Why can't social scientists and politicians communicate?

I'm not a communication expert, but I do know that communication requires:

• a shared language of some sort
• a desire to communicate 
• channels for communication

I believe in the principles behind the campaign for social science, even if I'm not convinced of everything on their website. So I do believe that social scientists and politicians (and the general public) need to be communicating.

I think there are barriers in the three communication ingredients I listed.

Social scientists have developed their own language. This includes specialise words, important for conveying precise, complex concepts in a single word or phrase (aka a good use of jargon). The same is true for politicians. but there is far more to the language than that. Parts of the language come from generations of social scientists playing safe and copying the language of their supervisors. Parts come from doing what you think needs to be done to get published in  peer-reviewed journals. And parts, I fear, do come from enjoying using language in a way that shows you are an insider (aka a bad use of jargon). Politicians do the same. 

Poor old Jo(e) Bloggs doesn't speak either language, so generally misses out on how social science and politics are relevant to his and her daily life. 

So perhaps the key is for social scientists and politicians to both learn how to convey their information using the kind of language people understand. This is going to mean settling for "good enough" rather than precise, and will almost definitely mean using visuals and cartoons to convey more complex information. But this way, everyone gets a rough idea of what's going on.

Is there a desire from social scientists and politicians to communicate. Well, perhaps. Maybe it's a bit one-sided, as I've heard a lot of social scientists wanting to communicate better with politicians but I haven't heard politicians clamouring to communicate better with social scientists. Maybe that's partly down to vested interests? After all, politicians control funding; social scientists need funding. Social scientists can provide ideas and evidence to inform political policies and actions; politicians may prefer to be able to profess ignorance and stick with their own ideas. 

And what about a channel for communication? It's unlikely to be either Hansard or peer-reviewed academic journals. Maybe everyone needs to take a leaf out of the book of the Speaker's commission on digital democracy and start thinking about how to get blogging, tweeting and facebooking our ideas - assuming we remember that they are called social media and not broadcast media. 

Out of these, I think the key is shared language (or lack of). If social science is serious about having impact outside the Academy, then there's a lot of work to be done on what is acceptable as "good enough" communication of research ideas and findings. Please don't start by developing better channels for communication. All that will do is mean that more people get the wrong impression of social science as Ivory Towers stuff with no relevance - and the same advice goes for politicians too.

Having and eating cake

This blog got me thinking again about blogs and blogging  http://blogs.lse.ac.uk/impactofsocialsciences/2015/03/09/books-vs-blogs-street-cred-formal-recognition/.

Why do I do research? Well, I have no choice. I love finding out, reflecting, drawing together what I see with sociological theory. I don't think I ever stop.

But why do academic research? That's harder to explain. I want to be able to depend on what I think and find out. That's because I want to give the world ammunition to change to become the kind of place where people can be people and be kind to each other.

And, rightly or wrongly, I identify academic research as a route to findings I can depend on and encourage people to use as a foundation for creating social change.

Cards on table: I don't think academic researchers have a great track record for setting the world ablaze through giving activists the fruit of their academic labour.

I reckon that's partly academics/activists speaking different languages, living in largely separate worlds and not communicating very well. I reckon it's also partly that much academic research is irrelevant to the urgent needs of activists for information or new ways of thinking about the world. And it's largely the need to meet the requirements of peer-reviewed journals, particularly those behind paywalls. That slows things down, restricts who can access the journal, and requires ways of presenting the information that are inaccessible to most people.

The communication issue is not necessarily a problem. If your aim is to build an academic research career, then peer reviewed papers in journals of high standing are essential.

But it is a problem for me. I want rigorous research that is strong enough to be the foundation for real societal change. I want to do research as a way to work backstage, sourcing and providing what is needed by the front stage actors. I can't be waiting for the peer review process. I don't choose to write in a way that excludes many, and I frankly don't have the time (or patience) to produce several accounts of the same iformation.

