There is so much you can achieve with your life when all you do is work full time. I’d forgotten what it was like, not to feel guilty and scared all the time. Compared to a thesis, forty hours a week is a laughably small sum of hours to be spending on work.

The first six weeks after submission I spent having what I like to call a slow motion nervous breakdown. The further I get from that part of my life, the better my decision-making becomes, and the clearer I see my own craziness during that period. Spending a good few months locked in a room with nothing but pyjamas and tea gives you a very odd perspective. My ability to make good decisions was, shall we say, diminished.

And then – well, maybe the thing to do is show you the change in my desktop image:

Before:

After:

(Editor’s note: I had to substitute Maia’s real desktop photos with royalty free images, but these capture the spirit of the ones she sent)

My attitude at the moment can be summed up as, ‘life can just never be that shit again’.

In terms of work, I’ve been doing short contracts as a data analyst – a month here, two days there. The low-commitment lifestyle is suiting me well at the moment. I do a great job, but I have no connection to the overall projects beyond my part. Was the data collected accurately? Was the survey designed to provide statistical significance? Do I agree with the project aims? Who cares! I liberally and gratuitously avoid knowing. I’m starting to feel the itch of doing a project I’m passionate about, but it’s still tentative.

After so many years of being body-and-soul invested in the quality and outcome of my work, it’s a relief to be unattached.

Some of that has been consciously re-training my instincts. I’ve made sure I have evening plans, otherwise I find myself at work at 8pm.

You know what I’ve realised? I’m smart and capable. My resume could’ve told you that, and I’ve known it intellectually. My emotional response for a few years has been that I am not worthy of taking on any ‘real’ job, because I haven’t completed… something.

I wish I hadn’t wasted so much time feeling I was crap at things. There is no substantive difference between who I am now, and who I was six months ago, but today I feel confident and strident. I apply for jobs with clarity about how my skills fit, how quickly I can learn the systems and provide usefulness, and that I can do All The Things.

The issue wasn’t ability to learn or apply knowledge. The problem was my attachment to the equation: when I have a Ph.D., then I become a Good Clever Able Person, and until then I am not those things. Which is utter rubbish, clearly. I wish I could explain this to my past self, and to all the tortured souls around me still in thesis-land.

Ph.D. may not worth it for you. I’m still not convinced I haven’t wasted my time. But here I am, and there’s no point regretting it. As my supervisor said once, it may not always add anything to your circumstances, but it certainly can’t hurt. I’m a little jaded right now, so maybe ask me again in a couple of years.

Meanwhile, I’ve been procrastinating doing my minor corrections. Oh yeh – I passed! With nothing more than a few ‘rewrite this bit a little’! I’m stunned. It hasn’t sunk in yet, but I’m certainly enjoying the after-effects.

(and may we say, belated congratulations from The Thesis Whisperer Maia! – Ed)

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The nowhere, everywhere place

PhD detachment

If you are feeling anxious about the discussion section rest assured you are not alone. It’s an issue that comes up time and time again in my workshops. There’s no one answer that can help everyone because every project is original, so I thought I would offer a few thoughts on it by way of starting a conversation.

Evans, Gruba and Zobel, in their book “How to Write a Better Thesis”, describe the discussion chapter as the place where you:

“… critically examine your findings in the light of the previous state of the subject as outlined in the background, and make judgments as to what has been learnt in your work”

Essentially the discussion chapter tells your reader what your findings might mean, how valuable they are and why. I remember struggling with this section myself and, looking back, I believe there were two sources of anxiety.

The first is scholarly confidence. At the University of Melbourne we used to talk about how a good thesis has a ‘Ph Factor’. The Ph factor is somewhat elusive and hard to describe, but basically it means you have to make some knowledge claims. You need to have the confidence to say something is ‘true’ (at least, without getting too post modern about it, true within the confines of your thesis). This can feel risky because, if you have been approaching the thesis in the right spirit, you are likely to be experiencing Doubt.

The second source of anxiety is the need to think creatively. Most of the rest of the thesis asks us to think analytically; or, if you are in a practice based discipline, to make stuff; or perhaps, if you are an ethnographer, to observe the world in some way. Creative thinking involves your imagination, which means you have to switch gears mentally.

So the problem of the discussion chapter is a problem of creative thinking and confidence, but there are some stylistic conventions and knowledge issues that complicate the task. Every thesis needs to have discussion like elements, but they may do it in different ways.

