A writing guide for professional philosophers1

by Neil Mehta, Yale-NUS College

TABLE OF CONTENTS

0. Introduction ……………………….………………... 1
1. Reading and thinking: process ……………………... 2
2. Reading: content …………………………………… 3
3. Writing: content and form ………….…………….... 4
4. Writing: process …………………………………….9
5. Writing: publication strategies ……………………..10
6. Cultivating yourself as a philosopher ….…..………. 12

This is a guide to writing for professional philosophers – in particular, a guide to writing articles
in contemporary philosophy. I plead ignorance of writing books and of writing as a historian of
philosophy, though I hope that some of my suggestions will generalize to these cases. While the
guide is pitched primarily for graduate students, perhaps it will be of some value to philosophy
professors as well. I provide it because little information on this topic is widely available, because
many philosophy graduate programs, even excellent ones, do not systematically address this
topic, and because excellence in general writing is woefully insufficient for excellence in
professional philosophical writing.2
It is often thought that excellent philosophical writing is the sole province of the genius.
I by contrast believe that writing is a skill and can therefore be taught and learned; in any case,
if there is some special talent for writing then I do not have it. When, near the end of my graduate
career, I first began submitting my work to journals, I received 18 consecutive rejections distributed
across 5 different manuscripts, with not even an invitation to revise-and-resubmit to cushion the
blows. At last, on the 19th try, I secured my first publication in Philosophical Studies. Even that
paper was merely a reply, and not a particularly ambitious one. I then undertook a disciplined
program to improve my writing, as described in §5, and over the next several years my work
climbed steadily in quality. I have now published 8 articles in venues including Journal of
Philosophy, Philosophers’ Imprint, and Philosophy and Phenomenological Research. I make no claim to
be a great philosophical writer: I do not take my résumé to be especially impressive, and a résumé
rarely tells much anyway given the vagaries of the review process. I claim only that I have come
far in my writing, that I can articulate precisely how I have done so, and, most importantly, that
my methods are highly replicable.
I begin by discussing the central prerequisites of excellent writing: reading and thinking
(§1, §2). The core of the guide is dedicated to the content and form of excellent writing (§3),
though I also briefly discuss the process of writing (§4) and the two major poles of publication
strategies (§5). I end with comments on how to cultivate oneself as a philosopher (§6).
I welcome questions, suggestions, and criticisms. (Praise would be not just welcome but
surprising.) Please feel free to contact me at [email protected].
1 Version 1.1; last revised September 23, 2016. Updated versions will be posted periodically at
www.profneilmehta.com.
2 For further advice, see Brooks (ms) and Lin (ms).

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1. Reading and thinking: process
Students sometimes think that they must first read extensively before they may begin forming
their own views. Not so: proper reading is continuous with original thinking.
Hence, from the very first article that I encounter in a new area, I begin the critical work of
gathering evidence, which I treat as candidate explananda; identifying hypotheses, which I treat
as candidate explanantia; uncovering assumptions; and sketching out my own tentative ideas and
arguments. I also attempt to identify the central questions and influential answers, which I then
try to subsume into a taxonomy of all possible views, as per the discussion of systematicity in §3.
I have no fear of trying my hand at these ambitious tasks from the start because even failure is
handsomely rewarded. For I constantly revise my understanding as I read new work, and without
a tentative understanding I would have nothing to revise.
I approach any new area with a set of general categories under which I can fruitfully
subsume questions, theses, argumentative strategies, etc. For example, I often begin by trying to
identify the central metaphysical, epistemic, and semantic questions in an area, as well as the
connections among possible answers to those questions. I also try to classify views in terms of
what explanatory relations, such as relations of explanatory priority, they posit.3 Relatedly, I
find it useful to consider what a theory takes as metaphysically or conceptually fundamental and
non-fundamental.
Regarding the foundations of normativity, for example, consider the relationship between
facts about reasons and facts about rationality. One of the following views must be true: either
the former always explain the latter, or the latter always explain the former, or there is no
uniform explanatory relation between the facts of these two types. When I encounter a new view
about the relationship between reasons and rationality, I locate it in this taxonomy – a taxonomy
that appears in the literature, but that I independently developed as an aid to my thinking.
Similarly, I consider which normative entities, if any, are treated as fundamental by which
theories. The anti-reductivist holds roughly that some normative entity is metaphysically
fundamental, and anti-reductivists have variously identified goodness, rightness, reasons,
obligation, or virtue as fundamental. Though reductivists hold in contrast that no normative
entity is fundamental, it is still useful to consider which normative entities they take as relatively
fundamental, i.e., more fundamental than any other normative entity.
While reading, I rely on certain heuristics to generate hypotheses worth exploring. My
most general heuristic is replacement: replacing a salient term in some philosophical thesis with
a related term. Three further heuristics, though they usually stand under the umbrella of the
replacement heuristic, are noteworthy in their own right: extension – applying a similar thesis
to a nearby topic; generalization – applying a broader thesis to a topic that includes the topic of
the original thesis as a special case; and unification – identifying a single thesis that entails
several existing theses.
Take the thesis that an assertion that p is epistemically permissible just in case one knows
that p. I might consider several extensions of this thesis: e.g., that a belief that p, or a treatment of
the proposition that p as a reason for action, is epistemically permissible just in case one knows that
p. I might also try extending that last thesis: perhaps a treatment of the proposition that p as a
reason for belief is epistemically permissible just in case one knows that p. I might then attempt
to unify the last two theses: perhaps a treatment of the proposition that p as a reason, full stop, is
epistemically permissible just in case one knows that p. All the while, I might consider various
options for replacement. Perhaps the relevant normative notion is not epistemic permissibility, but
3 I suspect that David Chalmers uses a similar heuristic given the remarks in his (2011, pp. 538-539).

