You lookin' at me? - The Academic CV

This topic was suggested to me by someone who's in the final throes of her PhD. As we all know, when the end is nigh for the thesis, a humanities/social sciences scholar's thoughts turn to poverty and serving at McD's. While the idea of having an academic job doesn't seem quite as far-fetched as it did when I was almost graduating (ah, the good old days of low expectations and intellectual masochism...oh, hang on...), imagining oneself in a satisfying job is still a leap.

This entry focuses on what to include in an academic CV, and how to best present yourself in the document. I've broken it up into a few sub-sections and, as with all the posts on Academia 101, these are merely suggestions, based on my experiences.

The Basics:

• Clarity - Make sure your CV is easy on the eye and mindful of white space. Pick a decent font size (nothing smaller than 10 point, I'd say, and better if around 12 point), a basic font (don't go all Renaissance MegaCurve on any of it), and keep the standard margins.
  
  Don't submit hardcopies of CVs in fancy folders and with arcane clips - just a single staple in the top left corner is fine. Seriously. You're not getting points for shopping at Smiggle.
  
  Chances are that interview panels are slogging through all the applications the night before the interviews are to be held (or the day before if they're organised...). All these documents will be a blur to them, so the cleaner and more logical your CV, the easier it'll be for them to get a sense of you fast.
  
  
• Headings/sections - For an academic CV, I'd expect to see the following headings:
  
  
  1. [Full contact details] I don't usually use a heading for this stuff - it sits right at the top of my CV.
  2. [Current position] If you have one - e.g. sessional tutor, fixed-term lecturer, whatever. If not earning a crust in this way, skip to next one.
  3. Qualifications (your degrees, where you got them and when)
  4. Publications (include full details, flag if you were invited to contribute)
     4a. [Shows/Exhibitions/Films/Etc] Artists may need to create a whole other section to list their creative work. DC suggested formatting these listings as appropriate for your discipline/area (e.g. having sub-headings to differentiate "Solo" and "Group" exhibitions).
     
  5. Grants
  6. Awards/Prizes
  7. [Teaching Experience] Include this for a lecturing position, and make it prominent. For a research position, it's definitely not of primary importance, so can be much further down the CV, if included at all. Many teaching and research positions (i.e. normal "lecturer" jobs) will ask for a teaching portfolio of your student ratings, etc.
  8. Professional Roles / Esteem Factors / Academic Service (you can call this section a range of things. It includes any extra-curricular academic stuff you've been doing: running reading groups, convening conferences, organising seminars or other events, reviewing books, refereeing articles, being part of various committees, examining theses...)
  9. Professional Associations (of which you are a member)
  10. Previous Employment (particularly if you have any relevant experience, but I'd include this section for all jobs where you'll be drawing on other employment experience to boost your Selection Criteria statements)
  11. Academic Referees
      
      
• Table it - If you have a long listing of things with lots of detail (e.g. publications can get very confusing if not laid out well), think about sticking it in a table.
  
  
• Listing your publications - If you haven't been bludgeoned around the head with this fact enough yet, let me do it again: for academic CVs, the kind of publications that have the most prestige are REFEREED ones. For detail about what a refereed article is, you can check out the previous post on this blog, "Professionally Judgemental." Do not try to pass off un-refereed articles as refereed ones because, chances are, people who are in your field will know the types/tiers of journals and you'll look really, really bad. It won't just make you look a bit clueless; it'll make you seem sly (and 'sly' is never a good trait in a colleague).
  
  Also: I usually divide up my publications into "Refereed" and "Other" publications. "Other" publications are NOT refereed and, usually, occupy a lower rung. You can use this category to showcase your broad expertise. Or, as D-ster puts it, to "demonstrate one's capacity for widely disseminating research and actively engaging in variegated public/specialist arenas: from periodicals to broadsheets, to exhibition catalogues, to zines and online resources" (he writes like that off the cuff - annoying, isn't it?).
  
  
• Beware of 'holes' - When you're filling in your work/study history, make sure you include dates (preferably month/year) from position to position. Particularly for research-only positions, make sure that any time out you've had from an academic career (e.g. having kids, working in non-academic job) is included somewhere on the CV. You're being judged on your productivity per year since you were awarded your PhD so it pays to flag if you've been in the academic stream 'shorter' than expected.
  
  
• Things in the pipeline - Hopefully, when you're applying around, you'll have items that aren't published yet but are 'forthcoming'. To give these more weight (they'll seem like rather wispy promises on paper), provide dates of acceptance/publication if possible. Do not, however, include them in a particular year's set of publications unless they're definitely going to fall in that year (e.g. you know which issue of the journal they'll be in, the book publisher's given you a month for release). Having a "Forthcoming" section is no bad thing.
  
  
• Bombing out in grants - Just because you didn't get a grant doesn't mean it's wasted time. Get feedback on the application if you can and whack it in the next round to see if it gets up, or at least shop it around another funding agency (ok, that was slightly off-topic - getting back on topic now...). If you've had some success and some knockbacks, it doesn't hurt sometimes to include the fact that you've applied for funding to get projects underway. It demonstrates that you're research active and have initiative in this area. I'd advise against including knocked-back grants if you've ONLY had knockbacks. That's probably not helpful.
  
  
• Referees - Provide the number and types of referees the job application asks for (I know, totally 'duh'-worthy, but you'd be surprised). If they don't necessarily include a number, I usually provide three. This seems to be the standard for academic and other jobs I've applied for.
  
  Usually, with academic jobs, referees are those who can comment on your work or profile. They can be:
  
  
  • (ex-) supervisors
  • academics you've tutored or RA'd for
  • examiners of your thesis (if you know who they are and, of course, only use them if they think you're the bee's knees and gave you a sterling report. Oh, asking them to be your referee requires that you have had a good follow-up relationship with this person. Do not write out of the blue to ask them to be a referee when you haven't otherwise contacted them. That's just weird and rude)
  • academics you've worked with on publications or events (or people who've worked with you in a professional capacity [e.g. if they solicited writing or a report from you, they probably know about your expertise / quality of your work])
  • if you're really scraping for academic types to throw into the ring, there's nothing wrong with putting down previous employers (esp if the work you were doing with them is relevant to the position you're going for), or folks from organisations you've worked/volunteered with. If possible, I'd advise against putting someone down purely as a 'character' referee - it might be just me, but if a person can't come up with three people who can comment on their professional work/profile, it's a telling thing (unless the person in question is very early in their career, or has done nothing outside of university...).
  
