Thesis looming

Guest post by Sadie Boniface

I knew it was coming. I am envisaging months of isolation. I remember the long hours I spent at the Robinson Library when I wrote my Masters dissertation (supervised by Martin and Jean). But that was only for two months, and I have budgeted nine for this. A word limit of 15,000 cannot be compared with one of 100,000.

Yes, I am on the cusp of starting what every PhD student dreads: the writing-up phase.

I will survive

In preparation, I did a swift ‘audit’ of all the work I’ve done so far towards my PhD, which is on under-reporting of alcohol consumption in England. This includes my upgrade report and presentation, conference papers, journal articles (at various stages of completion), along with personal notes and musings. This has boosted my confidence. I didn’t quite realise it before, but I have done lots of work already. My thesis is going to write itself! As my opposite desk neighbour and I keep saying to each other: ‘it’s going to be fine’.

Doing this allowed me to put together a chapter outline. ‘Excellent!’ I thought once I had finished, pleased to see a structure I can dissect into manageable chunks. Eight chapters, each with all their relevant little sub-sections. And my supervisor said the outline was good. This is going to be easy.

Despite my deliberate optimism, truthfully, I know it won’t be easy (and perhaps that’s why I’m procrastinating by writing my first blog post). Writing up has a reputation for being difficult. Google “PhD write up” and the three of the top ten hits are about how to survive the writing-up process. Books have whole chapters dedicated to it. The focus is on coping and perseverance. When I speak to fellow students in my Department who are in the writing up phase they seem numb. The thesis takes over. It is almost as if pulling together the threads of the previous two-to-five years - to weave the tapestry that is the thesis – is best done robotically, not by hand.

Due to make this transition to automaton myself, I am anxious about how I am going to manage. I experience a definite slump in productivity when I am working on the same thing day after day. Without a doubt the part of my PhD I have enjoyed the most so far has been the process of collecting data for two of my four studies. I really like getting out and speaking to members of the public. Without this interaction, I expect time to pass more slowly. It’s looking like a long nine months.

This is partly why* I have taken on additional commitments. I am tutoring schoolchildren with the aim of widening access to top universities, and I will also soon be helping to collect data for a large new study. I hope that the extra experience I’m getting will make me more employable. I’m also hopeful that this time away from working on my thesis will give me space to reflect, allowing me to come back to it with ‘new eyes’. Ultimately, I expect these breaks to improve my writing.

Juggling writing up with other (unrelated) work is going to be a challenge. I’m not sure when or how I’ll know if I’ve got the balance right. My PhD is undoubtedly my priority, but perhaps it will be a mistake not to focus my attention fully on my thesis. I am determined to hand in by the time my funding runs out. Whether I will or not, only time will tell. With luck, I might be able to spare an afternoon to share my experience of the writing up process on this blog in a few months’ time.

If you are doing a PhD, do you have similar fears about writing up? If you have a PhD, how did you ‘survive’ the write up? What tips would you give to PhD students to help them write their theses?


*another contributor is the unfortunate fact that my MRC doctoral training grant studentship stipend has been frozen since 2010!

Winter is coming? Surviving the final months of a PhD

Posted by Amy O'Donnell

At the end of 2012, I officially stopped being a full-time funded PhD student, and re-entered the world of the tax-paying worker (staying here at Newcastle University – thanks for having me!). In theory, of course, this means I should be about to submit my leather bound, gold embossed thesis to some lucky examiners. Sadly, I’m not quite there (although, come April, a couple of eminent academics should beware of the ominous thud through their letterbox).

Apparently, these final months of frantic write-up will be quite the endurance test: the tough hardship of George R.R. Martin’s never-ending winter compared to those halcyon summer days of first and second year studentdom. I’ve been warned that I will basically have to give my children up for adoption, withdraw from polite society and hole myself up in some ivory tower for the interim (which is starting to feel like a pledge to the Night’s Watch but I’ll put the poorly-disguised Game of Thrones references aside for a moment).

