the-saucy-wave-equation

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I had a really nice seminar today about communicating in science as a woman, and it was just so nice to discuss all of the toxic behavior in our institute, and then did a lot of workshopping about useful strategies to deal with typical sexist experiences

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omg i'm crying, the postdoc i work with just told me that he wished that i had been his phd supervisor because not only do i discuss science with him, but i tell him how to improve and be better and that he's excited for me to become a supervisor and mentor so many people 😭😭😭

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(Source)

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feedback from my academic supervisor has me doubting if I should try and continue working with him as a group leader

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Here's the link to the video

👏 SAY 👏 IT 👏 LOUDER 👏

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Gays (at the bar edition)

Original:

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Why is it SO much easier to rewrite than write??

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my PhD supervisor wrote me a letter of reference for the group leader positions I'm applying for in the next two weeks and I'm CRYING it's so nice!! and effusive!!! and sweet and just makes me feel really validated on the path that I'm taking, because she basically said that I've always been on the fast track to being a supervisor, and that the program would be a fool not to take me 😭😭😭

[the-saucy-wave-equation]

Going to grad school, I see

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aaaaah just got the call for nomination for a fast-track position to be group leader in the group i joined a little over a year ago, and I'm excited but also nervous. This would be such a cool way to have some job stability for 4 years, and get on the track to have a more permanent research position with my own group in Germany without the risk of doing a 6 year postdoc and kneecapping my ability to go back to the US academic market. And it's a pretty simple application! But that makes me more nervous, because it means it has to be totally pristine- I have no wiggle room. I have two and a half weeks to do the application (and I'm on holiday this week, but like a true academic I won't let that stop me)

[the-saucy-wave-equation]

I love when engineers who write papers get to make fun of physicists a bit. Don't get me wrong, I love physicists, some of my closest friends are physicists, but some of y'all need to log off and touch some actual materials before you get too far into spherical cow territory.

[the-saucy-wave-equation]

Drafting: The Theory of Shitty First Drafts

Writing books often exhort you to “write a shitty first draft,” but I always resisted this advice. After all,

I was already writing shitty drafts, even when I tried to write good ones. Why go out of my way to make them shittier?

A shitty first draft just kicks the can down the road, doesn’t it? Sooner or later, I’d have to write a good draft—why put it off?

If I wrote without judging what I wrote, how would I make any creative choices at all?

That first draft inevitably obscured my original vision, so I wanted it to be at least slightly good.

Writing something shitty meant I was shitty.

So for years, I kept writing careful, cramped, painstaking first drafts—when I managed to write at all. At last, writing became so joyless, so draining, so agonizing for me that I got desperate: I either needed to quit writing altogether or give the shitty-first-draft thing a try.

Turns out everything I believed about drafting was wrong.

For the last six months, I’ve written all my first drafts in full-on don’t-give-a-fuck mode. Here’s what I’ve learned so far:

“Shitty first draft” is a misnomer

A rough draft isn’t just a shitty story, any more than a painter’s preparatory sketch is just a shitty painting. Like a sketch, a draft is its own kind of thing: not a lesser version of the finished story, but a guide for making the finished story.

Once I started thinking of my rough drafts as preparatory sketches, I stopped fretting over how “bad” they were. Is a sketch “bad”? And actually, a rough draft can be beautiful the same way a sketch is beautiful: it has its own messy energy.

Don’t try to do everything at once

People who make complex things need to solve one kind of problem before they can solve others. A painter might need to work out where the big shapes go before they can paint the details. A writer might need to decide what two people are saying to each other before they can describe the light in the room or what those people are doing with their hands.

I’d always embraced this principle up to a point. In the early stages, I’d speculate and daydream and make messy notes. But that freedom would end as soon as I started drafting. When you write a scene, I thought, you have to start with the first word and write the rest in order. Then it dawned on me: nobody would ever see this! I could write the dialogue first and the action later; or the action first and the dialogue later; or some dialogue and action first and then interior monologue later; or I could write the whole thing like I was explaining the plot to my friend over the phone. The draft was just one very long, very detailed note to myself. Not a story, but a preparatory sketch for a story. Why not do it in whatever weird order made sense to me?