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epistemic goodness, epistemic success, or epistemic virtuousness.4 Once I have generated a rich set of
possible hypotheses, I go on to test their predictions against the evidence.
On to brass tacks about the reading process, then. I use a detailed system of notation
whenever I read: I double-underline any technical term, I mark key examples with an asterisk, I
underline any reasonably significant claim once, and I mark especially central claims with an
arrow, using triple arrows to mark the major theses of the entire article or book chapter. On top
of that, after completing each reading I summarize it, sometimes in great detail, in a separate
Word document. Because of this documentation, I know that I have read more than 1000 articles
and book chapters in the past 8 years, though I am aware of some very successful philosophers
who read much less and others who read much more. I prefer to read fewer texts deeply than to
read many texts shallowly. Hence my default is to read any article or book chapter twice, typically
spending 45-60 minutes per reading, though if I find a text disappointing I read it only once.
Obviously, what is important is not to adopt this idiosyncratic system. You should just
develop some method for engaging deeply with texts. As I see it, reading a philosophical text is
less like pouring water into a bucket and more like wrestling an ill-tempered bear. I encourage
anyone to read in a similar spirit.

2. Reading: content
What to read depends very much on your career stage. In the pre-dissertation stage of your
graduate career, build from the foundations. Start with the classics of the 20th century before
reading seminal works of the past few decades; then, if you are particularly interested in the topic,
you might delve into contemporary articles. In philosophy of language, for example, I might start
with Frege, Russell, Quine, and Kripke before moving on to work published in the last few
decades. Prioritize learning to tell the forests apart; the names of the trees can wait.5
Change tack a year or so before you begin to write your dissertation. Specialize. Within
your chosen area (metaphysics, political philosophy, aesthetics), find some narrow topic that is
under discussion right now – ideally, a topic on which much has been published within the last 5
years, but on which little was published 10-20 years ago – and read one or two dozen papers on
it. Make sure that you have read every major paper on that topic, including every paper that
appears in a top-quality journal and every paper written by a major figure in the field; also read
many minor papers.6 Rinse. Repeat with another topic, which should still be within your area of
specialization but which need not be obviously related to the first topic. Rinse and repeat one last
time. By now you should be within 3-6 months of starting your dissertation, and you should have
a clear idea for one article and a tentative thought about a second. At this stage, that is plenty.

4 It was by using these heuristics that I developed the ideas for my (2015). I also regard John Turri as a master of
the replacement heuristic, e.g. in his (2010), and Schaffer has run the idea of contrastivity through the extension
heuristic many times, e.g. in his (2005a), (2005b), and (2012). For a discussion of other heuristics, see Hájek (2014),
who recommends among other things checking whether a definite description has a unique referent, examining
extreme or near-extreme cases, and considering cases of self-reference.
5 I would offer very different advice to Masters students intending to apply to Ph.D. programs, who should aim to

publish much more quickly. Such students should instead follow the advice below on specialized reading and can
return to building from the foundations after being admitted to a Ph.D. program. My advice is also intended
primarily for students in North America, as students in the U.K. must specialize much earlier.
6 For a poll that illuminates which generalist journals are most highly regarded, see

http://leiterreports.typepad.com/blog/2015/09/the-top-20-general-philosophy-journals-2015.html. For
information about the most influential figures in the field, pay attention to citations, and ask experts – especially
your dissertation adviser.

