Cozying up with footnotes and the Chicago Manual of Style

One of my not-so-secret enjoyments is editing footnotes using the Chicago Manual of Style (CMOS). I love witnessing the author’s engagement with the scholarly literature—a layer in the knowledge-production process, running parallel to the argument they’re advancing in the body of the manuscript. I also appreciate the precision of this part of the editing process, how I can help elevate a draft by flagging inconsistencies or smoothing out language. 

For those of you who may find this aspect of writing or editing to be onerous, here are some of my go-to CMOS rules on which I often draw. All references are to the CMOS 18th edition.

Of course, keep in mind that the CMOS recommendations and rules can always be supplanted by your publisher’s in-house style guide.

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Are you quoting something that contains italicized words? Make sure to specify if the original quote contained those italics or if you added them. At the end of the footnote, you’ll add an additional sentence that says either “Emphasis in original” or “Emphasis added” (CMOS 12.73)

Reference 1: “The use of terms such as natal woman or adult human female,” advances Sara Ahmed, “is meant to exclude trans women from feminism, from the shelters and centers we created to survive sexual violence, domestic violence, gender-based violence.”[1]

[1] Sara Ahmed, The Feminist Killjoy Handbook: The Radical Potential of Getting in the Way (Seal Press, 2023), 64. Emphasis in original. 

Are you still including place of publication in your book citations? No need to! The most-recent CMOS (18th ed.) indicates that this is no longer necessary (CMOS 14.30).

[2] Raymond Williams, Keywords: A Vocabulary of Culture and Society, 3rd ed. (New York: Oxford University Press, 2015), 21.

Unsure where in the sentence to place your footnote? Per the CMOS, “A note number should generally be placed at the end of a sentence or at the end of a clause” (13.29). Do you have more than one citation for the sentence? You may place them all together in one footnote (CMOS 13.31).

Reference 3: In her article on the adjudication of U.S. asylum cases based on sexual orientation, Cheryl Llewellyn mobilizes the term homonationalism, coined by Jasbir Puar to explain how so-called Western nation states now rely on the discourse of gay liberation to support imperial projects.[3]

[3] Cheryl Llewellyn, “Homonationalism and Sexual Orientation-Based Asylum Cases in the United States,” Sexualities 20, no. 5–6 (2017): 282–298; Jasbir K. Puar, Terrorist Assemblages: Homonationalism in Queer Times (Duke University Press, 2007).

Want to include the original publication date of a reprint or new edition? Sometimes it’s beneficial to indicate the original date of publication in your citation. You may be outlining a discussion in the scholarly literature and need to indicate the date a book was first released. Or you may have a primary source reprinted elsewhere. In these cases, the CMOS specifies that the original date of publication should be listed first (14.16). They provide the below example.

[4] Ralph Ellison, Invisible Man (Random House, 1952; repr., Vintage Books, 1995), 242–243. Citations refer to the Vintage Books edition.

If you want to be bold and do a simplified riff on this CMOS instruction, you might follow the below model, which some authors employ. Simply include the original publication date in brackets in front of the more recent date of publication. But to be clear, this is not a CMOS-approved structure unless you’re working in the author-date system.

[5] Michel-Rolph Trouillot, Silencing the Past: Power and the Production of History, 2nd ed. (Beacon Press, [1995] 2015), 66–67.

Happy footnoting!

What to do if you're worried another scholar has scooped you

You probably know the feeling—that anxiety spike that happens when you stumble across an article or book on your exact topic. This recently happened to two of my clients, one working on a journal article and another editing a book chapter. Crawls of Google Scholar revealed new publications that, they worried, would require them to completely rewrite their manuscripts.

Thankfully, after reading the newly-discovered publication, both clients breathed sighs of relief that their own manuscripts could still stand on their own.

What to do in this situation, when you happen upon a publication that seems identical to your project? How do you know if you need to fully revise your own manuscript or if you’re in the clear? 

