The Ideal Conference Paper
According to me. So, take that under advisement.
I talked last time about the ways in which conference papers enact disciplinarity. Today, I want to expand on some of the ideas in that post. I’ve distilled some observations from recent conferences into thoughts about what makes a good history conference paper good.
A conference presentation is a unique opportunity to enter the historiographical conversation in real time. A well-placed conference paper1 helps to shape the discipline, first, by presenting new ideas to what I call the in-crowd—people who are well-versed in the scholarship, who recognize the names and places in the paper, who maybe even have the same mentor or adviser. The in-crowd can help to hone the specific details of your argument, because they have the knowledge to make nuanced suggestions and critiques. However, a good conference paper also invites people into the conversation who are not part of the in-crowd. There will likely be people in your panel who do not know much about your area of focus, who have come to your panel because they want to learn something completely new. A good conference paper invites those people to consider your argument as well. In fact, the outsiders may even be able to offer feedback that the in-crowd didn’t consider (expertise blind spots are a real thing). By inviting non-specialist comment, conference papers expand the horizons of both the audience and the presenter.
Conference papers can do different things. They can illuminate different parts of the way historians work, in ways that demonstrate the utility—and joy—of doing all the parts of the historian’s craft. I’ve observed three main types of conference paper, though of course these characterizations are fluid and malleable.2
Type #1: The original research. I’d say this is the most common type of paper I see. You’ve done research, you’ve made an argument, you want to tell people about it.
Type #2: The historiography. This one is more rare, but I’ve heard some really good ones. Here, the goal is not necessarily to answer any original questions with primary source research, but to survey the state of the field and perhaps propose new ways the conversation about a given topic might move forward.
Type #3: The process. This is also not extremely common, but it’s my favorite. I love hearing historians talk about how they do their work, whether that’s discussing the difficulties of reading a particular primary source, explicating how they built a digital project, or talking through the thinking that led from one topic to another. A good process paper often gets a lot of attention in the Q&A.
Of course, most papers weave elements of each of these types in, as they should. But most papers more heavily weight one of these elements than the other two.
So. With all that said. What does a good conference paper—a paper that enacts disciplinarity successfully—look like, according to me?
Elements of a good conference paper
A good conference paper states its argument or its research question clearly, hopefully at multiple points throughout the paper. I don’t think you necessarily need a strong thesis to have a good conference paper. Some of the best conference papers I’ve ever heard simply posed questions and then presented evidence about how the questions might be answered. But you need a point. I hate it when I can’t tell what ideas the paper is trying to grapple with. And I also want to be reminded of the point of the paper a few different times throughout, because I’m forgetful and I need help.
It places its ideas into historiographical context. I’m not arguing here for a “historiography section,” though plenty of people do that. Sometimes that sort of section is necessary. But mostly, I just want to be able to tell when you’re talking about your own ideas, and when you’re talking about someone else’s. In other words, in a conference paper, you need to surface in the text some of what would otherwise be sunk in the footnotes. If you’re addressing specific historians’ arguments, or using their ideas a lot, it’s helpful to invoke specific names. But otherwise, it’s still useful for you to say things like, “Historians have argued [something] in the past,” simply to signal what’s your idea and what isn’t.3
It explicitly evokes primary sources.4 I use the word evoke deliberately here. I love good, reasonably sized, straightforward quotations from primary sources in conference papers, mostly because people in the past said things in such great ways. For instance, one of the characters in my most recent research, Henry Wadsworth, describes his fellow midshipman this way: “sometimes I feel an inclination to like him but in general a strong disposition to the contrary.” How could I possibly say it more charmingly than that? However, too much quotation from primary sources can distract from your overall point. Moreover, some sources are better not quoted: maybe they’re too complicated, or they require too much explanation, or they’re not textual.5 Here’s where a little bit of process makes a paper more lively. Tell us where you found your sources, or what they look like. Tell us how you figured out how to read them, or interpret them. Show us how the sausage gets made.6
It is a work in progress. There are few things I find more annoying than a conference presenter who is not interested in receiving feedback on their work. The whole point of a conference is to build those disciplinary connections. If you’re not willing to take feedback, what are you even doing there? I especially like it when presenters identify specific areas they’re hoping to receive feedback on. It’s ok to say, “I’m still uncertain how to read this source, so if you have ideas I’d like to hear them,” or “This argument feels incomplete, and I hope someone will be able to point me to more secondary sources I’ve missed.” Let the audience come through for you.
It calibrates its audience effectively. It assumes disciplinary knowledge (e.g., at a history conference, you don’t need to mansplain the concept of close reading), but it doesn’t assume domain-specific knowledge (e.g., who the Earl St. Vincent is). It defines terms (what do you mean by terrorism?) and identifies key people and events. In so doing, it acknowledges that the audience is made up of at least a few people who aren’t in the in-crowd and tries to draw them in.
It conveys concrete stories and facts rather than abstractions. BUT it also abstracts far enough to interest audience members who aren’t intimately familiar with (or interested in) the nitty gritty details. Military historians are particularly vulnerable to living too much on both ends of this spectrum. Some of us really like to talk about details, details, details, but we get lost in the weeds. Others of us like to talk about strategy, or doctrine, or the warrior ethos but don’t tell the audience how these big ideas play out in real people’s lives. Calibrate (and resize) the aperture on your paper enough that everyone gets to see a clear picture.