  When you've got a list of people you'd like to be your referees, ask them first. You wouldn't believe how many people don't do this. There's nothing that sinks your cause faster than a potential employee ringing/contacting your listed referee and for that referee to go, "What? Who?" Not only should you ask whether you can use them as a referee, but you need to let them know what you're applying for and send them any documentation necessary. Sometimes, referees won't be contacted until you've been short-listed for a position (usually, they have to provide a written report singing your praises). They need to know what to say to best serve your interests - make sure you keep them in the loop. If you're going for a research-only position, they can wax lyrical about your incredible international profile and ability to attract a gazillion grants (or similar). If it's a teaching/research one, they can talk about your intellectual leadership and engagement with students.
  
  Also, once you've got a great referee on board for a certain job (or set of jobs) you're going for, do not assume that you have them for every round of employment you might have to go through. That is, if you used them in 2002 and you got a fixed-term position that expires in 2005, you need to re-ask them if you can still use them as a referee in 2005. Chances are very good that they'll say yes, unless you've done something dodgey or awful in the interim (Hint: Do not bail them up at conferences/events and try to be their best friend. A referee is a professional relationship and, of course, one would hope you're on good terms, but this doesn't mean they want you hanging out with them).
  
  
• Citations / Impact - More and more, academics are being asked to demonstrate how widely, often and heavily they're being cited (i.e. is your article just name-dropped or did someone base an entire essay on your wise words?). With the advent of Google Scholar, citation tracking is much more immediate and obvious, BUT remember that Google has its own biases and those of us who publish and work mainly in Australia may not be that well represented. My advice is to start your citation/impact collection as early as you can. I collected just about nothing except a few reviews of my book up until recently, and back-tracking about a decade's worth of stuff is tedious and annoying. Please don't read this complaint as implying "Oh, I'm so oft-quoted that my document runneth over". Read it more in the spirit of "Holy crap! How am I meant to count these instances?...How do I find them?...OMG, they've mis-referenced that quote!...If they quoted someone who quoted me but they don't quote me, is that a citation?!". So, executive summary: Start now. Doesn't matter if nothing appears for years at a time. At least you've got your 'stats' ready to go should you need them. (Thanks to the D-ster for bringing up the topic of citations - it had initially slipped my mind)
  
  

Once you've put your CV together, it doesn't hurt to run it past a few people. It's particularly valuable to get someone's opinion if they've been on a few selection committees and know the kinds of things that get prioritised when assessment takes place.

Finally, make sure that your cover letter flags the best bits of your CV. You don't replicate your CV in a cover letter, but make the reader want to see what you're referring to when you say, "As detailed in my CV, my extensive experience with competitive grants means I'm well placed to gain further funding from X and Y."

Oh, and finally finally: some people put in their hobbies/interests in their academic CV. I don't know how others feel about this, but (as vicariously interested as I am in these aspects sometimes) I'd leave it out. More general (non-academic) CVs, I'd leave it in.

Professionally judgemental: Reviewing for journals

I seem to conceive of these entries when I'm in the midst of especially rantworthy situations. The particulars of these situations should remain anonymous, but suffice to say that the whole process of reviewing well for journals is a complex skill. Because of my own disciplinary background, I'm speaking mostly about humanities publications, but much of what I say applies across many fields.

First, what exactly am I talking about?

Most reputable journals in academia have a reviewing system in place. The system I've had most experience with is outlined below:

• You submit an essay to a journal.
• The editorial team decides whether or not your article fits with the scope and aims of their journal. If so, they'll send your article out to review (usually two experts in your field); if not, they'll probably write you a note stating that the article isn't suitable, and perhaps suggest other avenues for you to try (well, I do this because I think it's courteous).
• The reviewing process I'm most familiar with is the 'double-blind peer review.' This means that the article is stripped of identifying features so the reviewers don't know who you are, and you don't get to know who the reviewers are either. It's meant to equalise the reviewing dynamic, and places more pressure on the article to stand alone rather than have reviewers inadvertently swayed by an author's reputation (for better or worse).
• When the reviews are returned, the journal editors make a decision about what recommendation to make to the author. If one reviewer chooses to Reject, while another recommends publication without revision, it's up to the editors to call it.
• If accepted, subject to revision, the author then makes the recommended changes or at least addresses the criticism in a satisfactory way. Note that just because you tweak a few phrases or chuck in a suggested reference or two, this doesn't make your article any more acceptable for publication. Revise in good conscience, with scholarly integrity intact, and you won't waste your own or anyone else's time. There's more in the post about Good Submission Behaviour I wrote earlier on.
• If your revised piece (and almost every single article that is submitted needs revision of some sort) is finally accepted, the editors should let you know approximately when the piece will appear. If you're with a high profile, significant journal, time-lines can spin out a long way. That is, your accepted revised article may not appear for another six months to a year. Them's the breaks.

OK, that's the gist of what the review process is. The rest of this entry is focused on how to write a good review for articles (and much of this is applicable to book manuscripts as well).

Usual caveat: These are only suggestions, based on my personal experience.

This is how you review articles well, and make journal or book editors happy:

1. Meet deadlines. I know I put this in with every entry. It's because it's IMPORTANT. You said you'd review it within a certain time-frame. Barring unexpected hold-ups/illness/accidents, you should get that referee's report in to the editor(s). Being very late doesn't only make you look bad and disorganised, it also means the editors end up carrying the bag when the author goes off in a snit about the process taking too long and takes their work elsewhere, or they get narky about the delays but stay put (and are narkier to deal with in general thereafter).
   