In a conventional thesis, what we call the IMRAD type (introduction, methods, results, discussion and conclusion) the discussion chapter appears a discrete chapter. Before you worry about the discussion chapter too much, consider whether you need to treat the discussion as a separate section at all. You need to keep in mind that the IMRAD structure is best used to write up empirical research work (the type where you collect data of some kind).

In the past I have referred to the IMRAD formula as the ‘dead hand of the thesis genre’; a phrase I picked up from my colleague Dr Robyn Barnacle. It’s a dead hand because of the role it plays in the imagination of the research community throughout the world. The IMRAD formula is the most widely understood format because it is the type most widely described in the ‘how to’ genre and has a close and abiding relationship to the scientific method. Many students try to make their research fit into the IMRAD format, when it is not appropriate to do so.

I can be easy to feel ‘blocked’ if you are a non scientist trying to separate out the discussion from the rest of what you are writing. Remember there are many ways to skin the discussion cat. For example, an artist may discuss each project and what it means separately. An ethnographer might devote a chapter to each theory they have built from observation. Likewise a historian may break the thesis up into time periods and do critique and evaluation throughout the whole.

So I have diagnosed some of the problems, are there any easy solutions? Well, the best way to start in my view is just to write, but perhaps start to write without the specific purpose of the discussion chapter in mind. Write to try and work out what you think and then re-write it later.

You can use a couple of basic techniques to help you with this process:

•  Try the old ‘compare and contrast’ technique. Draw up a table describing where your work is similar to others and where it differs. Use each of these points as a prompt to write a short paragraph on why.
• Use the “The big machine” trick as suggested by Howard Becker in his book ‘tricks of the trade’ (now only $3.99 on Kindle? Bargain!). Pretend your results are produced by a machine then describe the machine. How would the machine work? What would it look like? What parts would it need? What might make the machine break?
• Another useful suggestion from Howard Becker is the null hypothesis technique; write down why the results mean nothing. Sometimes forcing yourself to argue the reverse position can highlight the relationships or ideas worth exploring.
• Sometimes having an audience can help. Explain the results to a friend and record yourself, or use voice recognition software to tell your computer some of your preliminary thoughts. Many people find talking an easier way to get ideas out. Alternatively write them in an email to someone.
• Explain the limitations of the work: what is left out or yet to do? Sometimes, like the null hypothesis, talking about the limitations can help you better define the contribution your study has made.

I hope some of these suggestions help to get you started. Do you have any more? Are there ‘tricks’ you have used to help you get your creative juices flowing?

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The Dead Hand of the Thesis Genre?

Ambivalence: can it help with your PhD?

Actually, I’m a bit of a fraud here.  I’m an ‘English’ living in Scotland. Although I’ve been here plenty long enough to know how important Hogmanay is, I must confess that I grew up in a home that enjoyed a modest glass of sherry as the clock reached midnight, then all occupants went to bed.  New Year’s Day, therefore, dawned upon a clear-headed and stone-cold sober household.

In Scotland, on the other hand, Hogmanay has traditionally been a time for partying throughout the night.  My husband remembers his aunt and uncle coming home in the ‘wee sma’ hours’, and the first-footing round friends’ and neighbours’ houses.

The First Footer, or person who crosses the threshold of a house for the first time in the year is meant to be a harbinger of good luck. My husband was on occasions prevailed upon to do the first footing, chunk of coal in hand (the best luck for the household was thought to come from a dark-haired stranger). Scottish housewives would already have made sure their houses were spotless to welcome in the new year. When people did eventually surface the following day, more visiting would take place, whisky bottle in hand.

A century ago, Hogmanay was actually more important than Christmas, to many Scots.  Seems hard to believe now, doesn’t it?

During my doctoral research, I came across some early 19^th-century correspondence in which a ballad collector was a bit dilatory writing a preface for a song-collection, because he had been so preoccupied by the festive season. Around the same time, my own great-grandfather-in-law went missing one Hogmanay, being fished out of Greenock dock a couple of weeks later.  Urghh! I hope he enjoyed his last Hogmanay celebrations before he slipped  (or was he pushed?!).

Well, this is all very interesting, but what bearing does it have on a 21^st   century researcher?  Can I suggest that lessons can be learned from the Scottish traditions?

For a start, you’ve hopefully had a chance to let your hair down, socialise, catch up with friends and family, and take a brief break from your solitary research existence.  ‘All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy’, the saying goes.  I truly believe that it’s good to take a bit of a break from time to time. Maybe you received some lighter reading matter over Christmas?  Great!  Or had the opportunity to get outdoors and stretch your legs?  A bit of physical exercise is very beneficial to the average stressed-out doctoral student.

