practical phd

a transparent source for all things PhD

I’m not someone who sets resolutions in a new year. I’ve found that I rarely achieve resolutions and often feel guilty and unaccomplished upon reflecting on that failure. Instead, I like to set themes and intentions for the year to come. For my research work this year, my intention is to tackle the book project that has long been on the back burner behind many articles. 

When I first finished graduate school, I spent time learning about the book publishing process and thinking through whether I wanted my dissertation to become a book or a series of articles. I went to panels with book editors (they were incredibly helpful!!), talked through the dilemma with mentors, asked friends who had made a decision how they came to their choice, and talked to my new colleagues about what would be best for my tenure track journey. Based on the intel, I ended up pursuing a tenure plan focused on articles with the promise to myself that the book would be a post-tenure project. Over the years, the book has come to the front burner a few times as I have worked on the book proposal as a way to envision the pieces of the book and the broader argument, new data analysis that I’m integrating throughout the empirical chapters, and rough first drafts of some chapters to take a stab at what I want the chapters to look like. But the bulk of my research time has been focused on articles to make sure I’m meeting my goals for tenure.

This year marks the first time that I’m close enough to my tenure goals to think about my post-tenure research pipeline. (This is both scary and exciting.) Soooo…I have declared 2024 to be “the year of the book.” The challenge is that I still have a number of articles at various points in my research pipeline. That work is not coming to a stop partially because some articles are still in the review process and partially because they include a number of collaborative projects that need to keep moving forward. The point of declaring 2024 “the year of the book” is to make sure that the book stays at the top of my to do list. To make sure that even when I need to turn my attention to an article, it is with the intention of turning back to the book. 

To accomplish this, I’m splitting my months into 2 weeks for the book and 2 weeks for articles. Which weeks are allowed to vary depending on if I’m ready to turn away from what I’m working on or whether something comes up that needs to be dealt with immediately, but 2 weeks of every month WILL be for the book! It’s a simple way to prioritize the work that I want to accomplish and an effective way to make sure that work is a priority. 

So here’s to the year of the book!

If you’ve been reading Practical PhD for a while, you know that one theme is that there is no ONE way to do things in this academic life.  In the spirit of this, I want to share something that people are often shocked by about my publications.  I am five years out of grad school and four years into a tenure-track position and I have not published anything from my dissertation.  To be clear, I have been publishing.  I just haven’t published anything based on data from my dissertation yet.  I share this to highlight that there’s not just one path in publishing.  

Some folks have their very first publication come out of their dissertation.  Many start careers on the tenure track revising their dissertation into articles and/or a book manuscript to start producing publications that count for tenure.  My path was to start by reviving old work that had sat on the back burner while I applied to jobs and postdocs and finished my dissertation.  This included research projects I started before graduate school such as MPA thesis, as well as early graduate school projects like my MA paper.  I also worked on new collaborations as opportunities arose and ideas came up that provided opportunities to not just focus on sole-authored research.  I also invested in some new ideas as there were CFPs for special issues closely related to my research interests.  

As I did that, I was weighing my options for what to do with my dissertation.  During my postdoc year, I debated whether I wanted to write a book or not and, if so, if I wanted to get tenure based on a book publication given that I had a good number of articles already in the works.  Having decided I want to pursue a book publication post-tenure, I have spent time developing the overarching argument that I want to put forth in the book and have worked on incorporating new data and analyses, outlining the new chapters, and even drafting some.  I’ve also planned out which chapters I’d like to modify to publish as articles and am working on some of those now.  

You have options in your path to publishing.  Whatever path you choose should develop a pipeline including projects in the phases of idea development, data collection, data analysis, drafting manuscripts, and submitted for publishing.  This doesn’t mean that you have to pursue your research in a linear fashion.  You can skip to an idea or a project in data collection before coming back to something that is already drafted.  In fact, that can provide some distance from a draft to see it with fresh eyes, lead you to work on a project that brings you joy (something that is easy to lose in the grind of chasing publications on the tenure track), or allow you to prioritize something that is timely.  

