Category Archives: Academic life and work

Musings and commentary about life and work as an academic, particularly with early career researchers (ECRs) in mind

My Shadow CV

The idea of the shadow CV

I have been inspired to write this blog post Devoney Looser’s article in the Chronicle of Higher Education, in which she asks: What would my vita look like if it recorded not just the successes of my professional life, but also the many, many rejections? After doing some digging I realised this wasn’t the first instance – I found one going back to 2012 by Jeremy Fox, another by Bradley Voytek from 2013 and a piece by Jacqueline Gill from the same year in which she mooted the idea (but refrained from sharing the dirt, yet).

I have long been an advocate for more candid and open sharing of the often harsh realities of academic work. Here is my attempt to mimic Devoney’s wonderful example, and hopefully model the sort of warts and all honesty that I advocate and wish to see in others.

Aren’t I nervous about making this kind of stuff public?

Let’s face it, academia is a highly competitive and often insecure work environment. While I currently have the privilege of an ongoing, full time contract, who knows what the future will bring. It seems reasonable to expect that someday, someone might be looking at my CV and doing some digging around my online scholarly identity, considering whether to appoint me to another job, or perhaps even just as part of a promotion panel.

Devoney wrote about the tendency for us to hide our rejections, arguing: “That’s a shame. It’s important for senior scholars to communicate to those just starting out that even successful professors face considerable rejection.”.

While I don’t claim to be a senior scholar, I do believe that all academics face considerable rejection. Therefore in what follows I’m not revealing anything that I wouldn’t expect to be broadly true of any colleagues competing with me for whatever job or promotion it might be.

More importantly, if a prospective employer thinks twice about offering me a job because of what they read below, then I probably don’t want to be working for or with that person.

The values I see reflected in presenting a public shadow CV are ones of honesty, openness, and trust. My Shadow CV actually isn’t that shadowy: it shows me to be resilient and determined. I never claimed to be a perfect academic. Success in academia is not about never failing, never being rejected. It is about bouncing back. If I preach this but don’t have the gall to match generalisations with concrete detail, I should just shut up. So here goes.

My career path

My CV has a lovely little paragraph talking about an internationally recognized research profile that spans work in schools, universities, health services, and workplaces. It all seems wonderfully coherent, planned, deliberate.

My Shadow CV would say something more like this: Nick started education research doing a MSc and PhD focusing on young people’s learning about geography and sustainability. However there were no jobs in this area when he graduated (see ESRC failure #1 below), so he had to look elsewhere. He got a job looking at doctoral education, and so there was then a period when this was his main focus. When that (4 year contract) job ended, again there were no jobs in that field (or none he could get in a place he was willing to live), so he applied for a postdoc at UTS. To be successful in that, he had to change fields again. In short: Nick’s research interests have gone where the jobs and money are. True, there are some consistent questions and approaches that I’ve been exploring and developing through these broad contexts. But a lot of it was to do with opportunity and constraint.

My employment history

My CV shows how I went from a funded postgrad scholarship to a full time job on a project at Oxford, to my UTS Chancellor’s Postdoctoral Research Fellowship, which was converted into an ongoing position at UTS.

My Shadow CV would mention:

ESRC failure #1 – I applied for an ESRC postdoc, but didn’t get it. I found that out 6 weeks before I was due to finish my PhD, and had no job lined up. Panic stations.

  • Not getting interviewed, twice: about 3 years into my postdoc job at Oxford, I applied for two jobs advertised at Lecturer/Senior Lecturer level. I felt I had a pretty good publication track record, and relevant teaching experience. I wasn’t even called for interview. I had no idea how small a fish I looked in such a big, competitive pond.

My funded research

My CV shows I have consistently been able to get funding for the research I want to do, starting with an ESRC 1+3 scholarship for my postgrad research, including international funding from the NSF in the USA, and concluding with a whopping $371,000 from the Australian Research Council for my current DECRA project.

My Shadow CV would mention:

  • ESRC failure #2 – I was part of a team that applied for funding for a project on doctoral education. The reviews were pretty blunt. No cash registers ringing anywhere near me this time!
  • ARC failures #1-5 – The Australian Research Council funding is highly prestigious, and undoubtedly a tough nut to crack. I heard of success rates around 17%. If that is true, then I’m no better than the average person. I was involved in two Linkage submissions that were not funded, and two Discovery submissions that were not funded. I was also part of a proposal that started as a Linkage, fell over before it got submitted, came back to life as a Discovery, got submitted, and then was not funded. Yes I got a DECRA, but that was the 6th knock on the door (and yes, I do think I’ve learned a lot on the way… the irrational part of me thinks this will mean I get the next ‘hit’ in fewer than 6 tries, but someone should probably tell me I’m dreaming…)
  • Spencer Foundation – another research application that was not funded. All the more galling because I’d roped in some key international people to join in, and they put some time in… I feel it all falls on my shoulders. Though interestingly, both the key people stuck by me and are now involved in my DECRA.
  • ANROWS – yup you guessed: another detailed proposal that took months to put together that resulted in $0.

Publishing rejections and other shadowy truths

My CV states how I’ve published 28 refereed journal articles, 4 scholarly books, an edited volume, and 14 chapters in books. It boasts of my h-index (15 at the time of writing, Nov 2015), and high citations.

My shadow CV would acknowledge that I still get plenty of papers rejected (one only weeks ago, which I did blog about). My book proposals didn’t all sail through at the first attempt either. I would hope that my rejections these days tend to be for ‘good’ reasons (foibles of peer review, fact that I’m presenting complex, sometimes challenging arguments) rather than ‘bad’ reasons (failure to do my homework, Early Onset Satisfaction etc.). My shadow CV would also point to the many papers that haven’t been cited by many people, including those that have only been cited by me. My published work is clearly not of uniform or universal appeal or value in the eyes of others.

In conclusion

I could add sections about awards (Shadow CV mentioning those applied or nominated for that I didn’t do so well in), about reviewing (the times I’ve said no, I’m too busy; the reviews where I have been harsher than was warranted), etc. etc.

Well, I doubt this post has achieved much except echoing Devoney’s brilliant piece. I’m just trying to say “Yes, she’s totally right! We need to do more of this kind of thing!”.

A PhD student receives a rejection from a journal. Here is how she and her supervisors responded

I was talking with a colleague recently who described an interaction with one of her students who had been rejected from a journal. The response of her supervisors sounded really interesting, so I asked if she’d mind forwarding the emails onto me for a blog post. Which she kindly did! There’s a lot here that is useful in thinking about how to respond when you get rejected. I should point out this is in a country where many students complete a PhD through publications, and in this case the article was written by the student, with all the supervisors helping her and named as authors.

