The year is nearly at an end and so it is time for lists. For my own enjoyment as much as for others to read, I decide to talk a bit about the things that did not go right this year. Although overall my year has been great, I feel it is important to talk about failure. If you let them, failures are after all part of the road to success. Everybody I know has had to deal with failure. In fact, the most successful academics I know are those who, I think, have failed the most. In line with the brilliant podcast by Elizabeth Day on How to Fail I discuss my main three of the year.
Unsubmitted fellowship application
My first failure of the year came early. I was planning to submit an application for a Rubicon Fellowship in February. This is prestigious scheme from the Netherlands Organisation for Scientific Research (NWO), which allows recent PhD graduates to spend up to two years at an international institute of excellence. My dream was to spend two years at the University of California Santa Barbara, doing research on how truth is constructed in and through courtroom interaction, and working with Geoff Raymond and Kevin Whitehead. I spend a good two years working on the proposal, and I got a ton of help writing it from colleagues in the Netherlands, the US, and Oxford. But after all that hard work, I never submitted.
The reason has nothing to do with me or the proposal: I simply (?) could not find a university to support the application. NWO requires that either the host university provides you with employment, or a Dutch institute has to employ you and then send you abroad. I was clear early on that UCSB would not offer me a contract, because the Rubicon does not cover overhead costs (seriously NWO, fix this!). Sadly for me, no Dutch institute was willing to support me either, because they were worried about possible additional costs like unemployment: if I would not have a job after the Rubicon, the university would need to pay part of my benefits.
I am still baffled by this, because I have colleagues in the same field who have received a Rubicon, which means that universities do not refuse this on principle. The only reason I can think of is that I was already working at an institute abroad, and so I was not asking for support from my own university, but as an external. It was an education though. I learned a lot about how to write a grant application, but more importantly, I learned that if you plan to apply for a grant, you have to tick off the finances and bureaucracy well in advance. They are an unseen but essential part of the workings of academia.
The reason has nothing to do with me or the proposal: I simply (?) could not find a university to support the application. NWO requires that either the host university provides you with employment, or a Dutch institute has to employ you and then send you abroad. I was clear early on that UCSB would not offer me a contract, because the Rubicon does not cover overhead costs (seriously NWO, fix this!). Sadly for me, no Dutch institute was willing to support me either, because they were worried about possible additional costs like unemployment: if I would not have a job after the Rubicon, the university would need to pay part of my benefits.
I am still baffled by this, because I have colleagues in the same field who have received a Rubicon, which means that universities do not refuse this on principle. The only reason I can think of is that I was already working at an institute abroad, and so I was not asking for support from my own university, but as an external. It was an education though. I learned a lot about how to write a grant application, but more importantly, I learned that if you plan to apply for a grant, you have to tick off the finances and bureaucracy well in advance. They are an unseen but essential part of the workings of academia.
Rejected fellowship application
My second failure also concerned a fellowship application. In May and June I spent probably about 150 hours writing a proposal for the National Institute for Health Research. It often was a frustrating experience. I discussed a draft with a research support group. The statistician in this group clearly did not like (my?) qualitative research. She said that I had not been trained as a scientist (I completed my first year of undergrad in astrophysics, but who’s keeping score), and that the scheme was about science. My line manager repeatedly gave me in-depth comments, which were amazing, but which also made me feel wholly inadequate. And in the end I had to work well over 60 hours a week to get the proposal in before the deadline and complete my other duties.
Despite all that effort, the review committee rejected it at the first stage. One reviewer thought it was good, although not excellent, and should go to interview stage, but the other two thought it was not competitive. Partly that was because they felt I did not have a good enough CV yet, as I did not have grants or papers published in medical journals. But mainly they just did not think the proposal was any good.
The rejection came as a disappointment, but not as a shock. I had never written for this audience before and as much support as I had from my line manager, I was still trying to figure out how a wheel works while inventing one at the same time. Because two reviewers gave detailed comments, I have a far better understanding of what it takes to write an application that is right for this audience, that addresses the questions they want answered in a way that is clear to them. So where I had to start from scratch this time, I will have a good idea where to start next time. And that will save me a lot of work and make the experience a lot less frustrating.
Despite all that effort, the review committee rejected it at the first stage. One reviewer thought it was good, although not excellent, and should go to interview stage, but the other two thought it was not competitive. Partly that was because they felt I did not have a good enough CV yet, as I did not have grants or papers published in medical journals. But mainly they just did not think the proposal was any good.
The rejection came as a disappointment, but not as a shock. I had never written for this audience before and as much support as I had from my line manager, I was still trying to figure out how a wheel works while inventing one at the same time. Because two reviewers gave detailed comments, I have a far better understanding of what it takes to write an application that is right for this audience, that addresses the questions they want answered in a way that is clear to them. So where I had to start from scratch this time, I will have a good idea where to start next time. And that will save me a lot of work and make the experience a lot less frustrating.
Rejected after Revise & Resubmit
My third failure was a collaborative failure. A few years ago, I started working on a small project with a colleague. His advisor had pointed out that we had been working on similar phenomenon and put us in touch. During a conference, we discussed the data and we saw that there was potential for a nice piece of collaborative and comparative work. After two years, we submitted the paper and following peer review the editor told us to revise and resubmit, a positive outcome for first submissions. We set about doing the revisions and after a few months, we felt ready and resubmitted. However, we clearly had not done a good job, because all three reviewers thought it still required major work and so the editor rejected the paper.
Rejections are a natural part of academia. It happens to all of us. But we rarely see it coming. And to have a paper rejected after making significant revisions feels even worse. Essentially, the reviewers are telling you that you did not listen or do your job properly. Or so it feels. I quickly realized the reviewers were correct. Sometimes, despite your best efforts, you do not get it right. There is no shame in that. Rejection is still frustrating, of course, but the reviewers engaged extensively with our work, which means there that we get to profit from their insights and ideas.
Rejections are a natural part of academia. It happens to all of us. But we rarely see it coming. And to have a paper rejected after making significant revisions feels even worse. Essentially, the reviewers are telling you that you did not listen or do your job properly. Or so it feels. I quickly realized the reviewers were correct. Sometimes, despite your best efforts, you do not get it right. There is no shame in that. Rejection is still frustrating, of course, but the reviewers engaged extensively with our work, which means there that we get to profit from their insights and ideas.
Live and learn
All three of these failures are common in academia. As I said at the start, the most successful people I know are also the ones who have dealt with the most rejections. To them failure is an opportunity. They take the lessons they need from failure, throw away the stuff they cannot use (like reviewers being rude), and try again. “Failure teaches us how to succeed better,” to quote Elizabeth Day.
That is easier said than done, but it is a lesson I am trying to learn. I reworked the failed NIHR application and submitted to the Wellcome Trust, and I am working with my line manager to submit a similar proposal to a different funding scheme of NIHR. I’m working with my co-author to rework our paper, and we are more enthusiastic than before. All of these might fail again, but if that happens, at least I will have a few anecdotes when I write this blog again next year.
That is easier said than done, but it is a lesson I am trying to learn. I reworked the failed NIHR application and submitted to the Wellcome Trust, and I am working with my line manager to submit a similar proposal to a different funding scheme of NIHR. I’m working with my co-author to rework our paper, and we are more enthusiastic than before. All of these might fail again, but if that happens, at least I will have a few anecdotes when I write this blog again next year.