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Aug. 15
For many young academics (whether graduate students or assistant professors preparing their tenure files), the subject of publishing is a source of anxiety and consternation. In addition, whether or not one has a sound understanding of publishing more often than not is true thanks to being teamed up with a helpful supervisor. Thus, what most young academics know about publishing is only limited to what little they may have heard from helpful — and often not so helpful — mentors.
In this essay, I will uncover what I believe are five secrets to publishing success. These tips arise from my experiences in the fields of philosophy, political science, and law as an author, an editor, and founding editor of the Journal of Moral Philosophy. These experiences may be of particular use to readers working in the areas of humanities and social science, but I hope will also be relevant to readers in different disciplines. The advice below is general and there are always some exceptions, although what I note below is most often the case.
Secret #1: Finding your voice
The biggest key to publishing success is what I call ‘finding your voice.’ What does this mean? Well, think about essays you wrote for classroom assessment. These essays often focus on particular topics and literatures that are covered in specific lectures. When you write, you have a particular audience — for example, your supervisor — in mind.
Success in publishing requires a new mindset. The key to success is to find your voice and connecting with the public. When you write for a journal, your audience is unknown: They will be people with an interest in the general area, but they may lack the specific expertise you bring to a topic. You cannot assume they will have the same perspectives on the relevant literature and they will be unknown to you. Writing for such an audience is a different practice (and experience) from writing for classmates and for assessment.
Perhaps the best training ground is the realm of book reviews. Book reviews are easy to have accepted, first of all. Book reviews are typically handled by someone other than the editor, normally a ‘reviews editor’ or ‘book reviews editor.’ I strongly recommend graduate students and others e-mail review editors, stating their areas of specialization and level of study while asking to review a book for the journal. Review editors will almost always agree and when they do — voila! — you have a publication ‘forthcoming’ for your c.v. A star is born.
Book reviews are a great training ground because they force you to write in a new way. Reviews are typically between 500-1,000 words. A good review will discuss the main findings and key arguments, while also offering one or two criticisms; there is not room for much more. A good review is never entirely positive. These 500 words or so are practice in small bursts at writing for an academic audience — your audience — for the first time. They offer opportunities to develop your skills at communicating to others in your field whom you have not met. The practice lies in writing with a new mindset. You will not know who all the readers of your review will be. One trick is to ask fellow students or colleagues to read your review and provide some feedback. A second trick is to work with a journal’s book reviews editor. These persons are part of your general audience—and they are often very happy to help you develop your review so that it communicates best with the journal’s audience. This advice can truly be invaluable. Indeed, the better you can communicate to this audience, the better are the chances that your work will be published.
Thus, if you desire to begin publishing, then your first step is to get into the proper mindset. Your success will be built off your ability to communicate with a general audience in your area. If practice would help, then book reviews are an excellent place to start.
Secret #2: The importance of focus
In addition to finding your voice and writing from an appropriate point of view, there is a second important secret behind publishing success. This is focus. No matter how clearly you can write (itself a major bonus), you will never find publishing success without constraining your writing within a particular focus. A publishable article is about a clear problem and limits its entire discussion to addressing this problem. Arguments or discussions that address the main problem less than 100 percent should not be exiled to footnotes, but omitted altogether: If your article is about x, then don’t discuss y also. For example, if your article is about a misreading of a particular argument, then do not write about anything else — such as other misreadings — that is not directly relevant.
The importance of focus is a particular blessing. First, a clearly focused article is easy to read. The reader knows what is at issue, the steps taken to address it, and the results of your analysis. An article lacking focus also lacks clarity: Readers may be confused as to the main general problem motivating the article, why certain arguments or viewpoints are discussed, and the prospective benefits from your conclusions.
Secondly, a clearly focused article is easier to write. There is no need to give in-depth analyses of everything ever written. Instead, the goal is to say only as much as is needed about only as much as must be discussed to give proper attention to your problem. A sharp focus not only makes your work clearer and easy to follow, but also provides clear parameters to work within (and limitations on the size of the literature you must address).