Get all your thoughts onto the page

Here’s how I used to write: I’d sit there staring at the screen and I’d think of something—then judge it, reject it, and reach for something else, which I’d most likely reject as well—all without ever fully knowing what those things were. And once you start rejecting thoughts, it’s hard to stop. If you don’t write down the first one, or the second, or the third, eventually your thought-generating mechanism jams up. You become convinced you have no thoughts at all.

When I compare my old drafts with my new ones, the old ones look coherent enough. They’re presentable as stories. But they suck as drafts, because I can’t see myself thinking in them. I have no idea what I wanted that story to be. These drafts are opaque and airless, inscrutable even to me, because a good 90% of what I was thinking while I wrote them never made it onto the page.

These days, most of my thoughts go onto the page, in one form or another. I don’t waste time figuring out how to say something, I just ask, “what are you trying to say here?” and write that down. Because this isn’t a story, it’s a plan for a story, so I just need the words to be clear, not beautiful. The drafts I write now are full of placeholders and weird meta notes, but when I read them, I can see where my mind is going. I can see what I’m trying to do. Consequently, I no longer feel like my drafts obscure my original vision. In fact, their whole purpose is to describe that vision.

Drafts are memos to future-you

To draft effectively, you need a personal drafting style or “language” to communicate with your future self (who is, of course, the author of your second draft). This language needs to record your ideas quickly so it can keep up with the pace of your imagination, but it needs to do so in a form that will make sense to you later. That’s why everyone’s drafts look different: your drafting style has to fit the way your mind works.

I’m still working mine out. Honestly, it might take a while. But recently, I started writing in fragments. That’s just how my mind works: I get pieces of sentences before I understand how to fit them together. Wrestling with syntax was slowing me down, so now I just generate the pieces and save their logical relationships for later. Drafting effectively means learning these things about yourself. And to do that, you can’t get all judgmental. You can’t fret over how you should be writing, you just gotta get it done.

Messy drafts are easier to revise

I find that drafting quickly and messily keeps the story from prematurely “hardening” into a mute, opaque object I’m afraid to change. I no longer do that thing, for instance, where I endlessly polish the first few paragraphs of a draft without moving on. Because how do you polish a bunch of fragments taped together with dashes? A draft that looks patently “unfinished” stays malleable, makes me want to dig my hands in and move stuff around.

You already have ideas

Sitting down to write a story, I used to feel this awful responsibility to create something good. Now I treat drafting simply as documenting ideas I already have—not as creation at all, but as observation and description. I don’t wait around for good words or good ideas. I just skim off whatever’s floating on the surface and write it down. It’s that which allows other, potentially better ideas to surface.

As a younger writer, my misery and frustration perpetuated themselves: suppressing so many thoughts made my writing cramped and inhibited, which convinced me I had no ideas, which made me even more afraid to write lest I discover how empty inside I really was. That was my fear, I guess: if I looked squarely at my innocent, unvetted, unvarnished ideas, I’d see how bad they truly were, and then I’d have to—what, pack up and go home? Never write again? I don’t know. But when I stopped rejecting ideas and started dumping them onto the page, the worst didn’t happen. In fact, it was a huge relief.

Next post: the practice of shitty first drafts

Ask me a question or send me feedback!

[the-saucy-wave-equation]

Drafting: The Theory of Shitty First Drafts

Writing books often exhort you to “write a shitty first draft,” but I always resisted this advice. After all,

I was already writing shitty drafts, even when I tried to write good ones. Why go out of my way to make them shittier?

A shitty first draft just kicks the can down the road, doesn’t it? Sooner or later, I’d have to write a good draft—why put it off?

If I wrote without judging what I wrote, how would I make any creative choices at all?

That first draft inevitably obscured my original vision, so I wanted it to be at least slightly good.

Writing something shitty meant I was shitty.

So for years, I kept writing careful, cramped, painstaking first drafts—when I managed to write at all. At last, writing became so joyless, so draining, so agonizing for me that I got desperate: I either needed to quit writing altogether or give the shitty-first-draft thing a try.

Turns out everything I believed about drafting was wrong.