The turn of the year is also a good time to review your own progress.  Maybe you could set aside some time to assess where you’re at.  Have you reached a dead end?  Or are you facing so many interesting opportunities that you’re frankly a bit overwhelmed?  Sometimes it pays to write it all down, and look at your options.

The spotless housekeeping part of the tradition hardly sounds appealing, but if you’re anything like me, you might feel a lot less overwhelmed if you at least spring-cleaned the area around your desk, and tried to catch up with your filing!

Lastly, of course, there are the traditional ‘New Year’s resolutions’.  As Inger discussed in the previous post – does anyone actually make them, let alone keep them?  Hmmm.  Ah well, here are a few tangible and specific ones to consider:

•  I’m going to keep my bibliography up-to-date, perhaps using electronic software to impose some discipline on the chaos and make things easier for myself later.
• I’m going to try to keep on top of current literature.
• I’m going to [try to] avoid social media while I’m meant to be working …
• I’m going to plan my writing so I can keep to my deadlines.
• I’m going to write a paper/ speak at one or more conferences this year.
• I’m going to make sure my CV is up-to-date.

So there you are, rested, relaxed and all organised for the New Year.  Doesn’t  that feel good?

But if you don’t manage to be quite this virtuous on the first of January, don’t worry: William Motherwell did get that preface finished, so he obviously got back to his desk eventually.  Just don’t emulate Great-Grandfather McAulay.  Celebrating New Year is one thing, but it plainly can be taken too far!

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Drinking and your PhD

Mens sana in corpore sano

Today is my first day back after 5 weeks overseas and powering up the Whisperer is the best thing about being back at work But before we get into all that thesis-y goodness I’m wondering: are you still sticking to your new year’s resolutions?

When I asked on Twitter last week most PhD students said that “finish my thesis!” topped the list of goals for 2012. The second most popular resolution was “write something everyday” closely followed by “publish some articles”. A couple of people said they planned to tackle their ‘To Be Read’ (TBR) pile – which is a goal of mine too, but already I am falling behind.

I don’t know about you but I have a habit of creating long lists of resolutions and, inevitably, disappointing myself by not sticking at them. It really takes the fun out of New Year’s eve. The first few seconds seem so full of promise of change and renewal, but really the clock ticking over heralds just another day. I wake up with the same problems as well as, perhaps, a raging hangover to complement them. To tell you the truth I have given up on trying to be cheery and almost always go to bed before midnight.

So what’s the trick to making sure you do finish your thesis, see the end of your TBR pile or write everyday? How do you make those New Year’s resolutions last?

I don’t think there’s easy answers, but while I was away Kati at the SGR office sent me a link to an excellent blog post called “Your problem isn’t motivation” by Peter Bregman which I think helps us understand the problem better. Bregman starts by clarifying the problem of the resolution in a succinct sentence:

“We have a misconception that if we only cared enough about something, we would do something about it. But that’s not true”

He goes on to point out that the real problem we face is not motivation, but commitment. The problem is that thinking is easy; acting on thought is hard. Deciding to get through your TBR pile can happen in your mind where with little effort and cost; actually reading it all and making sense of it is a practical problem involving both effort and cost.

Bregman goes on to argue that thought is the enemy of action. Let’s take the TBR problem as an example. The TBR is the dirty laundry of academia. If you are anything like me, that pile of articles, book chapters and text books grows daily. Unfortunately that unread pile is more likely to provoke feelings of guilt than pleasurable expectation. It’s easy to be motivated to want to get going on it, actually doing it is kind of … dull. I would rather do something else, so my mind starts making excuses:

“I could read another chapter of Foucault’s “Birth of the Clinic” … OR…. I could catch up on all that email…”

Although the email is no doubt the more boring of the two, it does have the advantage of being easier and, seemingly, more urgent. So I clear out the email, but by then the Procrastination Fairy has sprinkled her Can’t Be Bothered dust. The last thing I want to do after replying to 30 emails is read heavy post structuralist theory. “Tomorrow” I promise myself.

Yeah right.

