A visit to Amsterdam recently reminded me just how valuable the practice of “reflective narrative writing” can be as a method for deepening thinking. I left Amsterdam realising we need to make this clearer to more people. Otherwise, good research may be nipped in the bud.
The occasion was a meeting of PhD students from the Open University of the Netherlands. Their doctoral programme draws on thinking around complexity and management. I completed a similar doctoral programme 11 years earlier with Ralph Stacey in the UK. Indeed, the Dutch programme was instigated by one of Ralph’s graduates, Nol Groot.
My journey to the venue was not entirely straightforward. I took a bus from my overnight accommodation to the end stop, where I found myself in a modern, impersonal part of the city. I asked a passer-by the way. As she was going in the same direction, we accompanied one another and we got into conversation. Just before we parted, this exchange took place:
Me: What kind of work do you do?
Her: I work in computer systems.
Me: That’s funny because the meeting I’m going to is almost the opposite! We’ll be talking about complexity and emergence in organisational life and narrative writing. Come to think of it, though, those things can and do co-exist with systems!
Her: Yes, absolutely.
That fleeting encounter was itself an example of emergence: a specific conversation sparked fresh thinking (and helped me find my destination).
Having arrived, I took part in the morning session, and then after lunch it was my turn to speak. I had decided to share my own experience of using reflective narrative writing. This seemed like a sensible way to stimulate some discussion. And anyway, as I see it, there is no “technique” for reflective narrative writing – no model, matrix or set of prescribed steps. Instead the writer usually writes an account, in the first person, of a striking moment or significant experience from their everyday working life, typically including details of specific incidents and conversations.
After telling my own story, I highlighted a few themes that have come to matter to me. These included the merits of handwriting a first draft, then typing it, and revising it again and again (“iterative writing”). By writing about an experience, we can later go back to it and, in a sense, enter a dialogue with our own writing. This enables us to weave in further thoughts and insights. And if we share successive drafts with other people (e.g. a supervision group, or even the people who were involved in the incidents described), our reflective narrative can grow into a rich account of lived experience.
Why is this method so productive and rewarding? I think it is partly because normal organisational life is so busy and pressured that we hardly have time to reflect on what has been happening. We may discuss things with a colleague or a friend but writing is different. It gives us time to find our own way of articulating our experience and to deepen our thoughts about it. It enables us to “make sense” in new ways and sometimes to act differently.
So I was saddened to hear that the powers that be at the university don’t fully appreciate this form of research. That’s a real pity because the method may not look academic or scientific at first sight, but it can and does generate immense insight and wisdom.
I am in touch with many people who have pursued Ralph Stacey’s doctorate in organisational change since 2000, and my sense is that all those I speak to have gone back into their work environments wiser. Some learned how to break through constraints in ways that previously seemed impossible. Others became more confident and (perhaps) less controlling leaders. Many, like me, changed the nature of their work after graduating. Personally, I came to see that there is no need to chase constantly after a new theory or the latest best-seller on leadership.
In short, by using reflective narrative writing, we can take our experience seriously and get better at noticing and reflecting on what is going on around us. We can explore things we normally take for granted, and we can develop our own practice in ways that may influence others too.
As I write those words, I am reminded of John Shotter, who opened my eyes to Wittgenstein’s thinking:
[Wittgenstein’s] concern is not with finding anything radically new, but with seeing something that is difficult to see for other reasons: either i) because '... like a pair of glasses on our nose through which we see whatever we look at. It never occurs to us to take them off' (1953, no.103); or ii) because it all '...goes by so quickly, and [we] should like to see it as it were laid open to view' (1953, no.435), thus to be able to survey it at one's leisure, reflectively.... (Shotter, 1997)
Related reading
John Shotter (1997). Wittgenstein in practice: from 'The Way of Theory' to a 'Social Poetics'. In C.W. Tolman, F. Cherry, R. van Hezewijk, and I. Lubek (Eds.) Problems of Theoretical Psychology. York, Ontario: Captus Press, 1997.
Ludwig Wittgenstein (1953). Philosophical Investigations. Oxford: Blackwell.