Below, I outline six steps for reviewing the publication to assess how similar it really is to your work.

1. First, consider the discipline. If you’re in different fields, you’ll likely be asking different questions—even about the same topic. 

2. Second, look carefully at the topic of the other piece. Is it really examining the same subject that you study, or is it slightly different? Perhaps you both are literary scholars asking the same question about Author X—but with a focus on different literary works. 

3. Third, review the other scholar’s methodology. What sources are they using? How are they collecting their data? Maybe you’re both in the same field but you’re using archival sources while the other scholar relies on ethnographies. 

4. Fourth, consider the scope of the other work. Perhaps they’re analyzing a different subset of data than yours. Maybe they’re studying a smaller period of time—or a larger geographical area than you. 

5. Fifth, identify the questions the author is asking. Are they the same ones you’re asking—or dissimilar?

6. Finally, note the other author’s argument. Is it the same or similar to the argument you’re making? Or is the argument different—perhaps because they’re considering different sources or asking different questions. 

Using these steps to analyze the other piece may reveal that your projects are, in fact, quite different. The other publication may actually help your own work—to establish a case for the importance of the subject or to provide background context that you no longer have to write. In this case, it’s still important to cite the other scholar—to recognize their work as parallel or foundational to yours. But you don’t need to be afraid that you’re replicating their work or their argument.

Sometimes, however, you will find that your own in-progress project is not as unique as you once thought. And you will need to do serious work to revise your manuscript. In this case, you don’t necessarily need to scrap the entire piece! So don’t despair. But you will need to identify areas of your study that diverge from that of the other author. Perhaps you have a section on a sub-topic overlooked by the other scholar. Maybe you can narrow the scope of your manuscript to ask a more specific question than those considered in the other text. 

If you find yourself in this situation—with a publication that seems oh so similar to your own manuscript—that a deep breath and go through the above steps. You manuscript may still be able to stand on its own! And if the other scholar has anticipated your work, this means the topic is relevant to the literature. So feel your feels and see how you might add to the literature with a unique intervention of you own. 

Knowledge production is full of unexpected turns, but you’ll get there. You really will!

Academics: How to identify fears about working with a developmental editor

Working with a developmental editor can be a daunting prospect for academics. You are often confronted with memories of all the people in your past who gave you unkind or unjustified feedback on your writing. Or you may have a very recent memory of a reader report that badly stung. You might worry that we (editors) are going to judge you and or tell you that your project is crap.

I was recently on a panel, “Understanding Editors,” organized by the University Press of Florida; and I spoke briefly about how emotionally challenging it can be to work with an editor—including a developmental editor. I’d like to elaborate on my comments here and propose some ways to recognize and take seriously your fears and anxieties.

Your worries are legitimate. Take them seriously! You don’t know what we’re going to see in your writing or what we’re going to ask you to do to improve it. If you’ve hired a new-to-you editor, you may worry that their tone may not be gentle enough or that they won’t really understand your project. More broadly, you may be dealing with imposter syndrome that leaves you wondering, “How do I know this story is worth telling?” or “What is some other scholar could say it better?”

If you’ve identified the resources, are thinking about working with an editor, and are stressed out about the prospect—ponder the following:

• Ask yourself: “What am I most worried about?” Are your concerns internal to you (e.g., a saboteur that says you don’t know how to write)? Or are they about the editor’s approach (e.g., if they’ll be unkind in their feedback)? Or are your worries about something else entirely (e.g., the editorial feedback will be too much to implement!)?

• Recognize that most (all?) academics feel some version of what you feel. Be gentle with the tender thoughts that potentially leave you feeling vulnerable and inadequate.

• Ask yourself: “Do these concerns need to be addressed before hiring a developmental editor—or are these worries that I just need to hold space for as I go through the editing process?” If these worries are destabilizing or stalling you, you’ll probably need to say them out loud.