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Once your dissertation is underway, you must of course continue to read in this narrow
way most of the time. But you must reserve some time, perhaps a month or two each summer, for
reading in new areas. Still read with focus – read a dozen papers on parsimony as a theoretical
virtue or on Kant’s second Critique – but go far beyond the confines of your specialization.
For this practice of broad reading I offer a pure and an impure rationale. Speaking purely,
philosophy itself has a thoroughly holistic character and so cannot be expertly handled one
narrow topic at a time. To do truly outstanding work on the nature of reasons, you must
understand philosophy of language, so that you can analyze reasons-talk, metaphysics, so that
you can discuss the ontic status of reasons, and ethics and epistemology, so that you can identify
and explain facts about practical and epistemic reasons.
Speaking impurely, if you read only what everyone else in your field is reading then you
will find it very hard to think something that no one else in your field is thinking. In the four
years dating from the start of my dissertation, I was scooped no less than 3 times. Once I found
a major idea of mine already published in a paper that I had overlooked, and twice more I was
beaten to the presses by a forthcoming paper. To be clear: these were not instances of plagiarism.
They were instances of independent convergence on a natural idea. But after learning this lesson
I have rarely been scooped, and I credit the change to my unusual pattern of familiarity with the
literature. Because by now I have read deeply on perception, phenomenal character, metaphysical
grounding, knowledge-first epistemology, and internalism about practical reasons, my ideas are
very unlikely to occur to others – not because I am cleverer or even better-read, but just because
I am differently read.
So drill in far-flung places, but drill each hole deep.

3. Writing: content and form

In this section, which is the heart of this guide, I list those virtues pertaining to content and form
that I regard as most central. Along with a description of these virtues, I include many references
to exemplary works, and though my emphasis is on contemporary articles, I could not resist
including a few books and historical works. I encourage the reader to study these works as a
general might study the battles of Napoleon and Alexander: virtue is best learned from models.
The list will be very controversial, for it is the product of a very controversial conception
of philosophical excellence.7 I urge those with a different conception of philosophical excellence
– that will be most readers, I imagine – to articulate their own conceptions and to identify their
own models. I mean this seriously. Such an exercise forces a level of reflection, and a degree of
explicitness, that will be a great help to any writer.
I start with those virtues that I take to be most worthy of deliberate cultivation – which
are not quite the same as those virtues that most contribute to philosophical excellence – and I
descend from there.

7 It was Tamar Gendler who shared with me the basic outlines of this conception. I remember one conversation in
particular: it occurred in Clare’s Corner Copia on May 17, 2013 and amounted to the best instruction I have ever
had in the art of philosophical writing. Below Tamar will find much of the advice she gave me then – especially in
my descriptions of systematicity, significance, mastery of the literature, and authority – and in keeping with that
last virtue I say that the conception articulated here is ultimately my own.

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Ambition. This, above all. Consider what it would take for a text to meet the highest
standards of philosophical excellence. It would have to be profoundly significant, original,
systematic, economical, precise, lucid, accessible, rigorously argued, and more. Measured against
this ideal, the works of Plato and Nāgārjuna, Hume and Kant are – not bad. You should aim to
do better.8
This advice will strike many as arrogant and foolish. It is neither. It would be arrogant
to expect to reach or even approach the ideal. But to strive for it is noble and will in time vastly
improve your writing. To appreciate that you will always fall desperately short and to accept the
fact with good cheer is modesty enough.

Authority. Regard yourself as a master of the topic. Do not rely uncritically on the
distinctions and definitions provided by other philosophers. Instead make all distinctions in the
way you regard as most perspicuous, and define all terms in the way that you regard as most
precise.9 Do not describe the motivations for various positions as they are described by influential
figures. Instead describe them in the most apt way. Do not even rest content with rebutting the
arguments of your opponents. State the best version of each argument, the version that your
opponents should have given, and rebut that.10 Nor should you waste time in the body of the paper
demonstrating that your approach is better than those in the literature. Just make your approach
better, perhaps briefly discussing the shortcomings of extant approaches in footnotes. In short,
draw the definitive map of the philosophical terrain.
So as to maintain focus on the ideas, do not even cite any contemporary philosophers in the body
of the paper.11 (That is, absent compelling reasons to do otherwise, as when you are writing a reply
article.) Relegate all citations to the footnotes. Those footnotes should, however, be extensive;
they should meticulously document the relationships between your philosophical map and the
philosophical maps of others. See the discussion below of mastery of the literature.
While you are at it, prune needlessly modest language, including phrases like “in my
view,” “I believe that,” and “it seems that.” Write with confidence.12

Systematicity. To be systematic is to minimize arbitrariness. Thus, when laying out

possible views on some topic, do not just list the currently influential views in the literature.
Instead develop an illuminating taxonomy – a categorization of possibilities that are mutually
exclusive and jointly exhaustive given your assumptions, with all divisions between these
possibilities marking profound differences – and situate all currently influential views within it.13
When stating a problem, do not merely list some claims that are hard to reconcile. Instead
identify n claims such that each is very plausible, any n-1 of them are consistent, but all n together

8 Fine (1994); Williamson (2000); Chalmers and Jackson (2001); Schaffer (2009) and (2016); Skorupski (2010);
Greco (2012); Berker (2013); and Lormand (ms). These works perhaps fall short of the great works of history and
certainly fall short of the ideal. But at least they try.
9 Lormand (1996, introduction and §1) and (ms, introduction and §1); Schellenberg (2010); Berker (2013, pp. 337-

338 and 344-348); Millar (2015).

