Editorial snafus... con't

So I've finally gotten through the comments for the one solitary, strident reviewer for the r&r I was talking about a few days ago. I think I've done what's necessary to make him (and the editor) happy, so we're in the final stages.

But then I get an email from a journal editor who tells me *I* will miss the deadline for this year's journal. This is because apparently I was supposed to know that when an email came out in spring with a deadline for submission attached, it was the deadline for the edited version (i.e. after reviewers), not my deadline for submitting it.

So then I get a followup email that finally clarifies it (apparently, I'm not the only submitter who didn't realize the deadline was for the post-edit version when we're still in submission stage). So I hustle my ass to get the paper polished up and sent off. And I did send it off, in the midst of all kinds of other dissertation defense/conference presentation work.

Three weeks after sending it off, I finally get an email from the editor indicating receipt (apparently said editor was not checking email while out of town?!) and that it will be sent to reviewers. I just got an email this week saying, 'like the article, but oops, not enough time to revise before the deadline at the end of the month... perhaps you'd like to wait till next year to submit?'

No, I'd not like to wait till next year. I wanted it on the cv for this year, you know, when I go on the market? What good will it do next year?

I'm really frustrated right now, which is why I haven't crafted a response yet. But I'm seriously considering reworking it for a different journal and sending it out in the hopes of getting it accepted before October when I need to start sending my cv out. It's well placed for this particular journal, but it could be slightly reworked for a different one.

More decisions.

Wading

It's amazing how much can pile up when you haven't filed anything for the last ten months and have produced at least two drafts of a dissertation!

I've spent way more time analyzing the comments than addressing them

I have. I have spent more time... no, correction, probably not more - but far too much... time analyzing the comments on the r&r that is due next month than addressing them.

Part of why I say that is because the described weaknesses of the paper fall into two primary areas, both of which are actually fairly easily addressed by revision of my prose and clarification of what I'm already saying, rather than having to go do additional research or reading to add to the essay. But a bigger part of it is because the comments struck me as so bizarre.

When I opened the file with the comments, my first impression of the summary comments was of someone yelling and jumping up and down, trying desperately to get my attention when everyone within eyesight and earshot knew what was going on. No, honestly, I had the recurrent flash of vision, almost as if I could see it out the corner of my eye, or a leprechaun or midget, fists clenched, veins popping, jumping up and down in the corner, yelling "listen! listen! listen!" Not a word of a lie. It's an image that I'm having real trouble shaking as I continue to work on the comments.

And I've had these comments for two weeks now. This isn't my initial run through. I've read them again and again, trying to get over the tone of the comments to get at the substance.

I think I've gotten to the heart of the substance, and that substance is fair and a good evaluation of the weaknesses of the paper. But the tone of the thing is really, really off.

I've had harsh comments before. One of the professors in my doctoral program was well known for harsh comments on papers, and some of the harshest of those are still remembered and routinely quoted when we convene over drinks. I've also gotten comments on a few publications, including one that rejected the article entirely (which hurts of course). But neither the quotable harshness of that professor or the harsh reality that my writing didn't measure up to the journal's expectations can match the off-putting nature of these comments.

Like I said, the criticisms are legitimate, and I'm finding them useful in shaping the piece into a better essay. But the tone is strident and hyperbolic in its insistence that THIS IS A PROBLEM!

Okay, dude! You don't have to shout. I sent this article in knowing it would be peer reviewed and knowing how peer review works. I send the article, two to three people read it and evaluate its strengths/weaknesses, the editor sends it back to me, I address the weaknesses and then send it back again to the editor with an explanation of how I addressed the reader's comments. This is the way the process works. You don't need to yell at me to get me to listen to the weaknesses - I want to produce quality work that will be accepted as valuable by my peers.

But it's this question of quality work that is now making me wonder if I should not send the article back.

When I submitted to this edited volume, I checked out the editor, who seemed to be doing interesting work at a good school. And the topic of the edited collection was novel and provocative. So I submitted an abstract.

They rushed me to get the full article in, but I made the deadline and then waited. Their own deadlines for review came and went (twice), but I finally got the reviewer's comments at the end of May (the day after my conference presentation - how convenient!)

When I opened the comments, I read through, noting the strident tone, but realizing that those comments might be mitigated by more reasonably-toned second reader comments.

But there were none. I had expected at least two readers, even if they couldn't garner three, but I only got the one reader's comments, which meant that I would now have to rely on my own sense of how to tease apart tone from content, rather than being able to start by finding places where both reviewers had agreed (which is usually a good sign that those are the changes to start with!)

I also started to worry and wonder. First, I worried whether I'd gotten enough feedback to produce a quality product. But I also started to wonder about the one reviewer chosen, since he indicated in two places that he has a) not read the novel the article discusses, and b) is not an expert in the theoretical area that largely governs the reading of that novel. Then as I continued to read, it seemed that the reviewer also didn't have a clear idea of the conventions of the genre under discussion as well.