That means, for the main part, I need to be blogging, talking, mingling with the actors and making sure we have a good dialogue going. If gaining academic standing makes my backstage work more effective, I'm persuadable to do things the academic way.

But my focus will always be impact outside the Academy. My focus will always be taking the highest quality most dependable research findings and theorising out to the activists who need it.

That beings me back to thinking about why, despite the impetus for knowledge exchange, widening access and increasing impact, social science still bewails its lack of influence.

And here's the rub. I simply don't think you can have your peer-reviewed, behind paywalls cake AND eat your impact-outside-the Academy. They require different focus in how you approach your research, different language, different priorities for using time and - dare I say? - different ways of seeing the world and determining what's of value.

Why I've never done a PhD

I've had people suggesting, encouraging or pushing me towards a PhD for about 20 years.

I have been tempted. But I've always drawn back. It was never that I doubted my ability to produce work to PhD standard, although sometimes I doubted my character and ability to stick to the same thing for three years.

One reason has remained constant. If my main aim is to change the world, is it worth three years of my life to complete a PhD - bearing in mind that "good enough" research to help me and others change the world could be done in a much shorter time, albeit without the academic rigour or standing (but still of more rigour and value than, dare I say, much commissioned research),

The other reasons have changed down the years.

When I was 30, I thought I was too old to do another three years of study.

When I was 40, I rebelled against a society that gave extra value and status to the knowledge of people with a PhD compared to the knowledge of people who were living the lives being researched by those with PhDs. A few people I knew within disabled person led organisations did suggest there was a need for people like me to "infiltrate" academic life and take on the status symbols of that life so I could work from within to change how research happens. But although the idea of infiltration appealed, I lack the skills to be that person. I'm a bit of a bull in a china shop when it comes to politicking. I also know myself, and think if I had chosen this route, I would have "turned native" and begun to believe the myth that my knowledge had greater standing than someone else's because of my PhD.

By the time I was almost 50, I had rebelled against anything that involved bringing together the knowledge, insights, time and effort of many people but crediting only one of them with creating new knowledge. After all, why should only one person get their name on a PhD? Sadly, you can't award a PhD to a collective body, only an individual body. And, anyway, that might not be the full answer because it is important to recognise who has contributed what. While I am adamant that I don't want to take credit that isn't due to me, I am equally adamant that I should get credit that is due to me.

Who does what and who should be credited is something people can get heated about within inclusive research. So here's my position:

• there are different kinds of knowledge and skills. We need them all. If we don't need them all, then we shouldn't be working together as a team. So I don't agree with the "everyone does everything" approach. I believe in everyone using their knowledge and skills for a common purpose, and laying their knowledge and skills at the disposal of the rest of the team.
• some research-generated new knowledge is a team effort. If it's a team effort, the whole team gets equal status, acknowledgement and should have had equal pay while doing the work.
• some research-generated new knowledge depends on the additional work of one member of the team, as they take what the team came up with, re-interpret, add new insights and create something new based on their additional work. That could be someone with a learning difficulty taking the team's report, thinking about the needs of the self-advocacy movement, adding their personal insights to take the ideas of the report further and then presenting the information to the self-advocacy community. This could be someone with a PhD taking the team's report and writing a paper that re-frames the research in the light of a particular social theory. This could be a support worker, producing a training manual based on the research findings. And the person who has put in the additional effort should get the acknowledgement and status for this additional work.

And now I'm 50. 

I no longer think I'm too old to do a PhD. 

I've got to a place, thanks to Barod, where I don't need to worry about getting above my station and believing I'm special because I have a PhD. 

So can a PhD be done that attributes contributions fairly and accurately? I think it can - maybe. 

Imagine a research team. They work in line with the first two points I made about inclusive research. They co-author a number of publications. Then the third point kicks in. Anyone from the team could then choose to take the publications and use them as they wish, and be credited for that additional work. If anyone chose to do the additional work needed to turn the publications into a PhD by publication, then that person gets named on the PhD for that additional work. Could the solution be that simple? Right now, I don't know. But I could be about to find out. 