The importance of focus is simple. A publishable article is an article that referees believe merits publication. It is easier for referees to take this view of your work if they can clearly identify the structure and arguments of your work than if your work is muddled. Referees may not always accept your work even if clear, but they are more likely to reject your work if unclear.
Secret #3: Rejection is the norm
Publishing might not be as highly prized as it is if it was easy for everybody. I believe following the secrets to publishing success outlined here may help make publishing more likely, but rejection is the norm. It is an old publisher’s tale that for every article accepted, about seven are rejected. This sounds about right. Most reputable journals have acceptance rates of 20 percent or less. The end result is that it would be foolish to become upset or too surprised from a rejection as the vast majority will be turned down.
Think positively about rejections as opportunities, rather than an opportunity lost. Often rejection letters will be combined with comments from the editor and referees about potential worries they had about your paper’s quality. These comments can be invaluable as they highlight what your readers have stumbled across. Even when referees offer comments that seem mistaken, view these in a new light: If mistaken, they are a call for greater clarification on relevant points to ensure future readers at another journal do not make the same mistake. Indeed, often nothing can be more helpful than solid criticism from referees. The more advice your paper gets from experts in the field on how it can be improved, the better.
Do not worry too much about rejections: Every author is rejected at one time or another. The trick is not to become demoralized.
Secret #4; Getting a book contract
Few things can boost a career more than a well regarded book. Books receive great attention: how often are there ever “author meets critics” sessions centered on an article? Given this importance, you might think that acquiring a book contract always far more difficult than getting an article accepted. This is not the case.
An excellent book contract is not just about ideas, but also its marketability. Let me first say a few words about this market. Academic publishers regularly remark to me that the difference between academic publishing and trade (or commercial) publishing is that academic publishers have far lower expectations of sales. This is because academic books are not often the stuff of New York Times bestseller lists and blockbuster movies. Sales for most academic books are 500 copies or less: only 5 percent or fewer books sell more than 1,000 copies. (On average, textbooks almost always sell best.)
Given the relatively small sales involved, a solid marketing plan is crucial to the success of a book proposal. Proposals should always spell out clearly how the proposed book offers something new and unique that does not yet appear in the market. Your idea may be “correct,” but if a publisher is unpersuaded that a book will at least break even or fare better, a proposal will often be dead in the water no matter its intellectual merit.
Many publishers have a space on their Web site with information on submitting proposals. As a rule, most U.S.-based publishers expect a full draft of the book to be in hand. Some U.K.-based publishers may accept a book proposal without a full draft prepared in hand, but they will always require sample chapters with the proposal. These proposals and sample chapters are then sent to readers to help advise the publisher on whether to accept your proposal. (You may often be asked for suggested names for these readers, especially where a publisher is very favorable.) If accepted, there will be an agreed date for completion and your draft will be reviewed, but normally only to suggest some helpful final revisions prior to publication.
There are at least three more items worth noting. First, authors rarely keep deadlines and this is rarely a genuine problem. Academic publishers tend to aim for a February release. This is seen as ideal as new catalogs are often produced at this time to help market new books for inclusion in the next academic year’s course syllabi. Taking an extra two or three years beyond the contracted deadline is fairly common, although taking five or more years may render void your contract.
Secondly, keep proposals brief, at between 6 to 10 pages. Always note full contact details, a brief biography, a few pages on chapter outlines with descriptions of chapter contents, and two further important items. First is the previously mentioned section on marketability, to clearly demonstrate that your project is unique, new, and timely. While your proposal should be specific enough to satisfy fellow specialists, these specialists do not vote on approving your proposal at publishers’ editorial meetings: ensure that a non-specialist can understand what issues are at stake and what contribution to knowledge you have in mind. Avoid writing about any books individually, but group them together where possible. For example, do not comment on each book separately when discussing the market, but talk about books that share a similar approach and discuss them together.
The final item worth noting is that journals normally stipulate that articles submitted to them may not be under consideration elsewhere. This is almost never true with publishers. Many publishers allow multiple submissions and this is often noted on their Web sites.
