Entry #2: Why a Sense of Humour Pays Off in Academic Publishing
30.4.2025
Introduction
Earlier this month I had to withdraw a paper from consideration at a journal, and I have found myself reflecting on an unwritten rule of academia ever since: developing a robust sense of humour may be as important as developing a robust methodology.
After eight long months of waiting, during which time I'd nearly forgotten what I'd actually written, the editorial response to our study finally arrived. Reading through the comments, I oscillated between philosophical amusement and barely suppressed exasperation.
Review Process
The editors somehow concluded that our paper relied on assumptions we never made and explicitly argued against. Having to re-read the paper to confirm this was both humbling and irritating. It's remarkable how, after eight months, your own writing can seem like the work of a stranger.
One reviewer complained about being "none the wiser" about a key concept despite our definition and discussion of it early in the paper. Perhaps he too struggled to recall the beginning of the paper by the time he reached the end, though I thought that was supposed to be my job as the anxious author.
Perhaps most amusing was the critique of our methodology for not including certain participants in our study. The study was in part on tax havens, and I wondered if the reviewer was in touch with the real world because it’s obvious to anyone who has done work in this area, individuals who typically avoid scrutiny are notoriously keen to chat with academic researchers about their activities. You cannot simply ring them up and request a thorough discussion over tea, that should have been obvious.
Responsibility
I must take responsibility for one critical error: journal selection. In retrospect, our interdisciplinary approach was always going to create tensions. Our framework, perfectly standard in one field, was apparently revolutionary (or heretical) in another. The concepts we took as established required extensive explanation, and methodologies common in our tradition were viewed with suspicion.
Interdisciplinary work is often celebrated in principle but punished in practice. When you exist between fields, you risk being judged by the standards of disciplines that speak different academic languages. One field's fundamental assumption is another's controversial claim; one tradition's methodological rigour is another's methodological weakness.
Rather than responding with the sarcasm I'm indulging in here, my colleague and I crafted measured, evidence-based responses. We clarified our theoretical positioning, explained our methodological choices, and gently pointed out where our arguments had been misrepresented. We were the very model of academic decorum.
But ultimately, we withdrew the paper. Some misalignments are too fundamental to bridge.
Sense of Humour
Looking back, I realise that my sense of humour has been essential throughout my academic career:
When receiving contradictory feedback from multiple reviewers
When reacquainting myself with my own writing after months of silence
When explaining to non-academic friends why journals take longer to respond than Victorian pen pals
Without this ability to laugh at the absurdities of academic publishing, I might have abandoned research years ago in favour of a career where feedback is more immediate and direct. Like lion taming.
So, here's my advice to my future self and any early career researchers who might stumble across this diary:
Develop thick skin, maintain perspective, and cultivate your sense of humour
Choose your journals with extreme care, especially for interdisciplinary work
Keep detailed notes about your submissions, after eight months, you'll struggle to remember what you argued and why
At the time of writing, I am not sure what we are going to do with the paper. Ideally it would involve placing it with a journal where our theorisation and methodology would be viewed as of earthling (not alien) origin. But before even thinking about that I intend to give it a few more reads so as to refamiliarise myself with the content.
I believe I said in my first entry; research is in part a messy business; this is but one illustration of that messiness.
Onwards,
A Slightly Wiser Researcher