10 Lewis (1984).
11 Why the distinction between contemporary and historical philosophers? Not because you should defer to Plato

or Kant – see the discussion of ambition – but because referring to them helps locate your view against others at
the highest level of generality and has all the literary value of allusion to boot. See Street (2010); Millar (2015).
12 Williamson (2000); Chalmers and Jackson (2001); Street (2010, pp. 369-370).
13 Street (2006, §2) and (2010, pp. 369-370). Aristotle and Kant are also wonderfully systematic writers who use

taxonomies to strong effect. Arguments by dilemma are taxonomies put to a special use: Chalmers (2007, pp. 173-
179).

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are inconsistent.14 When addressing objections, do not merely list various objections or opposing
views that occur to you. Instead divide objections or opposing views into a taxonomy of salient
clusters and address each salient cluster of objections.15 When attacking a view, do not merely
provide the telling counterexample. Also identify the relevant class of counterexamples, diagnose
the problematic feature of the opposing view that leaves it open to counterexamples of this class,
and show that your view lacks this problematic feature.16 Even when just transitioning between
paragraphs or sections, make it implicitly clear why the new topic is next on the agenda.

Rigor. Support your thesis with conclusive evidence. You may use a single decisive
argument17 or an array of considerations that are together overwhelming.18
Limit yourself to dialectically effective evidence – evidence that even your opponent
should accept.19 Therefore, avoid relying on all but the most robust intuitions.20 Focus instead
on theoretical considerations (simplicity, explanatory power, fruitfulness, etc.), scientific data,
linguistic facts, and the most universally acknowledged truths,21 or just show that your theory is
strictly better than your opponent’s theory.22
Do not rest content with presenting a prima facie objection to a view. Instead, press your
point as far as possible: consider all possible categories of response (see the above discussion of
systematicity) and show that they all fail. Also point out fallback positions – e.g., show that an
opponent who rejects a crucial premise of your argument may still accept some weaker premise
which supports a weaker but still interesting version of your conclusion.23 And if there are
multiple independent or partly independent routes to your conclusion, say so.
Suppose, as will often be the case, that you wish to rely on claims that you cannot
rigorously support. Then jettison any arguments for those claims and introduce them as assumptions.24
Do not hesitate to make controversial assumptions as long as you identify them as such. State all
assumptions in your introduction, however, as your reader will feel cheated if you help yourself
to controversial claims once the argument is underway. You may motivate your assumptions if
you wish, but be brief lest it seem that you are trying to argue for them.

Significance. Emphasize what matters. Minimize everything else.

Start by articulating, in the most general terms, the central philosophical problem(s) that
you will address and the central solution(s) that you will propose. Highlight these. Use the
positions of famous historical philosophers as landmarks to orient your reader, give telling
metaphors, be generous with examples, and even restate the same point in equivalent ways if this
is helpful. Heed this advice especially in beginnings and endings, whether of your entire article
or of individual sections. Likewise, though on a smaller scale, when you get into a welter of
details. Just keep pausing to explain, as broadly as possible, what you have done and why it is

14 Egan and John (ms, p. 1).

15 Millar (2015).
16 Gendler (2002, §3); Enoch (2006, §5). Turri (2010) carries out a positive analogue of this: he articulates with

great precision how a certain class of views arguably avoids the Gettier problem.
17 Williamson (2000, ch. 4); Bailey (2010).
18 Williamson (2000, ch. 11); Shah (2003); Kolodny (2005); Schaffer (2009, pp. 366-373) and (2016); Evans (2013);

Moss (2013).
19 Balog (1999); Levine (2010); Greco (2012, §2, especially p. 350).
20 Fine (1994); Johnston (2004); Schwitzgebel (2008).
21 Chalmers and Jackson (2001); Moss (2013); Sinhababu (2015).
22 Lewis (1979); Sinhababu (2015).
23 Moss (2013, §5.5).
24 Lormand (1996, pp. 52-53 and 61).

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important. Your efforts here will be reinforced by attention to ambition, authority, and
systematicity. Conclude by recasting your solution in a way that the reader is only now, having
read the entire paper, in a position to fully appreciate.25
Inversely, prune whatever is not in service of what matters. Introductory remarks,
assumptions, definitions, resolutions of local debates, discussions of fine details, formal/technical
language – do not hesitate to include any of these if your argument requires them. Ruthlessly
excise them otherwise. This is, in effect, a matter of economy (see below).
If you cannot find anything of significance in your idea for an article, scrap it and write
something else.