A well-spelled-out idea with a clear presentation of how it fits in the market will combine to create a powerful book proposal.
Secret #5: Publishing takes time
The fifth secret is that publishing takes time ... and probably more than you might think. More than once I have had an eager young scholar ask — when submitting an article — if the paper would appear in print six months from today. The answer is very clearly “no;” the peer review process itself may take this long in extremes.
Let us assume a paper is accepted today. Can we be fairly certain that it will appear in six months? Again, the answer is no. For journals, papers for an issue will be sent to a project manager who will then collaborate with a typesetter (who converts papers into the fonts of the journal) and copy editor (who notes possible grammar problems, incomplete references, unclear language, and the like). This will easily take one month. Papers are then sent to authors, often with a copyright assignment form. Authors must then respond to any queries from the copy editor and make final corrections. (They must also sign the copyright assignment form or the piece will go unpublished.) These corrections are then returned to the copy editor who conforms final corrections with the typesetter and the journal editor before the issue is sent to the printers. The process from the moment the editor submits the next issue to the publisher’s project manager to print and distribution is no less than four months and often five or six months long. Books may take even longer, given that there is more to copy edit and a need for an index to be composed after final proofs are created.
If this process takes about five or six months, then why did I say that we cannot be fairly certain a paper accepted today would be in print in about six months? The reason is that all reputable journals have a backlog. Once accepted, your article joins a queue. Authors should normally expect their papers will not be in print sooner than 12-15 months.
The importance of knowing this fact is that, if having a paper in print is important for you, you should expect this process to take more than a year. Do not expect journals to publish more quickly than this.
What to do today
I believe that these five secrets will bring about greater publishing success. There is wide variability between journals and publishers, but these secrets offer a good standard operating procedure to follow. If you have not published before, contact a reviews editor today: ask the editor if you can review for his/her journal and start on your path to improving your ability to communicate with a general audience.
Publishing is never easy, but it also is not mysterious. Knowledge of its “secrets” may help unlock doors and reveal new routes to success. Best of luck!
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I see things quite differently than this author seems to. As I see it, there are three keys to getting published in academia for newly minted Ph.D.’s. First, become a member of the invisible college of academics that controls the editorships of the journals in which you aspire to publish. Studies of the sociology of science demonstrate what should be obvious to, but is rarely admitted by, most academics: academics promote themselves first, and those within their circle of like-minded associates second. Unfortunately, these circles are usually formed through professor-student relationships, so if you weren’t instructed by someone who is a vital part of the invisible college that controls the journals in which you want to publish, be prepared for an uphill battle and start schmoozing big-time at conferences! Second, write in the style, and from the perspective, of the invisible college that controls the journals in which you want/need to publish. I.e., do NOT develop a “unique voice.” Your audience is NOT unknown—it is the editor and his/her circle of friends from whom s/he selects his/her reviewers. If you don’t know these folks, get to know what style they’re looking for, what topics they favor, what their ontological and epistemological assumptions are, they’re likely perspective on your subject matter and what writing style they expect. If you were trained by someone in the inner circle, and didn’t try to buck the system, you’ve probably already absorbed all of this by osmosis. Otherwise, you’re going to need to figure out the preferred style (Strunk and White will be a boon to most, but certainly not all, in this regard) and understand the various philosophical perspectives in your field, and then figure out which are favored by your journals of choice. Note well: do NOT rely on self-explications of philosophical outlook by those in the invisible college controlling your journal of choice—it isn’t too hard to find examples where these folks’ practice doesn’t match their theory. Third, write something that is scientifically interesting—something that in some way contradicts received wisdom, or seems to. (To get a clear sense of what this means, and how to do it, see Murray Davis’ 1971 article, “That’s Intersting” in Philosophy of the Social Sciences, Volume 1, pp. 309-44). Sure, you don’t HAVE to be interesting in this way—you can also fill gaps in knowledge—but being interesting is much more likely to get you published. HOWEVER, be sure that you are NOT being interesting at the expense of the invisible college that controls the editorial team at your journal of interest. Instead, controvert the received wisdom of their rivals. If you can’t do that, controvert wisdom about past findings of the college of those in charge—DO NOT controvert their basic tenets! This might sound terribly constrictive, given that most folks within each discipline subscribe to the same basic philosophical outlook, but there are colleges within colleges. Thus, while you may not be able to be interesting about fundamental issues within a field, you can go after the supposed wisdom of a subgroup, particularly if hasn’t yet gained or is losing power. Just be sure you know what side your editor is on! There you have it. A bit sad, but realistic, and you ought to be realistic if you really want tenure. Good luck.
