Archive for the ‘academia’ Category
The book publication process is very different than journal publishing. The journal process is fairly impersonal and bureaucratic. Yes, once in a while, an editor will help out his buddies, but journals receive hundreds of submissions and they have to be processed. Most are judged impersonally (though with the editors’ tastes). In contrast, book publication is a very soft, often personal process. Some book publication histories resemble the journal process. You send it in, the editor sends it out for review, and then the reviews determine if it gets published. In other cases, editors will suggest that someone write a book and then work personally with the author to guide it through the process.
Let’s start with nuts and bolts and then move to some Q&A:
- The author either starts with a proposal, a sample chapter, or the whole thing. They contact an editor who then decides to review.
- Editors come in a few flavors. There are “acquisition” editors whose job it is to sort submissions. The “list” editors are in charge of certain types of books. E.g., the health editor managers health books. There are also more senior editors who have a leadership role.
- Once something is submitted, you fill out a survey. Who are you? What is the book about? Who will buy it?
- Then, the book is sent to 1-3 peer reviewers. It is usually single blind. Reviewers see the authors, but not the other way. Usually, they are peers. Sometimes, non-academics or professors on the publisher’s board. Reviews range from “good job, move along” to very detailed responses.
- The proposal, the manuscript, the survey, and the reviews are then taken to the board for academic presses and to more senior editors for private presses. The whole package is evaluated. Sometimes you get a reject. Sometimes you get an “advance contract” (see below). Sometimes you get an “interesting, try again” – an “R&R.”
- If all you submitted is a proposal and sample chapter, “thumbs up” means you have permission to submit the entire packaged when ready. You can ask for the “advance contract.” If you submitted the whole thing, “thumbs up” means you get a publication contract – the final step before the book is “in the system” and moving toward publication. You might be done with it, or you need to do some revisions.
- Next week, I will talk about the nitty gritty of making the physical/ebook.
- Q: Should I submit a proposal or whole book? A: My opinion is that you should try to submit the entire book, unless you are pressed for time. The reason is that it is much easier to judge the quality of the book once you can see all the parts. Less micro-managing by reviewers. Also, it signals to an editor that you have your act together.
- Q: What is an “advance contract?” A: It is a contract with the press that says that they will consider the book for review upon completion. It is not a promise to publish. Some people find this useful because it shows hiring and promotion committees that the project is real. So yes, it is good, but it is a very modest step. That is why a lot of people won’t get hired just on the advance contract. There needs to be a “real” publication contract.
- Q: Can I submit to more than one press at a time? A: Yes. The norm seems to be that you can submit to a few at a time and of similar prestige. Too many submits, and it looks weird. If you get an offer from a low tier press, the high tier may not take it seriously.
- Q: How do I identify a good press and the editor? A: First, look at your bookshelf. Cambridge published a lot in protest movements, so movement scholars should try that first. Second, think about impact. Will the press help you reach the right audience. To learn about editors, use your networks and talk to them at professional meetings. Email sometimes works, but I have found it to be highly variable.
Next week: more on publication and writing it up.
Today and tomorrow, I will discuss book writing. Today’s post will be about the basic mindset behind book writing. Most academics are trained to write articles. In some fields, an article might be a few pages long, or a few dozen pages. Books are longer and more ambitious in scope. Their length and sustained argument is a challenge and many academic are not able to complete such a book due to training or temperament.
So here, I want to outline some key differences and help you get in the mindset about writing a book:
- Books are not about narrow nitty gritty arguments. They are sustained arguments in a (mostly) verbal format. You should only write a book when each part of your argument involves a journal article length explanation. Otherwise, think about cutting down to journal size.
- Books are good for very verbal areas (historical work); arguments that collect a lot of different data and thus can’t fit in a 35 page paper; and big ideas that might reach a broad public.
- Books often have wider audiences, even technical books. A well written book can be discussed in academic journals, learned journals (e.g., Foreign Affairs), and mass media (e.g., the NY Times). Even a technical book might reach out, in that other specialists will want to consult “the book” on a topic that goes into gory detail. So when you write a book, be prepared to explain what bigger audience you might be shooting for.
- Books need to justify their existence. It costs about $20k for a single print book. These costs will only be recouped if you sell about 1,000 copies at $20 a pop. Only offer an idea that will (a) be bought by libraries and (b) have some justification to a larger public or cross-disciplinary academic audience.
