Advice for the aspiring academic
To be read, to be cited … are these good reasons for an academic to write? This is a difficult question, the answer to which depends on how one values the articulation of truth and the feeling of fame. The question even puts the faith of a person at stake. Many students I meet, likely those dedicated readers of the Rover, contemplate, at least for some period, the allure of the academic life. I have them in mind, too, when I move on to reflect briefly on what may seem the dark side of that moon called academia.
What to me—as one who has been writing academically for three decades—is clear, when it comes to reasons for writing, is that if your goal in academic writing is to be read and to be cited, you will probably need to do more than just write to fulfill that goal. First, there is the reality that you might be exposed to the sloppy scholarship of those in your field, who may perhaps neglect to read you; or may read you but, for any number of reasons, not cite you (or sometimes decide not to cite you). Second, there is “luck.” Whatever “luck” means, it is certain that you need something like that if you are going to be read and cited. You need “luck” for your article to be found by a search engine, for example. Third, you need visibility and exposure. If, for instance, you live in a remote corner of South America, geography will probably work against you. You will likely travel less the usual circuits where academic people meet each other and become aware of their relevant peers, and, in the old days, exchanged business cards. In our time, if you “are far” (like me: I live in Argentina) you will have a harder time to keep in sync with the relevant blogs and websites that your colleagues likely take for granted.
Yes, I believe that if you want to be read and cited you will need to add another profession to that of a simple writer. You will need to market your work. In my field, for example, you will have to write to Larry Solum, who runs the most successful and widely read academic blog, and let him know that you have just posted a new piece in SSRN (the “Social Science Research Network”). Or, if you have something like modesty (or false modesty), you can ask your friend to do it for you.
Now your article has been posted in SSRN (or in whatever digital repository might be relevant for you) and perhaps has even been recognized by mighty Larry (or by the relevant equivalent). Perhaps he will have even added a star under the abstract of your piece that says “Recommended.” Or, even better for your goal to be read and cited, “Highly Recommended.” If you are very lucky, he might anoint you with a “Download of the Week” distinction. If all this sounds sarcastic, it is not! If it sounds funny, I can’t help it.
The reason I mention these facts is that not even the mightiest of recommendations has the ability to guarantee that you will be read, let alone cited. In an ideal world, academics would do their homework in a way that is not biased to any consideration that might come across the pursuit of the truth in the art of scholarship. In real life, even when scholarship is conducted with rigor it is still possibly open to considerations such as: Will this citation add “sex-appeal” to my piece? If there are two articles on point for my research, why cite a professor who works at a low tier school, when I can refer to someone who works at an Ivy League school? These are some examples of real questions that honest academics—honest, but not detached from further interests—routinely ask themselves. For in the real world, if you cite your colleague, the odds are higher that he will read you and perhaps cite you—or that he will cite you even though he will not have read you! And when it comes for you to be cited, it is not the same—say for your promotion or your fame—to be cited by a top guy or by a complete unknown.
If you are slightly depressed at this point, let me leave you with a positive parting thought, as it is far from my intention to deter academic wannabes: I am an academic myself and I am very fond of my profession. There is another goal for academic writing, which does not require you to worry excessively about whether you are read or cited—even if having these goals is compatible with that other goal. If you go for the goal I will suggest next, you will not need to become a marketer. You will feel perhaps disappointment when your work is ignored, if it is ignored. You will feel rewarded when a glimpse of recognition comes through. But in any event, you will prevail and conquer—and be happy—if your goal, instead of to be cited, is … the joy of writing.
If you are a believer, this joy can be absorbed—redeemed—by a greater joy: working for the glory of God—ad maiorem Dei gloriam, as St. Ignatius put it. You shall enjoy the satisfaction of contributing to the greater plan of the Creator through the cultivation of that small academic garden that you have chosen to accept when you received it in trust. For work is indeed the heart of culture; and God has left that garden in our hands. In the words of St. Josemaría, Deo omnis gloria! A motto, compatible, if rightly understood, with the goal “to be cited”—rightly understood. For sometimes, to be cited will contribute to the greater plan!
Photo Credit: Wikimedia Commons
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