 Sorry, one more totally undisguised Game of Thrones reference

In some ways, these warnings are starting to come true. I can’t remember the last weekend I didn’t do at least a day’s work and my school runs are down to the absolute bare minimum (I almost forgot Children in Need costumes!!!). I am constantly thinking about deadlines, drafts and discussion sections (sometimes way too early in the morning for my liking). And yet, I’m not even remotely hating any of this. Far from it. I can honestly say I’m loving my PhD more than ever and, if anything, dreading the whole adventure coming to an end. It’s all finally (mostly) making sense, and of all the elements that comprise the mysterious business of research, writing is definitely my favourite. I’ve also been getting ‘out there’ more, including being lucky enough to enjoy a fantastic conference trip to Barcelona, emboldened by a sense of possibly having something to say at long last.

Of course, the ‘party’ is far from over. About 30,000 words away from being over to be precise, and I intend to enjoy everyone one of them. Returning to Game of Thrones, I read somewhere that there are around 1,500,000 words in the five tomes of the Song of Ice and Fire series so far, and I’ve read and enjoyed most of them. Much like the PhD, all its left me with is a desperate need to see how things finish. So on that note, I’ll leave the final word to the marvellous George R.R. Martin: 

“Some battles are won with swords and spears, others with quills and ravens.”

Some top tips on publishing from some editors of top journals

Posted by Jean Adams

I was recently asked to take part in a panel discussion on publishing for the UK Society of Behavioural Medicine's Early Career Network.

Also on the panel were: Professors Paul Aveyard (senior editor of Addiction, and an editor of the Cochrane Tobacco Addiction Review Group), Ronan O'Carroll (associate editor of Health Psychology and British Journal of Health Psychology, member of the editorial boards of Psychology & Health, British Journal of Clinical Psychology and Journal of Behavioral Medicine) and David French (associate editor of British Journal of Health Psychology and Psychology & Health, member of the editorial board of Annals of Behavioral Medicine).

I was the token non-male, non-professor on a panel of rather eminent male professors. So whilst they poured forth of their wisdom on publishing, I took notes. With their permission, I've tried to summarise some of the top tips on publishing research of some of the top UK editors of behavioural medicine journals.

Calvin & Hobbes on writing

1. The best way to write a paper is to write a paper. Stop procrastinating and get something, anything, down on paper. Don't expect your first draft to be any good. Writing is mostly about editing and re-editing.

2. Know what your paper is about before you start. One suggestion was to write a structured abstract first to force yourself to condense your work and thoughts into 2-300 clear words.

3. Be clear about the "so what" factor. The editors were particularly scathing about wishy-washy, discussion section stalwarts such as "more research is needed". They wanted to see clear statements about the implications of results and suggestions for exactly what further research is needed.

4. Make sure your work is internally consistent. Don't be afraid to revert to the old skool approach of saying what you're going to do (aims and methods), doing it (results), and then saying you've done it (discussion). This structure of covertly repeating yourself helps keep everyone focused.

5. Learn to deal with rejection. Someone pointed out that the best journals reject more than 80% of the stuff they're sent. Even the next tier of merely 'good' journals still reject at least 50% of submissions. So everyone (even eminent professors) have papers rejected on a fairly regular basis. Don't take it personally and be open with your colleagues about the experience. Focus on what you might be able to learn from any feedback you receive and get on with getting your manuscript ready for the next submission

6. Seek constructive criticism from colleagues before submitting. Don't just find someone who'll say your paper is lovely. Find someone who'll give you substantive comments on how you could improve it.

7. Don't annoy the reviewers. Reviewers are busy researchers and academics - just like you. Bad writing, poor grammar, and non-standard formatting all have the potential to put them in a bad mood with almost inevitable negative effects on the review they write about your manuscript.

8. Focus on what's generalisable about your work and don't get bogged down in local details. There was a strong feeling that to be published in an international journal, work has to be internationally relevant. If you performed your work in Huddersfield, make clear that this setting was merely an exemplar for proving a more widely applicable point.

9. There were fairly mixed feelings on the importance of cover letters. There was much more clarity on the importance of getting the response to reviewers letter right. Ensuring this letter is polite was seen as crucial. One editor admitted that he often writes a fairly sweary first draft of this to vent his rage, before editing to make it more presentable.