Economy. I am told that rocket scientists supply a spacecraft with the exact amount of
fuel it requires to reach its destination. Perhaps this is a myth. But you should construct your
arguments in the same spirit of economy. In particular, adjust your premises and conclusion until
they precisely match.
Working from one end, find the strongest conclusion supported by your premises (or the
broadest class of views targeted by your objection, or …). A well-constructed argument will not
target only some very specific view of a prominent philosopher. It will target a substantial class
of views, and it is your job to delineate that class. Also consider whether the argument can target
a much larger class of views with only slightly stronger premises.26
Working from the other end, find the weakest premises which support your conclusion.
Whenever possible, replace controversial premises with less controversial ones. Also consider
whether the premises can be weakened substantially while weakening the conclusion of the
argument only slightly.27
Continue this process of adjustment until your argument is perfectly tuned.

Precision. A precise claim is specific and expresses the writer’s intended idea. A claim
may therefore be imprecise in two ways: it may be vague rather than specific, or it may fail to
express the writer’s intended idea irrespective of its specificity.28 Avoid imprecision in either
form.29
Metaphorical language, though often a great help in other respects, can also disguise
imprecision, so be sure that you can rephrase your metaphorical claims in literal terms. Formal
tools can in contrast help you be very precise, but be careful not to use them to make claims that
are needlessly specific. Though it is not ideal, it is acceptable to formulate a claim roughly as long
as you explicitly state that you are doing so and the imprecision is irrelevant for your argument.

Focus. An article ought to have very few central argumentative tasks – sometimes just
one. Delineate your task(s) precisely: by the end of your introduction, articulate your conclusion
in detail as well as all of your assumptions; also sketch your central argumentative moves. Then
strip away all material not required to accomplish your argumentative task(s).30

25 Fine (1994); Lewis (1979); Lormand (1996) and (ms); Schaffer (2009) and (2016); Berker (2013); Evans (2013);
Lord (forthcoming).
26 Berker (2013) leverages a single core idea against a very broad class of theories.
27 Neta (2002), Sinhababu (2009), and Lormand (ms, §4) do much work with sparse resources.
28 Obviously, a claim may also be imprecise in both ways at once.
29 Lormand (1996) and (ms); Williamson (2000, ch.4); Bailey (2010); Schaffer (2016).
30 Bailey (2010); Turri (2011); Sinhababu (2015).

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Cohesiveness. This virtue does not attach to a single view but to a system of views – a
theory. A cohesive theory consists of mutually supporting views, views whose collective
explanatory power is much greater than the sum of their individual explanatory powers.31
Focus and cohesiveness tend to compete, since one typically achieves the former by
sparsity of posits and the latter by richness of posits. Which virtue to prefer can then be a hard
call; see the earlier discussion of economy.

Mastery of the literature. The literature on a topic usually comprises a few seminal
texts, whether historical and contemporary, and a flood of subsequent texts. Have a deep
knowledge of all seminal texts, as well as of those subsequent texts that you regard as excellent.
Have at least a working acquaintance with almost everything else, especially those texts published in
the past 5-10 years, as well as forthcoming texts. Keep up with work defending every major position
on the topic, even those towards which you are least sympathetic.
At an intellectual level, display your mastery of the literature by using your knowledge
to draw a new and illuminating map of the terrain. Characterize the problems and define all terms
in the way you regard as most perspicuous, and locate your position within a taxonomy, of your
own devising, of all possible positions. In other words, use your knowledge of the literature to be
authoritative and systematic, as discussed above.32
At a more practical level, display your mastery of the literature through excellence in
citations. Include an early footnote citing all parties to the central debate of the paper. This
footnote should first cite the seminal literature, flagging it as such, and should then cite the rest
of the relevant literature, relating it as appropriate to the seminal literature.33 Take special care
to cite every author who might reasonably be asked to referee your paper. I repeat, however:
absent some very special reason, do not cite contemporary philosophers in the body of your article.
Relegate all such citations to the footnotes.

Clarity. At every point in your article, your reader should know what has happened, what
will happen, and what is currently happening. Accordingly, the ideal article is liberally marked
with signposts. Some helpful signposting devices include: providing an overview of the article in
the introduction; clearly stating your aim and your assumptions; using informative names, rather
than numbers or unmemorable abbreviations, for central theses; using informative titles for
sections; periodically recapitulating central results; and, most importantly, making generous use
of transition words like thus, since, because, however, but, therefore, nevertheless, despite, further, and
consequently.34
Beware of sounding formulaic, however. For example, do not begin every section by
stating, “In this section, I will show that ….” Excellent signposting is not so heavy-handed and
involves artful variation.