• Ask yourself: “Who can I talk to about these concerns?” Sometimes identifying and saying our worries out loud diminishes their power. Sometimes a friend or compassionate colleague can be of help.

• Ask yourself: “Will a consultation with a prospective developmental editor be of help in working through these worries?” Many developmental editors offer free consults, where you can bring up your questions and knotty feelings.

• Perhaps schedule a consult with a developmental editor. You can ask the editors questions such as 1) What type of approach do you bring to the editing process? 2) Have you ever had a manuscript that’s too messy to edit? 3) I struggle to find my own voice in my writing. How do you walk authors through this personal challenge? And from their answers, you’ll get a feel for their energy and how you vibe and if they’ll respond with gentleness and kindness to you and your writing.

• Ask yourself: “If a consult with a developmental editor is not quite right, when might I be ready?” When might your body-mind feel like it’s safe to reach out for feedback?

Going through these steps can help identify your worries and how to respond to them. Instead of feeling an amorphous blob of anxiety, you can start to figure out the nuances of your concerns and what might help you navigate them. The goal is not to pretend they don’t exist or to “fix” them.

I know (potential) clients come to me with all sorts of worries, some of which they’ll share with me. I know that the toxicity, competition, and Eurocentrism of academia forces folks to perform and mask—even around colleagues who are friends.

In my own developmental editing practice, I commit to being gentle and honest. I will be tender with your emotions and your writing—without forsaking honest feedback.

Clients have described me as “a compassionate mentor… [who] model[s] a unique kind of grounded, embodied guidance.” And they write that I am attuned to [their] physical and neuro needs and made the complex work of dissertation research come together through empathetic coaching and careful, thoughtful editing.”

Being edited is always a vulnerable experience. But it doesn’t have to be painful. There is another way. And there are other developmental editors out there who are just as committed as I am to treating clients with tenderness.

Here’s a link to a full recording of the publishing panel “Understanding Editors” if you’d like to hear more of my comments and benefit from the insights of the other panelists.

A strategic paragraph to stave off would-be detractors

If you’re a scholarly author, you’re probably aware of the parts of your project that may trigger readers. It could be that your methodology is controversial or that you’re advancing a contentious argument in your field. Or perhaps readers are prone to misunderstanding why you’ve chosen to structure your manuscript in a certain way.

Sometimes, especially if your project is in its early stages, this resistance from readers can be a sign to tweak your methodology or change your argument, for example. 

However, opposition to an element of your project can also be a sign that you’re doing important work, that you’re pushing your field in a new direction. 

If you decide to continue with a potentially-polemical project, it’s a good idea to (diplomatically) go on the offensive and anticipate reader resistance before your article or book is published. 

One way to disarm resistant readers is to include a paragraph in your introduction that anticipates and responds to the feedback to come. This way, you are the one who sets the stage for the conversation. You are the first to bring up the concerns—and to address them on your own terms.

This paragraph can start with the phrase, “Some may say…”

1. Here you will directly articulate the concerns that readers may have.

2. In this paragraph, you must be careful not to set up a straw man. You are not to misrepresent their position in order to bolster your own.

3. Rather, you will respectfully honor others’ views while concurrently explaining your decision.

4. You might also explain why (you think) people could oppose your methodology or argument, for instance, and provide a rationale for why you have stuck with this controversial element. 

In this single paragraph, you will defend your decision to the best of your ability. This is an opportunity to respectfully anticipate critiques. It is not the moment to be defensive or aggressive towards anyone in particular. And no need to spend a long time on this strategy—a paragraph is usually sufficient.

Will this paragraph convince all your potential detractors? Certainly not. But the paragraph might help you sway readers who are open to a different view or approach and just need a little help being brought over to your side. 

Don’t worry that you are empowering your detractors by highlighting resistance to your project. Being upfront about the less expected parts of your project can actually convey scholarly maturity and a willingness to engage in a respectful conversation.