So I began to wonder: why was this reviewer chosen?

The answer seems to be either proximity or desperation.

See, one of the things about electronic editing, is that Word very nicely labels the comments entered into a document with the name of the registered user of the computer they're created on. In this case, a quick google of the name on the comments turned up a graduate student in American literature at the university where the editor works. A graduate student. Who studies American, not British literature. Whose only conference presentation I could find works in a genre and period that are both very different from mine.

Now do you see why I'm wondering if I should do the r&r?

I'm having doubts for two reasons:
1) I haven't gotten feedback from an expert in the field (or text, or genre) in which I'm writing. That means I'm really relying upon my own sense of the validity of the research. I'm a pretty junior scholar (though not as junior as my reviewer) so I know I can use the help of more senior scholars. My ego's not that big that I don't know my own weaknesses and having someone who has less experience than me give me the only feedback just makes me a wee bit nervous.
2) The editor did not/could not find someone in my field to review the paper, let alone two or three people. Which of course makes me wonder why the editor could find so few reviewers. Was it just a matter of timing? Is mine the odd-man-out and didn't fit well with the reviewers they'd lined up? Is this just sloppy editorial work? Did someone back out of reviewing?

I do realize that although the publication could be listed as peer-reviewed, it is essentially the same as a non-reviewed edited collection. So it's not going to be prestigious or count a lot toward the development of my cv. And it's not like I have a reputation to uphold. But I hope to have one at some point.

Will I be making a fatal mis-step if I let this publication go ahead? Or will the potentially inferior status of the edited collection still look better on my cv than nothing at all?

Decisions, decisions.

Keeping the momentum going

Perhaps I could say something clever about energy and buckballs, which is what this Montreal museum is modeled on, but I don't have anything clever to say.

It was only a few weeks ago, but the trip to Montreal feels like ages ago, probably mostly because it was nice and warm there most of the time while here it's been raining off and on for the month. Rain always seems to make days drag for me.

And that's part of my problem right now in keeping the momentum going - I've got lots of projects on the go, but I'm also finding the days and days of time spent mostly at home in front of my computer really drag the will to work out of me. So I've been resurrecting all those tried and true methods for keeping myself motivated when I'm the only one around. So far they're (mostly) working. Actually, they really only ever work most of the time, so I can't complain.

At the same time, the isolation of working from home is tough to deal with sometimes. Although I can have very productive days, at other times, I feel restless and uninspired in ways that don't seem to happen as often when I'm at a workplace (even if that's only part time).

My summer will be nicely broken up with one long trip (to the UK) and a few shorter ones planned, so the reward of getting to do fun things on vacation is part of that motivating strategy. But on a rainy day like today when I'm struggling to address a reader's comments on an article that needs to be revised, they seem very far away!

Relativity

I was tooling around the internets because I'm putting off doing any serious work and getting tired of filing papers that need to be filed when I came across something that stopped me for a moment.

A blogger described turning 39 and finally realizing that he/she had reached adulthood.

Hunh??

I realize my biography is a bit unusual, but I felt the full weight of adulthood somewhere in my early twenties when I realized that life was no longer a game, and the things that you did had really long term consequences. I don't mean that I first learned to really regret at that point. But I did realize that you only get one chance at this, and if you piss it away by screwing around with your life, then you have no one but yourself to blame. And then later you will regret that you pissed away your time and energy on things that didn't count (and I don't just mean careers or money; I mean people and relationships too).

To me, that's what realizing you're an adult is about. It's not about managing your own money or having your own place, or buying your first car. But it is about realizing that there's no one else in the world who has the responsibility for what you do. No one to blame or praise but yourself.

It was also in my early twenties that I realized that me screwing up could screw up other people's lives too, because none of us are isolated, even when it seems that we are, and you're responsible for thinking not only about your own life, but the lives of those people you interact with. I don't mean that you have to worry about what kind of day the grocery clerk is having. But you do have to consider how your actions will affect your family members, friends, or even your coworkers.

I'm not talking altruistic sacrifice. Just an awareness that every action you take has a ripple effect in the world. Some of those ripples are small, but some can cause effects that you can't possibly anticipate. So you want to make the right choices and making the right choices includes considering that you're not the only person who those choices will affect. Sometimes the best choice will hurt other people. That's to be expected at times. But like in many other things, awareness seems to me to be an important feature of decision making. You make the tough choices, but make them as fully aware of the consequences as you can.

So I was surprised that someone who has been around for several decades already felt the revelation of adulthood at 39. And now I'm curious. What does his/her biography look like that we might come to the same understanding at such radically different ages in our lives?

Maybe I just misunderstood. Maybe the revelation of adulthood was something that I have yet to understand. Maybe I've just been playing at adulthood all along and I'm a little slow on the game and will reach the same stage soon (hopefully). Perhaps my understanding of adulthood is different or not quite complete and I haven't really "got" it yet.

