ABSTRACT
I do not enjoy writing. I am the last person I would turn to for thoughts or advice on what writing qualitatively means and how to write (well). My favorite part of writing is being done, the sweet relief of the strike through on my exponentially reproductive list of writing tasks: Conference paper. Grant proposal. Manuscript. Recommendation letter. Other manuscript. Book chapter. What I lack in zest for writing, I amply make up for in *avoiding* writing. I’m really, really good at not writing. I don’t keep a journal. I don’t schedule regular time for writing. I keep my emails brief. And … yet… I do write and I conduct and teach qualitative research. I care about writing and try to do it well, or at least well enough. Perhaps there is something to be said about disliking writing and getting on with it? That is the thrust of this chapter—to offer an account of writing qualitatively that strays, avoids, counters, or attenuates Sage advice (pun intended) for writing qualitative research. While surely helpful, I argue that too much attention to writing implies one cannot be a good qualitative researcher without being a good (constant, dedicated) writer. I note the dangers of centering writing (too much) in qualitative research and give an honest account of my (begrudging) writing process. Along the way I build an account of anti-writing qualitatively as a creative and creationary process of composition that is more-than writing. Part confessional, part defense, I hope this chapter resonates and gives hope to those who love qualitative research but hate writing a little, as much, or even more than me.