2. Be clear and specific about recommended revisions. There's nothing worse than wishy-washy (or rushed) referees' reports where the editor has to guesstimate what you meant by "some passages need glossing" - which passages? How? A footnote? There's no need to be a total pedant (though sometimes this is the best place to exercise those pedantic skills in terms of attention to detail and flow of argument - being a pedant for the sake of it, however, is probably still unwelcome...), but the more guided and particular the commentary, the easier it is for the author to revise to your standards (hopefully).
   
3. Be kind, detailed and as constructive as you can be if you reject an article/essay. Sometimes you won't feel like it because reading something awful is time you'll never get back. This is where you apply the "walking in someone else's shoes" technique - if your work was being rejected by a journal or book editor, how would you want to find out about it? There's nothing to be gained by being unkind or gratuitous in the criticism. You're rejecting the piece - that's already a pretty strong message. Don't get personal or make allusions about the author. Stick with the style/content/depth of the piece and state why it doesn't come up to scratch.
   
4. Be discrete with your comments on the essay. Most review sheets have a section for more detailed commentary and keep in mind that this is usually cut'n pasted to the author to aid in their revision (or to justify a rejection). Don't put anything in that section that you don't want the author to receive (most editors should skim the comments to make sure nothing too scandalous gets passed on, but you never know). If you need to make comments to the editors directly, do that in a separate email, or in another section of the review sheet. For example, I've flagged comments in a separate section that were specifically NOT intended for the author because I'd found some preliminary evidence of loose referencing (aka possible plagiarism) that the editors might've liked to double-check before they made a final decision.

Rest assured that journal editors can tell a lot about an academic from the way they approach, and deal with, the review process.

Reviewing articles for journals is an academic duty that brings little tangible reward. However, those who review well and regularly are often also those who are good colleagues and academics. I view it as a community service, one that is necessary and fosters reciprocal relations. It's a professional good.

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EDITED TO ADD (31 July 2008):

A query from a colleague prompts this edit. They asked whether it was kosher to point out references in the field with which an essay needed to engage if those references were their own publications.

My (cleaned up) response was this:

"I think it's definitely OK, especially if the author doesn't seem to have canvassed a very in-depth range of critical literature, or if you're the only person to have written on specific topics. It's easy to couch this in terms of making new contributions to the area (e.g. 'Given that Josephine Bloggs [1994, 2003, 2006] has already written about X and Y, the essay needs to engage with this existing literature, as well as showcase its own insights...')."

I'll be the first to admit that, as an editor of a quarterly journal, seeing people shoe-horn their references into someone's essay is not a good look. But that's exactly the point: if someone is shoe-horning, it's clear and cringe-worthy. If someone's seriously engaging with the essay and trying to address its shortfalls, this is also very clear.

So, don't be afraid to suggest your own work for the author to look over/include. Just make sure you're doing it because it's about making the essay better, and not just to pad out your citation count.

The Conference Cruise II: Question Time

In my previous post, I forgot to address the issue of question time, one of the most daunting arenas that many early career and postgraduate researchers face. Given that question time is usually only about 10 minutes, it's a wonder that one could get that exercised about it.

I'll tell you what it is, though, that had me breaking out in cold sweat before a paper: It was the potential ridicule, hostility, dismissal or displays of ignorance in question time. Sure, delivering a paper brings with it a certain amount of nervousness, but I've hardly seen interjections during someone's paper (unless they've gone way, WAY over time and their audience is rebelling). If someone's going to object to your paper and its ideas, it will happen in question time.

Very basic outline about question time:

When you give a paper at a conference or seminar, you're allocated a certain amount of time for the presentation and some afterwards for questions. Depending on the conference you're at, there may be a set template for the panel, or you're meant to work it out with the chair of your session beforehand. This is why it's a good reason to turn up to your session at least 5 minutes earlier, to make sure you know what shape it's going to take and you get to meet your fellow paper-givers (I think of this as a common courtesy, but I know there are many others who don't give turning up with 5 seconds to spare a second thought).

There are usually two main ways question time is done:

1. All papers are run through first, and question time, say, is the last half hour of the session with queries addressed to any of the speakers. As mentioned in the earlier post, this is where good conference participants shine their presence to a burnished gold with considerate, distributed questions.
   
2. Question time takes place after each paper and, say, 10 minutes is allocated for that paper. This is great when the discussion flows and there is a good level of engagement, but very painful if people can't think of anything interesting to pick up on. A good chair can overcome anything, even the most awful conference paper and its aftermath, but it must be said that good chairing is a skill that many don't possess.

I find that my major anxiety is feeling that a question will catch me out, that someone will ask something and I won't know the answer. I've become much better with this issue, mostly because I'm not as hung up about being an 'expert' and assuming that I was meant to be able to chat at length about anything that had my research area's keywords involved.

General question time manner:
(Thanks to David C., who reminded me of this aspect in a recent email)

When you're up at the podium/lectern, or in a panel in front of a room, everyone is looking at you during question time. Remember this and don't:

• look bored (especially when people are asking you questions).
• make faces at questions, no matter how strange/stupid they are (this holds for your own questions as well as others').
• start doodling on paper, unless you know how to doodle as if you're taking copious, thoughtful notes.

So, as the paper-giver, what are some good strategies to employ when you're put on the spot?

Questions can come from anywhere and address anything. Many of them come from a place called left-field.

The following suggestions only work (and don't make you sound like a wanker) if your paper was halfway decent and you're fairly well versed in your core research field. If you truly have no clue, or can't answer something that refers to a foundational piece of your presentation's raison d'etre, then these probably aren't going to help that much.

If someone asks you something that:

• you can't answer right then and there (either because you want to think through your response or you suddenly draw a blank), you can always say something like, "That's a really interesting question. Thanks. I'm not sure I can answer it right now, but I'd like to have a chat about it later..."
  
• comes square out of left-field, you will probably have the sympathy of the rest of the room anyway because, chances are, the question came from a serial nut-bag that they've had to deal with themselves. If you don't think you can get away with just smiling, nodding and saying, "Thanks, that's something I hadn't thought about!", try shepherding discussion back to safer ground (e.g. "Hmmm, that's an interesting way to look at it. I've found it most useful to approach this topic this way...").
  