Watch this space!

Wading through, looking back.

I've got my protocol off to the research ethics committee. I can breathe a sigh of relief... at least until it comes back with comments.

By the time I did a final check and proofread, I could trace a nice neat journey from the quagmire of poorly articulated ideas where I had started to my nice neat protocol. I could tell a lovely, clear story of why everything is as it is. 

The only problem is that it wasn't a nice neat journey at all. I guess it couldn't be. I didn't have a final destination in mind when I started, just a set of things that needed finding out about. I hadn't even got a clear picture of what needed finding out, let alone how to do the research.

I started in an ill-defined, gloopy, shape-shifting quagmire where nothing was clear and every choice seemed to depend on other equally unclear choices.

I read, thought, talked, argued and, as I did, multiple options began to take shape in front of me. Possibly the most helpful thought as I darted all over the place was that sometimes it's not about justifying why we chose one approach or method, but justifying why we could reject the others. I think that's what finally stopped me vacillating between the options.

It is ultimately so satisfying to feel I have lined up a solid set of choices that work for me at every level: they work for my company partner, they work for a higher degree requirements, they work for the particular thing I'm investigating and - most importantly for my pleasure in this research - the methods and methodology line up nicely with my ontology so it no longer feels as if I'm trying to squeeze square pegs into round holes.

Looking back, I feel a bit like a pilgrim who has made it through the swamp and now surveys the path of their own making. Which is fine, as long as I don't see the tracks I made and believe I must have walked a pre-existent path.

And that is how this research will continue; wading through, looking back at the path I've created.Some journeys are all about the destination. Research has to involve describing the route, if only so people can make sense of your destination.

I think my greatest challenge will be keeping an accurate(ish) record of the wading through. So many dead ends, so many inter-related thoughts, so much serendipity. How to tell what's relevant and needs recording from what is flotsam? But if I wait until I'm out the other side to record things, I will never be able to remember the wading through. 

That's where my lovely A3 drawing pad comes into its own - and my essential cafe sessions. By doodling, drawing and scribbling, I have a snapshot of each stage of developing ideas. 

I'm still wondering how to apply that to my reading, reflecting and writing of other people's writings. If I find an answer that works for me, you will be the first to know!

Sat in a classroom

I'm sat in a classroom, listening to people talk about ethics in educational research.

I'm sat so far at the back that I'm actually sat on the floor, plugged into the power socket, half listening and half blogging, checking Facebook, dealing with work, getting my head round news from home.

It's strange how three metres back and a few inches down makes such a difference. I can hear, see same as everyone else but I don't feel part of the session. I guess that's because I'm not!

I've chosen  to semi-exclude myself, to dip in and out. I must never forget the privilege I have, firstly to be able to dip in without being required to be fully inborn out. Second that, a few years back in my wheelchair-using days, I would have had no choice. I wouldn't be three metres away but down the hall and down the stairs away from the others.

So here's to environments that let you be yourself - to dip in and out, to participate or observe. And here's a shout-out for environments that don't remove the include/exclude choice by forcing you to do something or denying you access.

Caffeine, place and space

Someone asked me to keep a list of what I'd been thinking about. That was when I realised that any attempt to put into words what I had been thinking about actually stopped the creative act of thinking.

Thinking is a funny old thing.

For me, creative thinking looks like sitting, daydreaming over a latte or hot chocolate with a drawing pad and pen, just doodling or mapping things out. It involves trying to unfocus my conscious mind, relax, go blank and just see what bubbles up. It's immensely productive. But it doesn't look it at the time!

That kind of thinking goes deep, can be slow, and tends to generate energy rather than consume it.