First the student wrote to her supervisors

Dear supervisors,

At last I have got response from the journal regarding my second manuscript. Unfortunately they are not interested to publish it.

I´m very disappointed about that. I can agree with a lot of the comments, it is useful for me in the future process but it has taken over 6 months to deliver that answer and right now I don´t have so much positive energy to restart the work.

I think I can interpret their comments (at least from the first reviewer) as if I rewrite the manuscript I can try to resubmit it but I´m not really sure if that is their suggestion.

Then one supervisor replied, cc’ing the others

Thank you for your email. Yes that is somewhat disappointing, but from the comments, perhaps it is good that it isn¹t published in its current form: because from what the reviewers saw, I don¹t think the paper did full justice to your work and your thinking! Better to have a stronger paper published, even if it is later.

I have had similarly prickly experiences, particularly in this journal, with reviewers who really want accounts of research to feel as if the research was quantitative (a bit like reviewer 1 worrying about interpretation in ethnographic research etc).

On the plus side:

  1. Both reviewers appear to have read your paper in quite a bit of detail! (which is not always the case)
  2. Both reviewers have offered well-written comments that are quite easy to understand (which is not always the case)
  3. There is lots in the comments that will help to improve the paper.

I think both the reviewers offer largely helpful comments – they are not fighting the kind of story you want to tell, or questioning its importance. They do want to know more concrete detail about the study methods, want a clearer alignment between the question, theory, findings and discussion, and a very clear argument as to what is new and why it matters. They are all very achievable without having to go back and do more analysis!

I think the process now should be to wait a few days until you feel a bit less fed up, and then to start:

  1. Thinking of alternative journals (although R1 seemed to invite this the journal is definitely not asking for a resubmission as I interpret the email). XXX might be one possibility. Or YYY?
  1. Coming up with your own to-do list in terms of changes you think are worth making to the paper – and perhaps differentiating those that are small/easy, and those that require a bit more thought and work. You can also list those points the reviewers made that you¹re not so bothered about and don¹t want to make big changes.

So, when you¹re feeling you have the energy to take it up again, there are my suggestions 🙂

Then another supervisor added her voice

I understand that it feels a bit disappointing, particularly since they kept you waiting so long for the decision. But I can only echo what [Supervisor 1] is suggesting, once you have worked through the comments, your paper will be much stronger.  I think you should let it sit while you are completing the paper on the [different analysis], you are in a good flow with that one at the moment! And we should think of an alternative journal, I agree, we need to aim for one that is included in Web if Science.

And then a third supervisor added his voice

This is the kind of experience that is not only sometimes happening, but rather a rule than an exception. And just as S1 and S2 state; it will in the end improve the paper. But I do agree they could have given us this feedback at least half a year earlier….

I also think S2’s advice is right; go on with the paper on [different analysis] and let this paper rest (just like a wine; it will become better with time and maturation – ask your husband!).

So let this experience take its time and aim for a journal that is indexed in Web if Science, although the IF is not too important.

Then the student replies

Thanks for the support!

I totally agree with you all and as I said, the comments from the reviewers are very good for me in the future process and also for my paper regarding the [different analysis]. I  struggle with the same issues here I guess; clear arguments for the study, evidence for my findings and how to discuss that much more clear.

Brief comment from me

What I like here is:

  1. That we end up with the student being able to take the rejection letter as a way to identify some things that she needs to look out for in another paper
  2. That S3 normalises this kind of experience
  3. That S2 provides very concrete suggestions in terms of not getting distracted by the rejection when work is going well on another paper
  4. That S1 finds positive things to appreciate in the reviewers’ comments, even though it was a rejection
  5. That the student felt comfortable sharing this, and got such strong and immediate support.

There is no such thing as a doctoral student

This post is a playful thinking-through of what it means to be a doctoral student. Obviously it is based on being pedantic about words and phrases to explore and make a point, but where we end up is interesting…

(1) You can’t be a ‘student’ and be ‘doctoral’ at the same time

If ‘doctoral’ means ‘studying for a doctorate’ then obviously my claim (1) above is false. But, if ‘doctoral’ refers to ‘being of a doctoral level’ then it is arguably true.

(By the way, for simplicity I will use ‘PhD’ as a placeholder for most doctoral degrees, like PhD, EdD, DCA, DPhil; but probably not DSc or DLitt – the super-posh, rarely awarded degrees that don’t apply to the lowly likes of you and me.)

If you’re studying for a PhD the point is to learn what it means to do research of a particular scope, level and quality. This is usually referred to as ‘doctoral’ and implies a kind of ‘doctoralness’ in what you are doing. The doctoralness of what you have done is not established until your examiners proclaim it so. And it cannot be evidenced until the very last minute when it all hangs together in a thesis (or creative work and exegesis) of some kind. However brilliant, your literature review is not doctoral until it is part of a wider piece of work. Your analysis may be ground-breaking and reveal a remarkable discovery. It is not doctoral until it is placed in the context of your scene-setting, argument as to previous work and the gap it has left (so-called literature review), your discussion, and conclusions.

Until you have the whole thing in place, doctoralness is an elusive quality. It may be that particular pieces of work that you do along the way are of a standard that will serve you well when it comes to putting it all together and making your case for the title ‘Dr’. But technically none of these things are yet, nor can they be, doctoral. A doctoral thesis is more than the sum of its parts. That’s what makes it doctoral. Any one part or task along the way can certainly fail to meet the standard, but this standard is not ‘doctoralness’, but something different.

Does this mean I’m saying journal papers can never be doctoral? Well, yes! (perhaps for the sake of argument). This doesn’t mean that journal papers are all ‘sub-doctoral’ in the sense that they are at a masters or lower level in terms of the robustness of the contribution or their intellectual sophistication. Journal articles are not miniature PhDs. Doctoralness is an aesthetically and substantively unique concept, and the only way to demonstrate doctoralness is in a doctoral thesis of one kind or another. That’s why a thesis by publication requires a linking text (exegisis, kapa etc) that frames the papers as part of a wider body of work, and (crucially) your development as a scholar.

What I’ve written above implies a lot about what doctoralness is – I’m not going to spell it all out (at least not here). But I am going to say it is worth some serious thought. If journal articles, even the most highly cited, groundbreaking ones, are not doctoral, what is? If the building blocks you create along the way (data, chapters) are not doctoral, what does this mean for your thesis?