• indicates they have completely misunderstood your argument, you can either set out to rectify it head-on, or you can look thoughtful, thank them for the question, and say something like "It's interesting that you read it that way because my paper's focus was on X because..." (with this latter strategy, you get to confirm your argument while not necessarily having to spell out to the questioner that they've missed the point, something that can be quite awkward).
  
• is openly hostile (and you don't know why), you can weather it with a bit of hedging and possibly turn a question back on them to try to see where they're coming from. Of course, sometimes it's not worth the bother if someone's decided to be a total dickhead and chose your paper to do it in. If this is the case, you might just have to bite your tongue and say that you'd have to disagree with their interpretation/theory/ whatever. Similarly, there are those (who you can usually pick early on, so always have your freak radar switched up at conferences) who become the pesky questioners throughout an event. They're probably not worth engaging with to any extent but if they manage to bring up a point that you don't mind talking about (on your terms, not theirs) feel free to take the opportunity to shepherd the topic once more.
  
• is openly hostile (and you know why), you can choose to have an all-out stoush with them, or you can defuse the stand-off by saying something like, "As we've discussed before..." (to indicate to others in the room that this isn't the first time this person's attacked you, that it's akin to their hobby), or "I know you disagree with X's methodology, but I find it useful because..." (get it back to constructive territory that allows you to talk more about your research).
  
  The worst case of this that I've seen is a more established scholar choosing to attack a postgrad who was giving her very first conference paper. The established scholar - oh, let's call her Freaky - decided to pull rank in the research field and sought to invalidate the postgrad's research by calling into question the integrity of the student's interview sources. The entire room was appalled by Freaky's behaviour and no-one thought that she'd behaved professionally. The student, who felt (quite understandably) destroyed by the attack, apologised and lost the confidence to take Freaky on.
  
  Often, when people are so immediately hostile in general question time, you can rest assured it's usually them, not you. You can also usually assume that the room will be sympathetic towards you because - in Australia, at least - question time is not meant to be like the Colosseum. Sure, discussions get active and not everyone will agree, but it's meant to be a supportive intellectual exercise, not a take-down.

A good response to questions (particularly if you're on the 2nd or 3rd day of the event) allows you to bring in what others have highlighted, or emphasises how your work complements the major concerns of the conference thus far, etc. It ties your work into the flow of the intellectual discussion at the event. This isn't always possible these days, especially with conferences that have so many parallel sessions that you don't even get to know who's at the conference, let alone what the general threads of it have been. Still, it's a good thing to do if you can manage it.

Comment from Deborah M. that's relevant to this point:

• "Do not just disappear after your panel. Sometimes, well-meaning members of the audience have a critical remark that they don't want to make in public during question time, but do want to take up with you privately. So, make yourself available as part of the larger conversation that is the conference."
  
  Deborah's comment was prompted by an incident where a young scholar made significantly incorrect generalisations in a paper that would've been particularly difficult and awkward to broach in the public forum of question time.

Finally, there's nothing wrong with saying that you don't know the answer if you have nothing to give. Really. It's allowed. There's nothing worse than someone fumbling around for an answer and cornering themselves with their rambling. It's painful, it makes you look like a fool, and everyone'll be wincing. It's better to admit ignorance and move on.

The Conference Cruise

This topic of this entry was requested by a buddy from the AA list. I hope that this is vaguely what he was hoping to see. I started this weeks ago so will go ahead and post for now.

Many years ago, when I had to give my first few papers and the conference dates loomed sickeningly close, I'd be almost paralysed with insecurity, and brimming with angst about what could go wrong. I'd be running through my paper (no ad-libbing for me) about a fortnight before it was due to be given. The whole thing would be planned to within an inch of its life AND chockers with theoretical stuffing because there was a desperate need to make sure that what I presented would be considered 'serious' (and we all know that nothing says 'serious' like incredibly dense, almost incoherent jargonism).

So, here be a listing of things I've learnt in the past decade or so's conference-going and paper-giving. I'm in no way setting up myself as a presentation guru (for a start, as anyone who's seen me present will testify, I'm unhealthily attached to hard copy text).

Usual caveat: These are only suggestions, based on my personal experience.

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This is how to make conference convenors love you:

1. Get your abstract and registration information in on time.


2. Keep your presentation to time.


3. Be organised, and familiar, with the a/v you'll need.


4. Remember that Google is your friend. Don't write to convenors and ask things like 'So, what's the weather like in X?' or 'What currency do you use?' After all, are you a researcher or a blight upon this earth?


5. TURN UP FOR YOUR SESSION. Yes, it is tragic that I even have to include this but...there it is.

===============================

OK: You're at the conference. Your paper's written (right? RIGHT?) and you intend to turn up on time to give it.

What else does a good conference participant do? Well, I'm glad you asked.

A good conference presenter/participant:

• Keeps presentations to time. I know I'm already repeating myself, but I do it out of love for the considerate conference paper. There are scads of academics out there who go over time during conferences or seminars. They're given the time-limit and they just choose to ignore it, or are too lazy to account for it. Even if your paper is the absolute bees' knees, it's rude to go over time because chances are that you're using up someone else's time. It's not all about you, you know. Usually, you're on a panel of three or so, and the session has an allotted time. It's not a conspiracy; it's that limiting thing called a 24-hour day.
  
  For example, if you're given 20 minutes, this means you're given 20 minutes. It doesn't mean giving a 20 minute paper + showing your Powerpoint slides + telling that hilarious anecdote + concluding with a 3 minute video.
  
  Things that may happen to you if you go over time (all from experience, albeit some 2nd hand):
  
  * Paper planes - or other objects - will be thrown.
  * The Chair will set light to your paper, or ring bells, or start the room clapping.
  * Most of the room will start shuffling their feet, rolling their eyes, or clearing their throats.

Time your paper before you give it, including the whizz-bang a/v you want to use. It's not that hard. I find that most postgrads and early career people are very good at keeping to time. Others? Not so much. Often, they think their seniority or reputation confers a more generous time limit. This assumption is incorrect and inconsiderate.