Turning the creative thinking into the kind of thinking that generates action needs a different kind of space. It needs lines, logic, order, and at least a double Expresso. It is a completely different kind of of thinking, very focused, very intense. It usually means using the Notes on my phone because somehow typing with my thumbs doesn't take as much brain space as using all my fingers on a keyboard. And turning thinking into action involves channeling all available brain power into a single stream of planning and problem solving. When I'm in the zone, I can cut through problems like the proverbial knife through butter because I just see the solutions. Distract me by talking to me, and you are likely to get the rough side of my tongue because once I've lost the connection to the rapid-thinking, it's gone.

I need a good rest after that kind of thinking to allow everything to settle down and because I'm usually exhausted after a couple of hours.

I need a third kind of space and place as well. I need places where I can plough through the mundane, barely-thinking, almost autopilot tasks that are needed to make things happen.

How did I learn to use difference places and spaces in quite such an organised, premeditated way? I listened during sociology lectures (eg work of Henri Lefebvre), thought about my own predisposition and thought I'd give it a try - separating out physical spaces for different types of intellectual work to see if it made me more efficient/effective. It does.

So, if anyone wonders why I spend a good hour or so at the Management Centre cafe most mornings before I go up to the postgrad room, just have a glance at what's on my table and in my cup, and you will have a pretty good idea what I'm up to and whether it's wise to come and say "hi" - or not!

Four lives, one body

I envy secret superheros and villains. They only have two lives. You know, the "by day he is..., but by night..."

I have at least four lives, depending on how I think of them.

• Postgraduate student
• Hub at the heart of a family/household
• Community activist
• Worker-director

Oh, make that at least five lives, because sometimes I like to flop in a corner and just be me.

So far, so normal for many older postgrad students. We often blog about balancing and juggling, and avidly read tips on how to prioritise. It's not easy, but we do it.

But I like to push the boundaries a bit further. As part of the richness of being me, I live and work as a committee within my head. This way of being brings immense strengths as long as the committee are able to function as a whole.

Living as a committee is sometimes termed a disorder and can be seen as a stigma. But that implies there's something intrinsically wrong with living this way. It is definitely a different way of living. For example, sometimes I need to switch off from engaging with the people outside my head before answering a particular question because I have to do a quick check of how we all want to answer. But it is also a supremely effective way of thinking and working. How else could I/we bring multiple, overlapping but different, perspectives on whatever I am researching? How else could I/we divide up thinking tasks within my/our head and process multiple strands of thinking at the same time? (That is the coolest aspect of being me, even if it goes with a slight tendency to forget that I only have one body, which brings me back to the importance of "me" time and looking after ourselves...).

It can be time-consuming making sure all is well within, but at least it means I avoid the standard mature postgrad challenge of prioritising "me" time. I know that if I don't, I have about six weeks before anarchy will reign within. Which, ironically, probably makes me less prone to imploding than most multi-tasking postgrad students; I simply don't have the luxury of being able to push so hard that I risk burning myself out. I know where that leads and I/we don't want to go there again.

I pulled this post just before hitting "publish" last week, because I was worried about even this minimal self-disclosure about having a mind that works differently from most peoples. But I've reflected on the risks and decided I'm willing to take them, so here we go.

There's a lot written about the risk of self-disclosure in academic life when your brain is wired differently from what's accepted as "normal". But I don't get it, at least not within a qualitative research world where "normal" is as meaningless as any other statistical term, It seems more of an asset than a problem. If there's one thing that frustrates me, it's not being able to get my head round something, that feeling that I'm missing something obvious.

I'm curious as to what you will make of what I've said - that I'm different, that I hesitated before disclosing it - and that I see it as a "disclosure" rather than casual conversation.

So if anyone feels like satisfying my curiosity, please go ahead :)

Topics for the slow cooker

Sometimes there are things I'd like to blog about, but however many times I start to type, it just doesn't flow. And after multiple false starts, I reckon it's time to put the subject back into the slow cooker to stew a little longer.