Concreteness. It is not in our nature to think solely via abstract principles. We find it
hard to grasp the principle that for virtually any empirical belief that apparently amounts to
knowledge, there is some scenario S such that S is compatible with all of the subject’s evidence
but incompatible with the truth of that belief. We find it easy to grasp the claim that given all of
our evidence, we might be the epistemic playthings of a deceiving demon. So make frequent use

31 Williamson (2000); Neta (2002); Skorupski (2010); Graham (2012); Moss (2013); Schaffer (2016); Lord
(forthcoming).
32 Lormand (1996) and (ms); Neta (2002, p. 664); Turri (2010).
33 Schellenberg (2014).
34 Lewis (1979); Schaffer (2009), (2012), and (2016).

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of concrete examples to supplement, though of course not to replace, abstract thought. Well-
chosen examples will clarify principles, make definitions easily digestible, and illustrate
structural points.35

Flair. Be alert to opportunities for the wry remark, the keen observation, the striking
metaphor.36 And make each example memorable, perhaps with humor, allusion, or picturesque
description. To rely on stock examples is a waste.
Do not, however, use flair at the expense of clarity or precision. Use metaphorical
language as a supplement to literal language, not as a substitute for it. And be sparing. As with
cooking spice, flair is pleasing in moderation and noxious in excess.

Originality. Originality, though it is of great importance for excellent writing, requires

no separate attention. Just focus on the virtues already discussed and let originality emerge
naturally.

4. Writing: process
The production of a body of excellent writing, like the building of a great city, requires time, and
vast quantities of it. It is not enough to put in the occasional marathon session. Good ideas must
simmer in the subconscious over many nights, and sometimes many months, before they mature
to excellence. I therefore recommend that you dedicate a regular block of time to writing.
I reserve at least one hour for writing per weekday during the teaching term and two
hours per weekday otherwise. Though I may or may not write for longer, as time permits, I treat
that reserved time as sacred. I do not let it be squeezed out by other professional obligations –
not by teaching, not by grading, not even by reading and thinking. I make an effort to preserve
my writing time even when attending conferences, though I let it go during periods of illness,
vacation, or emergency. To ensure that other commitments lapse before this one, I schedule my
writing for my very first block of open time each day, usually from 10-11 AM.
Mistakes are a necessary and even fruitful part of my writing process, and keeping to this
regimen gives me plenty of time to err. I have never expressed any significant idea correctly on
my first try, and usually not on my second or third, either. I find that writing is like picking my
way through a labyrinth: I always make many wrong turns, and even the right turn often leads
me away from the exit. So I reward myself not for the number of polished pages that I write but
for the amount of time that I spend.
Because my mistakes are often radical, my willingness to revise is radical, too. Without
exception, all of my best papers have been completely overhauled at least once and sometimes
twice. I will mention a recent case about which I have kept exact records. I spent 80 hours writing
the first draft of the paper; after receiving an invitation to revise and resubmit, I spent an
additional 100 hours scrapping and then replacing the basic framework of the paper; and upon
receiving a rejection letter with further comments, I spent 80 hours more revising crucial sections
before sending out the paper once more. It is only because I treat my daily writing time as sacred
that I can afford the luxury of proper revisions.
That is my way through the labyrinth; you will have to find your own.

35Lewis (1979); Gendler (2002, p. 47) and (2008); Sinhababu (2015).

36Schaffer (2009, p. 355), (2016, pp. 92-93), and (forthcoming, penultimate paragraph of §3.1); Schwitzgebel (2012,
pp. 39-40); Williamson (1995, first sentence).