10. Don't be a slave to the impact factor. Whilst high impact papers are definitely considered important, one editor also stressed the importance of a journal's standing within its field. So a fairly low impact factor journal that is the best within its field is likely to be considered better than a similar impact factor journal that is mid-ranked in its field. Others felt that, especially for an early career researcher, being able to show that you can write and publish by having a reasonable number of publications on your CV, is arguably more important than having a few papers in very high ranking journals.

11. Don't be afraid to take a punt. Everyone agreed that editors and reviewers can be unpredictable. It is a system based on opinion, so one person might have a very different opinion of your paper than another. Don't automatically think your paper is only worthy of the Journal of Universal Rejection if JAMA turn you down. There are many options in between and another very good journal might still be interested, even if JAMA isn't.

12. Consider making informal per-submission enquiries. This was not something that anyone in the room had substantial experience of, but one member of the panel had once emailed a senior editor with a structured abstract to ask if he would consider the paper for his journal. The answer was no, but at least the response was provided quickly and without any messing around with reformatting references and completing online submission forms.

Diary of a Wimpy Wordsmith

Posted by Steph Clutterbuck

I can’t write. Not this blog post, I have no difficulty waffling on, verbally or otherwise, about trivial things to anyone in the general vicinity willing to listen (just ask my fiancé! *Ba doom ching!*). Rather, I can’t write my thesis.

This poses a bit of a problem to someone trying to successfully complete her Ph.D. I don’t think it is an issue of being lazy as I had no problem getting stuck into all the other areas of my research, i.e. the ethics, the recruiting participants, the running experiments, the sorting the data, the analysing the data. Nope all of these tasks I took on with enthusiasm, gusto even. But now it’s time to write and I am stuck. Luckily, I know I am not alone. Inevitably postgrad student small talk at conferences or in lunchrooms will at some point turn to the reluctance/inability to write. It is the most daunting part of the wild ride that is the postgraduate degree. But why is it so daunting? Why does something that we are clearly capable of doing and exercise hundreds of times each day by way of emails, texts, various research related documents and reports, suddenly seem so impossible?

Well, since you asked, the following is my sage opinion: There is no place for hiding anymore.

Canadian women’s 2012 Olympic soccer team. Our valiant warriors of the Great White North! (Photo by: Toru Hanai/Reuters)

When I was growing up I played a lot of soccer. Apologies, but I am Canadian with a die-hard Dallas Cowboys fan for a father. Football to me will forever be synonymous with giant muscle laden men wearing very tight stretchy pants and overhyped million dollar Superbowl commercials. 

Anyway, sometimes when playing a particularly good team our coach could be heard screaming from the sidelines, ‘Clutterbuck! Stop hiding out there and get in the bleeping game!!’. Coaches aren’t always known for their diplomacy skills. What I imagine he was attempting to communicate, if he had taken a moment to compose himself was, ‘Stephanie, please refrain from shying away from your responsibilities on the field as a defensive midfielder. Your teammates would appreciate it if you would mark your opponent properly and stop cowering behind the keeper.’ 

Now I loved playing soccer, I loved my teammates and I was generally able to hold my own, so to speak, on the field. So why was I hiding? I was hiding because the girl I was meant to be marking was stronger or faster or more skilled than me. Sometimes she was all three of these things at once. The dreaded triple whammy. Quite simply she was a challenge and a challenge can be terrifying. Don’t get me wrong when you think you stand a chance challenges are exciting and even energizing. However, when you think you won’t quite cut the mustard a challenge can be paralyzing. And at those times it always seems easier to hide. If you hide then no one finds out you are actually a crummy soccer player and your spot in the starting line up must have been a fluke. Likewise, if you never get down to writing your thesis no one realizes that you actually know nothing, are in fact a fraud and your supervisor(s) have made a massive mistake in giving you the Ph.D. post.

So how did I manage to stop hiding on the field when my opponent threatened to damage my pride? Well, to unabashedly steal and conjugate a catch phrase, I just did it. I did it to stop my coach yelling at me. I did it to avoid being benched for the rest of the season. I did it because I loved the game and I knew it wasn’t always going to be easy but that’s what I signed up for. 

As for writing my thesis, again, I will just do it. I will do it to stop my supervisors yelling at me (they don’t actually yell but disapproving silences are somehow worse). I will do it because I don’t want to be kicked out of grad school. And I will do it because I love the game (i.e. research) and I know it isn’t always going to be easy, but that’s what I signed up for.