I think Bregman is right – we don’t have motivation problems, we have commitment problems. Committing to something means setting tangible goals and working out the practical details so lists need to be carefully thought out. PhD student and productivity literature junkie (and I mean that in the nicest way!) Jason Downs, was kind enough to send me his list of resolutions which I think are instructive:

1.  Download an read an article every day.  Do this first.  Everything else can wait.
2.  Write 250 words every day.  Do this second.  Everything else can wait.
3.  Create milestones with supervisors.  Attach dates.  Hit.
4.  Publish progress publicly.
5.  Raise profile within and beyond School.
5(a).  Connect with luminaries in sub-discipline.  Begin the courtship.

Most of the items on Jason’s list are actions, not aspirations. Clearly Jason is having trouble with the reading, so that comes first. Reading one new article each working  day means 5 a week, around 20 a month or 240 a year – impressive. I know I don’t have 240 things on my TBR pile. If I commit to one a day I can get through that sucker in about 6 weeks.

Hmmm.

Cleverly, Jason also sets a time frame and a simple statement of the priority on the action items. He commits to write 250 words and, although he notes this will be the second thing he will do each day, he makes sure to remind himself that ‘everything else can wait’.  250 words a day is approximately 65000 a year; that’s a whole thesis without having to work on the weekends. Notice what Jason doesn’t say – he doesn’t say those words will be good or even what they will be exactly: drafts, notes, reflections are all possibilities. In this way he keeps the goal of 250 words a day both modest and approachable.

If I have any problem with the rest of the list it is that the last three items are conceptual aims, not tangible actions, however there is a simple way to convert concepts into actions using keywords.

My sister introduced me to the idea of generating a key word for each year instead of a list of resolutions. One year her theme was ‘brave’; another year was ‘elegant’. When she had to make a decision she would test it against her keyword: “is this an elegant pair of pants to wear to the staff meeting?’ or “Is that a brave way to speak to my boss?”.

The keyword idea is simple, but powerful. Jason’s last three resolutions could be grouped under a keyword like “connection”. Jason can ask himself: “what is the best way to connect with the people who matter?” and use this to start generating a list of actions, or even make everyday decisions: does attending this conference / writing this book chapter / going to this meeting  help to connect me with people who matter?”. In this way his efforts build incrementally towards his overall goal.

Bregman also notes the power of accountability – telling others your goals is one way to make yourself commit to them. So why not share them in the comments section? What are your new year’s resolutions, or the things you would like to achieve in 2012? Do you have a list of actions to go with them or a keyword which might help you reach them?

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A visit from the Procrastination Fairy

Why you might be ‘stuck’

While in the UK I’m giving a lecture at the University of Sussex on the 15th of December called: “What I learned about doing a thesis from reading trashy novels”. The kind people at Sussex have made some places available for students from other universities to come along; if you are interested you can book online here. I’m looking forward to seeing some of you there

I thought I would go with the holiday theme for this post and offer up 5 Christmas gift ideas for PhD students so you can email it to your nearest and dearest. Hopefully you will end up with something a whole lot more useful than socks!

Writing comes hard to some of us but, like most things, it does get easier with practice. One thing’s for sure, if you’re interested in an academic career post-PhD (or are employed in one now) writing and the ability to produce academic publications is a critical skill. Inger wrote a post a short while ago about why publishing during your PhD is a must for enhancing your career prospects. This post is more about how to get started in publishing and a look at collaborative writing as one way to make this happen.

Academic publications (journal articles, conference papers and so on) are either collaboratively written or sole-authored. I would strongly suggest trying the collaborative route for your first experience. However – and this needs to be emphasised – I’m not suggesting starting with a collaborative publication because it’s easy to do and sole-authored work is difficult. It’s not as simple as that. Despite the difficulties that can arise, generating and bouncing ideas off your writing partners is often less lonely, more interesting and more productive than doing it alone. Especially for a first-timer.

Getting started means finding people to write with. In my discipline, collaborative articles are often written by very small teams (2-3 people). In other disciplines (eg. the sciences), it’s common for large groups of authors to publish together. Even if you’re brand new to academia you already know one or two academics – your supervisor/s. You could consider writing with them, especially if you’d like to write about something stemming from your PhD topic. Chances are they will be interested in it too if they’re supervising your PhD project.

If you’d rather not write with your supervisor, then seek out people who are interested in similar topics and talk to them about what they’re writing about and your ideas. Over time your common interests will clarify and they might invite you to write with them,or you can be brave and suggest a writing project to them. Once you’ve got a couple of people (or more) to write with and a project in mind you’re ready to start. But before you do, there are a few other things to think about.