(2) There is no such thing as a doctoral student in the same way there is no such thing as a baby

In the mid twentieth century, Donald Winnicott coined what has become a famous aphorism: “There is no such thing as a baby*”. What?! I’m guessing most, if not all, readers of this post would think, quite reasonably, that they were a baby at some point in their lives. Perhaps you were only a baby very briefly, before you morphed into that intellectually dazzling toddler… Or maybe you can’t be sure you were ever a baby, but you’re pretty sure babies exist: that last long haul flight was plagued by one of them screaming her lungs out, stopping you getting any sleep; those things in the really annoying pushchairs that get in the way pretty much everywhere aren’t just worryingly realistic (and noisy, smelly) dolls, they’re little human beings, right?

Yes, you’re right. And I’m no baby-hater. But Winnicott had a point. He went on to say: “A baby cannot exist alone, but is essentially part of a relationship”. Elsewhere he wrote “if you set out to describe a baby, you will find you are describing a baby and someone” (1947).

I think the same could be said of doctoral students.

A doctoral student cannot exist alone. Though an interaction on ResearchGate showed me that some like to think so. A prospective student posed the question, ‘Can I study for a PhD without a supervisor?’. To me this wreaked of arrogance (although everyone else on the planet and in history has needed a bit of help, I’m so brilliant I can do it by myself), and revealed a painful reluctance to do any homework on what a PhD is and what it means to study for one. The only rationale I could see here was someone thinking more about the certificate than the learning that leads to it.

My distaste at this proposition reveals how Winnicott’s idea applies. It was inconceivable to me that a PhD could be obtained without some kind of supervision or assistance from others. Yes, supervisors disappear sometimes, relationships break down, students don’t get the feedback they need. But zero support means no degree. It really is as simple as that. [I expect among readers there might be people who feel they are doing or did their PhD alone, abandoned by supervisors, or perhaps professionals who put together a thesis based on publications without much or even any supervision; in the first case my bet is you were not as alone as you think you were; in the second case this is not the kind of thesis I’m talking about, and my response to the first case also applies].

When you describe a doctoral student, you will quickly find yourself describing the other people around them. This is not to bloat the role of supervisors, or to negate the independence, creativity and shaping that come from doctoral students. But your thesis would be a different thesis if you had a different supervisor or different supervisors. It would be different if you had chosen to study somewhere else. Your thesis is a product of you, your work, and the intellectual environment you are part of.

Doctoral students can’t be imagined outside of other relationships, too, although we might often feel that our institutions forget this. Every doctoral student is always one or more of the following: someone’s sister or brother, mother or father, daughter or son, friend, colleague, housemate, facebook friend, twitter follower etc etc. Doctoral students are always other kinds of human beings. I might even be so bold as to say they are other kinds of human beings first.

So, when someone asks you “Are you a doctoral student?”, have fun and do your best to discombobulate the person asking the question. You might try these responses:

“No. There’s no such thing!”

“No, I’m a person [sister, mother, daughter] who happens to be studying for a PhD.”

“No. I’m learning to do research, and might by the end of it be able to show that what I’ve done is doctoral, but until then, I’m more student than doctoral.”

“No, I’m a doctoral student working with an amazing [or terrible, or something in between] supervisor.”



* Tracing the precise origins and wording of this phrase are a bit hard to pin down. It seems he spoke the words “There is no such thing as an infant” in 1940 in a discussion at the Scientific Metting of the British Psycho-Analytic Society. Since then different print versions and attributions have proliferated. A good place to look is Winnicott D (1964) The child, the family and the outside world. Hammondsworth: Penguin Books.

Current trends in academic publishing and where things might be heading

WARNING! This post may well be out of date already, and if not now, then quite possibly by the time you’ve finished reading it! Not because it’s long, but because things are changing very quickly!

This is my attempt to identify some of the big changes that are happening in academic publishing, and to point to where I think things are going. This is not based on extensive research or systematic reviews of literature, nor amazing insider-insights through industry contacts (my industry contact seems as uncertain as me about much of this)… it’s more a combo of gazing into a crystal ball, and well not exactly wishful thinking, but perhaps my instinct to resist cynicism and hope for a palatable outcome.

Open access

What’s the change? There is more than a groundswell of opinion that academic research should not be locked away behind pay-walls, but freely available to everyone. A crude summation of the logics and values at play here goes something like this:

1. The view from the ‘outside’… Where taxpayers pay for research (through government grants etc) they shouldn’t pay to access the outcomes of that research. The person just diagnosed with cancer should be able to go online and read about treatments and the latest trials without being hit with a bill for doing so. After all she ‘paid’ for the research in the first place through her taxes.

2. The view from the ‘inside’… Hey! There’s heaps of money being made in academic publishing but none of it is coming to me, the poor academic who wrote all the stuff in the first place! So I’m going to thwart those greedy publishers by publishing in open access journals (even though I still make no money!)

In practice what this means is that some researchers or their institutions are now paying a fee to publishers to make their articles open access (no fee, no ‘free’ access for others). Or, some journals (often the more ‘indy’ types) ask authors to pay a fee up front (no fee, no publish).

Where do I see it heading?

Hard to call. Like most of the changes I discuss here, the status quo is pretty much a big mess, and difficult to predict. I’ll start with the most certain: the journals that are both free-to publish and free-to-access will soon be extinct. Often hosted on university websites, it’s hard to see how these will survive the cut and thrust of contemporary higher education funding. Either these will end up charging to publish (as happened with one that I published in while it was still free, phew!), or they’ll get bought out by commercial publishers (when they are established enough that the publishers think people will pay to access content, or pay to have the content opened ‘freely’).

What about stopping people having to pay to read research when they paid for it through taxes, or have some other innate ‘right’ to access it? This argument has gone a fair way in the UK, such that now some funding bodies build in costs for paying the open access fee to publishers. The political winds may mean this catches on, with funding bodies basking in the warm glow of ‘everyone can read what our researchers publish’ feelings. But don’t I see this becoming the norm. Why? Several reasons.