Healthy Escapism…

Posted by Sara McCafferty

My mother lent me a book at the weekend, her only sales pitch: ‘it’s a little high brow for me’.

On the one hand this hardly encouraged me to read it, a novel – I hardly have time for novels at the minute – I am in the, somewhat dreaded, ‘writing up phase’, so the last thing I feel like doing after a long day at the office is more reading. On the other hand, my (healthy) competitive nature spurred me on to at least pick it up: my mother is not one to easily admit defeat, nor is she lacking academic qualification herself.

Without going into the whole plot, for one I haven’t finished yet, for another you can find a synopsis of the book here, the author (who has a background in economics and psychology) essentially describes how the world would be if she ran it, in the modestly named ‘Darcy’s Utopia’.

Fay Weldon's Darcy's Utopia

Now I was interested – you see, these sorts of things tick over constantly in my mind, (not running the world specifically, I am not some sort of power crazed junkie), more generally how should we best make things work? Granted, not just how anything works…mainly with regard to health, and probably the NHS. How can we stop people eating ‘junk’ food? How can we get people to exercise more? Should we provide gastric band surgery on the NHS? If people were happier would we have better health? When is down to personal responsibility? How should we organise the NHS? Does policy work?...the list goes on.

This is something that they* didn’t warn me about before I embarked on a PhD. When you spend so much of your time critiquing articles and exploring concepts, you are required to ask a lot of questions. [How does that sit with x? Isn’t that in conflict with y? Is that not dependent on a range of other conditions being present? Can you really illustrate that this is a causal link?] Coupled with considerable quest to provide a solution, or at least an adequate attempt to address your thesis question**, this is a powerful concoction that seemingly conditions one’s mind to adopt a position of continually questioning. Sometimes the questions themselves are circular, which can result in many hours whiled away in procrastination. This is true for me at least, and I have been known to drive friends and family slightly barmy over a glass of wine, when I am floundering around in the ‘big questions’, provoking them to join me in at least proffering solutions, when really they would much rather discuss frivolities of ‘Downton Abbey’, or ‘X-Factor’.

Aside from the implications of a reduced quality socialising on a Friday night, a more pressing implication is the need to find a way to ‘switch off’. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, I have found marathon training a really useful endeavour to help me run away with my thoughts for an hour or two and return centred and all out of questions. It is, however, Newcastle and winter, thus running, at least outdoors, in the dark and rain is quickly becoming an unfeasible option.

As such, I am very grateful for the loan of said novel which has reawakened me to the joys of fiction, helps me to switch off, and all this can be done whilst curled up snugly indoors – result!



*who this elusive ‘they’ applies to is not quite clear, however it must remain in order for me to devoid myself of personal responsibility for fully identifying all the pros and cons pre-PhD registration.

**this may of course change, to be more in line with the solution that you have actually unearthed over the course of your research.

Collaborative writing

This post is reposted with permission from PhD2Published.com

Posted by Peter Tennant

I once showed my brother one of my papers.

"Why is it written in such a dull and lifeless style?"

"Oh, that’s the editor’s fault. It read much better when I submitted it."

Neither of us was convinced.

There’s no shame in being a scientist who can’t write. Science is fairly well populated by people with exceptional skills in the most extraordinary areas, but who can’t write for toffee. Then again, even the best communicator would struggle writing a scientific paper. Because scientific papers are almost always written in teams.

"Piled Higher and Deeper" by Jorge Cham

This is fairly sensible, given most scientific studies are performed in teams, but there are also some serious advantages. For a start it allows contribution from people with a range of skills. Having medical co-authors means my papers can discuss the clinical significance without risking a life-threatening blunder. It also means you’ve got plenty of people to celebrate with when the paper gets accepted. And, it gives you someone else to blame if anyone ever calls your paper, 'dull and lifeless'.

But, did I mention, it’s also very challenging? As the lead author (most commonly the first name on the authorship list, though not for all disciplines), the main challenge is to your sanity. As long as it might take crafting the first draft, this is nothing compared with the time spent sending it back and forth to your co-authors for more and more comments. It’s this process that I think produces that instantly recognisable multi-author style (the one my brother kindly referred to as ‘dull and lifeless’). Like washing a colourful shirt a hundred times. This is why (against the advice of senior authors like Martin White and Jean Adams, see bullet point 3) I rarely waste time overcooking my first drafts. There’s simply no point spending days writing a stunning introductory paragraph, only for it to be completely mauled by your co-authors.