Christian Nelson, Associate Professor, at 5:50 pm EDT on August 15, 2008
Thanx Thom: an excellent primer, some of which I will incorporate (with appropriate acknowledgement) in my workshop on getting published in scholarly journals.
I would add another 1 or 2 lessons. First, get an idea of the strength or selectivity of the journals you consider publishing in. Thomson Reuters’ journal impact factor is helpful, several disciplinary associations and colleges have developed their own journal ratings, but one should over time develop one’s own judgement of the quality of journals, book publishers and other publishing venues.
Secondly, learn to assess the strength of your own work. Not every manuscript warrants submission to the top journal in the field, but new authors — say, those who are publishing their doctoral work — are often at the edge of their field and shouldn’t necessarily start publishing in less selective journals.
I find that judging the strength of my own work is still one of the most difficult parts of the publishing process (after reading referees’ comments!), even after having published about 30 papers and being a long time journal editor and reviewer.
Gavin Moodie, Principal Policy Adviser at Griffith University, Australia, at 9:25 pm EDT on August 15, 2008
“The final item worth noting is that journals normally stipulate that articles submitted to them may not be under consideration elsewhere. This is almost never true with publishers. Many publishers allow multiple submissions and this is often noted on their Web sites.”
Everything in this article accords with my experience except the quote above. Virtually all of the publishers I have dealt with (Palgrave, University of Illinois Press, Suny Press, Cambridge University Press, and others) do not allow for multiple submission.I honestly do not know of any academic publisher that allows multiple submission. It’s an outrage, to be sure, as readers can take upwards of six months, but single submission is, in English literature at least, a fact of life.
Peter C. Herman, Professor at SDSU, at 10:10 pm EDT on August 17, 2008
My sincere thanks to everyone who has commented thus far. I certainly agree with Gavin Moodie’s helpful remarks and I take the point of Peter Herman, namely, that multiple submission rules may differ among different disciplines.
All that said, I did want to respond to Christian Nelson’s points. Needless to say, I strongly disagree with his views. Point by point:
(1) I do not at all accept that the best way to get published is to join some ‘invisible college of academics’ controlling journal editorships. As the founding editor of the Journal of Moral Philosophy, I can assure you that no such group exists!
(2) Readers are advised to develop their voice still. Journals receive about dozens, even hundreds, of submissions. What editor has so many friends that only the editor and friends review everything? None. Decent journals use the very best in the field to referee papers and have them reviewed anonymously: the author will not know who is reviewing the submission and the referees will not know the author is. There is no secret group controlling the publishing of anything. I would warmly encourage readers to avoid an overly cynical view of the profession.
