Fieldnotes: breaking the silence

Introduction

Making notes of one's observations and working processes is a sine qua non of research. For the student, learning this discipline can be seen as part of the initiation into becoming a professional researcher (Jackson, 1995:70). Yet while there is an insistence within the academic community to make detailed notes, it is not easy to find advice on what this might mean. There is an air of mystery about what fieldnotes should look like, how they could be organised, and how one might use them.

Trainee researchers are urged to make their methodology explicit, and to study the methodologies of others. But where are the fieldnotes of seasoned researchers from which one might learn? The full content of fieldnotes seem to be a well kept secret, and is kept from open scrutiny as carefully as is the identity of informants. Why do we never see each others' notes? It seems to be the potential for exposure of the private person, and possibly the less than professional self that makes these notes so personal. Jackson (1995:57) cites the example of the publication of the journals of Malinowski, the founding father of anthropology at the beginning of this century: "What fieldnotes are good for is revealing something about the fieldworker. We now see Malinowski as a colonialist, racist, male chauvinist pig." Small wonder that we might wish to protect ourselves from being seen in a "state of intellectual undress" (Jackson, 1995:51)!

I believe that my own fieldnotes are at the heart of my research, and I have developed a very personal relationship with them. They represent friend, foe, critic, aide-mŽmoire, hindrance, distortion, and confessional. I have a sense that, were I to write them for anyone other than myself, my notes would become an exercise in impression management. The private aspect is very important, and encourages me not to censor my thoughts. But I do wonder what I am missing by not letting others see what I have called my research log. What could others tell me by reading it in its raw form?

What follows is based on what I wrote in my MSc dissertation about the format, content and function of my research log. While one might argue that the ideas discussed in this article are principally of concern to qualitative researchers, I strongly believe that those engaged in quantitative work should give them some thought. For, whatever the research design, it can be invaluable to be able to look back over the evolution of one's ideas, to reflect on why particular decisions were made, and to become aware of the assumptions and values implicit in the research.

I offer this as an invitation for others in the department to share their own thoughts on constructing fieldnotes, how they might be used, and how we might deepen understandings of our own work by revealing more of the unabridged contents of our notes.

Starting the research log

The first entry in my research log is 14 September 1994. However, I did not actually initiate the log until 14 December 1994, almost a week after teaching for the first term of the course had finished. The reason for this is that I did not realise until December that I wanted to write a log. Luckily, I date everything I write, and was therefore able to hunt through my files and collate a number of documents I had written which related to my research topic - these were then inserted in my folder behind the 14 December entry.

I include these details because it became clear to me over the year that research can be a messy business. My project started from the strong conviction that my topic was an interesting area to look at, and that some of the issues were personally very important to me. But beyond that, I did not know what I wanted to do. The enquiry led in many directions, and turned back on itself many times. Even now, I would be reluctant to say which ideas were blind alleys: my log may still have much to teach me.

Dimly aware that the log was likely to take on almost a life of its own, and lead me into new areas of my subject and myself, I resisted the temptation to begin the first entry with some grand statement of intent. I did not know what the nature and function of the log would be. What follows is a description of what the log became as it was being written.

Function

The initial purpose of the log was to play the role of a 'critical friend' with whom I could sustain a continuous inner dialogue as the work proceeded. Through reading and rereading the log, I have been able to reflect on the evolution of the research, and my development alongside it. It has enabled me to challenge myself on matters which, for whatever reason, I did not feel brave enough at the time to try out on anyone else. The privacy of the log afforded me the freedom to examine problems whenever I wanted, exposing my prejudices, allegiances, indecisions and ill-defined concepts, forcing me to clarify my position each time, and what it might mean for my future actions.

So the log has been my principle mode of what Hammersley and Atkinson (1995:16ff) call reflexivity, enabling me to examine my cultural and epistemological stance, and to consider how I, as observer, might be influencing both the field under observation and the observations themselves. The log gave physical substance to many theoretical and methodological musings which would otherwise have been lost. As a research technique, it follows the thinking of Ely et al. (1991: 69):

The log is the place where each qualitative researcher faces the self as instrument through a personal dialogue about moments of victory and disheartenment, hunches, feelings, insights, assumptions, biases, and ongoing ideas about method.