To see how the idea of talking to the PhD students about narrative writing emerged from a conversation, read my earlier blog post here.
The occasion was a meeting of PhD students from the Open University of the Netherlands. Their doctoral programme draws on thinking around complexity and management. I completed a similar doctoral programme 11 years earlier with Ralph Stacey in the UK. Indeed, the Dutch programme was instigated by one of Ralph’s graduates, Nol Groot.
My journey to the venue was not entirely straightforward. I took a bus from my overnight accommodation to the end stop, where I found myself in a modern, impersonal part of the city. I asked a passer-by the way. As she was going in the same direction, we accompanied one another and we got into conversation. Just before we parted, this exchange took place:
Me: What kind of work do you do?
Her: I work in computer systems.
Me: That’s funny because the meeting I’m going to is almost the opposite! We’ll be talking about complexity and emergence in organisational life and narrative writing. Come to think of it, though, those things can and do co-exist with systems!
Her: Yes, absolutely.
That fleeting encounter was itself an example of emergence: a specific conversation sparked fresh thinking (and helped me find my destination).
Having arrived, I took part in the morning session, and then after lunch it was my turn to speak. I had decided to share my own experience of using reflective narrative writing. This seemed like a sensible way to stimulate some discussion. And anyway, as I see it, there is no “technique” for reflective narrative writing – no model, matrix or set of prescribed steps. Instead the writer usually writes an account, in the first person, of a striking moment or significant experience from their everyday working life, typically including details of specific incidents and conversations.
After telling my own story, I highlighted a few themes that have come to matter to me. These included the merits of handwriting a first draft, then typing it, and revising it again and again (“iterative writing”). By writing about an experience, we can later go back to it and, in a sense, enter a dialogue with our own writing. This enables us to weave in further thoughts and insights. And if we share successive drafts with other people (e.g. a supervision group, or even the people who were involved in the incidents described), our reflective narrative can grow into a rich account of lived experience.
Why is this method so productive and rewarding? I think it is partly because normal organisational life is so busy and pressured that we hardly have time to reflect on what has been happening. We may discuss things with a colleague or a friend but writing is different. It gives us time to find our own way of articulating our experience and to deepen our thoughts about it. It enables us to “make sense” in new ways and sometimes to act differently.
So I was saddened to hear that the powers that be at the university don’t fully appreciate this form of research. That’s a real pity because the method may not look academic or scientific at first sight, but it can and does generate immense insight and wisdom.
I am in touch with many people who have pursued Ralph Stacey’s doctorate in organisational change since 2000, and my sense is that all those I speak to have gone back into their work environments wiser. Some learned how to break through constraints in ways that previously seemed impossible. Others became more confident and (perhaps) less controlling leaders. Many, like me, changed the nature of their work after graduating. Personally, I came to see that there is no need to chase constantly after a new theory or the latest best-seller on leadership.
In short, by using reflective narrative writing, we can take our experience seriously and get better at noticing and reflecting on what is going on around us. We can explore things we normally take for granted, and we can develop our own practice in ways that may influence others too.
As I write those words, I am reminded of John Shotter, who opened my eyes to Wittgenstein’s thinking:
[Wittgenstein’s] concern is not with finding anything radically new, but with seeing something that is difficult to see for other reasons: either i) because '... like a pair of glasses on our nose through which we see whatever we look at. It never occurs to us to take them off' (1953, no.103); or ii) because it all '...goes by so quickly, and [we] should like to see it as it were laid open to view' (1953, no.435), thus to be able to survey it at one's leisure, reflectively.... (Shotter, 1997)
Related reading
John Shotter (1997). Wittgenstein in practice: from 'The Way of Theory' to a 'Social Poetics'. In C.W. Tolman, F. Cherry, R. van Hezewijk, and I. Lubek (Eds.) Problems of Theoretical Psychology. York, Ontario: Captus Press, 1997.
Ludwig Wittgenstein (1953). Philosophical Investigations. Oxford: Blackwell.
To see how the idea of talking to the PhD students about narrative writing emerged from a conversation, read my earlier blog post here.
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