What's really frustrating is being unable even to articulate the question. I know that once I've articulated the question, the answer is not far behind. I usually find that writing helps me to clarify my thinking. But, nope, after a frustrating weekend it is time to pop this set of thoughts back in the slow cooker :(

What's got me so frustrated is my inability to get to grips with thoughts flying round my head about "academia" and "research". I know I have a complicated love-hate relationship with academic life, but a simple, all-consuming love for finding things out and thinking about life. I know I react in contradictory ways to thoughts and feelings about academia. And I know that it's important to me to be able to articulate these thoughts because they lie at the heart of working out other thoughts to do with inclusive research.

I'm not sure what I'm hoping to achieve from this blog entry. Perhaps I just want to let off steam. Or perhaps I want to make other people feel less alone in their own inability to articulate what's rumbling or flying round their heads. Or maybe I'm hoping for some sympathy!

What I do know is that if any of you lovely people have ideas you are willing for me to add to my slow cooker, please do share.

The blog about the blog about blogs

The blog about the blog about blogs

I didn't make it to bed until 2am thanks to the timing of Crossfit's (American) announcement of 15.2 at the Crossfit Open. So it took a special kind of tweet to get my bleary-eyed interest before breakfast this morning. In fact, it took @LSEImpactBlog's tweet about Jenny Davis's blog about blogs to make my brain wake up.

Cards on table. I'm writing a blog that Jenny won't quote. I'm an unpublished nobody with random ideas about Einstein's fish, Hindistani elephants, more curiosity than expertise and I use this blog to help me capture thoughts as they fly through my head. I'm not blogging to get well crafted worthy-of-peer-review knowledge 'out there' faster than a peer-reviewed journal process allows. And when I am ready, I will probably bill it as a 'Working Paper'rather than a blog.

But I do hope that Jenny has time to read this. Her blog about blogs has got me thinking about knowledge. In particular, it got me thinking about how I use other people's knowledge.

There are three ways that I'm aware I use other people's knowledge. There are probably more, but that's a whole other (Johari's Window) story. The ways I know I use other people's knowledge are:

• to hide behind their authority or to use their credibility to bolster my own.
• to show the stepping stones that get me from A to B so someone else can follow my thought processes.
• to spark ideas - a kind of dialectic between my thinking and another person's thinking that sharpens, refines, confuses or stimulates my own thoughts.

When I get my first peer reviewed article published, I will be indebted to all three ways of using other people's knowledge.

And here's the rub. Do we give more weight to one of those three uses of people's knowledge over another use? Do we publicly acknowledge one use and not another? Is our choice about prioritising and acknowledging more to do with the other person's contributions to our ideas or the status of the other person? I think that asking ourselves those questions guards us against slopping thinking about how and why we incorporate other people's thinking into our own work.

If we need the other person's status to bolster the status of our own thinking, then of course we will only want to acknowledge the contribution of those with high status. And in an academic peer reviewed journal, it's not hard to guess who has highest status.

But if we take seriously the need to "show our workings" so others can interact more fully with our writings, perhaps we need to become more concerned to acknowledge the thinking that interacted with our thinking, whatever its source.

And if we come from any kind of participatory, democratised, coproduced or post-whatever perspective then perhaps we need to take seriously the ethics of not attributing credit to those who contributed to our thinking.

Coming back to Jenny's blog, I quite see her logic for her choice of which blogs to cite, and her logic for having one rule for her and another for her students. You need to know how to operate within the rules before responsibly breaking the rules. And you need to know how to decide for yourself how to treat any information or knowledge from whatever source. Without well developed critical reading skills, it's really only safe to be spoon-fed via other people critically reviewing everything for you and telling you what is worth reading.

Jenny has made me wonder:

Will I cite blogs in my first peer reviewed paper? I don't know.

Will I incorporate thinking that only came about because of what I've read in blogs? Undoubtedly.

I'm left with a number of questions about how we do/don't attribute (or perhaps even recognise and trace) other people's contributions to our thinking. 

Perhaps more profoundly, it leaves me with the question "Do I value knowledge more for the status of the thinker than the value of their thinking?"