Broadly speaking, co-authors come in one of three factory settings; the Rampant Re-writers, the Sweeping Suggestion-Makers, and the Utterly Useless.

The Rampant Re-writers get the most flack. These are the people who so heavily drench your draft in tracked-changes that, by the end, it stops feeling like your paper. Draining as this can be, these co-authors are actually the nice ones, generously spending their time to improve the paper. Until they start changing bits that everyone’s already agreed on. That’s when they get really annoying. And when it’s especially important to remember the Golden Rule of Rampant Re-writers: edits are only suggestions – as the lead author, you should always have the final say.

Next there are the Sweeping Suggestion-Makers. Wielding the deadly comment box, they add things like, 'this bit needs shortening' or 'I think you should add something about X'. Sometimes I’m tempted to send it back and say, 'I think YOU should add something about X if YOU think it’s so important!' But they’re usually too busy. And they’re usually right. Damn them with their helpful comments.

By far the most harmful authors are the Utterly Useless. The ones who don’t reply to emails, or who get back saying vague things like, 'looks great'. In the absence of praise from your other authors (sadly the academic for, 'this is amazing, fantastic work' is often simply, 'no further comments'), these people can seem like your friends, but they’re not. They’re useless. That’s why I call them Utterly Useless. In fact, these authors are the ones that can cause genuine ethical dilemmas. Do they even satisfy the conditions of authorship? Occasionally a senior academic will insist on being an author due to some historical connection with the study, even if they then add nothing to the paper. This is unethical. But not something that the average PhD student is in a position to do anything about. More pertinent is the risk of being pushed down the author order, despite doing the most work. It’s common throughout the history of science. It’s also morally repugnant. Always try to discuss the authorship list and the author-order before starting writing a paper and this risk can be reduced (though, sadly, not eliminated).

If being the lead/first author is most difficult, it’s not necessarily easy being a support author, where the big challenge is in getting the right balance of comments. Despite years of therapy, I still fall firmly into the Rampant Re-writer category. On more than one occasion, I’ve made the first author cry by overdoing the edits. Some support authors try to soften the blow by spreading their edits over several revisions, e.g. making the 'essential' changes first, then the less major changes later. But I’ve experienced this as a first author and actually found it more depressing! It’s like getting to the end of a marathon, only to be told to run another five miles. Short of making them cry, over-editing might still annoy your co-authors, especially if they are senior. For some reason, Professors don’t always react very well to having their words rewritten by a PhD student. So here’s my advice, try and get all your comments in first time, but make sure they are all essential. If in doubt, leave it out. Unless you’re happy making your colleagues cry.

How to improve your productivity: don’t read this blog

Posted by Jonathan Ling

One of my first office mates was Roger.

He was an older academic who had just been recruited by my department. As I helped him carry boxes of books into our room, I noticed that at the top of one of them was a book with his name on the cover. I was impressed – I was sharing my office with an author! I told him how great it must be when someone said to him: “I’ve read your book”. He agreed that it was a nice feeling, but what felt even better was when, having written a couple more books, he was able to say: “Which one?”

I’d never really thought about writing a book myself, until I was asked a couple of years ago to co-author a short textbook. It was on a topic I knew a bit about, but I’d never met the co-author who came from a university at the other end of the country. The editor suggested that the process would be reasonably straightforward and fairly speedy. As he had written several books himself I thought he obviously knew what he was talking about.

With hindsight I now realise he must be significantly more methodical in his approach to writing than I am.

I eventually finished my part of the book and it was published last year. Mostly by trial and error, I learnt a few things as I went along:

1. Have a writing routine. Take time out of every day to write. If you don’t block out a specific time each day to write (and stick to it), you won’t get anything written. It doesn’t matter when it is (I work better in the afternoons), just hang a “Do not disturb” sign on your door, or around your neck, and get going.

2. Don’t get side-tracked. See point 1. Your writing time is for writing – it’s not time for admin, catching up with emails, fitting in meetings or reading engaging and erudite blogs.

