If there was one thing I thought I had figured out before returning to academia later in life, it was writing.
After all, I had written books. I had published children’s stories, educational content, and articles and was even working on a parenting guide. Writing was my comfort zone. So when I stepped into academia again and began my research, I thought, “Academic writing?” No problem. I’ve got this.
I was wrong.
Very wrong.
Academic writing is a world of its own. It was nothing like the storytelling I was used to, where you own your personal voice, or even the informative writing I had taught my younger students. Academic writing is a highly structured, evidence-based, critical, and nuanced form of communication that completely caught me off guard. I had enrolled in a Master’s programme in English Literature a year before starting my PhD, and it was during that time I quickly learned that being a confident writer in one field does not automatically make you fluent in the language of academia.
Here’s what one of my course leaders had to say about my first coursework:
“There are some solid discussions within your essay and you show knowledge of the primary texts. Furthermore, you show an understanding of some of the issues surrounding the essay question, and there is clear referencing. However, there’s a tendency to describe (I suspect this stems from your skills as a creative writer), which although fluent, means that you are not critically interrogating the texts. The other area for improvement is that you must avoid writing vague statements that have no evidence supporting them. And finally, really think carefully about how you structure your argument and organise ideas.”
– Dr S.H.
When I received this feedback, one part in particular stood out- the tendency to describe rather than critically engage with the material. This was a wake-up call. As a creative writer, I was used to fluent, expressive prose, painting scenes, evoking emotion, and guiding readers through a narrative. But academic writing demands something different. It requires you to build an argument, step by step, supported by credible sources, situated within existing scholarship, and contributing to ongoing academic conversations.
For those of us used to corporate or creative writing, where clarity and engagement often come from personal insight or storytelling, academic writing is an entirely different process. It prioritises evidence, follows a structured format, and demands analytical depth. As I transitioned into my PhD, I had to learn how to move beyond simply stating what a text says, and start interrogating why it matters, how it fits within wider debates, and what it reveals when read alongside other scholarly perspectives. That shift from description to analysis has not been easy, but it has become foundational to my growth as a postgraduate research student.
Here’s What Has Helped Me So Far:
- I attend academic writing workshops
My university offers writing development sessions for its students through its Centre for Academic Writing (CAW), and the Doctoral College hosts several Thesis Writing Bootcamps throughout the year. I make it a point to attend regularly. In addition, several institutions and organisations, such as the Doctoral Training Alliance (DTA) in the UK, also run writing sessions specifically designed for research students, which provide further opportunities to strengthen academic writing skills. These workshops break down the expectations of academic writing, from structuring arguments to integrating sources properly. I ask questions, take notes, and approach it as an ongoing skill to master. This is one very important step you should take to improve your academic writing skills if you’re starting a PhD, especially if you’re returning to academia after a long break, like I did. Twenty-five years! So, check your school programme. You might find a writing programme in place that could support your development. - I explore academic writing support platforms
Beyond university workshops, I use several reputable platforms to strengthen my academic writing. Resources like Purdue OWL and the Academic Phrasebank offer guidance on structure, tone, and academic vocabulary, while tools like Zotero, Mendeley, and Grammarly support referencing and sentence-level clarity. I also find diagnostic tools like The Writing BASE, which helps build more productive writing habits, and the WritersDiet Test, which assesses whether your prose is “flabby or fit,” particularly useful in refining my drafts. While many are turning to AI language models for writing help, and these may be acceptable in general content creation or informal writing contexts, it is important to note that they are not yet formally approved for academic research writing in most institutions. I recommend relying on platforms that are ethically accepted and academically recognised to build a strong, credible writing practice for your academic work. - I study published theses and journal articles
I’ve made it a habit to read recent PhD theses and journal articles in my field (classical reception) to understand both their content and style. You can find these on the British Library Ethos (although the service is a bit skeletal at the moment). I pay attention to how introductions are framed, how authors transition between ideas, how literature is engaged with, and how conclusions are drawn. This continues to give me a clearer sense of the structure specific to academic writing in the humanities and classics. Different academic fields have their own distinct writing styles and conventions, and it is important to master the specific style and structure required in your discipline. - I learn to take feedback without taking it personally
This was, and still is, a big one. In creative or professional writing, feedback is often about tone or flow. In academic writing, it is about rigour, clarity, and contribution to knowledge. Receiving feedback on my early drafts was helpful and honest, but at times, deeply frustrating. It was tough to hear, and even tougher to accept, that I wasn’t the master I had thought myself to be, after all. Not because I wasn’t open to critique, but because I had assumed that writing would be the least of my concerns. I remember one particular session, after receiving feedback from a supervisor, when I broke down in tears. Looking back, I wonder why I cried, but at the time, it felt like everything I thought I knew had been shaken. It took my husband’s encouragement and his gentle reminder about the value of constructive feedback to help me regain my confidence and get back on my feet. I started to see that the criticism wasn’t about me personally, but rather aimed at helping my writing meet scholarly standards. Once I made that mental shift, everything became easier to take on board.
My advice?
If you are just starting out on your PhD journey, especially later in life, be prepared to unlearn what you think you know about writing, unless you have been in academia all along and are simply progressing into a PhD. Your past experience is certainly an asset, but academic writing is a discipline all on its own. However, no matter how challenging it may seem, know that academic writing is absolutely learnable.
So if you are staring at your draft, overwhelmed by comments in the margins that feel like another language, just know, you are not alone. Just think about those steps I shared above and consider implementing them. You’ve got this.
I am rooting for you.
Your mature PhD supporter,
Adeola Eze
PhD Beyond 50 is authored by Adeola Eze, a Black international PhD scholar at Coventry University who began her doctoral journey when she turned 50. With over 27 years of experience in education and literacy advocacy, she shares insights on balancing research, life, and personal growth. New posts are published on the first Tuesday of each month.
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