Back to the mundane

I've had to rethink my eating habits over the last year, because I decided I wanted to do whatever it takes so that, if I have a later life, it will be a healthy one. My diet is now built around vegetables and lean protein. I'm healthier, I've lost well over three stone and I'm not obsessing about food (usually...).  I eat anything I want, while keeping in mind both my ultimate goal and my desire for current pleasure.

It strikes me that I need to carry over some of those principles to how I approach research.

Vegetables and lean protein are the mundane building blocks of a health diet. Usually there's nothing exciting about them. But I've grown to love them. I have yet to grow to love the mundane building blocks of healthy research.

For me, research is a lovely mix of high excitement, intellectually stimulating conversations, incredibly hard work, Expressos by the bucket and the mundane. At the moment, my pleasure in research are found in the first three, occasionally fuelled by the fourth.

After a few days of the first three, it's back to the mundane today (suitably fuelled by a triple Expresso for breakfast). And I'm already resenting it and how it is interrupting "the real work" - as evidenced by avoiding the admin in order to write another blog entry.

So, is there a positive spin on the mundane?

Learning to love the mundane

Mundane doesn't mean boring. Mundane doesn't mean unimportant - although I do have to keep reminding myself of that when timesheets get in the way of immersing myself in a creative phase...

• Mundane is a chance to let the back parts of my brain freewheel and process all the excitement, conversations and literature that I've shoved in so far this week.
• Mundane gives a bit of order, a bit of structure particularly when the research process is going through a scatter-gun, creative thinking phase. That's because the mundane means focusing on timesheets (yep, European funding comes with timesheets even if you are a student), budget planning, future time planning, dotting i's and crossing t's for the protocol and paperwork for the ethics committee. It focuses my thinking, forces me to be clear.

In giving the back parts of my brain a chance to freewheel and quietly process new ideas, the mundane makes me less likely to get intellectual indigestion or fry my brain.

In doing my timesheets, budget plans, proof reading, the mundane makes it more likely that I will keep my eyes on the final goal and not get sucked down the rabbit hole or disappear in all directions as I enjoy the excitement of interacting with stimulating people and thoughts.

I guess it took me time to learn to love, plan my meals round and look forward to my vegetables. I stuck with it until I learned to love them by focusing on what kind of later life I want.

Maybe I need to keep that focus with my research. I need to stick with the mundane until I learn to love it (can't imagine that day coming - but then I couldn't imagine the day a plate of steamed kale would fill me with pleasure). I need to remember how the mundane will help me achieve my ultimate goal and be willing to sacrifice a bit of immediate pleasure for that ultimate goal.

And on that note, I'd better get off this blog and start proof reading again.

Why I pulled today's draft blog

I had a lovely blog lined up for today. And then, at the last minute, I pulled it.

I'm ambivalent about whether pulling it was the right thing to do. And I can't quite get my head round my own reasoning for why I pulled it.

I know that the reason is to do with the topic - mental health. And I think a conversation I've just had with a freelancer probably explains my ambivalence about whether or not to publish the blog I had lined  up for today.

I've been doing simultaneous translation from 'policy-conference-speak' into clear English summary. Someone asked me if I did similar work around mental health. Once I'd made a personal reference to mental health, that person then talked about their own experience - which included losing a contract when they had a short illness break related to their mental health. They suspected if they'd lied and said it was really bad flu, then they'd still have the contract.

Yep, that short exchange underlined that, even in circles that talk about equality, personal disclosure is still risky. And it's extra risky via a blog because once it is "out there", you can't take it back or control who can see it.

I can't be doing with stigma, and I find that talking casually, one to one, tends not to be stimatising or uncomfortable at all. I feel that by talking opening and casually, I am helping make a world where mental health loses its stigma. So it seemed natural to carry that into the blogosphere. But....

I think the "to publish or not" comes down to whether the best way to challenge stigma is to hit it head on and hopefully survive, or whether to quietly work away undercover. I have the luxury of being able to choose whether to talk to people about something that could lead to stigma and discrimination, or whether to remain undercover. Others don't have that luxury.