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5. Writing: publication strategies
A professional philosopher’s body of work is standardly judged along two dimensions, quantity
and quality, which correspond to two extreme strategies for publishing. To take the extreme
quantity strategy is to submit an article as soon as you believe it to meet the minimum quality
standards of a solid journal, the idea being to produce an enormous quantity of solid work. To
take the extreme quality strategy is to submit an article only once you believe it to be of the
highest quality that you can achieve.
Few go to such extremes. But there are very successful professionals near each of them,
and you will find it helpful to consider roughly what point between these poles you wish to
occupy. I prefer to be near the extreme quality pole, and my instructions in this guide have been
formulated with that end in clear sight; those with different strategies will need to modify much
of my advice. I am not, however, endorsing any judgments about the philosophical value of quality
relative to quantity. I simply enjoy myself most when I attempt to write articles of the highest
quality that I can achieve, so that is what I try to do and what I have the experience to discuss.
There may seem to be a third extreme strategy, the strategy of producing work that is
extreme in quantity and quality alike. In fact, this strategy is a version of the extreme quality
strategy – philosophers who follow it just spend an astonishing amount of time on writing and
therefore produce in great quantities. Such philosophers usually rank among the most respected
in the profession, but do not underestimate their labor.
You may as well take measures to increase quantity with no sacrifice in quality. For
example, it requires a great deal of time to read and think deeply on any topic. So maximize your
investment: write a series of papers on a single topic rather than flitting from one to the next.
Better yet, have a project: a philosophical idea large enough that many articles are required for
its proper development. Working on a project will, as a happy byproduct, improve your thinking
as you settle into it. In addition, when writing articles, whether or not these are part of a project,
limit each to a single sharply demarcated topic, as per the earlier discussions of focus and
economy. Similarly, see a single paper to completion rather than working on several at once. In
this way you will submit articles for review much more rapidly.
Speaking of which: know that it is a long road between putting finger to keyboard and
having your article accepted. Though I lack precise general data, I can at least share my own
statistics. (I welcome information from others willing to share.) Across my 8 publications,
between my first submitting an article and its being accepted there has been a median gap of 15
months and a mean gap of 16.5 months. I estimate also that the gap between the moment that I
begin a new article and the moment that I first submit it is an additional 4-8 months. In total,
then, it typically takes about 19-23 months from when I start an article to when it is accepted.
That’s a long time!
Hence, you must take joy in the process of writing itself rather than in the distant prospect
of publication, and for the sake of your career you must also start writing well in advance of
milestones. You should have at least one publication, preferably more, before you go on the job
market, and you will probably send out job applications almost a full academic year before you
defend your dissertation – so you should begin work on your first article when you start your
dissertation, if not earlier. (These two activities should be largely co-extensive.) Submit that
article for review within the year. Also, remember that you may need to submit your tenure file
at the start of an academic year, and that by this point you must have a substantial body of work.
So you have no time to spare: continue to submit parts of your dissertation for review as you
complete them. Once your dissertation is complete allow yourself a month to celebrate; then start
new work immediately.

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If you have an abundance of talent, luck, and connections, then your articles will never be
rejected, and you may skip to the last two paragraphs of this section. I, on the other hand, have
amassed rejections by the truckload, and I have two pieces of advice on how to handle them. The
first is psychological: maintain your confidence! Even if you receive one rejection after another,
with no end in sight, treat these as signs of inadequate proficiency and not as signs of inadequate
intellect. Easier said than done, I know. I have mentioned that my career began with a streak of
18 consecutive rejections, and by the end of it my confidence was below sea-level. Now that I
have made it to the other side, however, I can assure you that the main requirement for success
in publishing is just toil – reflective, disciplined toil. Knowing how to write a publishable article
is a skill. It is a skill that you will learn if you put in consistent effort and reflection.
My second piece of advice is to take the content of referee comments very seriously, while
ignoring the tone. Referees are often sarcastic, cruel, and dismissive, but at the same time their
comments can almost always help you revise. In fact, though long, critical referee reports are
invariably painful to receive, these have been my single most helpful source of comments. I have of
course received terrific comments from advisors, mentors, friends, correspondents, and audiences
at talks. But good referees are experts on the topic and have scrutinized the paper with unusual
care. Many referees have given me 4 pages or more of thoughtful and sharply critical feedback.
Only from a handful of others have I gotten anything comparable. Thus, when I receive negative
comments from a referee, I do not attempt to revise immediately. I always feel upset when I first
read such comments, and I must set them aside for a day or two so that I can return to them with
a level head. Then I consider the comments one at a time, taking each seriously.
Taking a comment seriously is compatible with making no revisions in response, but it is
only rarely that I find myself so unmoved. Even when I think that a referee has simply missed
the point – and I think this often – I almost always find that I can clarify my idea so that it will
not be missed again. On occasion, however, a comment is just misguided and is best ignored. Let
your calm, considered judgment be your guide.
Indeed, before I submit an article for review, I find it helpful to examine my work from
the perspective of two kinds of referees. I first ask what my article does best according to my most
sympathetic referee. Taking this perspective tells me what to showcase and what to strip away. I
then ask what my article does worst according to my least sympathetic referee. Taking this
perspective reminds me to address important objections, add key qualifications, head off potential
misunderstandings, and most of all define my dialectical task precisely. To put things another
way, when a work has certain virtues, an attentive referee will want to accept it, and when a work
has certain vices, an attentive referee will want to reject it, so it is wise to write both so as to
invite acceptance and so as to avoid rejection.
By the way, please never let yourself become a sarcastic, cruel, or dismissive referee. A
referee is right to have high standards, but it is one thing to state precisely and in detail why an
article is not publishable and another to make its author an object of scorn. Indeed, I believe that
it is the responsibility of a referee also to note what an article does well, even when that article falls
far short of being publishable. Such observations, besides being a kindness to the author, help her
identify what ideas to preserve, highlight, or develop when she revises.