  1. Because it doesn’t change the fact that people are still paying for access, they’re just paying as a collective one step further upstream.
  2. Who wants to read what’s in journal articles anyway? Are there really masses of people desperate to read academic papers? I very much doubt it (even in medical fields). Academic papers work to inform academic debate and are not our most effective or primary means of engaging wider non-academic audiences. (I expect you may disagree with me here). And anyway, will making all our papers open access actually improve things for the masses? I’ve been doing educational research for over a decade now and I still find many if not most papers pretty hard going. Hey, I struggle with understanding and motivation a lot of the time, and I’m paid to be interested in this stuff, and extensively trained to read it, with a masters degree, doctorate, years of practice and thousands of references in my endnote. Why should I expect the proverbial woman or man on the street to be jumping at the bit to read this stuff? And even if she or he is keen now, send them a few dozen papers and see if they’re as keen later on. My guess is Game of Thrones or re-reading Harry Potter will probably look more enticing. I’m not about denying access to knowledge to people. I do doubt whether open access journal articles will result in masses of the masses relishing in their newly found right to roam the academic literature for free.
  3. Because universities paying for open access when they already pay to subscribe to a journal is a hard pill to swallow. Harder still when universities in many countries are facing unprecedented budget cuts, perceived threats from MOOCS (though I think we’ve been unnecessarily spooked by MOOCS, as a sector, but don’t get me started), and uncertain futures. There simply isn’t the proverbial money down the sofa for universities to start paying for open access or paying to publish in the first place. And academics aren’t going to do it out of their own pockets. At least, I’m not.
  4. And research funding bodies are often facing funding cuts, too. And why should they give out less money for research because they’re having to pay more to make it free? Is it better for cancer patients to read journal articles for free, or for that open access fee (which is often not inconsiderable) to have paid for more research to develop and trial treatments? I’m just saying…

The question is, who’s going to blink first? Universities aren’t universities if they’re not producing publications. Commercial publishers can’t exist without profits. And academics are, of course, greedy money-grabbing tight-arses, who refuse to pay a mere few hundred or thousand dollars for every paper so the plebs down below can read their inaccessible waffle. I haven’t blinked yet. Have you?

But there are other changes afoot, and more reasons why I think paid-for publishing or paid-for open access are not going to become the norm very soon.

  1. Institutional repositories: the content (ie pre-proof version) of many papers can already be made freely available to anyone who can be bothered to read it, through institutional repositories. The cancer patient can read your paper, just without the fancy doi numbers and typesetting etc, without paying anything. But institutional repositories are proving a bit slow to catch on, unless institutions mandate their staff to submit.
  2. Maybe the publishers have not quite blinked, but squinted. One BIG publisher has recently released its embargo on the pre-proof version of a paper (the one the academic typed and was accepted by the editor) – we’re now free to put these documents on our blogs, departmental websites. If you don’t know which publisher this is, do some digging!
  3. Heaps of stuff is already open access, although it shouldn’t be if you pay attention to the copyright. If you’re any good at ‘the internet’, it’s not hard to find free versions of papers you’re ‘supposed’ to pay for. Not every paper is freely available this way, but lots are, and the number isn’t getting smaller. I expect academics publish their papers this way out of ignorance of copyright, naivety, as a way to give the evil publishers the proverbial finger gesture, or to enhance their citations and h-index. Or maybe because they lie awake at night worrying about all the people also lying awake because they found an article on the latest poststructural deconstruction of liminality, or a miraculous formula for predicting nearly-prime numbers, and they couldn’t afford the $30 fee to read it.

Vanity publishers, predatory publishers, and the in-between

Vanity publishers are nothing new – paying someone to publish your work (particularly in book form). What is new is the fact that the ‘publish or perish’ climate in academia is leading some researchers to secure their moment in the sun by flexing their credit cards rather than their intellectual muscles. Will this become the norm? Screw peer review. Screw the big commercial publishers, screw the fact it won’t end up on amazon and no-one will ever know it exists, I’ll pay this lovely boutique press to print 200 copies of my book. I think not.

Predatory publishers. “Dear Dr Dr Hopwood Nicholas. I recently read your paper entitled… and know you are an expert in this area. I invite you to submit a manuscript in this new international, peer reviewed journal, with this stellar international editorial board…” Click the url and something’s not quite right. Not only is the email clearly automated (“Dr Dr Hopwood Nicholas,” pah!) but this journal has a mysterious 10 volumes published in the last 2 years by academic celebrities you’ve never heard of who are citing works you’ve never read… Need I say more?

The in-between. I’m not going to name names. You know who they are. They’re the ones saying they’d like to publish your PhD as a book, before they’ve even read it, or who manage to conduct a ‘thorough’ review of your manuscript in about 8 seconds. An interesting business model for now. Is it the future? Put it this way, if I were playing the stockmarket, I’d be selling my shares in these companies quicksmart.


Peer review

Another trend, or perhaps a fad, is to claim that peer review is broken. Peer reviewers are getting it wrong, causing embarrassment for journal editors and their publishers, who have to retract papers, apologise to the public, and lick their wounds as their reputation takes a knock (forget the stupid authors who did dodgy research in the first place, they should have been caught earlier!).

Peer review is also showing symptoms of ill health, and the prevailing winds do not look favourable. Most reviewers aren’t paid, but the ‘rewards’ for doing reviews are slim. Our university employers want us to do more, better, faster, for less, and doing reviews isn’t counted very highly (or at all) in the grand scheme of things. So we feel we have less time to do reviews, meaning we may do fewer of them, and do them less well when we do say ‘yes’. Neither are good for our disciplines – the fewer people who do reviewers, the narrower (and more tired, frustrated) the gates controlling and supporting the expression of new knowledge become.

Peer review has historically happened under a cloak of anonymity, often ‘double-blind’, where neither reviewer nor reviewee knows who the other is (as if it’s not often blatantly obvious, or we can’t take an educated guess or do a bit of digging on google)… this anonymity has well-rehearsed benefits, but also results in some otherwise decent and professional folk unleashing torrents of abuse at their peers.

In natural science fields now it is becoming increasingly common for reviews (and authors’ responses to them) to be published, and even for the reviewers to be named. This, it is argued, makes the whole process more transparent, enhances the quality of reviews (referees are more careful writing comments when they know they will be made public), and enables readers to see how the paper came to take the form it reached, and what doubts or criticisms were raised along the way.

Of all the trends I reckon this is the most likely to catch on. It doesn’t have huge cost implications, or many drawbacks as far as I can see (though I admit I’ve not looked hard enough into this and haven’t yet experienced it in my field so I may well revise this view later!). I can see it spreading through the natural sciences pretty quickly, particularly in the current climate where retractions appear to be becoming more common, and there is seemingly strong sense that because some  reviewers are getting it wrong the peer review system can’t be trusted. Even if peer review isn’t ‘broken’ and therefore doesn’t need fixing, this is an interesting idea that seems to have legs. I can imagine the social sciences coming round to this (or perhaps not fighting when norms from natural sciences are inherited or imposed on us). Who will be the last ones standing on the island of opacity as the waves from the sea of transparency lick higher and tides of change push forward? Anyone? Bueller? Anyone? Humanities? Anyone? Anyone?