But this little story also made me realize how very different life is for every one of us. It reminded me that my story is not yours; and yours is not mine. And if I'm going to understand your story, I need to listen to it without trying to impose mine on it. Food for thought.

Anyone up for a bonfire?

I sorted through the drafts, and drafts, and drafts! of the dissertation today. Now I have a big pile of paper that I can either recycle or burn.

Good thing we just reworked our patio and firepit. If you bring the marshmallows, I have the fuel!

Two forward, one back... or is it one forward and two back?

Alien on a street corner. Yup, that feels about right these days.

To say that things feel weird since the defense would be accurate and yet doesn't quite capture what life feels like these days. It's weird as in not normal but not weird as in alien. And that's got me feeling a bit off.

See, when I look at life, I'm doing the same kind of stuff I was doing before the defense. I'm still writing conference papers and planning syllabi (which is usual between-semester activity). But without that big project in the background, I feel a bit directionless.

I know, I know. Everyone says how lucky and nice it is to have the luxury of not having that big project hanging over my head. And I should be happy that I have time to figure out what I want to do in the next big project.

It should be a luxurious time to just read whatever I want and think about what kinds of things I'd like to do next. But it hasn't felt like that, and I think I finally figured out why today. I packed up my work office this afternoon - in the move from f/t back to p/t, I'll have to move from a solo to a shared office. That left me a little down - nothing serious - just a little sad at what feels like a step backwards.

And I think that's why I've felt so rudderless after the defense. I finish this big huge project, and what happens? I move a step back. The first thing after the defense and I'm sliding two steps back instead of moving forward. And that makes me wonder if that's somehow indicative of the kind of progress (or lack thereof) that I'll make now that I'm on my own.

I mean, I don't really wonder. But it does seem terribly ironic that I work fulltime and defend in one year, then the best I can manage is a part time position and no idea what project I want to undertake next. When you put it that way, it sure feels like a seismic shift, a sliding backward, that I don't really believe is a portent of things to come. But somewhere in my guts, there's an uneasy feeling of discomfort with the situation. That's not making me happy.

Of course, all this rain isn't helping either - it's June for crying out loud! Where's the sun?

Why does it have to be this way?

So the conference paper is mostly written. It needs some tweaking because it's probably 2-3 minutes too long, and I don't doubt that there are some sentences that I'll discover are awkward once I read them aloud.

But it was so hard to get it put together!

I knew what I wanted to say, and as I indicated before, it was actually easier than what I thought I was trying to argue, but it still was a struggle to get it together. I had a terrible time forcing myself to work through the material.

So even though it's done and that's good, I ask you, why does it have to be so hard??

Well now I'm just confused

So the conference paper went well and I had time to do some additional revision work on an article that I sent off to a new publication source. Let's hope they're either interested, or at least send back some useful reviewers reports. The confusion I'm experiencing isn't related to the work completed, but to what's to come.

So the conference paper and revision week were last week where I 1) presented the conference paper, 2) revised an article and sent it out before the deadline for the special topic issue, and 3) drafted a conference paper proposal.

As I indicated in the first paragraph, the first two tasks were accomplished in reasonable style and timeliness. The third - the conference paper proposal - was slow in coming together and I was struggling with the wording really badly the one evening while I was there.

So instead of struggling through - which is the strategy I tend to first when I encounter trouble with writing - I left the abstract and went to bed. That was a good thing, it turned out. The next morning I awoke to an email invitation to submit to another conference. An invitation! That's kinda cool. Yes, it was an invitation to a conference that my university is hosting, which means they were just looking for someone nearby. But that conversation with one of the members of the department (who happens to be on the conference committee) the other week paid off. When they needed someone to round out a panel, my name came up, all as a direct result of just chatting with someone about the work I was doing.

So I submitted to the home university conference rather than far-away-and-in-a-different-country conference. Which is all kinds of nice.

What I'm confused about though is what happened when I got home.

I knew that I would spend most of June on an R&R (which came via email later on the day of my conference presentation) and on the conference paper for the July conference. But a weird thing happened between my submission of the abstract and getting the time (now) to write it.

See, I thought the paper proposal I'd sent in was about literary representations of nanotechnology. That's what has been in the back of my mind every time I would think of the conference over the last several months. But yesterday I pulled out the actual abstract I sent. It was about autonomy and identity in literary representations of future technologies. Not quite the same.

I can talk about nanotech in this paper if I wish, but given the scope I laid out when I first proposed the paper, there's little to no need to go into any detail about nanotech.

In some ways, this makes the paper an easier one to write because I don't have to do as much reading (and re-reading) as I thought I'd have to.

But I'm having a terrible time adjusting to the new topic. It's thrown me for a bit of a loop, frankly; hence, the confusion. I'm just not sure where to begin. I know I'll find it, but right now, it's just not coming to me.

What I can't figure out is why I was so terribly sure I was going to have to read Feynman and Sargent and a bunch of other stuff on nanotech, when I didn't originally propose that, and what I did propose is a far better topic for me to try to tackle. Odd.