In my case, I wanted to get those pre-dissertation projects out the door, while also pursuing opportunities for new research that came with those special issues.  While I would not recommend the timeline on which I wrote those two special issue papers from scratch to anyone, I am very proud of the scholarship I produced.  Those special issue articles also contributed to my thinking about future research projects including the book I want to write based on my dissertation.  

So as you’re making plans for your path to publishing, remember that there is no one way to get there.  You have to find the path that keeps you moving forward without killing your joy. 

Graduate school is a place that can break down the most confident of students. It isn’t just that you may go from being the smartest student in a room to being one of many brilliant students. It is also in the disparities with which graduate students are treated through mentoring in the classroom setting and beyond. Whose ideas get engaged with with zealous during class discussion. What kinds of ideas get public praise. Who is called out as doing innovative research or advancing theory. Seeing the patterns, it’s easy to focus on who you are not and thus associate certain labels with others and not yourself.

That was my experience with theory in graduate school. I was new to theory as I was also new to Sociology as a PhD student. The required classic sociological theory course was the first theory course I had ever taken. I did my best to keep up, but also to understand why this was a required course and why there were not one, but two required theory courses in our curriculum. During that time, the idea of who a theorist was among my colleagues and I solidified in my mind as someone who engaged with theorists. That is, someone who advanced the ideas of Marx, Weber, Durkheim, Gramsci, or Bourdieu. It was someone would you could add an “ian” to a name to describe their work as Marxian, Weberian, etc. Someone who was consistent in their use of and engagement with someone else’s theoretical ideas.

That vision of a theorist excluded me. It also excluded anyone who didn’t define theory in a very particular way. Ironically, the one reading I refer to constantly over the years since taking theory points this out. In “The Meaning of Theory” (2008), Abend identifies 7 different ways that sociologists use the term theory. Only one of the definitions (Theory4) aligns with the way I had identified theory and thus theorists during my early years of graduate school. And yet, despite strongly embracing Abend’s argument that there is more than one way to think about theory, I strongly held onto this one vision of how someone was a theorist throughout my time in graduate school.

To be clear, my research has always engaged with what Abend (2008) calls Theory1 or “a general proposition, or logically-connected system of general propositions, which establishes a relationship between two or more variables” (p. 177) as well as Theory2 or “an explanation of a particular social phenomenon” (p. 178). Theory guided my early research on the racial wealth gap. It defined my interest in studying how racial segregation affected parolees’ employment outcomes. It informed my Master’s research and subsequent article on race and gentrification. It was what led to my dissertation topic on how the news media represents gentrification.

It wasn’t until I began to read the literature of W.E.B. Du Bois for a new project during my postdoc that I started to truly see myself as a theorist. Perhaps not surprising that I only first saw myself as a theorist as I engaged with a Theory4 like definition. Moving beyond that took me writing my own theoretical take on gentrification as a racialized process of class change, my first non-empirical, non-methodological publication. Today, I know that what makes me a theorist is that I am constantly seeking to move beyond documenting racial inequality to explain why racial inequality persists and reproduces. This means engaging with more than one theorist. It means thinking innovatively about how theories of race and racism can better inform the study of racial inequality in my areas of study. It means putting theories across subfields in conversation to produce better explanations.

I may never be the kind of theorist I saw amongst my peers in graduate school, but I have emerged as a theorist despite that. Maybe you are a theorist too.

Teaching new courses requires a significant time investment.  Many of you already know!  I did a new course preparation for spring semester this school year, so I thought I would share some of the ways that I recycled and reused to save some time in the process in the hopes that it sparks some ideas for you.

First, I copied another course’s format.  I teach a course on segregation that is organized roughly as follows:

  • Background history 
  • Relevant contemporary factors
  • Implications for individuals’ life outcomes
  • Potential solutions to the problem

I used that as a template for my course on how city neighborhoods change with the exception of ending with opinions about gentrification.  Having a generic set up helped me organize my thoughts, which initially were quite scattered.