For the last six months, I’ve written all my first drafts in full-on don’t-give-a-fuck mode. Here’s what I’ve learned so far:

“Shitty first draft” is a misnomer

A rough draft isn’t just a shitty story, any more than a painter’s preparatory sketch is just a shitty painting. Like a sketch, a draft is its own kind of thing: not a lesser version of the finished story, but a guide for making the finished story.

Once I started thinking of my rough drafts as preparatory sketches, I stopped fretting over how “bad” they were. Is a sketch “bad”? And actually, a rough draft can be beautiful the same way a sketch is beautiful: it has its own messy energy.

Don’t try to do everything at once

People who make complex things need to solve one kind of problem before they can solve others. A painter might need to work out where the big shapes go before they can paint the details. A writer might need to decide what two people are saying to each other before they can describe the light in the room or what those people are doing with their hands.

I’d always embraced this principle up to a point. In the early stages, I’d speculate and daydream and make messy notes. But that freedom would end as soon as I started drafting. When you write a scene, I thought, you have to start with the first word and write the rest in order. Then it dawned on me: nobody would ever see this! I could write the dialogue first and the action later; or the action first and the dialogue later; or some dialogue and action first and then interior monologue later; or I could write the whole thing like I was explaining the plot to my friend over the phone. The draft was just one very long, very detailed note to myself. Not a story, but a preparatory sketch for a story. Why not do it in whatever weird order made sense to me?

Get all your thoughts onto the page

Here’s how I used to write: I’d sit there staring at the screen and I’d think of something—then judge it, reject it, and reach for something else, which I’d most likely reject as well—all without ever fully knowing what those things were. And once you start rejecting thoughts, it’s hard to stop. If you don’t write down the first one, or the second, or the third, eventually your thought-generating mechanism jams up. You become convinced you have no thoughts at all.

When I compare my old drafts with my new ones, the old ones look coherent enough. They’re presentable as stories. But they suck as drafts, because I can’t see myself thinking in them. I have no idea what I wanted that story to be. These drafts are opaque and airless, inscrutable even to me, because a good 90% of what I was thinking while I wrote them never made it onto the page.

These days, most of my thoughts go onto the page, in one form or another. I don’t waste time figuring out how to say something, I just ask, “what are you trying to say here?” and write that down. Because this isn’t a story, it’s a plan for a story, so I just need the words to be clear, not beautiful. The drafts I write now are full of placeholders and weird meta notes, but when I read them, I can see where my mind is going. I can see what I’m trying to do. Consequently, I no longer feel like my drafts obscure my original vision. In fact, their whole purpose is to describe that vision.

Drafts are memos to future-you

To draft effectively, you need a personal drafting style or “language” to communicate with your future self (who is, of course, the author of your second draft). This language needs to record your ideas quickly so it can keep up with the pace of your imagination, but it needs to do so in a form that will make sense to you later. That’s why everyone’s drafts look different: your drafting style has to fit the way your mind works.

I’m still working mine out. Honestly, it might take a while. But recently, I started writing in fragments. That’s just how my mind works: I get pieces of sentences before I understand how to fit them together. Wrestling with syntax was slowing me down, so now I just generate the pieces and save their logical relationships for later. Drafting effectively means learning these things about yourself. And to do that, you can’t get all judgmental. You can’t fret over how you should be writing, you just gotta get it done.

Messy drafts are easier to revise

I find that drafting quickly and messily keeps the story from prematurely “hardening” into a mute, opaque object I’m afraid to change. I no longer do that thing, for instance, where I endlessly polish the first few paragraphs of a draft without moving on. Because how do you polish a bunch of fragments taped together with dashes? A draft that looks patently “unfinished” stays malleable, makes me want to dig my hands in and move stuff around.

You already have ideas

Sitting down to write a story, I used to feel this awful responsibility to create something good. Now I treat drafting simply as documenting ideas I already have—not as creation at all, but as observation and description. I don’t wait around for good words or good ideas. I just skim off whatever’s floating on the surface and write it down. It’s that which allows other, potentially better ideas to surface.