• Takes part in discussions and/or asks helpful questions at various conference sessions. I find this a hard one to do consistently. It's always much easier to take stuff in and just nod sagely; this is what I do most of the time. It takes more active listening and engagement to find a question to ask. There's always the tricky situation of someone on a panel not getting any questions, while their panel-mates may be bombarded for the full allocated question-time. The most generous and lovely academics I know will be the ones who ask the questionless presenter a considered query. Often, the presenter who gets no questions hasn't given a bad paper; it's just that people latch onto the others more readily. Of course, there are times when people have given truly horrendous papers and engaging with them meaningfully is much more difficult, and undesirable in many ways. I've seen very astute questioning of dodgey papers that didn't destroy the paper-giver but led the way for fruitful discussion within the session. This is certainly the ideal, and I only know a few folks who've pulled this off.
  
  
• Attends the bulk of any given session. I know there are vastly different opinions on this one. This is just my take on it. Increasingly, conferences are about breaking even and this means bums on seats, which means more parallel sessions than ever. In turn, this compound scheduling means that there'll often be a clash between sessions you want to attend. As a rule, I think it's bad form to turn up only for a friend's (or Big Name's) paper in a session and leave straight away. If you must leave, do it after the entire paper and question-time if you can, rather than when another person's presenting their work (just imagine half a dozen people fleeing the room when you get up to talk and you'll see what I mean).
  
  I've attended conferences where, during a session, various people in the back rows carry on their own conversations (not whispering). I've been told my being appalled at this is because of a cultural gap and that, in some countries, this is 'normal' conference behaviour. Word to the wise: Having attended conferences in Canada, US, Germany, Australia, and New Zealand, I've yet to see anywhere that this behaviour is 'normal'. It should go without saying that if you are attending a session, you don't chat with your mates through the whole thing. If you want to chat with them, fine; do the world a favour and DON'T attend the session.
  
  Associated with this point is Deborah M.'s suggestion that you stick around after your panel - see The Conference Cruise II: Question Time.
  
  
• Doesn't stalk keynotes. This may sound far-fetched and I wish it was a totally ridiculous thing to say. As a convenor and fellow delegate, I've seen people latch onto keynote speakers something chronic. There's having respect and admiration for the work someone does, and there's red-flagging yourself by popping up at every meal-break to hang with your favourite postcolonialist.
  
  Some pointers on talking with keynotes or Big Names:
  
  * Try to have a specific question or topic you're rocking up to talk about. Don't just appear in front of someone and say, "Oh, X! I'm Y, and I love your work." This just leads to awkward pauses and nowhere for the person to go, conversationally (unless they're very socially functional...and remember we're talking about academia, here).
  
  * You can ask simple questions about their stay so far in the country/city, what it's like working at X institution, or if they'll be attending a [future relevant conference]. You can ask for a copy of their paper and tell them what you found most interesting about it. You can offer to show them the hottest night-club in town (I've heard someone do this, and the keynote took them up on it. Choose your audience, of course. I'm just going to take a moment now to scrub the image of boogeying academics from my mind....ah, that's better). BOTTOM LINE: You don't have to front up and be Uber-Smart. It's much better to stick with welcoming and friendly.
  
  * Don't engage in vigorous critique of someone's work in front of that someone when everyone's having lunch. I think this is plain rude. Keynotes are beholden to conferences for the duration (usually) but this doesn't mean that they're 'on-stage' the whole time. If you have a critique, fine. Bring it up in during the person's session, or send them a query afterwards, or something. But bailing people up to dress them down (to inflate yourself) is never a good look.

You get as much out of a conference as you put in. Stop rolling your eyes; it's true. What's also true is that the quality of conferences and the vibe that each one has is incredibly variable. Some will make you feel like you're part of something smart, important and very worthwhile. Others will have you bitching to all your friends and family about what a bunch of junketeers academics are, or what uninspired work is glutting the place.

When non-aca people ask me how a conference went, and I respond that it was 'fun', they assume that that means I was being paid to loll around in some exotic setting while they were stuck at their 9-to-5 salt-mine. They're often right (cf. David Lodge novels). Conference circuits are a staple of academic life. Your colleagues become friends and often fellow-travellers. You get to hear about the latest work in your field. You meet the Big Names and the early career enthusiasts. You present what you've been up to and (hopefully) get much affirmation and interest in what you're researching.

So, my advice would be: go forth, go regularly, and don't take any one event too seriously.

There's always another conference and, even if you think you made a wanker of yourself at one, you can rest assured that someone else made a bigger wanker of themselves at another (and that's who everyone will be talking about).

Networking and Other Academic Hobbies

This post is a section of "No fries with that" (MS-Word doc), a paper I gave a few years ago at a postgraduate conference at UQ. It talked more generally about the academic job market, humanities job skills, and academic networking.

This post looks mostly at the idea of 'networking' in academia.

I've always cringed at the thought of ‘networking’ because of the oily images it created. It seemed like a swag of obligation and obsequiousness, self-promotion and being aggressively social. Most of my peers also cringed at the idea of networking though we were all told at various times by various people that it is important and necessary.

In the course of my postgraduate student-ship (all two degrees and 5 yrs of them) and the time since then, I have come around to the idea because I discovered several things:

1. Networking doesn’t mean glad-handing big-wigs and ‘selling yourself’ while eating cocktail nibbles at various conferences.

2. It is done most effectively when you don’t know you’re doing it.

3. You don’t even have to be on the same continent, AND

4. You don’t have to be an insincere git.

A successful networker is responsive, active, dependable, and has initiative. Trying to get the thesis written as well as establish some sort of professional profile is demanding. Networking means building a web of research colleagues who may be in the next office, the campus across town, interstate, or overseas. It could be done at conferences, through electronic lists and email, in university corridors, or on Hawaiian surfing beaches. The latter is not entirely frivolous – discussing possible projects with high profile academics in board-shorts was more effective than button-holing them after their panels and trying to get serious consideration in a crowd of thirty or more people. Timing is crucial.

I have never liked the preferential treatment given to 'star' academics and, at conferences, I talk to whoever I want and not who I feel I should. Similarly, I never sat down and worked out how to build an academic profile – I just got involved with things that interested me. I couldn’t imagine myself in a professional academic role until I was actually in one.