Thom Brooks, Reader in Political and Legal Philosophy at University of Newcastle, at 10:00 am EDT on August 18, 2008
Thom, invisible colleges are called “invisible” because they are, well, invisible. At least to folks who haven’t done the research that show that they exist. So, the fact that you are sure that you don’t belong to one is, well, hardly surprising. Of course, you can claim that the research demonstrating that invisible colleges exist is junk, but that means trying to debunk an entire field of research—social studies of science—as well as such prominent researchers as Robert K. Merton. (Of course, debunking all this received knowledge would be interesting in Murray Davis’ sense, but good luck finding a reputable journal in the sociology of science area that will publish your article, because of the threat it poses to the invisible college controlling them, too.) You could also argue that what is invisible or unconscious to us doesn’t affect us. Good luck getting more than a hand full of people to assent to that. Finally, I could not agree less with your claim that article reviews are blind in anything more than a technical, meaningless sense. I say this in part because academia currently demands that its members specialize. Thus, it’s quite easy to narrow authorship down to one or a small number of people based only on a knowledge of a paper’s subject matter. Further, reviewers, who are presumably active in their field, go to conferences and there hear presented at least some form of the papers that they eventually review. Additionally, humans being what they are, and the process of message understanding being what so many have shown it to be, reviewers will naturally guess at a paper’s authorship, and even if the reviewer guesses wrongly, the effect will be no less significant to the review process. Now, I’m sure that you, and perhaps many of your reviewers, have never sat down with a journal submission and consciously tried to figure out its authorship based on the wealth of information you have to make a darn good guess, but, again, just because a process is unconscious doesn’t mean it has no effect. Why would all this be unconscious to us? Because it flies in the face of the central tenets of science—including neutrality—as so ably articulated by the aforementioned Robert K. Merton, and most of us have a hard time admitting that we aren’t upholding socially cherished values, even if the social system and its interaction with peoples’ psychological makeup is such that its impossible to do uphold those values. Is this cynical? For those who wish it weren’t so, I guess it is, but it is also, as all the research shows, realistic, and those who are under the gun of tenure need to know how things really work to succeed.
Christian Nelson, Associate Professor, at 1:55 pm EDT on August 18, 2008
Perhaps one could split the difference here. Of course perfect neutrality is not possible, but neither is there a hidden cabal whose members support each other’s work and rejecct all outsiders. Yet it is true that each journal will have its own particular viewpoint, and potential contributors would be wise to read a few copies to figure out what that viewpoint may be. To paraphrse something Stanley Fish wrote awhile ago, an essay that will delight the editors of Diacritics (a journal heavily weighted toward post-structuralism) will likely distress the editors of Studies in Philology (a more conservative journal at the time). Also, some common sense is in order. If a journal adheres to a particular interpretation or theoretical position, sending an article putting either one into question is not likely to garnder a positive response.
One final piece of advice that was given to me when I first started out, and it has served, and continues to serve, me well: the 48 hour rule. If a piece is rejected, it goes back out within 48 hours, without exception. No moping about questioning one’s thesis or abilities. Send it right back out. Once, I sent out an essay that was returned to me within 3 weeks. The journal’s editor took one look at it, decided it was not worth peer-reviewing, and sent it right back with a few lame comments (I had committed the error I pointed to above). So I put the essay (I did not even reprint it) in a new envelope and sent it to a new journal, where it got the “mother of all acceptance slips.” True, this raises the issue of how the same piece can be damned by one reader as the worst piece of crap ever and praised by another reader as the best essay he’s ever read, but that’s for another time!
Peter C. herman, Professor at SDSU, at 4:35 pm EDT on August 18, 2008
In my experience as an editor, a referee, a program committee chair, and an author, I see very little evidence to support Mr. Nelson’s dystopian view. I simply do not think about the identity of the author when I am asked to referee, and I am baffled why any reviewer would bother wasting his time trying. The job of a referee is to figure out the thesis of the paper and unpick its structure, check the mathematics if there is any to check, and report to the editor errors along these lines while offering an overall judgment about its contributions. As an editor and program committee member I’ve seen volumes of referee reports, and I do not think Mr. Nelson’s thesis would explain when reports agree and disagree about the quality of a manuscript, nor explain how the editorial decisions I’ve been part of were made. To be sure, there are good referees and bad ones, just as there are good and bad authors, and the process is not perfect. But, at least in my corner of the academy, people are (thankfully) much more interested in propositions than the personalities that prove them.
Gregory Wheeler, at 10:20 am EDT on August 19, 2008
I believe I already split the difference. Rather than claiming that journal reviewing happens in a bubble by completely independent reviewers or claiming that it occurs within the context of a cabal by consciously politicized reviewers, I claimed that it is performed by people who *unconsciously* belong to invisible colleges (of course, each having a varying level of commitment to an IV, and fully capable of waffling between IVs as the power structures of their discipline shift). So, I’ve already split the difference, and Peter’s contribution doesn’t seem to propose any alternative that falls between my actual position and either of the other two that have been discussed thus far. Nor am I compelled to try and find one or accept one. As I see it, academic claims are supposed to be based on facts, period, and my claim is based on the overwhelming facts produced by a large number of sociologists of science, whose own claims I am, in fact, merely repeating.
