Watermelons and Writing Qualitatively: Personal Reflections, Lessons Learned, and Prioritizing Process Alongside Product

Abstract

My grandmother grew watermelons, and a childhood spent helping her taught me a lot about writing, and about writing qualitatively. Neighboring farmers laced soil with fertilizers that accelerated growth but thickened the rind and softened the meat. Others pulled fruit from the vines before ripening, producing soft rinds and bland, mealy fruit. She’d cluck her tongue and say, “Watermelons don’t sweeten off the vine.” Writing and watermelons have a lot in common. When I first started writing academically, I invested significant time and energy in fancy words, convoluted ideas, and a desperate pace to publish, not perish, and what grew was thick, mushy, and sour. In my efforts to hurry and finish one project only to start another, I snatched words and thoughts hurriedly. Writing doesn’t sweeten off the vine, either. When we harvested melons, my grandmother’s careful attention meant rinds thumping with sticky, sugary sweetness. The deep red meat nearly pulsed with the love sown into the soil. Writing qualitatively is like that: daily care, refusal to cut corners, savoring process and product. When writing creates the same satisfaction, purpose, and laughter in my heart and gut that my grandmother’s watermelons always did: that is to write qualitatively.