In the recent years, it has become clear that the network operates on more levels than I would care to admit and it is embedded in the academic system whether I want to acknowledge it or not. Phil Agre, author of “Networking on the Network” (linked below), has a phrase which resonated particularly for me: “cultivate a realistic awareness of power.” This doesn’t mean buying into power-plays or manipulation, but it does mean waking up to the prosaic processes of maintaining professional relationships and a key place in your field of study. It’s not all about who you know, but if you don’t know anyone and they don’t know you, then you’re behind the eight-ball when it comes to applying for academic jobs, grants, getting published, and everything else that goes to make up a research career.

Given all that, I haven’t changed the way I do things all that much, except to be more calculated about how much time I give to projects and weighing up whether the outcome will be worthwhile. It still has to be a project I believe in and must have people I want to work with, and I’m less likely to say yes to something just because someone asked me.

If there is a particular institution or resource you want to get closer to, you’d be silly not to cultivate colleagues in those areas. Similarly, however, if you are not sure where you’re headed or what you ultimately want to do, make sure you’re building many bridges. Someone once said to me that you should never burn bridges in academia because it’s such a small world. You never know when that person you’ve ostracised, criticised, or offended will end up in a position to make your life difficult. They may be one of your grant assessors, on an interview panel, a referee for one of your articles or book proposals, or your next Head of Department.

The first lesson in building a profile is getting involved and participating in professional associations, conferences, and various groups (electronic and otherwise). That is, saying “yes” to a range of offers and opportunities. This includes applying for things like travel grants and essay prizes where, if you are successful, the material outcomes are funding for travel, a cash payment, or publication, and the professional outcomes are wider, stronger networks and a line in your CV that puts you a cut above others.

That said: the second lesson is knowing when your time is fully committed; that is, learning to say “No.” It is much better to be known as someone who will deliver when they take something on, than to be involved in everything and then not following through. I have overcommitted myself on many occasions, then flogged myself to finish everything on time. This is not a recommended strategy if you want decent quality of life. Saying “No” to selected opportunities does not diminish the number of prospects you are offered. Others have said this before but I never believed them until years later. Once people get to know you and your work, it’s surprising how long you stay on their radar.

To give you an example: a few years ago, a prominent Asian American academic invited me to a conference she was convening in California. I’ve met this person only once and that was at a single panel of a huge sprawling conference (it happens to be the Hawaii conference I mentioned earlier). She had come up to me after my paper and asked for clarification about a reference and we chatted a bit about diasporic Asian studies. That was four years ago, we hadn't been in contact since, and yet...

I’d like to share with you a few other examples from my academic life of how smaller events or encounters led to bigger opportunities:

1. In 1998, I was asked by the conveners to be a research assistant on one of the first ever Asian Australian studies conferences. The outcomes were that I worked enough on the conference that they also made me a convener; I became co-editor of a subsequent published essay collection; and I initiated the creation of an academic e-list for Asian Australian studies, which has been running since 1999 (and now has over 170 members).

2. Also in 1998, I became the postgrad rep on a Canadian Studies Association committee. The opportunity arose because another postgrad wanted to hand on the position and we happened to have studied in the same department. Because I had scored a travel grant from this Association the year before, I felt like I owed it something and joined up. I have been a committee member ever since (till 2005) and have also become the Association web and electronic list manager. For me, being in this association has opened up international networks of Canadianists and made me known to various staff at the Canadian High Commission in Canberra.

3. The third and last example I’ll talk about occurred about five years ago. I was invited to coffee by a senior colleague in the School in which I was a new postdoc. It was a meet’n greet kind of situation, though I did kind of know this person through other channels. The chat laid the groundwork for the following: 2 book contracts, guest-editing a journal, and an invitation to be one of the editors for a series of publications on diasporic literary studies. It was certainly a case of being in the right place at the right time. This colleague wanted to be able to present an international press with some book proposals and contacts as the commissioning editor was new and very enthusiastic about making her mark. The senior colleague was overcommitted, as is often the case, and I had the opportunity to put my own work forward.

Given this last instance, I would say ‘never underestimate the power of a coffee chat.’

Of course, the benefits from these initial encounters don’t fall into your lap. It’s not advisable to take up a position or role and then do nothing – the book contracts came about because I wrote proposals and revised the entire manuscript over the Xmas/NY break. Make sure you hold people to things they promise you (after making sure in your own mind that they had promised you something concrete), follow up on projects and deadlines, come up with new ideas and usher them through committees, and always be aware of labour exploitation. How you deal with this exploitation is up to you but know that it is prevalent and it’s not just because you’re a postgrad. For me, I balance what I gain with what I’m expected to do.

For example, I’ve convened a few conferences now, and conference-ville is one zone where you know that new academics and postgrads will be exploited. I guess I’ve embraced the exploitation to a certain extent and made sure that my name was associated with key functions as opposed to spending heaps of time on things and then only being acknowledged as a ‘committee.’ There are perks to being the person who gets to associate directly with the delegates, or be in charge of the webpage or program scheduling:

• Keynoters and other delegates get to know you
• You gain excellent experience with planning, organisation, and negotiation, AND
• Because of time constraints and general apathy, committees will often be willing to rubber-stamp things that you’ve already worked out so you can let your autocratic side shine.

Whatever you do, don’t showboat or be too aggressive about getting your name on things. For academic earlybirds, getting your name out there usually means doing more work and taking over things that others don’t want to do. Make sure you consider what the outcome of your labour is, and you’re not just being a schmuck. In saying this, I don’t mean that everything you do must have a direct impact on your professional profile. Sometimes, making yourself known to other conference committee members as a willing and savvy worker is all you need (or want) to do, and this can pay off later on.

I'd recommend Phil Agre's Networking on the Network [update 10 July 2008: I've linked to an old version of this article as Phil doesn't seem to have it listed on his pages anymore, alas] as a very rich (albeit USA-centric) source of information as well. Granted, if you did everything he recommended and still didn't think you were a wanker, think again. All things in moderation. A few tips and hints put into practice don't hurt but, really, I can't help thinking that anyone who does all this stuff needs to get out more and find other things to prioritise. Also, in noting the USA-centric nature, I need to acknowledge how much more of a shark pool the US academy is compared with the Australian one.