If peer review is broken, why not pay reviewers? Then they’d review heaps more papers, treat the process seriously, and do it all on time too. Brilliant idea! Except there’s no money. Even if there was some money to pay for this (which there isn’t), it would be like saying “Hey, you know that thing you used to get for free? Well screw you! You’re going to have to pay for it now!” (the fact that this is precisely what has happened in relation to undergraduate tuition fees in many countries is not lost on me, in case you were worried).

Let’s say we do find some extra cash down the back of the lecture seats (which we won’t; I looked, it had already been pillaged by the big publishers, greedy tenured academics, overpaid managers and busybody bureaucrats), I don’t think it would make any difference. In fact it might make things worse – if people were incentivised to do reviews for money, it could distort things quite significantly. And I like to believe that academics still do things for the good of their discipline or field rather than for money anyway. So even if it was a good idea (which it isn’t) and there was the money for it (which there isn’t), it wouldn’t catch on.


This kind of brings together all the issues so far. The idea that universities should stop being so elitist in claiming their exclusive rights to knowledge. Forget the elbow-patched professors festering slowly amid their piles of self-citing, self-aggrandising and self-plagiarising books full of interminable critique and concluding that “everything is more complex than we thought, so there!”. Let’s storm the university and take knowledge back into our own hands! Vive la revolution!

Except, when made ‘democratic’ or left to the ‘market of the masses’ to sort it out, it doesn’t always go so well. Do some searching about errors in a certain large internet encyclopaedia and you’ll see what I mean. Furthermore, the masses will tend to agree around the knowledge they want to know, that they are comfortable with.

Do you really believe democra-truth wouldn’t end up being ‘media-mogul-truth’ instead? The media would have us believe there is a ‘debate’ about climate change, for example. If by ‘debate’ you mean overwhelming scientific consensus on a global scale, versus vocal and vociferous, cherry-picking dissent, then okay, you’ve got me. [If you’re one of those dissenters, you can still see the point I’m making, just choose any topic where the media holds palpable sway over public opinion]. But we often trust the public with other important things, like in judicial systems with juries, right? Yes, but see how that would work if the judges, clerkes, and lawyers were all pulled off the street too. Oh.

I strongly believe there should be places preserved and reserved where we can ask the really awkward questions that no-one else wants to face up to (particularly governments and the general public), and present the arguments no matter how unpalatable they may be. We also need to cherish the pursuit of knowledge and discovery without necessarily knowing where it will take us. No, I’m not sold on democra-truth (but of course I’m biased, my job kind of depends on universities maintaining certain kind of rights to generating and policing what counts as knowledge).

So, there you have it. As the pilot says when a huge storm appears on the radar screen: “Please fasten your seat belts, it may get a little bumpy”.

Video about journal publishing basics

I’ve been preparing for some workshops on journal publishing for postgraduate research students and early career researchers. Following the idea of Flipped Learning, and the ‘Learning 2014’ strategy at UTS, my home university, I’ve been trying to minimise the time participants spend in the workshops sitting listening to me talk, and to create more time for group discussion and activities instead.

So I created a 30 minute video covering some basic points – many of which I’ve written about in other posts. Although readers of this blog won’t by default be able to come to the workshops I’m running, I thought I’d share the video anyway in the hope it might still be useful. One day I might even put my face in front of the camera!

If you’re interested, the workshops will then go on to look at: why papers get rejected, what reviews look like and how to respond to nasty ones (which are a sad inevitability in academic life), how to frame a response letter when you’re asked to revise and resubmit, and the ethics of peer review.

The main video can be viewed here

There are two supplementary videos

1. How to find out the ‘zombie’ rank of a journal.

2. A bit more about researching the relative rather than absolute impact factor (or other status measure) of a journal.

The second one gets a bit more into technical side of using excel once you’ve imported relevant journal metrics data from an external source such as Scopus or SciMago SJR.

Please do add feedback and comments below! Are the videos useful? Do you disagree? Do you choose journals in a different way? Do you assess journal status differently? Am I out of date about copyright issues?

On this last point, a big BUYER BEWARE warning: copyright things are changing very fast. Only this week Taylor and Francis announced AAM (author accepted manuscripts) can be put on personal or departmental websites, free of embargo (this doesn’t mean you can make the final paper pdf freely available, but the pre-proofed word version)… so some of my comments will get out of date quite quickly if things keep changing!


A guide to choosing journals for academic publication

The key is the match between your paper and the journal

Choosing a journal for your paper is a complex and nuanced process. Don’t expect to be able to ask anyone else off the cuff and get a sensible answer. Only people who know what you want to say and what you want to achieve in saying it can provide guidance, and even then it’s up to you to judge. In writing this I hope to make this process more transparent, and to help you be as informed as possible about your decisions. If you disagree, or can add more things to consider, or more measures of status please leave a response at the bottom!

Chicken and egg

Which comes first the paper or the choice of journal? Neither. Both. In my view you can’t write a good paper without a sense of the journal you are writing for. How you frame the argument / contribution, how long it is, which literature you locate it within, how much methodological detail, how much theoretical hand-holding is needed for readers, what kind of conclusions you want to present, what limitations you should acknowledge: ALL of these are shaped by the journal. But how do you know the answers to these questions? Usually by writing a draft! See the chicken-egg problem? My process is as follows:

  1. Come up with a rough idea for a paper – what data am I going to analyse, with what theoretical focus, presenting what new idea?
  2. Come up with a short list of potential journals (see below)
  3. Plan the paper down to paragraph level helps me think through the ideas and make good judgements about the fit between it and journals in the short list.
  4. Choose a journal. If in doubt write the abstract and send it to the editor for initial comment: what’s the worst that could happen? She or he could ignore it!

An ongoing conversation

Most journal editors want to publish papers that join and extend a dialogue between authors that is already happening in their journal. This gives the journal a certain shape and develops its kudos in particular fields or lines of inquiry. If no-one has even come close to mentioning your topic in a particular journal in the last 5 years, I’d think twice about targeting that outlet. Unless you really are planning a major disruption and claiming woeful neglect of your topic (which says something about the editors…)

Check out the editors, and stated aims and scope

Editors have the ultimate say over whether or not to accept your paper. Check out who they are, and do some research. What are their interests? How long have they been on the editorial board? If it’s a new editorial board, are they signalling a broadening, narrowing, or change in scope perhaps? What special issues have come out?

Don’t be stupid

Don’t get the journal equivalent of ‘bright lights syndrome’ and choose somewhere just because it is uber-high status (like Nature). Don’t be a ‘sheep’ either and choose a journal just because someone you know has got their paper accepted in it. Don’t send a qualitative paper to a major stats / quantitative journal. Don’t send a piece of policy analysis from (insert your random country of choice here) to a major US journal (for example) when your paper has nothing to say to a US audience.