3. Seek feedback from your target audience. Unless it’s your diary, everything you write is for an audience. Think about who the audience is, and make sure they get a look at it. For a textbook, this was undergraduate students and other lecturers. For a journal article, most likely it would be fellow academics, as well as practitioners or policy makers.

Egg timer, by Martin Lopatka

4. When all else fails, get an egg timer. There were some parts of the book where I really struggled – topics I was unfamiliar with, that required lots of reading and which I wasn’t particularly interested in. But I just had to grind these sections out. In one of my more (possibly only) fruitful side-tracks, (see point 2), I came across the Pomodoro technique. In essence, this is just working on your chosen task for 20 minutes (no email, no looking out of the window – just work!) and then having a 5 minute break before another 20 minute session. Try it sometime – it did the trick for me.

Eventually, with the help and support of my co-author, editor and publishers, the book was finished, proofread and published. It is nice to have a book on the shelf with my name down the spine. But it was a huge amount of work, on something that’s not REF-able. So it’s not something I can see myself doing again.
Although, in my weaker moments I can’t help but think that one day it might be quite nice to say “Which one?” when someone tells me that they’ve read my book….

Communicating science

Posted by Jean Adams

Not so long ago, I promised never to do another degree again. This came after finally completing an MSc in Psychology and Health in London. For 20 long weeks I caught the early flight to London each Thursday morning, attended lectures for two days, and then struggled to make it back to Newcastle before midnight on Friday evening. I learnt some stuff. I did an interesting dissertation that I’m still pretty pleased with. But overall, the effort was not worth the gain.

But another fellowship application, and another blank ‘training plan’ section, and I found myself thinking that the only thing I needed to do to become an ‘independent researcher’ was a Postgraduate Certificate in Science Communication – at the University of the West of England, in Bristol. A PGCert isn’t a degree anyway. So it’s not like I was breaking a promise.

Love the box hedge logo at UWE Frenchay campus

So let’s be clear: Bristol is further from Newcastle than London is. The travelling was longer, more expensive and more arduous this time; each trip was three days, rather than two. But, I only had to make six trips. And, most importantly, I learnt so much more during those six trips than I did from the 20 I made to London.

In a nutshell, I learnt that it’s all about story. Communicating stuff is about narrative. Communicating difficult science to people who aren’t necessarily that interested in it, is about telling a good story. You catch people’s attention with a compelling tale, then once you’ve got them hooked, you can slip in whatever you want – complex methods, difficult concepts, mashed swede, whatever.

Which is not exactly rocket science. But, you know, the science communication field is full of used-to-be scientists – if they were rocket scientists, they might have stayed in science.

I also got to do some pretty cool other stuff. I edited a (pretend) travel magazine, I set up a blog, I recorded and edited a podcast, I got totally over-excited in the Knit-a-Neuron workshop, I bought a copy of The Sunday Telegraph – for research purposes (which wasn’t that cool, but it’s certainly something I’ve never done before). In order to complete my writing portfolio, I attended a conference and pretended I was journalist, not a researcher. At the end of each day I wrote a 500 word news article on something I had heard. It made the whole experience a whole lot more immediate and exciting.

Which is all well and good, Dr. Adams, and we are certainly trying to encourage our staff to do more in the way of 'public engagement', but not at the expense of research excellence and impact.

I think this stuff is important for research excellence and impact too. Good research papers also tell good stories. Not necessarily in the same way that a newspaper or novel does, but without narrative your paper is just a series of facts (or, if you’re a social scientist, just a series of 'facts'). That's why you remember some research papers so much better than others. Ditto good grant applications, teaching sessions, and conference presentations.

So, I’m thinking about doing a degree in creative writing.

Only joking.

Waiting and hoping

Posted by Jean Adams

So many things seem to take so long in research that I often find myself just waiting. Just waiting and hoping.

Obviously, I don’t just sit and wait and do nothing. I manage to find important and useful (I hope) things to fill my time whilst I wait. But at some deeper level I really am just waiting and trying not to be too distracted by the waiting.
 

Ian McKellan & Patrick Stewart in Beckett's 'Waiting for Godot', by Tristram Kenton



At the moment the waits that are preoccupying me most are decisions on a grant application and a paper.