I still don't know whether I will reschedule what would have been today's blog. I still don't know whether my self-disclosure would change anything positively or negatively, either for me or as part of the wider goal of eradicating stigma.

Aaargh!! What kind of world do we live in when what felt like a bit of simple, bloggy, transparency turns into a major, value-laden, stigma-risking dilemma?

The joys of ethics

My "elephant" is a thing called a 'coffee shop conversation'. It's a great public consultation method being developed by Barod. The only problem is that none of us in Barod are quite sure what it is, how to describe it or why it seems to work so well.

I'm planning to climb all over the elephant to get the best idea I can of what it is. But even that isn't going to really work. I need a few more elephant climbers to give their perspective and description of the elephant. That led me to a wierd and wonderful research approach called "collaborative analytic autoethnography". ie, a bunch of us all get introduced to the elephant, look at the elephant individually, then compare notes and see what happens.

I wrote a lovely information pack for "potential research participants" (aka "the rest of the bunch of us").

Challenge 1: our relationship will be both researcher/research participant and coresearchers. The relationship will fluctuate during the time we are working together. That's fun to explain to the ethics committee, but fortunately we have found a way to explain it that is clear and transparent and deals with some of the ethics process issues (like how can you assure anonimity to your research participant when you are going to invite them to coauthor a paper?)

Challenge 2: I have to include lots of information for my potential research participants. So I wrote my lovely information pack, including everything I thought I needed to tell people and everything the university thought I needed to tell people [not always the same]. It went through a few academic checks, and found a wording that should have been fine for the ethics committee. Then I took it to show a potential research participant...

Guess what? The things I wanted to tell people weren't the same as the things people wanted to know.

That shouldn't have surprised me. We in Barod specialise in helping people communicate information to each other, particularly when it's the Establishment wanting to communicate with Jo Bloggs.

But somehow, I'd switched on my "researcher head" and forgotten all that. I just read the ethics handbook, looked at my protocol and plugged away to do what was needed according to the handbook.

So, this afternoon's task is to completely redraft my information pack so I tell people what they want to know before commiting - without leaving out the things I have to tell them even if they think they don't want to know them.

"As an academic, you are known through your writings"

This was one of the many pearls of wisdom offered by Dr Inger Mewburn when she came to Bangor University a few years back to tell us how to write a paper in seven days. Yep, really. A paper in seven days. I haven't got to that stage yet, I'm not even through ethical approval. But her half-day of wisdom has given me the tools I will need when that first paper needs writing. And it has already helped me through the ins and outs of writing a taught Masters dissertation.

It dawned on me, belatedly, that I am using this blog as my first step into being known through my writings. It's a scary thought. In fact it's so scary that I'm tempted to run and hide in the relative anonymity of a postgraduate study room. Why is it so scary? Why don't I want people to know me through my writings?

Maybe it's because I rely so much on watching other people's body language to fine-tune how I communicate with them, and I don't have that luxury when I write. Maybe it's because I still fight insecurity and am scared rigid of being judged. Maybe it's because I have constructed this ridiculous image of The Perfect Academic peering over his or her glasses at me, and I feel like an imposter.

Or, maybe, it's because I don't like fixing anything in stone. I don't like trapping fleeting ideas in cold hard print. I know all too well that tomorrow I will think differently from today, and will express myself differently. But you won't see that. You will only see today's thinking trapped in the blog.

Maybe that's where the blog comes in. Blogging is a way to trap ideas as they pass through, fully or partly formed. There is no pressure to have a conclusion or make a statement. I don't feel the need to impress a peer reviewer and I don't need to comply with what's needed to get published.

So take me as you find me. Or ignore me. Or pull apart what I say. Or be in dialogue with me. Or criticise me. And, perhaps, this way, I will develop the thicker skin and greater self-assurance that I'm going to need for the day I finally tackle that paper in seven days.