Having said all this, I think I would be remiss if I didn’t share some pertinent facts based on my own experiences. The fact is that I have received papers to review that had the author’s name still affixed to them, I think so that my review would be biased in the proper way. In one case I think this was done because the editor wanted the paper in question to be published—it was co-written by someone with whom she wanted to collaborate and who was well-known in my sub-discipline. Problem was, it was a terrible paper, one of the worst I’d ever read in that genre, and I said so. Nevertheless, the paper was published as is, though, at least in the communication field, only three reviews are routinely sought, and one bad review often means submission rejection. In other words, sometimes bias in journal reviewing is conscious and not always just for reasons of supporting an invisible college.
Christian Nelson, Associate Professor, at 11:40 am EDT on August 19, 2008
The permission to NarrateAs an outsider from and in the US academia, I am truly dismayed when it comes to publishing. Most of the posted comments, in one way or another, have a resonance with my experience in publishing. However, Thoms’ article and the other comments, although slightly refer to, do not tap on the issue of politics and the permission to narrate in Saidian terms. When it comes to publishing on the contemporary cultures of Middle East, it is interesting, particularly in the case of Palestine, many journal rejections are not based either on the quality, argument, style, etc. rather on the politics of the articles submitted. Usually the responses can be described as apologetic “in the Journal’s readiness to go into such direction.” So when it comes to ME, and one only has to see the amount of books published on “terrorism,” apparently the focus of narration is already set. Now whether this has to do with lobbying, invisible cults, or even secret societies, the fact remains that publishing on the ME goes under a process of censorship for the benefit of the other side- whoever that is- and as a matter of fact it is worse than the censorship practiced in the ME.
Daisy, Asisstant Prof, at 2:10 pm EDT on August 19, 2008
Here’s another piece of advice: It is a rare researcher who gets recognition for something said only once. To be successful as a researcher, you must say the same thing, in various ways and from different angles, in a series of papers. People will think of you, and cite you, almost exclusively in connection with a single slogan-sized position. That clever argument you make in passing? Forget about it. (All the more reason to adhere to Thom’s advice to keep a laser-like focus on the central topic.)
On splitting the difference:
(a.) It’s important to sound like the audience of experts you’re writing for. Well connected, well trained graduate students who attend conferences and are at the center of the social network will do so simply by trying to write well, as they see it; the rest need to work at writing like a professional. As a referee, I can rarely tell who exactly has written a blind submission, but I can definitely tell how in tune they are with the style and standards of the elite members of the discipline.
(b.) You may challenge any one or two central tenets of those in the circle for whom you are writing, but you cannot challenge everything at once. The more central the tenet you challenge, the more important it is — if your aim is publication in a journal respected by those in that group — to adhere closely to everything else that is generally taken for granted by your audience and to cite and discuss the same work that others are citing and discussing. Now I myself take a certain perverse pride in trying to push back against some of these constraints; but I have tenure and can afford to take risks.
Eric Schwitzgebel, Assoc. Prof. at UC Riverside, at 2:10 pm EDT on August 19, 2008
First, I am one of the editors of the Journal of Ethics and Social Philosophy (www.jesp.org). We are unusual in that we allow authors to submit to other journal concurrently as long as they notify us. Since no other philosophy journal allows this it might seem pointless, but we’re hoping to attract some good work in legal theory and most law journals do allow this.
Second, the “invisible college” hypothesis puts a very sinister spin on an unsurprising but unpleasant truth: journal editors and referees have a lot of power, and there are lots of cases when it is used, consciously or not, to benefit their friends, colleages, and intellectual sympathizers. There’s no denying this. It’s not good, but it’s not more prevalent than in any other instituion where elites have power. A perfectly impartial process is impossible, although the journal process could be a lot closer than it is.
