Publishing that first academic article
Yesterday I submitted my first journal article for publication. I’m going to speak about the process and the decisions I took to get there.
As a developing academic, I am consciously — painfully — aware that my worth is derived in large part from my record of published works. I’m also aware that it can be a slow and very competitive process to get published. I’m ready to have my pride dented. It wasn’t easy getting here.
Serving an apprenticeship — did it help?
I have recently contributed to a chapter which is currently under consideration for publication, but that piece of work saw me collaborating with two experienced and accomplished colleagues who were able to steer that piece of work with aplomb. It was a wonderful piece of work to be involved in, but I was very much an apprentice. Having the good fortune to work with experienced academics was at once comforting and terrifying. They made it seem like a very straightforward and simple, though not necessarily easy, process. Who knows how many missteps they silently avoided by leaning on their tacit knowledge? Will becoming aware of my own mistakes hit me harder as I’ve seen colleagues sidestep them?
How I stopped procrastinating
At the end of 2022, I read Austin Kleon’s ‘Show Your Work’ and decided to make a concerted effort to get something submitted. As an early career academic, I have a range of material that could be fit for publication with work and have prevaricated for, I don’t know, three years. It seems obvious to speak about experiencing imposter syndrome, but the research bears this out. Insecurity in our identity is common among early career academics and I think that my route into academia, transitioning from industry and then working in the third space as a so-called pracademic made that worse. I don’t think it’s easy for anyone, but the ‘excelling at school, strong degree, studying for a PhD with reputed researchers’ route does seem to provide a clearer runway to success.
My first step was to set up a Medium blog (you’ve probably guessed that already) and some social media accounts to point to it. That meant that I had opened myself up to criticism in some way and I also built in a little bit of accountability by committing publicly to submitting work. How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time. My first Medium article — on a totally unrelated topic — was my first bite.
Research, research, research
It seems superfluous to tell researchers to ‘do your research’, but hearing from others gave me clearer ideas of what I did — and, more importantly, did not — want to do. Articles such as this were important to me in making my decision. Other people sharing their hopes and fears mattered to me. Insecurity is an isolating, vulnerable place and it is important to hold out a hand sometimes. The type of article I submitted, the journal that I submitted to, the feedback I solicited on my drafts, and the format of my submission were all changed by some piece of online/printed advice or other.
Now, I’m aware that I might be writing this having submitted a substandard article bound for rejection after a cursory glance, but that misses the point. Research gave me confidence enough to commit to pressing submit.
What I chose to write first
I have several research projects in a semi-completed state and two master’s theses that could be turned into multiple articles, but I elected not to work on any of the obvious ones. Some of this decision stems from the pragmatic calculation that my second, third, and fourth, submissions will better my first and I want to save the more impactful material until I am ready for wider dissemination. One of the benefits of being an early career academic is that I have a long road ahead of me. It is important to get something published now (and if that reads like a self-serving reason to write, blame the industry not me) but I hope to still be writing decades into the future.
The other reason that I chose one of my (relatively) minor works goes back to the pragmatics of insecurity. I don’t want to sabotage my own chances but being able to couch any rejection with “well, I know I have better work in the pipeline” is a strategy to keep going. I don’t know if these insecurities are exceptional, but I feel like we’re all under pressure and creating little release valves is something I’ve really benefitted from.
And what I did next
Before I submitted my first article, I had begun work on my second one. This time starting with a piece of completed research that feels nearer to completion. I planned my diary so that on submission day I was able to press the button and commit myself to the process, pause to make a cup of tea, and then get back to working on the second one.
Academic publication is slow. Double-blind peer review is a necessary but glacial process. The last thing I want to do is to sit around like a lovestruck teenager hoping that the phone will ring. If I work hard and get lucky, I may be ready to submit the second article before the feedback from the first one arrives. Confidence, like momentum in sports, is capricious. Capitalising on the dopamine rush of submitting my first will, I hope, push me just enough to get the second into a place where the hard part is done, and finishing is easier than dealing with quitting.
I suppose that I am fortunate that I have work ready to turn to. It’s a product of my own anxieties, of course, but being in a teaching-first role means I’ve been able to proceed without committing to publication too soon. Perhaps an equivalent route would be to publish opinion pieces for the academic community while building up that reserve of work.
Am I an academic now?
For years I was a business leader, then I consulted, then I was a pracademic. Now I teach, I write, and I research. I design teaching programmes, and I externally examine the teaching of others. I suppose I am. I still feel like an imposter, but I felt like that in all those other roles too.
I’m always going to feel like an imposter. But I also feel a bit more like an academic.