Collaborative writing involves a combination of writing and process styles. Not everyone works or writes the same way. It may take you a few experiences of writing collaboratively before you work out what your preferred writing process is and the kind of writing that suits you best.

Conceptualise the project with your fellow collaborators as much as you can before you start writing the article itself. This means talking together about what the article is going to focus on, particularly the contributions to knowledge. Try white boarding together as a group as you synthesise your ideas and clarify purpose of your article.

As you conceptualise the focus of your writing project, choose a publication or conference to target the final product of your labours. Wendy Belcher’s “Writing Your Journal Article in Twelve Weeks: A Guide to Academic Publishing Success” has some great strategies. Consciously focus on the style of the publication or conference you are targeting as you write.

Set a timeframe to work in. What period of time suits the authors to have the finished article written in? Twelve weeks? Longer? If you’re writing for a conference a deadline will be set by the organisers, which can make this decision easier.

Make use of the great collaborative writing tools out there. I’ve used Google Docs for two recent collaborative projects with great success. Any collaborative writing tool that enables you all to write in the one space (thus saving version control headaches involved when emailing drafts to each other) is worth its weight in gold.

In the draft stage, ask each person to write in different colours so that it’s easy to see who has written what. This way if you want to clarify, or question, a part of the writing you know who has contributed the area and can work from there. At the final stage, when all writers are happy, you can then change the text colour to black.

Work out what the collaborative writing process will be in advance. Will each person write a section or not? Some collaborative writers are able to work quite fluidly, dipping in and out of various sections without carving out sections for specific authors to write. Other combinations of people are not able to work like this. There is no one right way in terms of process. But it is important to talk about and to work out an agreed process to try.

Discuss and review the article you are writing at regular points during the writing project. This keeps everyone on track.

When you feel ready, give a good draft of the article to a ‘critical friend’ to read and ask for feedback on aspects that you (the group of writers) nominate – eg. structure, flow, engagement of the reader etc. Ensure the critical friend you approach has academic publications and can give feedback with a degree of experience.

Collaborative writing can be hugely rewarding for early career academic writers, however, communicating honestly and well with your writing partners is key! An added bonus is you can establish some strong networks which can lead you into more exciting writing adventures in the future.

Have you written papers with others? Or with your supervisors? Do you have any tips or techniques to share – or traps to look out for?

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Publications and your PhD

Is the University a Bad Boyfriend?

As Denise remarked: what an amazing world we live in.

Anyway, it got me thinking (again) about the similarities between doing a PhD and taking part in a reality TV show. I have an unhealthy obsession with reality TV, which I have accepted as part of the brain damage I suffered while doing my PhD. While I’m selective about which ones I watch, I find the whole genre endlessly fascinating for the way it portrays learning as a process of self discovery and transformation. Bear with me here, I think I’m onto something and want to throw these ideas past you in the form of an academic mash up of my own before I go all academic and write a paper on it.

Image: courier mail

Some years ago I picked up a book at the local library called “Makeover Television: realities remodelled” which contained a bunch of essays on reality TV shows that – well – do make overs on the participants (what fun those cultural theorists have). These are shows like “What not to Wear” where the fashionable Trinny and Susannah ambush unsuspecting women, convince them they have horrible taste in clothes and take them shopping. In the process of undergoing a wardrobe transformation, the women seem to be transformed too; from shy retiring dowdies to confident, take charge women.

At least that’s how the show portrays it.

In Australia, the reality cooking show ‘Masterchef’ is something of a national obsession (at least for some of us). Our version of the show, as distinct from the version in the UK, has a group of 24 amateur chefs who live in a house together and compete for the grand prize, week by week, through a series of challenges. The challenges are designed to test their cheffy abilities, usually under some kind of insane time pressure. If the contestant fails the challenge they must go into an elimination round; in this way two people leave the show each week until the final two have to battle it out for the title of Masterchef. I love it because, as an amateur cook myself, it’s kind of like watching sports; I get involved in the contestants failures and successes.

What’s interesting for me is that the participants on the show talk endlessly about learning. The learning shown to the viewer seems to be full of failure. The price of failure is high, potentially being sent home in disgrace and having your foibles taken apart by the news media for the entertainment of the whole nation for the next week or so. The learning is obviously painful, with many a sweating brow as the participant tries to make a baked alaska in an hour, or re-create some insanely fiddly French sauce with no recipe. At certain times professional chefs will come in to compete head to head with the hapless amateurs, usually demolishing them in a dazzling display of virtuosity. Over time you can see the people who have the ability to hold their nerve and learn from their mistakes beat those who might have superior natural talent.