- Bill Germano’s book writing guide gets it right – you only have 20 pages to really justify the book. If an editor doesn’t get it after about 10 minutes, it won’t get published.
Tomorrow, the book publication process.
Students, and early career faculty, often ask about whether they should “go big” or fill up the cv with “smaller” publications. Here is my view: start by asking about the type of program you want to be in and your career stage. Then, apply the following rules:
- High status programs prefer “big hits.” In some programs, AJS/ASR is a prerequisite for promotion and is the most common cv item for ABDs who get assistant prof jobs. If you are at such a program, or aiming for one, this is your first strategy.
- Most other programs will be happy with a healthy number of publications in more modest journals. In fact, one can have an outstanding career in mid or low ranked MA/PhD programs with lots of “small” hits and they will almost certainly help with tenure at teaching intensive institutions.
- If you want to move up (though not laterally), a big hit is often required. Otherwise, people will think you are only capable of small hits.
- The tenure worthy package at most decent PhD programs is one or two “big” ones and other non-embarrassing publications. For other places, about 4-5 “small ones” will often suffice if well written.
- Time: If you don’t have big hits, and tenure/job market is coming up, sometimes filling it up with small hits might work.
- People in unorthodox fields can sometimes get away with specialty hits in “cool journals.” Thus, if you are in one of these fields, you might want to move along the quantity/quality curve.
- Book writers: If your field is mainly books (historical or ethnography), you can get away with a book that counts as multiple big hits. Articles, if well written, may not need to be in top journals.
Bottom line: Big hits will always help. But unless you are at an elite program, there are many plan B’s that work well.
book spotlight: remaking college: the changing ecology of higher education, edited by kirst and stevens
Recent orgtheory posts excepted, we pay way too much attention to a tiny handful of higher education institutions in the U.S. (Not to mention too much attention to the U.S. relative to the rest of the world.)
Academic chatter often assumes research universities are the prototypical higher ed organization, even though only 23% of students are enrolled in such universities (RU/VH or RU/H). By comparison, more than a third are enrolled in community colleges, and nearly 10% in for-profit institutions.
At the level of public attention, focus gets even narrower. A New York Times search gets 310 hits for “community college,” versus nearly 13,000 for “Harvard.” Recently historian David Perry surveyed two months of NYT op-eds containing the word “professor” and found
zero by community college or lower-status teaching school profs, zero by branch campus public profs, and a handful by top liberal arts schools (Smith, Dickinson) or lower-tier R1 publics (Colorado State, South Carolina).
So kudos to Michael Kirst and Mitchell Stevens for noticing that the world of higher ed is bigger than that. Remaking College: The Changing Ecology of Higher Education, published a couple of months ago by Stanford UP, focuses on the institutions that are underappreciated by the media and scholars: comprehensive colleges, community colleges, for-profit colleges. By bringing together a diverse group of academics — several of whom take an explicitly organizational approach — to focus on broad-access institutions, they have done the field a real service.
The essays cover a range of ground and approaches. Several, including an orienting one by W. Richard Scott, conceptualize higher ed as an ecology or field. I’ll just highlight a couple I particularly enjoyed here.
In “The Classification of Organizational Forms: Theory and Application to the Field of Higher Education,” Martin Ruef and Manish Nag use topic models based on IPEDS data to generate new sets of categories for U.S. postsecondary institutions. From mission statements, for example, they infer not only two distinct clusters of liberal arts schools and two of community colleges, but several additional types of institutions — globally-oriented colleges, Christian colleges, medical tech schools, student-oriented universities — that might otherwise go unnoticed. Like other good work that identifies patterns from texts, it prompts a rethinking of cultural identity beyond assumed categories.
Regina Deil-Amen makes a significant contribution just by hammering home how atypical the “typical” college student really is. Nearly three-quarters of first-year undergraduates are enrolled in community colleges or for-profit institutions. 53% are not enrolled full-time. Only 13% live on campus. 13 percent! Her quotes of interviews with lower-income and Latino students, who are dealing with family stresses and financial struggles, are telling:
My family has a lot of financial problems, so that’s another stress that I’m constantly dealing with. I have to call them like, ‘Mom, are you gonna be able to pay rent this month?’…I’ve actually used some of my loans to help them pay their rent this year. (p. 146)
These firsthand accounts reinforce how inaccurate the picture of a dependent 18-year-old striking out on her own for the first time actually is.