Second, I recycled my assignments.  In my segregation course, I use a series of methods assignments that students have to incorporate into a final paper.  I like the assignments because they give students practice with some practical skills like working with Excel, but are also interesting to read, which makes grading easier.  Lucky for me, the assignments also fit for my how city neighborhoods change course with a slight tweak in the instructions and focus of the prompts.

Third, I reused any and all readings that I could from other syllabi.  I was actually able to pull from my segregation course and my race/ethnicity course for this.  This let me integrate readings that I already knew worked for my undergraduate students and met the needs I had for a topic area.  To be fair, reused readings only appear in about 6 weeks of my class, but that meant I had little to no readings to find for those 6 out of 14 weeks.

Finally, because I reused readings from other courses, I was able to reuse slides that I had already developed and refined.  That helped tremendously in week-to-week lecture preparation.  Again, I didn’t have reused readings every week, but on the weeks that I did, it saved a lot of time.

The point is you don’t have to recreate the wheel for every new course prep.  You can reuse and recycle elements from classes you’ve taught before.  If you’re new to teaching or have a course prep that is a stretch from your prior course topics, you can also borrow elements from other instructors’ syllabi.  Starting from something makes the hard lift of new course preparations a little bit more manageable.

I just finished the first week of the semester and I’m already falling into patterns of trying to do things that I know don’t work for me in time management practices.  It’s been easy for this to happen because what works for me is not aligned with the common advice that is dispensed about how to manage your time and balance the demands of research, teaching, and service.  What I hear most often is to break up tasks and assign them to time slots on your calendar.  It sounds great in principle, but I need more flexibility in my work since I prefer to focus on something until it’s at a stopping point or finished instead of just because it’s been an hour.  I’m the kind of person that will fixate on what I left behind instead of moving onto the next task.

So what did I do wrong last week?  I put tasks on my to do list for each day that assumed I would have time to go back and forth between a bunch of tasks each day. A little bit of time for X then some for Y then some for Z between meetings and other commitments.  It worked on Monday when I had no meetings and my other commitments went smoothly.  But Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday just became days where I pushed several to do items to the next day and the next day and the next day, never actually getting to them.  So the literature review I was supposed to get back to, the comp I was supposed to grade, and the HR trainings I would rather not do (but have to) just never got done. 

Part of that was because I had deadline sensitive work to complete.  The teaching prep for next week for a new course had to happen and took all the time I had on my teaching days (Tuesday and Thursday).  The grant application that has a hard deadline took all my non-meeting time on Friday.  The problem was not how I used my time, but how I allocated tasks to my to do list assuming I would switch between tasks to get to them all.  I did not stop to take an hour everyday to complete another module on the HR trainings.  I did not go through one book from the stack on my desk for the literature review on my research days (Monday, Wednesday, Friday).  But I still checked things off my to do list. That I was still getting things done reminded me that it was my expectations in the process that were off.  

So next week, I’m going to give myself the big blocks of time I need to first finish this grant application and then grade that comp exam before I turn to that literature review.  I will remember that I don’t do well juggling between multi-day (or week) tasks in a day. I work best when I focus on one thing at a time and knock it out.  If you were also feeling like your time management had been off, assess your time management strategies based on how you work best, not what someone says is a best practice! 

I was recently interviewed by Dr. Betty Lai who has a forthcoming book and website providing guidance on the grant writing process. The tips below that I shared with her during our conversation were published in her newsletter (which you can sign up for here: https://thegrantwritingguide.com/) and I am sharing with readers of Practical PhD with her permission.

Here are Dr. Rucks-Ahidiana’s top three tips for people who are learning to navigate grant writing (plus one bonus tip).

1. Don’t give up just because you get rejected one time. It doesn’t mean you’ll be rejected for life. There are some grants that have restrictions on how many times you can apply, but that’s rare. Most grants are more open. You can apply multiple times. You can apply and get rejected. And then revise and apply again. Don’t give up on your projects.

2. Ask for feedback if it’s not provided. There are applications where funders have feedback, but they don’t necessarily automatically give you the feedback. Request that information. If you get a rejection, follow up. Say thank you and ask if there’s any feedback. They may tell you they cannot provide individual feedback, but they may send it to you. Feedback helps you figure out what’s working and what’s not.