No successful academic remains in a vacuum. It's up to you how much you want to play the game; just don't pretend that there isn't one.

Good editing behaviour, or How not to piss off contributors

This is the complementary write-up that I promised when I first wrote "Good Submission Behaviour."

It won't be as long as the other one because there are fewer things an editor can get wrong. In fact, some parts of this post are going to sound like an apologia for editors. So be it.

Usual caveats apply about all of this being my opinion only.

1. MEET DEADLINES and HAVE DECENT RESPONSE TIMES

Interestingly enough, the first and most prominent point in this listing would have to be the same as for "Good submission behaviour."

Usually, the editor will have a timeline that shuffles back from the publisher's manuscript deadline. It should account for the:

• Call for submissions and/or strategic solicitation.
• Submission of essays.
• Refereeing/reviewing turn-around time.
• Author's revision and final submission.
• Combing through the text by editor and copyeditor/proofer before sending to the press/publisher.
• Proofs coming back from the press/publisher for the author (and sometimes editor) to give final okay.

This production schedule should be made clear to authors from the get-go so they know what they're in for. The latest project that I just handed over? I knew the timelines were screwy – in that they were much shorter than what I'd normally consider decent – but there were very good reasons why they had to be so truncated (the main one being that if the collection didn't go to press now, it wouldn't have a slot till 2007).

In normal circumstances, a sensible, responsible editor will leave decent times for these stages, and not harangue authors for their revisions a week after returning several sets of comments (especially at the beginning of a university semester, or just after the holidays).

Editors should also be understanding if a project appears to have stalled and authors choose to take their work elsewhere. I say this with a heavy heart because the delays are often not the fault of the editor and having holes in the line-up causes editorial insomnia BUT it's understandable if people need to get their work out there, especially if they're early career researchers and trying to build their CVs.

That said, the editor is often at the mercy of the contributors and their attention to submission times. Particularly after the reviewers' reports are back and comments are sent off to the authors, chances are the timeline is advanced enough that it starts getting difficult to find substitute material for a particular issue or project if someone lags or pulls out. At these times, editors are more prone than ever to bouts of foul language and the occasional popped vein.

2. HAVE CLEAR INSTRUCTIONS ABOUT STYLE AND FORMAT

Don't (as I've done) tout a set of instructions about style that are out of date and require much chasing up of page numbers by put-upon copyeditors later on...ahem. This is a bad thing.

The clearer you make the instructions (and the more stellar your contributors are with following these instructions), the less work everyone has to do in the mad final stages of preparing a manuscript. This is a very good thing.

3. GIVE CONSIDERATE AND CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM

When handing back critical comments to authors from the reviewers (and editor[s]), try to:

• Be encouraging but honest. Don't tell an author the essay is great but just 'not suitable' for the publication if, in truth, it's because the essay is crap and you don't want it. This might be a personal thing but I'd much rather say to someone that the work they've handed in is not up to scratch and list why/how they can improve, rather than have them tout their stuff (wasting theirs and other people's time) without anyone being straight with them.
• Use your discretion when forwarding reviewers' comments. Most reviewers know to separate comments that they don't intend authors to see. I think it's also up to the editors to make sure they take out extraneous, unconstructive stuff from the reports. For example, there's no point having an anonymous person abuse an author for liking a particular critic's ideas when the editor is aware that that reviewer has an axe to grind with that critic and the objection doesn't have an intellectual basis. Not that that ever happens in academia, eh?
• If the essay isn't all that crash hot but the potential is there for better, then make sure you give the author (particularly if they're early career) as much detail as possible to help them make it better. This is important because it also gives you grounds not to accept the piece if the author hasn't stepped up to the crease and improved it significantly after revision.
• If the reports were really bad and the recommendation is to reject, then this should be done with as much compassion as possible. Gandhi moment: I deal with people the way I'd like to be treated. It seems to have worked well so far.

4. KEEP CONTRIBUTORS INFORMED ABOUT THE PUBLICATION

Editors should contact contributors as soon as decently possible:

• on receipt of submissions (not hard to do, really).
• if there are problems holding up their contribution in particular (e.g. difficulty finding a reviewer, delay in receiving a report).
• about (un)expected delays to the production of the publication (one of the collections I was involved with had a change-over of three publishing editors in the time our manuscript was going through the submission and review stages, which blew out the timeline considerably).

Once you establish a good working relationship with authors through one project, they're much more likely to contribute to your future projects. Chances are they will also be more amenable to reviewing essays/articles for you later on. As anyone who's worked on journals or refereed edited books will tell you, good reviewers are worth cultivating (or hoarding, as the case may be).

That's about it, really. As with "Good Submission Behaviour," the take-home message is:

Be professional and considerate.

You can't go wrong with that.

Good academic submission behaviour (or 'How not to piss off editors')

I've just about finished duties for my seventh publication as an editor. Every time I'm in the midst of one, I vent about various things to unfortunate colleagues who happen to be nearby. I've been meaning to put these vents together in a document that will, hopefully, be useful (for you) as well as therapeutic (for me). Having recently become a member of the editorial team for a quarterly Taylor & Francis journal, I think this therapy will be ever more required.

Stating the Obvious #1: Academia is a small world. Folks will remember you for an excellent essay contribution and prompt responses/rewrites; they will remember you even better if you screw them around. Stories of your evil deeds will be passed around at every opportunity, amplifying in blackguarded-ness at each telling.

Please keep in mind that these points are not aimed at, or referring to, you in particular. They're musings from a few years of participating in both sides of the process (as contributor and editor), and I've just winnowed all that angst and gnashing of teeth into this neato list. Of course it's a list; my life is a list. If you read about a situation and think "Omigod, what a cow! She's talking about me!", keep the following things in mind:

a) You probably aren't the only one who's done it,

and

b) This post is to help others. I'm not out to crucify anyone and I don't hate you.