The devil is in the detail: yes – more homework

Check out things like word limits, and whether they include references. If the journal allows 3,000 words including references, and your argument takes 5,000 to develop, either change your argument or change the journal. Simples. Also check out the review process. Look under abstracts in published papers for indications as to the timeline for review, and check if there are online preview or iFirst versions published (which massively reduces the time to publication). Don’t be caught out with a whopping fee for publication if your paper is accepted. And don’t be shocked when you read the copyright form and find it costs $3,000 for open access. Some journals publish their rejection rates: you’d be foolish to plough on not knowing 90% of papers are rejected even before review (if this was the case).

Publish where people you want be visible to are reading

Think who you want to read your paper. Forget dreams of people from actual real life reading academic journals. The only people who read them (except some health professionals) are, on the whole, other academics. This isn’t about getting to the masses: there are other, better venues for that. This is about becoming visible among your disciplinary colleagues. Where are the people you like and want to be known to in your field publishing? What journals do they cite in their papers?

Understand the status of the journal you are submitting to and its implications for your career

This is the biggie. So big I’ve written a whole section on how to do this below. But for now a few key points.

  1. It pays to know what will be counted by universities in terms of outputs, and what will have kudos on your CV. In Australia, for example, journals not on the ERA list are pretty much no-go. In some fields (particularly hard science and health), journals not indexed in Web of Science aren’t recognised as worth the paper (or pixels) they are printed on.
  2. Remember that status measures only measure what can be measured. A really prestigious journal in your field – with lots of top people publishing lots of great papers in it – might be lower (or not even register at all) in all the various indices and metrics.
  3. There is no single flawless measure of status. Take a multi-pronged approach to suss out where a particular journal lies between ‘utter crap that publishes anything’ to ‘number 1 journal in the world for Nobel Laureates only’.
  4. There are many good reasons for publishing deliberately in lower status journals. It may be they have the ‘soft’ status I mentioned above. Maybe that is where you can actually say what you want to say without having to kow-tow to ridiculous reviewers who don’t understand or accept your innovative approach (which they view as floppy, oddball etc.).

How journal status is measured and how to find this information out

A whole book could be written on this, so please forgive my omissions.

Impact Factor

This is the one everyone talks about. It is also the bane of many people’s lives outside natural and health sciences. Impact Factor is a measure of the mean number of citations to recent articles published in a particular journal, excluding citations in other papers in the same journal. So an Impact Factor of 2.01 in Journal X means that each paper in X has been cited a mean of 2.01 times in all the other indexed journals, except X, over the past two years (five year figures are also used). The higher the impact factor, the higher the status, because it shows that the papers are not only read but they are cited lots too. Excluding the ‘home’ journal stops editors bumping up their own Impact Factor by forcing authors to cite papers in their journal. Why is this problematic? Where do I start?!

  1. Not all citations are for the same reason but they all get counted the same. If you cite paper P as one of several that have investigated a topic, and paper Q as a hopeless study with flawed methods, and paper R as hugely influential and formative, shaping your whole approach, they all get counted the same. In theory, publishing a terrible paper that gets cited lots for being terrible can boost an Impact Factor.
  2. The key is in the reference to other indexed journals. The issue is: what gets to be indexed? There are strict rules governing this, and while it works okay in some fields, lots of important, robust journals in social sciences and humanities aren’t indexed in the list used to calculate Impact Factor; at least that is my experience. This can deflacte Impact Factor measures in these fields because lots of citations simply don’t get counted. The formal ‘Impact Factor’ (as in the one quoted on Taylor and Francis journal websites, for example) is based on Journal Citation Reports (Thomson Reuters), drawing on over 10,000 journals. Seems a lot? In my field, many journals are missed off this index.
  3. The time taken to be cited is often longer than two years (google ‘citation half-life’ for more). Lets say I read a paper today in the most recent online iFirst. I think it’s brilliant, and being a super-efficient writer, I weave it into my paper and submit it in a month’s time. It takes 9 months to get reviewed, and then another 3 months to get published online. Then someone reads it. Process starts again. If the world was full of people who read papers the day they came out, and submitted papers citing them almost immediately, still the lag-time to publication in many fields prevents citations within the magic 2 year window. There are versions of Impact Factor that take five years into account to try to deal with this problem. This is better, but doesn’t benefit the journals that publish the really seminal texts that are still being cited 10, 15, 20 years later.
  4. Impact Factors are not comparable across disciplines. An Impact Factor of 1.367 could be very low in some sciences, but actually quite high in a field like Education. So don’t let people from other fields lead your decision making astray.
  5. Impact Factor may work very well to differentiate highly read and cited for less highly read and cited journals in some fields (where the value range is great, say from 0 to over 20), but in fields when the range for most journals is between 0 and 1.5 its utility for doing so is less good.
  6. Editors can manipulate Impact Factors to a degree (eg by publishing lots of review articles, that tend to get cited lots). See Wikipedia’s page on impact factor for more.

How do you find out the Impact Factor for a journal? If you don’t know this you haven’t been using your initiative or looking at journal webpages closely enough. Nearly all of them clearly state their Impact Factor somewhere on the home page. What can be more useful though is knowing the Impact Factors for journals in your field. In this case you need to use your go to Web of Science. I recommend downloading the data and importing it into excel so you can really do some digging. In some cases it may not be so obvious to find, in which case try entering ‘Journal title Research Gate’ into google eg ‘Studies in Higher Education Research Gate’. The top result should give the journal title and research gate, and a url like this: . Immediately on clickling the link you will find data on Impact Factor, 5 year Impact Factor and more (based on Thomson Reuters). Note this is not an official database and may be out of date at times.

Alternatives to Impact Factor: SJR

An alternative that may work better in some fields is the Scopus Scimago Journal Rankings (SJR). This includes a range of metrics or measures, and I have found it includes more of the journals I’ve been reading and publishing in (in Education). The SJR indicator is calculated in a different way from Impact Factor (which I admit I don’t fully understand, see this Wikipedia explanation). It has a normalising function as part of the calculation which reduces some of the distortions of Impact Factor and can make it more sensitive within fields where there are close clusters. SJR also has its version of impact called the ‘average citations per document in a 2-year period’. When I compare the SJR and Thomson Reuters measures for journals in my field, some are very similar and some are quite different. So it pays to do your homework. SJR data are also easily exportable to excel and you can then easily find where journals lie in a list from top to bottom by either of these measures (or others that SJR provide). The easiest way to find out the SJR data for a particular journal is simple: type the journal name and SJR into google eg ‘Studies in Higher Education SJR’. Almost always the top result will be from SCImago Journal & Country Rank, something like . If you go there you’ll fild a little graph on the left hand side showing the SJR and cites per doc tracking over 5 years, given to 2 decimal places. There is also a big graph, with a line for each of these two metrics. If you hover over the right hand end, you get the current figure to 3 decimal places. See the screen shot below.