A push to consider the material circumstances of Global South archivists and librarians

In conversations about ethical research, we don’t typically consider the material circumstances of archivists and librarians, whose labor furthers the career trajectories of so many researchers.

If you’ve done research in the Global South, you’ve likely relied on the labor of these archivists and librarians, who don’t inevitably receive a living wage. 

In Cuba, where I have conducted archival research, archivists/librarians often go to sleep without eating, suffer through the rolling blackouts, and wonder how they’ll get to work with so few buses running. Unless they have family abroad who support them with remittances, they inevitably experience economic precarity. They climb the stairs and unbox the dusty records that we need to complete our dissertations, write our books, and gain recognition for ourselves—often through tenure and promotion. And yet, their material circumstances do not change.

I met my dear friend X nearly fifteen years ago when she was working as an archivist at a prominent Cuban research institution. She entered the room all energy and all business, and she has buoyed me and my research for these many years. 

We lost contact for awhile, when Cubans didn’t have the consistent access to the internet that most do now. Now, in the era of WhatsApp, we message several times a week. I celebrated with her when her child’s baseball team had another victory, and we worried together when there was a cancer scare in my family. 

I send remittances too—every other month. At her state job, X makes $11 USD per month. But that salary barely goes anywhere. A dozen eggs cost $3.15 USD. A liter of vegetable oil is $2.70 USD. Her need is urgent, and my support is never enough. 

Companies like SuperMarket23 and CubaLlama make shipments to the island easier than before—but to receive these shipments, Cubans must have a caring someone abroad. 

The government salaries that archivists/librarians receive are just barely enough to take them to work in the morning, where they support foreign (and domestic) researchers on trips often funded by fellowship money. As the weeks and months pass, as one cohort of foreign researchers is replaced with another, Cuban archivists/librarians remain untouched by the success of those they support. 

We must do better by archivists and librarians in the Global South. There needs to be more reciprocity in the research process. By that I mean we cannot overlook the economic precarity of those whose labor sustains our research. And when we explore best practices for ethnical research, archivists and librarians from the Global South must be at the proverbial table.

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On a more personal note, I have come to realize that, for me, the material support I send to X is both an obligation and a blessing. My career exists because of X and her colleagues. And the ability to help X keeps me from falling into despair.

X is also a good friend; and she reminds me that even as we struggle, we must be patient—that we must let the waters even out (dejar que las aguas tomen nivel).

If you’d like to like to support X, you’ve got two options!

1) Send funds to my PayPal (email: Rachel.Hynson@gmail.com); all money goes to X.

2) Hire X to do research. She is also a freelance archival researcher and ethnographer based in Havana. Message me for details. 

“Because life is self-organizing and regenerating, even the very tiny shifts we make away from harm and towards sustenance of life open up possibilities that compound upon themselves.”

—Elizabeth Sawin, Ph.D., as recently quoted by Mariame Kaba in her email newsletter

How to reference dates like a historian

When using dates in your writing, it can be difficult to know how specific you should be. Should you include the day, the month, or just the year? Alternatively, should you write “early 1950s” or “1952”?

As a developmental editor with a PhD in history, many of my clients are historians or in history-adjacent fields.

It is essential that these authors know how to guide the reader through the chronology of a narrative. But they also don’t want to bog the reader down with unnecessary information!

One way to know how precise you should be with your dates is to identify the date range of your entire piece. Are you covering a 75-year period? If so, you’re likely going to be focused more on years and decades—with the occasional deep dive into months and days when discussing a specific anecdote. However, if your manuscript covers only a 10-year period, you’re going to be more focused on months and years—and sometimes even days.

I recently had a client come to me with a history manuscript covering a short period of time, less than five years. After reading the piece, I still did not have a clear idea of when events unfolded or when they unfolded in relation to each other in time. And I realized that this was because the client was using time posts more appropriate for a longer time span.

