to acknowledge that this not the fault of academics. 

There is little-to-no training given in how to translate one’s work for broader audiences.

This aligns with the total lack of institutional incentives for public engagement. 

But narrow implications equals limited impact. 

So what can you do about it?

One idea is to state something like: “This case is not only about [your specific topic]. It also sheds light on [whatever larger issue].”

This is a good thought exercise to do with all of your writing.

#3) Jargon and not defining terms

Okay, now we’re going to move onto actual writing-related pet peeves of mine.

#3 on my list should be no secret since I constantly complain about it. And it’s about jargon. More specifically, overusing jargon. 

Jargon is divisive. It’s literally meant to be divisive: it divides people into categories of insider and outsider to certain kinds of knowledge.

I don’t think jargon is all bad. We absolutely need specialized terms that sum up complex concepts in a word or two.

But I have two main issues with jargon: the first is with people using it unnecessarily. 

As in, they use a fancy term when they could use other, more easily understandable words instead.

The second is when someone uses jargon and doesn’t define terms as they go.

Let’s take the example of “hegemony.” It’s a very complex theoretical concept that scholars use all the time in their work without giving a definition.

They often just describe things as being hegemonic. They use it as a synonym for “power” and assume that readers know that.

When the truth is that most people in the world have never read Gramsci. 

They may not have been taught to even question the concept of power or where it comes from or how it’s employed. 

So I’m not saying “don’t use the words hegemony or hegemonic.” What I AM saying is, make no assumptions that your readers automatically get what you’re talking about.  

All you need to do is provide a very concise definition the first time you use it, which will bring everyone onto the same page.

If you don’t, you’ll leave people behind or make them feel confused or inadequate. And then they’ll probably stop reading.

I’m sure you don’t want to do that! So just make it a rule to never assume reader knowledge.

#4: Lists, Lists, Lists

So my fourth writing pet peeve is what I call “lists, lists, lists.”

This means that people list many items in a row within the same sentence. The result is an onslaught of information that can feel really overwhelming. 

Personally, I don’t use ChatGPT very much. But I thought it would be fun to have it give an example of a list-filled sentence from the field of sociology. 

And here’s what it came up with:

“The study demonstrates how social inequality is reproduced through family structures, educational institutions, labor markets, neighborhood dynamics, and cultural practices, each of which operates simultaneously to constrain mobility, shape opportunity, and reinforce class distinctions.”

I laughed so hard when I read this because it sounds exactly like a lot of the scholarship out there. 

So what’s the problem here? 

Isn’t it better to be thorough by mentioning every potential factor or characteristic that may impact a given issue?

Well, it’s a problem for your readers. Because it doesn’t provide any structure or hierarchy of importance for these concepts. 

Instead, it puts the onus on your audience to figure out how to weigh each of these items, when that’s not their role.

Providing a comprehensive list can feel like you’re helping your argument, but there’s no analysis. 

In my view, it can be a way for scholars to hide behind information and avoid taking a stronger stance.

Take a look at the last paper or chapter you wrote. If you have a lot of list-filled sentences, let’s say, 4-5 times on every page, what should you do?

First of all, noticing is half the battle. 

The next time you’re tempted to provide a long list, stop and consider each item one-by-one. 

Ask yourself if they are all necessary and equally important to the bigger point you’re trying to make. If so, keep it!

If not, remove the ones that are the least relevant. Or, choose only one item to be the star of your sentence and then add the others as secondary details.

Finally, read it out loud to yourself. If you are running out of breath, it’s probably too long!

#5) Revealing your main finding or claim at the very end

So my fifth, and final, pet peeve is: saving your main finding or claim for the very end of the paper.

We’ve all had the experience of figuring out what we want to argue through the process of writing something out.

It’s like you’ve been adding ingredients to a recipe and the argument is the finished product.

Sometimes this happens because people feel compelled to cite every scholar who has published on their topic before they’re allowed to add their own new layer of knowledge.

When really, it needs to be flipped the other way around.

Well, the good news is that you have figured out the main takeaway.

But, as the advice goes, your book is not meant to be a mystery novel. Don’t leave readers in the dark!

Just pull that finding or claim to the first paragraph or two of your paper.

And then use other peoples’ scholarship to back up YOUR argument. 

This is how people truly step into their role as experts.

Summing Everything Up

So let’s sum everything up.

I’ve talked about my top 5 writing pet peeves:

#1: Viewing academic writing as different to other types of writing.

#2: Having implications that are too narrow or no implications at all.

#3: Overusing jargon and not defining terms as you go.

#4: List-filled sentences.

#5: Revealing your main finding or claim at the very end.

To tell you the truth, I have more than five. But I had to end this episode somewhere, and these are definitely at the top of my list.

In the end, for me everything comes down to making academic writing more accessible.

This is one way that individuals can challenge the existing structures and norms of academia that keep most of the world locked out.

Because how you write is up to you. And in a world that feels like it’s spinning out of control, this one thing remains in your control.

And final pro-tip, this is what publishers want too so it’s really a win-win.

Let me acknowledge that writing in service to others outside the academy and prioritizing sounding like yourself can feel risky and unsafe.

But let’s be honest, everything about being in higher ed is risky and unsafe right now.

Long-standing traditions are being ripped apart. Harmful changes are rapidly taking place on an unprecedented scale.

One hopeful way to look at it is that even if things get torn down, they can be built back up again.

My more radically hopeful way of looking at it is that things are getting torn down SO THAT they can be rebuilt to serve humanity better. 

Your work matters to more than just your peers.

So let’s start refusing to exclude others in our writing. If we want things to change, it’s time to open up, not shut down.

Trust me—it’s going to be a lot easier and much more fun if you do!

Take care until next time.