What’s clever about the Australian Masterchef is the role of the hosts, who are all professional chefs themselves. The hosts judge the dishes each contestant makes by looking at and tasting them. I think this is the best part of the show; as each judge chews the food the contestant looks at them hopefully, trying to guess from the expression on their face (which the audience on Twitter calls ‘tasting face’) what the verdict will be. The judges are often brutal in the words they use to describe a failed dish, but will generally deliver constructive criticism and comments which are meant to help the participants learn and improve. The show is on every night (yes, we love it that much) and the Friday night slot is dedicated to a ‘Master class’ where time is set aside to learn a particular technique through demonstration from the hosts and invited others.

The parallels with doing a PhD are obvious, but worth reflecting on. Most of us start the degree with some skills in writing or researching, but we are likely to be amateurs. We are asked to perform tasks we might only partially understand, often with little instruction, and all with a looming deadline. Sometimes these tasks are more than we can handle and we fail – sometimes spectacularly. The price of failure is high here too; most of us have commitments to others who will be disappointed if we fail. Some of us will end up in debt or worse because of the time we have taken out of our professional careers.

Like professional chefs, professional academics have a whole bunch of tricks up their sleeve, which makes doing the ‘grunt work’ of things link data analysis and writing quicker or easier. A good supervisor is like a good host: they will taste your work and give you their constructive criticism. If you are lucky they will take time to share these skills with you, but often you are just left to watch the displays of virtuosity and try to learn from them as best you can. For example, many supervisors (including myself at times) can make the mistake of thinking teaching someone to write is best achieved by rewriting the paper for them, rather than taking the time to explain the principles or good writing and help the student put them into action. In fact, many supervisors could learn a thing or two from Masterchef and set aside some time to run a masterclass!

Here’s what I think is the key insight from this academic mashup I am trying to perform here. Masterchef and other make over reality shows are about learning which leads to a transformation of the self. Transforming the self takes work, dedication and time; it can also be uncomfortable and risky. We may fail to achieve our aims or end up somewhere we didn’t expect to be. But I take heart from the knowledge that, when it comes to PhD study, as on Masterchef, it’s not the best cooks who last right to the end. It’s the cooks who have the most resilience and ability to learn from their mistakes who go home with the prize.

What do you think? If your PhD was a reality TV show, which one would it be? How can you develop the necessary resilience to go all the way to the end?

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What do you learn from a PhD?

Why you might be stuck

In a recent paper  (yes – the old fashioned, peer review type) I talked about the phenomenon of ‘troubles talk’ between research students. In Australia we call this ‘whingeing’; in the UK they might call it ‘having a moan’. Interestingly, the word ‘whingeing’ is derived from the Old English ‘hwinan’ : “the sound of arrows whizzing through the air” and ‘hwinsian’:  “to whine like a dog”. This derivation implies whingeing is a form of passive warfare, or social irritant, which is perhaps best ignored. However, when someone tells a trouble to another, the opposite is more likely to be true – telling troubles can bind us together. In fact, sites like PhD Comics or this blog wouldn’t be nearly as popular if they weren’t full of troubles talk! 

In this guest post Dr Shari Walsh, careers counsellor extraordinaire at Queensland University of Technology, talks about the benefits – and drawbacks – of whingeing. Shari introduces us to the idea of ‘whingeing Wednesdays’ and ‘bitch buddies’  as well as a few more positive strategies.

What do you talk about with your PhD colleagues? Are you supportive of each other or do you tend to complain about the PhD process, supervisors, administrative procedures? Often, it is easier to bond with people by sharing and empathising with problems. Although this can be constructive and supportive it can also lead to a ‘culture of complaint’. So, is this a bad thing?

Not necessarily. The sharing of difficulties can lead to offers of support, shared understanding, and start the process of managing and solving the problem. The difficulty arises if complaining is the focus of most conversations and a negative or toxic environment develops. Giving time to and sharing difficulties is an important strategy to keep your sanity during process of completing your PhD and some student groups I have encountered have devised fantastic strategies to enable this to happen.

For instance, one group I know has a ‘whingeing Wednesday’ get together, in which, the group sets aside an hour every Wednesday to simply pour out their problems to each other. Discussion of problems is minimised at any other time and group members hold on to their problem until that time. This allows problems to be heard and gives a dedicated time for this to happen. It also encourages positive talk outside the time.