Caveat: These are only my personal opinions. If you follow them and still don't get published (or still manage to piss off an editor) then, well, just call it a day and never try to submit anything ever again. No, actually, don't do that (but if you thought that was for serious, wear your sarcasm-irony glasses more often, please, especially if you read this blog regularly). I'll be adding to this entry and flagging updates in later ones, and it seems only fair that there'll also be a Part II: "How not to piss off contributors".

These points only help if your contribution to a publication is of sound mind and body, and isn't some nut-bag rant, a mere string of quotations, or afflicted by lack of interesting insight.

GOOD SUBMISSION BEHAVIOUR

1. MEET DEADLINES.

• This sounds basic, right? It's also the thing that spawns most headaches, weeping, and diatribes. If people would keep it as simple as it is, there would be no problem. Got a set of deadlines? STICK TO THEM. The editor is (usually) human and has a life. S/he set deadlines so the workload will be feasible in the lead-up to handing over an entire manuscript. If you drag your feet and don't hand things over till the last minute, who's shafted? Possibly you if the editor gets too annoyed and just drops your contribution entirely, but it's usually the editor and other production staff who have to work like the blazes to accommodate your tardy work.


• When you submit your final copy, make sure it's your FINAL COPY. Don't keep fiddling with it, or only do your proofreading after you've hit "Send". Editors have enough to keep track of without your final1, final2, and final3 versions.


• Related to the deadlines issue: If you're asked to submit something for consideration and you indicate that you will, then DO. Yes, I know that's another point that sounds so basic it makes your teeth hurt. Failure to follow through happens a lot; it's not unforgiveable. Life's crises can get in the way, the essay turns out not to fit the collection as first envisaged, or time management leaves the building. The key is to tell the editor ASAP. ASAP, people, so that a substitute essay can be solicited and put through the review process. I'm thinking in particular here about special issues where there's not so much lee-way with substituting material. If you leave it till the last minute to let the editor know you're not coughing up, they're left with a big old hole in the publication, super-tight deadlines, and a deep impulse to impugn your name should they ever hear/see it again.

2a. Thanks to Galaxy, I'd also add: RESEARCH WHERE YOU'D LIKE TO PUBLISH.

There are a heap of journals and presses out there. It's up to you to make the most of your content by placing it in a reputable, strong publication. Particularly in the Brave New World of Research Quality Framework Australia, the selection of publication sites becomes even more important because some will become - officially - more worthwhile than others. Another basic list that you just need to make sure you can confidently dismiss:

• Make sure you are submitting to a place that will give quality exposure to your work. Don't do it because it might be easy to get in there - if it's easy to get in, there's probably a trade-off.


• Check things like length of article/essay. Don't submit something that's 10K words when the journal asks for between 5-6K. Part of your skills as an academic should include writing to length. No, your work isn't so important that you need more room than anyone else.


• See 2b - it's so very important.

2b. SLAVISHLY FOLLOW HOUSE or JOURNAL STYLES.

Yes, it's a pain. Yes, it takes a long time. Just do it.

It's part of being an academic, and (for me) you're never enough of a Big Name that you can get away with handing over something that needs a total work-over. Sure, your stuff may still be sought after, but you'll definitely incur much impugning of your name.

3. CHECK EXCLUSIVITY.

To save everyone much pain and angst, make sure you find out the exclusivity requirements of the publication to which you are submitting.

Chances are, journals are only interested in original, unpublished work. Books of essays may take previously published work if it's significantly revised/worked up for the publication.

Be particularly aware of publishing in conference proceedings if you want to take that same paper and work it up for a journal publication. This won't be acceptable to many journals/books.


4. ENGAGE WITH REVIEWERS' COMMENTS CONSTRUCTIVELY.

• Don't whinge when you get your editorial feedback or reviewers' reports. Well, don't whinge to the editor anyway; you can sound off all you want to your mates. In my experience, no-one's work escapes amendments and polishing. All the refereeing processes I've done are double-blind peer review (ie. authors don't know who has assessed their work, assessors don't know who the authors are) and, as a general guide, the longer and more involved the review, the more constructive it is for the author and editor. Shorter responses are often more difficult to deal with. In short: if someone's gone to a lot of trouble to work through your piece and suggest improvement, take this as a Good Thing and step up to the crease to make the work better.


• If you think a reviewer is being particularly unfair, sure, take it up with the editor. Otherwise, suck it up, even if it's mildly ranty and (you think it's) misguided. Not all suggestions have to be taken on board, but you should think about the points that are brought up, and clarify if necessary. It's good practice for when someone pillories your work later down the track - 'How much do I need to take on board?', 'Is this a fruitcake's response?', etc. Chances are that even ranty-rants have a kernel of constructiveness in them.

5. DON'T TREAT YOUR EDITOR AS YOUR ASSISTANT.

• Seeking permission to reproduce images/tables/whatever is YOUR job. Consulting with the editor about the process is fine, but the actual doing is all yours.


• Don't leave unfinished references or incomplete quotations because you assume the editor will know the publication. This earns many Grrr points.


• See point #2 re following house/journal styles. In the end, someone has to do it, and if not you, then who?


• Most publications are moving to electronic submission of essays but some still ask for (several copies of) your final essay. Make the copies. Send them on time. Period.

6. PROOFREAD, PROOFREAD, PROOFREAD.

As the anonymous comment below points out, proofreading is a fundamental element of good academic submission behaviour. While I doubt that grad students (or even staff!) can afford a professional proofreader for everything they do, it's always worth running your work past someone else's eyes to make sure you haven't 'normalised' mistakes because you've been working on it too closely. It's also a very good way to start building your critical collegial network - proofing each other's articles leads to incredibly valuable links for future grant application vetting, book manuscript assessment, etc. Having a good, honest-but-kind, critical reader for your work is a wonderful thing. Just make sure their reading of your work and quality of commentary is reciprocated by you!


Out of all this rambling, if you only take away one point, the point should be:

Be professional and considerate.

Academic paths cross in the most unexpected ways and, where possible, I'd advise folks never to burn a bridge. That goes for those who are incredibly well-established AND also for early career folk.