I also enjoyed Richard Arum and Josipa Roksa’s reflection on measuring college performance, where they emphasize that they
have vehemently argued against the desirability of an externally imposed accountability schema. We are deeply skeptical of increased centralized regulation of this character—fearing that the unintended consequences would far outweigh any benefits—and have instead called for institutions themselves to assume enhance responsibility for monitoring and improving student outcomes. (p. 170)
I’m not sure they know how to measure college quality either, but it’s a thoughtful piece.
Higher ed really is a diverse organizational ecology, and it’s going to take a lot of work to map out the whole landscape. But I’m very glad that people like Kirst and Stevens are moving us in that direction.
While at a conference in California during grad school, a fellow attendee had to run back to her hotel room at mid-day. To me, she explained that she had to pump breastmilk for her baby, who was back at home in the Midwest with the other parent. This was one of my first encounters with breastfeeding workers, one that “normalized” the amalgamation of parental and work responsibilities. Given pediatricians’ recommendations of breastfeeding until babies reach at least 6 months or preferably 1 year old, if possible, and parents’ return to work after a 3-month-long leave (or earlier), employers and employees are likely to confront the practicalities of pumping – how to pump, when to pump, where to pump, and how to store the milk.
Despite changes to legislation and workplace policies, some workers still face daily challenges when pumping. As recounted in a freshly minted Culture and Organization publication by Prof. Noortje van Amsterdam at Utrecht School of Governance, the Netherlands, finding a place to pump and storing the milk was fraught with anxieties (i.e., “have I produced enough?”, “will the students notice if I have changed my shirt?”) and shame, as well as awkward exchanges with gatekeepers to offices and the canteen fridge.
After hitting the 6 month milestone, van Amsterdam ended pumping. To her surprise, one of the building workers, in charge of the canteen fridge, tells her that he misses their previous interactions over the milk storage. Such an exchange evidences how what might feel difficult or awkward to one party becomes part of a welcomed routine for another party.
One morning, I run into Ben in the hallway. “You’ve stopped expressing, haven’t
you?” he asks.
“Yes. I’m all done,” I reply.
“I do miss you, you know”
And in spite of everything that happened, this makes me feel a little better.
As events continue to unfold in Wisconsin, defenses of tenure are popping up in various places. For the most part, these are focused on how weakening tenure would 1) limit academic freedom, 2) drive faculty to other universities, and 3) subject them to political reprisals.
These are all true. One only has to think about climate research, or UNC’s Poverty Center, to realize that the threat to academic freedom is very real.
What is less clear is why the public should care. Sure, some will. But lots of people believe climate science is corrupt, and that centers like UNC’s are inappropriately political. Any good defense of the public university—of tenure within it or support for it more generally—has to appeal to a broad swath of people.
I suggested the other day that the business community cares about science, and that that is one potential source of support for higher ed, at least, if not necessarily for tenure. But what the average American cares about most with regard to universities is not science, but teaching.
Clay Shirky argued at Crooked Timber that in fact professors don’t do very much teaching, and when the public learns this they will revolt. I think he sees the world too much through the lens of NYU, and that if you look at the higher ed field as a whole, there is lots of teaching going on, including by tenure-track faculty.
But where he is right is that what most people outside higher ed care about is not research, but teaching. Fortunately, there are strong arguments to be made that link tenure and teaching quality. For example, Mikaila pointed out in the comments that
performance funding initiatives which emphasize on-time graduation rates would tend to encourage a decrease in academic rigor so that students make adequate academic progress and do not fail or withdraw from courses–something we could easily achieve by giving our students open-book fill-in-the-blank tests with As for all. It is tenure which protects us from such a demand and thus tenure that gives us the best chance of ensuring that students have the opportunity to receive a high-quality, rigorous education that challenges them and helps them learn and develop the skills which will benefit them economically, socially, culturally, and personally for the rest of their lives.
These are the kinds of arguments that are likely to have traction. Not that tenure is good for professors, or things like academic freedom that a minority of people care about. But tenure is good for students.
The flip side of that is that we can’t profess that tenure helps students and then denigrate or simply neglect teaching. Nor can we go along with “I won’t grade you too hard as long as you don’t demand too much.” Nor is this position compatible with allowing the system to continue to survive on contingent labor.
I’m still working out what the ethical thing to do is as someone who is (as we all are, in one way or another) caught up in this system. One thing I’m pretty sure about, though: appealing to faculty self-interest is not a winning strategy for gaining public support.