Scimago info

A screen shot from SJR showing the Indicator and cites per paper data

Alternatives to Impact Factor: Zombie Journal Rankings

In Australia, lots of journals were, at one time, ranked A*, A, B or C. This was done using a pool of metrics and also peer-based data with groups of academics providing information based on their expertise. For various reasons (don’t get me started) these have been abolished. However they are a common reference point still in many fields in Australia and New Zealand, and so I call them ‘zombie rankings’. Even if you’re not in Australasia, it might be useful to look up what the rank was, to see if it confirms what you’re finding from other measures. The quickest way to is go to the Deakin University hosted webpage and to check under Historical Data, then Journal Ranking Lists, then 2010 (the rankings were alive in 2010, and abolished shortly afterwards). The direct URL is here: . Type in the journal name, or a keyword and ta-dah! If you just type in keywords you will get multiple results and may be able to see a range of options. I’ve put an image of what it looks like below. Pretty easy stuff.

Zombie Ranks

A screen shot from the Deakin website showing former ERA journal rankings

Alternatives to Impact Factor: ERA list

Now there are no rankings, ‘quality’ is indicated in a binary way as either included in the ERA list or not. We’ve just had a process in Australia of nominating new journals to be included in the list for 2015. But the current 2012 list is also available through Deakin. .

Alternatives to Impact Factor: rejection rates

The more a journal rejects, the better it must be, right? Well that is the (dubious, in my view) logic underpinning the celebration of high rejection rates in some journals. I’m more interested in what gets in and what difference that makes to scholarly discourse, that what is thrown out. But hey, if you can find this information out (and it’s not always easy to do), then it may be worth taking into consideration. More for your chances of survival than as a status indicator perhaps.

Alternatives to Impact Factor: ask people who know!

While only you can judge the match between your paper and a journal, lots of people in your field can give you a sense of where is good to publish. This ‘sense’, in my view is not to be dismissed because it cannot be expressed in a number or independently verified. It is to be valued because it draws (or should do) on knowledge of all the metrics, but years of experience and reading.


Choosing journals is tricky. If you’re finding it quick and easy it’s probably because you’re not doing enough homework, and a bit more time making a really well informed decision will serve you well in the long run. As I said earlier this post is not exhaustive either in terms of things to consider in your choice, or status indicators. But I hope this is useful as a starting place.

How to be amazing or awful at answering questions from the audience: your choice

Presenting at conferences is super-important. Nerves relating to public speaking are common, but no excuse for avoiding doing so. I hope this post may join some others in alleviating some of those nerves.

Let’s get to the point: when it comes to the part when the audience asks questions, you have two options (in what more discerning readers may detect to be a gross oversimplification, but it works to make a point):

Option A: come across like a thoughtful, open-minded, well-prepared scholar who listens attentively and is keen to engage with the people who have turned up to listen to you (but see my post on what your audience is really doing).

Option B: come across like a defensive, narrow-minded, rigid scholar who is ‘winging it’ through not only the conference but their whole PhD, a know-it-all who doesn’t want to be challenged or think differently about anything.

Your choice.

Let’s assume for argument’s sake, your preference is for Option A. Some of the performances I’ve seen, of students and those who have somehow earned the title ‘Dr’, would suggest they plump for Option B, but I think you’ll agree that isn’t a great idea.

You can radically increase your chances of succeeding in Option A in two easy steps.

Step 1: Know what kind of question is being asked, and what kind of questioner is asking it.

Step 2: Use this knowledge to inform your response.

Pat Thomson’s post suggests most people are asking out of genuine interest, for more information, or to alert you to something important and relevant that you appear not to be aware of. She also identifies the ‘offer’ of free supervision (which I would add seeks a dialogue at best, and an ‘I’m right, you’re wrong monologue’ at worst) or the just plain rude. Importantly Pat reminds us that the audience is usually pretty aware of what is going on when certain kinds of question are being asked. Don’t be the only one in the room to treat all questions at face value or as the same.

There is a good post by Allan Johnson for Times Higher Education that identifies:

  • the courtesy question,
  • the tell-us-what-you-want question,
  • the talk-to-me-personally question,
  • the wandering statement,
  • the obstinate question,
  • and the display of superior knowledge.

You should see from Allan’s list that there’s no guarantee the question is actually a question. His list should also lead you to some insights into the motives that lie behind some questions or ‘questions’, and the kind of people for whom those motives apply. I’ve come up with a slightly different list, with some clear overlap (I think Allan’s list is great but not exhaustive). In each case I suggest how you might respond to achieve Option A.

Type 1: The open ended more info question

Often people might genuinely not understand something, seek clarification, or ask for more background information. In its most generous form this goes like ‘Can you tell us a bit more about…’. It’s a dream question! And it should be one of the easiest questions to answer, assuming you know your stuff. This reinforces the importance of not including absolutely everything in your talk, and also that leaving some detail out isn’t a bad thing: it helps to produce a question in which you can show off your Option A credentials!

The best way by far to look really smart and well prepared is to design in a bit of a gap in your talk, produce or at least anticipate the ‘can you tell me more about X’ question, and then, wait for it, have a slide prepared AFTER your ‘last’ slide, with some details of the answer!

I’ve seen it done and it looks amazing. The presenter finishes on time. She or he might have said something like ‘obviously there’s a lot to say here but in the interests of time I will move on’ during the talk. This is a nudge to the audience to ask for more. Then the question gets asked, and presto, you skip forward a slide. Wow! This girl/guy really knows what she is talking about! Something as simple as moving a slide from the middle of your talk to after the conclusions can have a powerful effect. I dare you to try it!

Type 2: The ‘did you know this’ question

This might be a question though if so it is often a rhetorical one (the answer ‘no’ is expected) or simply a statement disguised as a question. It might even just be a statement: ‘I think XXX’s work might be useful here’. Of course the best answer is to say ‘yes I’ve come across that, and yes I’ve read it, but I didn’t think it was so useful because…’. If you haven’t read it, be truthful and say so, and perhaps ask the questioner why they think it would be so useful, or say you’d like to talk to them afterwards to get some references. This doesn’t show you’re an idiot, it shows you are honest and ready to take others’ ideas seriously.