The decision on the grant application has been made. I know this because the administrators were good enough to let me know that the funding board would meet to make a decision on 18th April. But then the decision would have to be ratified by the Department of Health, which would take about four or five weeks.

I know this all makes sense to somebody. And I know I can’t do anything about it. But come on! Five weeks to tell me about a decision that has already been made? After three months to make the decision. Is this supposed to be death by waiting? The researcher who can wait the longest without complaining gets the grant. I lose.

The paper is bothering me much more. Which is odd. If I don’t get the grant, there are no other options for funding the research. It just wont happen and that will be a couple of months of work down the drain. But if the paper isn’t accepted, I can try another journal. It’ll get published somewhere eventually (I hope). But I really want it to get published where I have sent it right now.

It isn’t even a research paper. It’s one of those 2000 word ‘analysis’ papers (AKA rants) saying something we’ve all thought for a while, but which only I had the patience to write down. Which makes it a bit like modern art – yes, anyone could have done it, but they didn’t.

The electronic submission system at the journal has flags to tell you what’s happened to your paper so far. They are pretty sparse, but informative enough to piece together a little story of my paper’s journey. It seems that my paper was initially considered by an editor who wasn’t quite sure about it and so sent it to another editor for a second opinion. But the second editor wasn’t sure either and so sent it to a further editor for a third opinion.

So far, not too promising.

But then the third editor (who maybe was a bit more senior than the other two and so found the decision easier to make?) agreed that the paper should be sent for peer review. Right now, the system tells me, the editors are looking for appropriate peer reviewers.

Which is nice. I have my fingers crossed for my little paper rant. I shall go on waiting. And hoping.

Writer's block

Posted by Helen Wareham

Writer’s block is something I think everyone can relate to.

I had hit a point in my PhD where I really needed words down on paper. I’d neglected my introductory literature and systematic review chapters for too long and I had to do something about it. So at the end of March, refreshed after a week’s holiday, I made myself a cup of tea, cleared some space on my desk and sat down ready for the words to flow...

There were moments of sheer elation where it all seemed to be coming together and words would flow onto the screen.



Writing god

These were unfortunately followed by moments where I was sat staring at a screen for hours wanting to cry or set it all on fire in despair.

So here’s the big question: how do you get over writers block?

My partner completed her PhD last year and impressively seemed to have days where words just flowed, churning out 5,000 in a day at one point! But, I remember these days well. Entering her PhD shed (yes we had to build an outdoor office so she could work without distractions in isolation) I would be faced with empty bags of Haribo, bourbon biscuits wrappers, empty boxes of pro-plus, the odd glass which had contained a large measure of alcohol and Kirsty hunched over her laptop with a look on her face something akin to a squirrel on crack.



So whilst I was desperate, I thought it might be best to leave the avenues of excess sugar, caffeine and alcohol for my final months (I don’t want to peak too early).

"You’ve just got to get on with it Helen. Just keep going and if something helps go with it", were Kirsty’s words of wisdom.

What transpired for the last month was me working in different locations (including other peoples offices), succumbing to drinking masses of coffee, writing some despairing facebook statuses and various other little things to try and get through that mental wall.

Am I over my writers’ block? Have I found a magical fountain of inspiration? No, is the simple answer. But every day the word count went up a bit and eventually I hit the word target I’d set myself. What I’ve written isn’t amazing but I have words on a page and that’s what I need right now.

It’s seems a bit stupid to be so at the mercy of a simple brain freeze and it’s frustrating to not have any idea why and how these things happen or when they are going to pass. But I’ve come to think that the key attribute needed for success in completing a PhD is shear bull-headed unwavering persistence that you’re going to get through it. If along the way simply grasping desperately to anything that remotely helps, however silly and destructive, is what works then I’m just going to have to go with it and get on. My closing confession as to what helped the most over the last month...this picture and Britney Spears greatest hits on repeat.

It's probably your mum's fault

Posted by Lynne Forrest 

I’ve just written a paper that I would like to get published in a high profile journal. Now I need to draft the cover letter explaining why they should publish. The rejection rate is high so I need to emphasise how brilliant and relevant my research is and the important implications my findings have for policy and practice.