It has served a similar function to the fieldwork journal of Hammersley and Atkinson (1995:192), who justify its use as partial insurance against producing an incomplete account of the work:

Private response should be transformed, by reflection and analysis, into potential public knowledge. The fieldwork journal is the vehicle for such transformation. At a more mundane level, perhaps, the carefully made fieldwork journal will enable the conscientious ethnographer painstakingly to retrace and explicate the development of the research design, the emergence of analytic themes, and the systematic collection of data. The provision of such a 'natural history' of the research is a crucial component of the complete ethnography.

For them, "reflexivity provides the basis for a reconstructed logic of enquiry" (p.21).

What goes in? Rules for inclusion

My overarching rule was that I would include anything I wanted to say. I tried not to censor myself and say, "No that's not strictly to do with my research," or, "That's not proper log material". It was especially important to record ideas about which I was hesitant, and to question the reasons for my reluctance to commit an idea to paper, or find a form of words for it. If I could not find prose, I used single words or phrases; I did not allow myself to drop the idea once I had it, however inarticulate it was.

I adopted the principle of 'once in, never out' (Ely et al 1991:74), meaning that no entry was ever edited or removed. If I wanted to challenge an entry, or word something differently, or even repeat something, then it would go into the log entry on the day I had that new thought - I usually referenced the earlier idea so that I could begin to make connections and see the evolution of my ideas, as well as learn which ideas seemed to be ones I kept returning to - these might reveal my principle interests or blocks.

An analysis of the log shows a wide range of styles and types of entry. Categories included: summaries of what I did and how I thought about it, comments on what I felt about issues arising, possible research questions, plans and ideas for new methods and further action, early self-notification of issues which might need deeper consideration, passing thoughts, analytic memos drawing together thematic threads, personal blocks, letters I wrote, excerpts from essays and assignments, notes with commentary on articles and books (sometimes relating them to my work), records of conversations with my supervisor, researchers and students, diagrams of my early theories, documents I used in the research, attempts to define concepts, my preconceptions of situations, exploration of my changing position in relation to my field, and challenges to myself.

My relationship with the log was fluid and non-censoring, allowing me to pursue whatever seemed interesting or problematic at a given moment. The log became whatever I needed it to be at the time, a record both of the research and of my inner journey, and helped me become simultaneously self-critical and self-supportive.

Format

The physical layout was adapted from advice from Ely et al. (1991:73), who suggest leaving generous margins for later comments on what has been written, numbering lines, and sequential pagination. I produced a template, the top right hand corner including the title 'Research Log' for quick identification of extra print-outs floating around on my desk. Files were named according to the log date, which was set out to read chronologically down the computer screen menu: 950104 meant the year 1995, month 01, day 04. The header also included this coded date, along with page numbers. The lines were numbered 1-50 down the left hand side. Entries and individual passages can now be referred to by a coded number sequence: thus, 950104/2/12-16 refers to an idea in lines 12-16 on page 2 of the log entry dated 4 January 1995.

Developing log technique

I was not very systematic in looking back through the log, and in retrospect, I could have enhanced its power by reviewing entries, for example, every two or three weeks. As the log grew, it held so much information that I needed to keep track of what was there. In connection with this, it may well be worth considering entering the log straight into a qualitative software package, so that ideas could be categorised and coded for easier cross-reference.

Enhancing credibility

I pointed out at the start that keeping notes was a basic requirement for any research. And research gains credibility to the extent that the whole process by which one arrives at conclusions is laid open to scrutiny. While the research design, mode of data collection and analysis may often be made explicit, not all of the thinking which is evident in one's fieldnotes reaches the light of day. Of course, the presentation of any piece of research must be selective, and it would be tiresome to read irrelevant material.

But with persuasion as the goal, I would have to be a brave researcher to present information about my work and the ideas driving it which might weaken my case. There is a tension between sharing my full notes and learning a great deal from what others have to say, and being selective about what I show so as to encourage an image of clearheadedness, singleness of purpose, and unswerving professionalism. I suspect that we all keep something back, and always will. But at what cost? We sense how we might gain by cutting out so much of what we could reveal of our fieldnotes, but perhaps more attention needs to be given to what we lose. Perhaps we abridge too far?

References

Ely, M. et al. (1991) Doing qualitative research: circles within circles, Falmer, London

Hammersley, M. & Atkinson, P. (1995) Ethnography: Principles in Practice, Routledge, London (first published 1983)

Jackson, J.E. (1995) '"DŽja entendu": the liminal qualities of anthropological fieldnotes' in Van Maanen, J. (ed.) (1995) Representation in ethnography, Sage, London, 36-78

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