said, “You only ever know what you have to say when you think of a title.” I have often
found that to be true. A title, though, is mainly an answer to your question, so one way to
know it’s time to start writing is if a title springs to mind.
Gut the fish. Use a sharp knife, and don’t be squeamish. Historians take the long view:
there are other fish; the sea is deep. Take that view, but keep an eye out for detail. Run
your fingers over the scales of your fish. What does that feel like? It usually takes a long
time to ponder your evidence. Gut that fish carefully, and with method. You might
wonder, before you set pen to paper, whether you’re telling a story or making an
argument. Re-read the first sentence of this handout. Historians tend to write in both
expository and narrative modes. In the writing of history, a story without an argument
fades into antiquarianism; an argument without a story risks pedantry. Rarely does any
historian choose one mode to the exclusion of another, but how to balance these modes is
a crucial choice. To answer that question about Copley, of course, you need to tell a
good deal of the story of his life. You might begin, “John Singleton Copley was born in
1737 in a shack perched atop Boston’s longest wharf.” Or, you might want to begin with
a claim: “Copley, long understood as a Tory, was loyal to nothing so much as his art.”
Because you’re making an argument about the past, about something that happened, it
almost inevitably has a natural narrative shape, a beginning, a middle, and an end. But an
argument has a beginning, a middle, and an end, too. People lived and died. It’s nice to
put them in your paper. But ideas are vital, too. So are institutions, theories,
interpretations, and, above all, evidence. Most everything is vital, so long as the way you
write about it is sufficiently animated, informed, and judicious.
If you don’t make an outline, you might as well throw your fish back into the water, guts
and all. Where does your argument or your story begin, where does it need to go, where
has it got to end? What sequence of evidence best supports your claims? How and
where will you engage both with what other scholars have written about your subject, and
with broader interpretations of this period in American history, or with theories about the
past, or historical forces? Fry that fish, and serve it up. Remember that you can also use
footnotes to participate in scholarly debates; what sinks to the footnote and what rises to
the page is an important decision. If you’re doing your work well, you will have much
more material than you can possibly use. Show your reader your evidence, whenever you
can--quote from the primary documents—but don’t assume that those quotations explain
themselves; offer a close reading. Your reader needs to see not only your evidence but
also how you interpret it. Never discard evidence that counters your argument; show that
evidence, too, and explain why your argument still stands. Do this with care, and respect.
You can be convincing without being a bully. Bullies usually have lousy evidence, and
very little to say.
When are you done? When you’ve stated your case, and finished your story. Lots of
essays begin but never end; they merely stop. Make sure to end. It’s not over till there’s
nothing left but the bones, and the smell of the ocean.