Third, I’ve had more than one journal say (understandably, given how difficult it is to get good referees) “even if you can figure out who the author is, or have seen the paper before, don’t disqualify yourself. Just please disclose this fact to us.” (I should say, however, that no one should ever referee a paper by someone they would count as a friend. Just say no.) So there is lots of non-anonymous refereeing even at journals that aspire to it. And it is also true that in many areas the author can be deduced by the reviewer. Usually, I believe, they will disclose this knowledge to the editor, but it is not anonymous in any case.
Fourth, while it’s true that people with prestige or prestigious connections sometimes have an advantage (where isn’t this true?), I believe (this could be checked) a majority of the authors in any given top philosophy journal in a given year are first-time authors in that journal. And an advantage is not the same thing as an exclusive membership card: lots of those publishing in top journals have no discernible advantage of that kind. And of course, some of those with the advantages would have gotten in even in a perfectly fair process. Many of them are very good, even if they have an unfair advantage!
In sum, of course the process is far from perfectly impartial. But this fact seems to me not to cast any doubt at all on Thom Brooks’s advice to prospective authors. Very good work has a very good chance of finding a very good venue, despite the imperfections in the process.
David Estlund, at 6:20 am EDT on August 20, 2008
“I believe I already split the difference. Rather than claiming that journal reviewing happens in a bubble by completely independent reviewers or claiming that it occurs within the context of a cabal by consciously politicized reviewers, I claimed that it is performed by people who *unconsciously* belong to invisible colleges (of course, each having a varying level of commitment to an IV, and fully capable of waffling between IVs as the power structures of their discipline shift).”
Upon reading Professor Nelson’s clarification, I think I now more fully understand his position, and it is one I entirely agree with. What he calls “Invisible Colleges” I call, following Stanley Fish, “interpretive communities,” or what Thomas Kuhn calls “normal science.” In both cases, groups within a discipline tacitly agree on what and what does not constitues a valid argument. Work that does not meet those requirements will have a hard time being accepted. The fascinating thing is that in every discipline, someone comes up with an idea that contradicts the fundamental principles of the dominant paradigm (for how this happens, read Kuhn’s The Structure of Scientific Arguments), the work is initially rejected, but eventually becomes the dominant principle itself. SI ub short, I agree with Prof. Nelson, and apologize for my misunderstanding.
And yes, the system does not work perfectly. My guess is that virtually everyone reading this article can come up with a few stories of peer review gone awry. But overall, it really does work pretty well.
Peter C. Herman, Professor at SDSU, at 6:20 am EDT on August 20, 2008
I am very grateful for these comments, especially David Estlund’s: I wholeheartedly agree with him. Indeed, there will always be imperfections in the review process. However, I would argue that most, if not all, respectable journals would never disclose the author’s identity to reviewers — and when it does happen I would imagine it would be an isolated error. Moreover, journals should offer concrete reasons for rejection or resubmission, especially where a manuscript has been under review, say, more than a month or two. Journals that make a habit of doing otherwise are not top tier and they should not be taken to represent the profession.
Readers may be interested in a longer piece “Publishing Advice for Graduate Students” that may be downloaded free here: http://ssrn.com/abstract=1085245 I know that it’s regularly distributed to graduate students. I am always revising and updating my advice: if anyone has comments on the paper, then please email them to me at t.brooks at newcastle.ac.uk
Thom Brooks, Reader in Political and Legal Philosophy at University of Newcastle, at 10:40 am EDT on August 20, 2008
I don’t think that there is ever a scenario where you can’t tell something about what voice will help to get your article published in a certain medium and if you can’t tailor your voice you are in trouble.
It seems to be the biggest hurdle for people trying to get published is the lack of thought put into simple ideas like - keeping ‘a lazer like focus - writing for the audience - staying close enough to the literature (as per Eric’s point) - failing to look for opportunities to collaborateand so on
GNZ, at 5:11 am EDT on August 26, 2008
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Wise words. Thanks for this.
Janet, at 7:35 am EDT on August 15, 2008