For example, they described the uprising of enslaved Africans against the Cherokee Nation “in late 1842,” a date that really should have been written as November 1842 or even November 15, 1842.* In my feedback, I encouraged the author to be more precise about when events occurred. Knowing the month, for example, would allow the reader to situate the event in time and understand it as oh so close to other events highlighted by the author.

In this case, the <5-year chronology of the piece offers information about how to write about time. By including specific months (and even days) in their descriptions, the author will help the reader see the events’ temporary relationships, including how people of the early 1840s experienced often-concurrent moments. 

Of course, this doesn’t mean the author needs to inundate the reader with the day/month/year to show relationships across time. Another way to bring the reader along the temporal journey is to use phrases like: Xyz event occurred "just two months after" the rebellion of enslaved Africans. With this phrasing, the author can show a temporal relationship without introducing another date for the reader to remember.

Being aware of the date range of your manuscript will help you identify how to reference dates and guide the reader through the chronology of your piece. Using this strategy to zoom out or zoom in with your descriptions may also give you, the author, new insight into your work!

*Details changed to protect author privacy.

We cannot compartmentalize our way through fascism

“You just have to compartmentalize,” said a faculty member to my client, an international graduate student from the Global South. The student had asked their advisor if she had any advice on how to write a dissertation in the midst of growing f@scism in the US and the government’s increasing revocations of student visas.

While the suggestion to compartmentalize might resonate with some people, my client experienced it as a thoughtless and empty recommendation. In the face of looming threats to them and their family, they find it impossible to compartmentalize.

“To separate into isolated compartments or categories” is how Merriam-Webster defines the word, evoking the image of a bento box with dividers isolating rice from dumplings from green beans.

But the worries my client has about their safety cannot be teased from the creative labor of knowledge production, cannot be cleaved in two and stored in their refrigerator.

Of course, there is no easy answer to my client’s question.

Perhaps the only response is to recognize that no answer is adequate for the current moment.

As Angela Cox, PhD, wrote in a recent LinkedIn post, “You do not have to have the answers. You do not have to offer solutions. You can just be there in the moment with another's pain and see them.”

And this is exactly what my client and I did—sat together on Zoom in mutual recognition of the horror of the moment and inequitable impact of state policies on Black and Brown international students.

Then, we brainstormed together how I could support them to write while they are concurrently feeling so much grief. Because, yes--their dissertation is emerging out of their grief, not from a separate compartment in their body-mind. 💜

Escape turgid prose with these sentence-level life preservers

Engaging academic prose ensnares us and leaves us wanting more.

And it’s never too late to learn how to transform tired prose into a captivating narrative—no matter the subject. 

One way to draft a compelling knowledge product is to drill down to the sentence level!

This suggestion is informed by Helen Sword’s Stylish Academic Writing, a now-classic guide to good writing across the sciences, humanities, and social sciences. 

In her research, Sword discovered that stylish academic writers rely on some common principles to craft their sentences. I introduce three of these principles below.

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Principle #1

Use concrete nouns (lesbians, lawmakers, citizens) instead of nominalizations (carelessness, performance, reduction). Sword refers to nominalizations, nouns created from adjectives or verbs, as zombie nouns. 

Spotlight example (history): “In the late-eighteenth century, “[p]hysical anthropologists reduced the question of Egypt’s contributions to the arts and sciences to the question of whether Egyptians were white or black” (Londa Schiebinger, Nature’s Body, 187).

The author of this sentence makes the subject a concrete noun (physical anthropologists). It is immediately clear that the sentence is about the actions of these anthropologists. Were the sentence to lead, instead, with a nominalizatiion, the reader would likely need to read the sentence several times to understand it. 

A less-effective sentence would look something like: “The reduction of the question of Egypt’s contributions to the arts and sciences came down to whether Egyptians were white or black.”

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Principle #2

Use active, vivid verbs (chew, disguise, immobilize) instead of forms of be (“The author is”) and tired academic verbs (“The study explores”).