It provides clear rhetorical cues that acknowledge the multimodality of the presentation, in particular the presence of a live audience. Yes, I know I’ve already harped about the value of a live audience. But you should make it as easy as possible for the audience to follow the argument. If your paper is not clear, you are more likely to get feedback based on a misunderstanding, which is no help at all. Here I’m talking about two different things:
Structural cues: Signpost your thesis. Signpost new arguments. Signpost your conclusion. Use words like first, second, on the other hand, in addition to. Remind us of your structure. Give your audience some waypoints.
Dialogic cues: Acknowledge historiography, as argued above (e.g., “other historians have argued”). Identify frameworks (e.g., “I’m considering this from a microhistorical perspective”). Predict audience knowledge (e.g., “As you might have read,” or “You can probably imagine”). This last one is, I think, where we move from a good conference paper to an excellent conference paper. These kinds of audience engagement help the audience feel like part of the in-crowd, even if they’re not. They don’t make you feel bad if you haven’t read, or if you didn’t imagine, but they make you feel really good if you have.
Elements of an excellent conference paper
All of the elements I just outlined are things that you can do even if you write your conference paper the night before the conference. But there are some elements of a conference paper that raise it to truly excellent, and those may take some time to develop.
It accounts for, and even embraces, the orality of its delivery. This is related to the inclusion of rhetorical cues, but it pushes the envelope even further. When you write an excellent conference paper, you write it with an eye to how it will be heard. Write in short sentences, even though they might look choppy on the page. Avoid overly complex sentence construction. Remind your audience frequently of where they are in the story (when are we talking about? who are these people?). Write in active voice as much as possible. Switch back and forth between narrative scenes and clear analysis.7 Also, practice reading your paper aloud if you’re inexperienced with oral presentation. Mark places to breathe (and let the audience breathe). Underline words you want to emphasize. That sort of thing.
It uses humor deftly, either to reassure the audience that they’re already insiders (“you got the joke, good job you”) or to draw peripheral audience members in (“you don’t know the guy I’m talking about, but you do know Harrison Ford”).
It poses questions that invite audience interaction. I’m talking about more than our old favorite bromide, “If you want, we can talk about [this obscure thing] more in the Q&A,” which is really just a signal to the audience that you’ve done your due diligence but feel the oppression of the clock. And this can also be more than just signaling the work-in-progress nature. Invite controversy! Spark some dialogue!
It doesn’t shy away from the fact that you, an embodied historian, are giving this paper. This is your work. You are telling this story. This is a special request for graduate students: tell us how this paper fits into your larger work. Are we seeing a piece of your dissertation? an off-shoot article? But more than that, tell us something about yourself. If you’ve written something that you could submit to an academic journal without revision, there’s not enough you in the conference paper.
An excellent conference paper takes a lot of thought and care. Most of us don’t write really excellent conference papers because we’re in a rush. That’s ok. But I think every once in a while it’s worth slowing down and really working on the craft of the conference paper. It’s worth the added disciplinary benefit.
Many of the things I’ve described here are things that some historians seem to do almost naturally. But most likely, those historians have simply learned by experience how to use this medium to their advantage. Techniques that have to be done intentionally and deliberately when you first start writing conference papers become easier and more naturalized the more you do them.8 As you attend more conferences, you start to identify (and emulate) good conference practices, even if you don’t do it on purpose. Ironically, the more comfortable you get with writing conference papers, the less seriously you take the writing of them. I’d posit that this happens because you internalize the conventions of good conference papers (the things I’ve outlined above) and so you can focus on the content of the paper, rather than the form.
Age or seniority does not guarantee ease of writing or fluidity of delivery.9 Some conference speakers don’t ever internalize these techniques. I’d argue that bad conference papers stem not from bad content, most of the time, but from inattention to the form and the audience. But if you’re an inexperienced conference presenter, do not fear! These things take time to develop. You don’t need to do all of them at once. As long as you’re being thoughtful and remembering who you’re talking to, you’ll be just fine. You’re a part of the disciplinary shaping too, and that’s an exciting role to play.
Yes. Again. This is not a given, nor even perhaps the norm. Not every conference paper will have ideal placement, or be ideally crafted, or have an ideal audience. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t strive for better conference experiences.
There are, of course, other types of conference panels and papers, such as pedagogy papers, roundtables about the field, etc. Typology is a tricky business.
Part of the value of doing this kind of signposting is that you can disclaim full knowledge or blame if someone presses you in the Q&A. You don’t have to defend other people’s arguments. You just have to know how they work for you.
Caveat: This might not be something you do if you’re writing a pure historiography paper. But surely you can throw in a couple primary source quotes, for the people.
Or they aren’t in the language your paper is in. Please don’t quote long passages in a different language.
Honestly, if you grind your own sausage, it doesn’t look bad at all. It’s not gross. It’s just meat and spices. What’s not to like? Plus, delicious.
As a thought experiment, if you’re really ambitious, you might consider writing your paper as though it were the script for your favorite narrative podcast. Here are some ways to think about the transition from paper to ear.
This idea is tied to Charles Bazeman’s Concept 2.0, “Writing speaks to situations through recognizable forms,” of which I’m sure I will have much more to say later. Linda Adler-Kassner and Elizabeth Wardle, Naming What We Know: Threshold Concepts of Writing Studies (Logan: Utah State University Press, 2015), 35-36.
I’m painting with a broad brush here—don’t come at me, senior scholars! Also, I haven’t made a big deal of this here, but the absolute worst conference papers are the ones where there’s no paper at all, and a scholar just gets up and starts lecturing or, more likely, meandering. That’s so far from being beneficial for anyone that it’s hardly worth even discussing.