The temptation is to exaggerate a bit. And it sometimes appears that the research with the most outlandish claims gets the most attention.

I have a general interest in epidemiology and health inequalities . Interesting new studies are flagged up every day on my twitter feed and in the mainstream media. I often read from a professional perspective, but it's hard not to also read these articles as me - wife, mother, Lynne. Although the usual culprits of alcohol, obesity and smoking all feature as things we should avoid if we want to live a long and healthy life, there appears to be a new risk factor in town. If you believe recent research then it seems that almost everything, from stupidity to earning potential, can be blamed on your mum.

Philip Larkin: This be the verse

Last week the Observer reported a study claiming that feeding babies on demand increases a child’s IQ. The implication is that if you were a regimented mother you may have reduced your child’s intellectual potential.

Yesterday I read that happy children are likely to earn more in the future, with a throwaway line at the end of the article suggesting how important it was that parents create an ‘emotionally healthy home environment’. 

However, my favourite finding from last week was non-mum-related. It was the study which concluded that eating chocolate makes you slim.

As someone who knows a bit about it, I am bamboozled by the endless amounts of contradictory research and advice that are presented in the media. So, I imagine that most other people are too. Although these are often epidemiological studies that examine trends at a population-level, it seems easy for everyone to forget this and to interpret the findings at an individual level. Just because people who eat more chocolate, overall, tend to be a little slimmer, doesn't mean that that bar of Dairy Milk I just scoffed is going to make me drop a jean size tomorrow. For me the result is an awful lot of parental guilt. And I should know better.

Perhaps some of the wilder conclusions have more to do with press releases and journalists then what the researchers themselves actually concluded. But still, shouldn't researchers have to take some responsibility for their work?

So now I am thinking that I need to be a bit more careful about overplaying the implications of my research. However much I want to ‘sell’ my paper to that high profile journal. 

From a mum’s point of view, it’s probably best to just accept that everything is my fault. At least I can eat as much chocolate as I like (that study is true, isn’t it?)

Nothing like riding a bike

Posted by Peter Tennant

I probably shouldn't admit this on a public health blog, but I don't know how to ride a bike. I thought I did. But then I took a short (and particularly painful) ride into a ditch. Ever since, I've found myself rather nervous whenever someone describes something as: "just like riding a bike". No thanks. I have enough bruises.

Thankfully, writing academic papers is nothing like riding a bike, not least because there's less scope for physical injury. Firstly, writing papers (apparently unlike cycling) is about constant practice. The more time you spend writing, and the less time since you last wrote, the easier it seems to be. PhD students demonstrate this quite excellently. Their first year review is often a tortuous affair. But come back two years, and 40,000 words, later and they'll be churning out words like a printing press.

Writing academic papers is helped by the fact that most of them follow the same format: introduction, methods, results, discussion. The odd journal might try to stand out with a bit of thesaurus work (e.g. using background instead of introduction), but don't be fooled.

The methods section is simultaneously the easiest bit to write and the most boring bit to read. So boring, that some journals now print it in a smaller font, saving paper in exchange for illegibility. Nevertheless, I always start by writing the methods as it helps me 'warm up'. At least as much as some gentle jogging helps a footballer 'warm up' for an afternoon of theatrically falling over.

Next up is the results, which is again fairly easy to write and fairly dull to read. But at least the results section provides scope for a pretty picture. And there's nothing quite like drawing a picture to relieve the tedium of writing.

Finally, there's the introduction and the discussion. At best, these provide a coherent narrative, elegantly weaving a story around a clump of otherwise meaningless mess. If that sounds hard, that's because it is. I can spend hours struggling to write a couple of sentences. And that's on a good day.

Re-writing

Still, if writing the first draft is tough, it's nothing compared with what's to come. Woe betide the poor soul who thinks the first draft heralds the beginning of the end. Oh no. The real challenge are your co-authors. Those people who seem to take great pleasure in rewriting almost everything you've so carefully crafted. Write more about this. Less about this. Reorder that. Move those. Do a dance. Stand on your head.

In fact, the majority of the time spent drafting a paper seems to be about sending it to your co-authors, making changes, sending it back, making more changes, over and over again until - finally - everyone is equally unhappy. At which point, exhausted, you're ready for submission. Which is a whole other story in itself.