Spotlight example (biology): “In researching this book, I had several scientists plead with me not to anthropomorphize the behavior of the nonhuman animals I describe here…. [A]lthough I sought not to dress every organism in this book in human accoutrements, some of that probably slipped in” (Emily Willingham, Phallacy, 10).

The author of these sentences energizes her writing with active verbs (plead, dress, slip), even as she also uses words (anthropomorphize, accoutrements) with which lay readers may not be as familiar. These vibrant verbs keep this scientific study light and accessible.

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Principle #3

Be judicious with your use of it, this, that, and there. These words can sometimes signify lack of clarity. In the case of this or these, use only when modified by a noun (“This encounter captures” rather than “This captures”).

Spotlight example (literature): “The open hearth was large enough to feature an inglenook, where on a cold night one or two people could sit cozily in a recessed space next to the warming fire. And that’s where Shakespeare’s chair was put on display. This picturesque scene, reproduced in countless engravings made in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, was entirely fabricated…” (Richard Schoch, Shakespeare’s House, 19).

In the first two sentences, the author depicts a cozy, fireside space in one of Shakespeare’s family homes. In the final sentence, he references the description (“this picturesque scene”) to assert that no such room existed in the mid-sixteenth-century home. Had he omitted the noun (scene) from this sentence, it would have been unclear exactly what was fabricated.

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Consider implementing these principles in your own writing, from a playful—not prescriptive—place.

Perhaps start with the paragraph beginning a new section of your article or book manuscript. Since readers will pay more attention to the beginning of a section, this area is the perfect place to practice writing stylish academic prose. Showcase your concrete nouns and active verbs. Play around with sentence structure. And ensure this or these is always accompanied by a noun!

For more of Sword’s sentence-level recommendations, see Chapter 5 in Stylish Academic Writing (2012).

Scare quotes and why to proceed with caution

You might be inadvertently conveying ambiguity and confusion in your scholarly writing!

This sometimes happens when you use quotation marks without quoting anything. These are also known as scare quotes.

Scare quotes interrupt the reader’s flow. They obligate the reader to pause and consider what you (the writer) might mean by them.

This is because writers sometimes use scare quotes as a stand-in for further explanation. So, in addition to forcing the reader to pause in their reading, scare quotes sometimes become an unhelpful writing shortcut that takes the place of much-needed context or explanation.

Take, for example, the following sentences:

1. Before: The Inquisition prosecuted “heretics,” whose behavior challenged Catholicism.

   After: The Inquisition prosecuted seeming heretics, whose behavior challenged Catholicism

2. Before: Cuba achieved “independence” from Spain in 1902.

   After: While Cuba technically became independent from Spain in 1902, the new country remained occupied by the US military.

3. Before: Homosexuals were “deviants” who threatened accepted understandings of morality and citizenship.

   After: Many physicians viewed homosexuals as “deviants” who threatened accepted understandings of morality and citizenship.

In #1, the writer puts scare quotes around “heretics” to indicate that just because the Inquisition prosecuted these individuals does not mean that they were guilty of crimes against Catholicism. In these cases, “seeming” or “so-called” can be added to the sentence to clarify the meaning.

In #2, the writer is using quotes to indicate that Cubans initially achieved a contingent independence, as the territory remained occupied by the United States, even after its independence from Spain. In this case, additional context (beyond a word or two) is necessary.

In #3, the writer mobilizes scare quotes to explain a historical viewpoint without seeming to adopt the language of the time. As an editor, I’m not opposed to the use of scare quotes around “deviant,” particularly if the term is used in the author’s sources. However, in the original sentence, accompanying the writer’s use of scare quotes is a lack of clarity about who held this view. My updated sentence reflects that it was physicians who held this viewpoint.

If your writing tends to include a lot of scare quotes, take some time to review your purpose for using them. They may reveal ambiguity that, once addressed, will improve your writing!