Another group has regular coffee catch ups throughout the week with each other. The catch up starts with the difficulties of the time and ends with a good news session. Another strategy is to find a ‘bitch buddy’. This is someone with whom you can simply let it all out (rant and rave) for 15 – 20 mins. Then it is their turn. While each buddy is talking, the other one is not allowed to say a word, simply to listen, nod, acknowledge etc.Obviously the buddy has to be someone you trust and the conversation remains confidential.

Similarly, it is important to find time to acknowledge and share successes. Here are some ideas:

• Having a weekly or monthly good news time where every person mentions something (anything!) that has gone well for them.
• Writing a piece in every School, Faculty, or Divisional newsletter about what the PhD cohort is achieving. This also reminds everyone within the university about how great you all are!
• Organising a regular celebration with your colleagues and/or supervisor.

So take regular moments to look around and listen to the conversation. Are the themes negative or positive? If skewed either way, then you have the power to take corrective action!

Thanks Shari! If you are interested in how complaining can be a bonding experience, have a read of the user friendly version of the paper I published on the RMIT blog called “Why do academics complain so much?” or tell us in the comments – why do you love to have a whinge?

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PhD grief

The perils of PhD Parenting

Call Centre worker: “It says here ‘Dr Mewburn’ – is that correct?”
Me: “That’s right”
Call centre worker: “And why is it that you missed your flight Dr Mewburn?”
Me: “I misread the ticket”
[a short pause]
Call centre worker: “How did you misread the ticket?”
Me: “Look, I have a PhD ok? It doesn’t make me immune from stupid”

Sadly this is true. A PhD involves an ability to learn new things and a certain amount of gritty determination, but it doesn’t make you immune from stupid. If anything, getting a PhD makes you  more aware of your limitations than you were before. The more you know, the more you know you don’t know, if you know what I mean.

In my job I have the privilege to work with some extraordinarily intelligent people. I mean – really clever. Intimidatingly clever. Clever to the point where  I dare not open my mouth in some meetings for fear someone will discover I shouldn’t really be there. It’s not easy to live in a university and be of average intelligence so I have some coping strategies, developed by watching how clever people behave. The general principle here is: if I act like a clever person, I may become clever – or at least I will appear to be clever (which, existentially speaking, is the same thing).

So here’s 5 of my coping strategies – I hope you will write in with some of your own. Those of us who live by the ‘fake it until you make it’ principle need all the help we can get!

1) Wherever possible, be the one to speak last

When I first started going to meetings at the University I was always the first one to jump in and give my opinion. I think this was a hang over from my school days; I was the nerdy girl at the front of the class, always out to prove that I was smarter than anyone else. But being too eager to give your opinion all the time just doesn’t work in the professional world; more often than not people will think you are annoying rather than clever because you appear to monopolise the conversation.

I don’t always succeed in holding the nerdy girl inside, but at least I try. I can’t remember who gave me this advice, but I have tried it now for years and found it to be sound. If you wait and listen carefully to what others are saying it gives you time to reflect on and digest the conversation. If you speak last you are more likely to be the one who comes up with the unexpected, novel or creative suggestion at the end, rather than being the one who is just stating the obvious. If you can’t think of something creative, speaking last gives you the opportunity to connect what other people are saying together and offer an explanation or over riding principle which others will usually agree with – instant cleverness guaranteed.

2) Have some ‘pocket facts’ handy

As Mr Thesis Whisperer is fond of saying, the plural of anecdote is not data. Throwing a few choice statistics about your field of expertise into a conversation will make you look extremely clever, without too much extra effort. For instance, I have lost count of the number of times I have sat in meetings where someone says that such and such must be true about doing a research degree because it was true for them, or because they have heard so often they assume it is true. Statements like “research students are poor communicators and need to be taught transferable skills” drive me really crazy, so I try to have some ‘pocket facts’ on hand to counter these common assumptions.

Recently my friend Nigel Palmer did an analysis which showed that most research students think they bring skills into their PhD, not the other way around. The only skill that students consistently claim they developed while studying for a PhD is library and information retrieval skills. This shouldn’t surprise us because 55.2% of students come to research degree study from the workplace, not from undergraduate degrees and a significant number of them have had a gap of more than 10 years since they last studied. That little statistic usually stops that particular line of criticism of research students dead.

You’re welcome.