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6. Cultivating yourself as a philosopher
This writing guide began with an autobiography, and it is time to finish the tale. After my
miserable first outings in the world of publishing came the realization that I lacked crucial
writing skills. I resolved to learn all that I could. I began by requesting all the feedback that I
could get on my own work.
But I met an obstacle: I was no good at putting the information I gathered to any general
use. I would learn that I needed to include certain citations on p. 29 or that I should assume
rather than arguing for the transparency of experience, and I understood how to apply these
pieces of advice in the immediate context. But because I did not grasp the general principles
underlying the particular advice, I continued to make the mistakes of just the same type.
It was here that my lack of talent was made manifest, for talent – I conjecture – consists
largely in the ability to pick up principles of expertise from mere hints and examples. Like a
talented dancer who sees a dramatic performance of the tango and just knows how to dance like
that, a talented philosopher sees the ambitiousness of Plato and the systematicity of Kant and just
knows how to write like that. The talented person moves smoothly from seeing examples of
expertise to internalizing the underlying principles without ever needing to (and usually without
being able to) articulate them. The rest of us need to be told to lengthen our strides, square our
hips, lift our chins.
Lacking the benefits of talent, I had to practice reformulating any advice that I received
into specific but general principles. (Note that I do not use the italicized terms as contraries; the
specific is to be contrasted with the vague, the general with the particular.) When told that I
needed to include a certain citation, I attempted to articulate the specific general condition that
warranted that citation. When told that I should assume rather than defending the transparency
of experience, I attempted to articulate the specific general condition under which I should
assume rather than defending a claim. And so on.
Still with the aim of articulating specific yet general principles, I also began to seek
exemplars of excellent philosophical writing. I followed the work of several contemporary
philosophers who were consistently publishing in top-tier journals. So that I might learn from a
wealth of data, I would read a series of papers by one philosopher before moving to the next.
Once I gained some confidence in my ability to discern excellence, I expanded my search to
include any outstanding work, whether in the form of a contemporary article or a historical book.
All the while I asked successful philosophers to tell me, with as much precision as possible, what
works they regarded as best and why, what they saw as the best features of their own work, and,
ascending a level, what their processes of writing, reading, and thinking were like.
I recorded the principles that I posited in a Word document intended for personal use.
That document eventually expanded into this writing guide.
In these attempts to improve my writing, I was engaging in reflection at three levels. I
was reflecting, first, on what makes for excellent philosophical work, second, on what makes for
an excellent process of producing philosophical work, and third, on how a person can, without
relying on talent, identify and learn those processes. I think of these levels as corresponding to
certain goods, rules, and virtues distinctive to philosophy. My most basic advice on self-
cultivation, then, is to carry out your own reflections, which will mutually inform one another,
across all three levels.
A practical method for doing so is to design your own guide to philosophical writing. (If you
have internalized my previous advice about ambition and authority, then you must surely doubt
much of what you find here!) Start small: whenever you read a great philosophical article or book,
whether it is contemporary or historical, identify and write down its virtues in specific but

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general terms. And there’s no need to go it alone; learn from others. When I meet philosophers
at conferences, I like to ask which contemporary and historical works they most admire and why,
and especially which works they most admire while adamantly disagreeing with. Many times
such conversations have helped me recognize virtues that I had previously appreciated only
implicitly, if at all. Even if you reserve your guide for personal use, just articulating your
understanding of philosophical excellence as precisely as you can will give you much more
control over your writing.
Cultivate yourself not only as a writer, but also as a thinker. Read broadly as well as
deeply, taking time to appreciate great historical works. And be fearless about developing new
skills at every stage of your career. It is never too late to acquaint yourself with Sanskrit, modal
logic, or vision science.
Make sure to have a life beyond the profession, too. For us, philosophy is a part of the
good life, but only a part. A reader of this guide might be left with the impression that philosophy
is my consuming passion, one that leaves no time to spare. That is not true. I rarely put in more
than 50 hours per week of research, teaching, and service, and I make it my personal ideal to have
satisfying personal relationships, keep up one or two serious hobbies, eat well, exercise regularly,
meditate daily, and sleep plenty.
Do I reach this ideal? Never! – but I come close enough (and that is not particularly close)
to be content.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To Tamar Gendler, Eric Lormand, and Andy Egan – you taught me to think and to write. I
remember, and I am grateful.

To Andrew Bailey, Jake Berger, Selim Berker, Ben Blumson, Amber Carpenter, Victor Caston,
Jay Garfield, Fabian Geier, Sam Liao, Nico Silins, Neil Sinhababu, and Matt Walker – you might
all think that my advice in this guide is mad. But at least it is less mad because I have talked to
you.

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