Type 3: The testing for you question

This may or may not be intended as a test (see Type 6), but for whatever reason, someone has asked a really insightful question and you don’t know the answer. Maybe you actually do know but in the heat of the moment you draw a blank. Maybe you don’t know, but this doesn’t mean you have been discovered as an academic imposter (much as it may feel like this). By far the worst response is to leap immediately into a poorly thought through, make-it-up-as-you-go-along answer. This also tends to be the more common response among less experienced (or more arrogant) presenters. As Pat Thomson tells us “If they ask something you actually don’t know the answer to, then don’t try to cobble something together. You don’t have to have an immediate answer to everything. It’s OK to say that you hadn’t considered that and that you will think about it further… it’s fine to take a moment or two to compose what you will say”.

Pat argues, and I agree totally, that essentially no answer (the confession: I don’t know) is better than a crap answer. And that silence can be golden. If you get a difficult question, breath deeply. I mean it. In for four seconds, pause, out as slowly as you can. You’ll find your heart rate slows a bit. Far from the audience thinking your body has been occupied by a spirit from the other side, or that you’re about to faint, they are thinking ‘ooh, this person is actually bothering to consider her/his response’.

My personal favourite response is something like: ‘Well, that’s a really great question, and a very thorny issue. To do it justice I’d need more time to think about it carefully’. You could then follow up with ‘I will come and see you at the end’, or even better, steal some free education from the audience and throw it back: ‘I don’t have an obvious answer to that right now, do you have any thoughts on it yourself?’.

The benefits of this response are that it demonstrates a public respect for the questioner and her/his expertise, while showing the audience that you’re not willing to bullshit them. It means everything else you’ve said is stuff you’re confident of and sure about. They’re not sitting there getting spur-of-the-moment waffle.

Type 4: The ‘why aren’t you doing your research the way I would do it’ question

You finish your presentation and a hand goes up confidently and quickly. ‘Where is power in all this?’ asks the Foucault or governmentality person. ‘Where is gender in all this?’ asks the feminist. ‘Where is race?’ etc… You have to see these questions (and their questioners) for what they are. They are not questions at all, really. They are not even what Pat describes as free supervision. They are attempts to co-author your research by stealth. Except the disguise is pretty poor. No topic requires any research to attend to any theoretical framework, question, issue, text etc. If there are some obvious and popular ones that you haven’t been working with, it might be an idea to mention them in the presentation and explain why, heading off this kind of question early.

If you do get the question, don’t buckle and say ‘oh yes, you’re right, my whole thesis should change to be the one you suggest, would you like to be my new supervisor?’. But don’t pour fuel on the flames by trying to convince the questioner. You’re not going to win. I would say something like: ‘That’s an interesting point, and I can see why power/gender/race/etc would be interesting and relevant. However, that lies outside the scope of what I’m trying to do here, and my originality or value add comes from doing things differently’. With a little luck you will be able to truthfully say ‘that is interesting, but has been done before a lot (even mention a few names). I’m trying to come at this from a different perspective’.  The point here is not to say ‘No’ and question the assumption of the questioner, but ‘Yes but…’. As Pat suggests, succinct polite answers are the best way to shut this down. And shutting down is what you and the rest of the audience want.

Type 5: The ‘listen to me’ monologue

This question is not a question. Or it is a series of questions that seem unlikely ever to end. This is unacceptable and unprofessional but sadly not uncommon. The audience sees it for what it is and so should you. It is a statement spoken by an arsehole who likes the sound of her/his own voice and feels licenced to deviate from the conference program by turning themselves into a presenter. Again shutting down is the required response here.

If you’re really bolshy you could try revealing it for what it is: ‘Well you had a lot to say, and I’m not sure I could possibly answer all your questions, to which you have either given answers or appear to know what they are already’. Or ‘I’m sorry, you spoke for so long I somehow missed your question’. This certainly would be brave and would probably cause a curfuffle. But I’d love to see it one day!

More likely is you say: ‘Thank for your considered and detailed comments. I will take definitely them on board’. You can then take control off the chair (who should have done a better job and stopped the diatribe minutes ago) and identify the next questioner.

Type 6: The ‘I’m testing you’ question

This question is a deliberate test. The person asking the question knows the answer. Conclusion? They too are an arsehole. They are trying to find you out, show you up. So lesson one: be prepared and know your stuff. Read widely etc. Lesson two: don’t give an answer unless you know it’s right. If you guess you may be shown up to be wrong. Which is worse? Being demonstrably wrong and showing you don’t know what you’re talking about, or being willing to admit the limits of your knowledge? The latter leads to option A.

Type 7: The question motivated by anger, rudeness, politics, emotion etc

I’ve had plenty of these.  You might not be surprised (if you’ve read my other posts) that at times I’m not afraid of saying things bluntly or challenging people. My current research is about child and family health services, and plenty of people in the audience very quickly decide that the whole topic of my study amounts to government interference in family life and should be scrapped. No matter how well I’ve done my research, they hate it anyway. Elsewhere I’ve seen ‘hatchet jobs’ where profs engage in the academic equivalent of star wars, apparently trying to dismantle each other’s careers. Alternatively there might be something unnecessary and unprofessional in the tone of the question that turns a genuine question into a rude challenge to your intelligence.

In this case, I agree with Pat that the one making an idiot of herself or himself here is not you. Don’t become complicit in the idiocy. Don’t fight fire with fire. When people tell me the idea of parent education makes them sick to the core, I say ‘Thank you. Yes, quite a few people share your views and find the idea of working with parents in this way quite troubling. Personally, I’m convinced that these services are really valuable, and that the alternative is to turn our backs on parents who are struggling, which is not something I’m comfortable with. But I acknowledge this will always be contentious’.

Pat suggests you might ask the audience what they think of what has been said (fingers crossed they don’t agree!). You could also say ‘I can see that this is an issue you feel very strongly about, for good reasons. I’m not going to try to change your mind in a few seconds here, but I equally have reasons for my topic/approach that I would be happy to discuss with you afterwards’. Of course what you then do is find someone who asked a much better question and talk to them when it’s finished instead!


  1. Diagnose the question (if indeed it is a question) type and what this tells you about the questioner and her/his motives or expectations
  2. Avoid responses that fuel flames and lead to heated dialogue
  3. Be prepared to think through before giving an answer
  4. Be prepared not to give an answer
  5. Have an answer pre-prepared on your slides!
  6. For the conspiracy theorists among you: you can either conspire with arseholes who are out to get you, or with the audience who see the arseholes for what and who they are. Go for the latter. Politely.