As a younger writer, my misery and frustration perpetuated themselves: suppressing so many thoughts made my writing cramped and inhibited, which convinced me I had no ideas, which made me even more afraid to write lest I discover how empty inside I really was. That was my fear, I guess: if I looked squarely at my innocent, unvetted, unvarnished ideas, I’d see how bad they truly were, and then I’d have to—what, pack up and go home? Never write again? I don’t know. But when I stopped rejecting ideas and started dumping them onto the page, the worst didn’t happen. In fact, it was a huge relief.

Next post: the practice of shitty first drafts

Ask me a question or send me feedback!

[the-saucy-wave-equation]

aaaaah I'm getting pretty good feedback on my first paper that I'm writing with my supervisor! he really likes my writing style, and seems to be quite supportive in how I'm writing things, while giving good advice in how to frame things. none of the really harshly critical feedback i know he's capable of giving (bc he's done it to my friends)- possibly just because I think a lot like he does. feeling really optimistic about working with him to make these paper edits and getting this paper out!!

[the-saucy-wave-equation]

Research Tips for Writing Your Book

Are you diving into the exciting world of writing and researching for your book project? Here's what you need to know to make your research journey a success:

Define Your Purpose: Before diving into research, have a clear understanding of your book's purpose and goals. Know the themes you want to explore and the message you wish to convey. This will give your research a focused direction.

Create a Research Plan: Outline the specific areas you need to research, set milestones, and establish deadlines. A well-structured research plan keeps you on track and helps you manage your time efficiently.

Use Multiple Sources: Diversify your sources. Books, academic papers, interviews, and digital resources each offer unique perspectives and insights. This diversity enriches your understanding and adds depth to your writing.

Organize Your Notes: Keep your research notes well-organized. Consider using digital tools like note-taking apps or physical notebooks with labeled sections for different topics. Efficient organization will save you time and effort later.

Fact-Check: Ensure the accuracy of your research. Verify any details that are crucial to your story or argument. Misinformation can erode your credibility and disrupt the reader's immersion.

Cite Sources Properly: Keep meticulous records of your sources and be diligent about citations. Use a recognized citation style (e.g., APA, MLA, Chicago) to give credit to the authors and avoid plagiarism.

Interview Experts: Reach out to experts or people with firsthand knowledge relevant to your topic. Interviews can provide you with valuable insights, real-life experiences, and unique anecdotes to enhance your book.

Visit Relevant Places: If your book is set in a particular location, consider visiting it if possible. Experiencing the environment firsthand can help you capture its atmosphere, culture, and nuances more authentically.

Take Breaks: Research can be mentally taxing. Don't forget to take breaks to recharge and maintain a fresh perspective. Stepping away from your work can also lead to new insights and ideas.

Stay Open-Minded: Be open to unexpected discoveries during your research. Sometimes, the most profound insights come from unrelated sources or tangential information that you stumble upon while researching.

Keep a Journal: Maintain a research journal where you can jot down notes, ideas, and thoughts as they occur. This journal can serve as a valuable resource when you're writing your book.

Join Writing Communities: Connect with other writers in person or online. They can offer guidance, share their experiences, and provide emotional support when you face challenges during the research and writing process.

Revise and Refine: Don't think of research as a one-time activity. Continuously revisit and refine your research as your book evolves. New ideas or directions may emerge, and you may need to adjust your research accordingly.

Respect Copyright Laws: Understand the copyright laws applicable to your research. Ensure you have the rights to use specific materials, especially if you plan to incorporate them into your book. Obtaining permissions or licensing may be necessary.

Balance Research and Writing: While research is crucial, there comes a point where you must transition from research to writing. Avoid getting stuck in a perpetual research phase. Once you have enough information to start, begin writing and integrate research as needed in your work.

Remember that your research phase is an integral part of the creative process. It's where the foundation of your book is built, and it can be a fascinating journey in itself.But keep in mind, as you're writing your first draft, you can never know everything, never research everything. A second opinion is always good, and for that, you can ask friends, family, or even me on this blog.

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This is revolutionary. Never again will we have a Chernobyl disaster or a Fukushima tragedy where old people literally sacrifice their remaining life in order to take care of the reactor. Every single one needs to adapt to this immediately