3. Learn the lingo

Every place I have ever worked or studied has had its own dialect. At RMIT university we are extraordinarily fond of acronyms. Here’s a list of the ones I use on an almost daily basis when I talk with colleagues:

• ATN
• DDogs
• RTS
• TEQSA
• AQF
• DIISR
• DEEWR
• PREQ
• CES
• DVC R&I

And that’s not counting the more esoteric ones, which I recognise, but don’t have to use often. Mr Thesis Whisperer calls these ‘TLAs’ (three letter acronyms) and they populate most advanced knowledge fields and institutions. Sadly, knowing the right TLAs, what they mean and how they relate to each other, makes you look clever. Luckily acquiring this sort of information is a bit like learning to spell: you only have to learn it once, and if you have a  decent memory, you will look clever for years and years.

4. Beware of jargon

Despite the fact that knowing the TLAs  is advantageous, if you speak in jargon too much the truly clever people will get suspicious. There’s an excellent chapter in Howard Becker’s book “writing for social scientists” (which should be renamed “writing for everyone”) which talks about the urge to “write classy”. It’s a trap thinking you can copy language you see in books and papers and it will make you appear more intelligent.

Now, I have absolutely no data to back this up, but in my experience of university life, most academics are not going to admit they don’t understand you, they just wont really listen to you (or cite your papers). People who can translate difficult concepts into language that others can understand are often more persuasive. Since persuasiveness often conflated with cleverness, speaking clearly and concisely is a winning strategy.  This is true as much for thesis writing, in my view, as it is for meetings and presentations.

5. Turn the problem around

Sometimes problems need simple solutions, not more complex ones. One trick which my boss shared with me recently is to ask: “what should we do less of?”. A disarmingly simple question, but an extremely powerful one. Take your thesis as one example: what can you do less of? The pomodoro technique is a good example of this principle in action. By working in shorter bursts, but with more focus and concentration, you can achieve more than sitting at your desk all day banging your head on the screen.

What do you think? Have you watched clever people in action while you are studying? What have you learned from them?

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A PhD is like a pilgrimage; a solitary journey where we value our companions.

This time two years ago I had just started walking the Camino de Santiago, a 1,000 year old pilgrimage across Spain…

I did the walk for a number of reasons; for the adventure, the spiritual experience, and to try to let go of some personal baggage. I wanted a transformative experience; to feel a sense of freedom.

It was the start of five weeks in what felt like an alternative universe, the world of the pilgrim. We had an instant community, as all of us were undertaking the same quest to reach Santiago; we were recognisable to each other by the backpacks and walking clothes, and many people tied the scallop shell symbolising St James on their packs as an additional token. We were united by the common daily concerns of sore feet, the need to find daily food and accommodation, and coping with whatever weather happened that day.

Physical concerns were not what made the pilgrim community special, it was their attitude to life that stood out. Simply by being on the Camino it could be assumed the other people had a similar approach to questioning the big things of life, an interest in spirituality and a desire for self-transformation.

I had many conversations when I fell in step with a complete stranger for a short period of time, and with minimal preamble, would discuss philosophy, human rights, history, art or culture, share ideas or insights, even personal motivations or traumas, then move apart as we walked at different speeds. Another pilgrim was a spiritual sibling and it was a safe place to explore deep things. If you happened to meet up again it was like greeting a long lost friend, and conversations would be resumed and connections built on.

The PhD journey is similar in many ways. The journey is solitary and intensely personal, but there are others who we encounter on the way who share the same quest, have the same desire for knowledge of universally understood insights, self understanding, and seek to achieve a major goal.

We eagerly connect with fellow travellers, share tips and ideas about strategies and pitfalls to avoid, and intersect meaningfully with culturally different strangers about specialised areas of common interest. Those connections are precious, and give great support and encouragement to keep going.

Modern technology has made sharing the PhD journey much easier. Through the thesiswhisper  blog, and hashtag #phdchat on Twitter I have made friends, given and received support, learned about software and study tips from people all over the world who I would not have met otherwise. The desire shown to meet these fellow travellers in person, and the happy and excited tweets that result when they do, is an indication of the strength and value of these relationships.

Every journey is solitary, but the friends we make along the way are what carry us through. I’m feeling much love for both my fellow pilgrims and fellow PhD tweeps right now. Buen Camino (a wish for a good walk, but also an approach to a thoughtfully lived life) to all.

PS: I made it to Santiago, and even  to Finisterre, the end of the earth, with an increased self confidence and self awareness. Still carrying some of the baggage, but it is lighter now.

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