3. Look for samples. Look at who’s been funded before. For most grants, the websites will list projects and scholars. For example, you could look up the sociologists who’ve been funded. That can give you an idea of what kinds of projects they’re funding, but also look to see who you know on that list. Ask those people if you can see their application. You can also reach out to people you don’t know who are from a similar field. I’ve been pleasantly surprised by folks’ generosity, particularly folks I only know from Twitter, who have been willing to share grant applications with me. Sometimes the samples are not similar projects to what you’re doing at all. Don’t dwell on the particulars. Look at: what’s the level of detail they provide for their methods? What do they say about what they’re going to do with data analysis? How in depth do they go? Do they have a timeline chart? Break down the elements in the sample. Don’t feel like you need to replicate the kind of study that they’ve done.

Bonus Tip: Don’t be scared to ask questions. You may not feel comfortable asking a program officer for a meeting, but that’s part of what they’re there for. It’s beneficial for them to screen out applications that aren’t relevant. It’s OK to ask questions.

I was recently interviewed by Dr. Betty Lai who has a forthcoming book and website providing guidance on the grant writing process. The transcript of our conversation below was published in her newsletter (which you can sign up for here: https://thegrantwritingguide.com/) and I am sharing with readers of Practical PhD with her permission.

BL: How did you get started with grant writing?

ZRA: Fellowships are helpful for understanding my trajectory with grants. I applied to fellowships before I even got into a PhD program. I had no idea what I was doing. I learned a lot in my first few years in grad school, because there was a lot of support and community around applying for NSF fellowships, Ford Foundation funding, Soros, and other predoctoral fellowship options. I didn’t secure any pre-doctoral fellowships from outside the university, but having that experience and getting feedback on those applications helped with my applications for dissertation funding. Before I graduated, I secured an AAUW fellowship and was an alternate for the Ford Foundation Dissertation Completion fellowship. Since then, I have received the Emerging Poverty Scholars Fellowship from the Institute for Poverty Research, a Ford Foundation Postdoctoral Fellowship, and the Mellon Emerging Faculty Leaders Award from the Institute for Citizens and Scholars.

BL: What was your biggest challenge as you learned how to write grants?

ZRA: Every application is a little different. You can build off of the same application, but a funder will ask for a diversity statement, or a personal essay, or want certain headers. The peculiarities of each application make it a challenge. Especially if you are applying for more than one. I definitely recommend applying to as many funding sources as you’re eligible for. From my experience, you have to throw a lot at the wall to get something to stick. I recently secured a Mellon Emerging Faculty Leader award. That was one of four applications I submitted to try to get funding for this summer. That one came through, but there are also three that didn’t. You don’t know what’s going to stick.

BL: How did you feel as you were learning grant writing?

ZRA: It was overwhelming to figure out where to find funding. After graduate school, I knew there was National Science Foundation funding. I knew it was highly competitive. I went to a grant writing workshop before I started my tenure track position. My big takeaway was I needed to get smaller grants under my belt to show I’m getting funding and being acknowledged for my work. But it’s a hunting game. You have to do some investigative work. I often look at the CVs of scholars who are doing similar research to me. I go to the grants section. Where have they gotten money from? The only problem is sometimes pots of money disappear, but it’s a good place to start. Twitter is great as well, because folks announce when they’ve won funding. I often click on the link to see more information about the funding program. Is this something I could save for the future? Or is it outside of my areas of research? Some funding comes under different names. Sometimes it’s an “award” with a pot of money, sometimes a “fellowship,” sometimes a “grant.” I have a bookmark folder for funding including grants, scholar in residence programs, and things like that.

BL: What changed for you after submitting your first grant?

ZRA: Grants let me focus on the job market my final year of graduate school. I would have stayed in graduate school another year or two otherwise. Once I landed a job, I was able to focus on the dissertation and getting that wrapped up. It was also a change in my CV. None of the departments I interviewed in required a grant to get tenure. But it certainly did come up in my job interviews. People said, “Oh, you’ve gotten funding.” To them it was a sign that I could get more funding and bring grants to their departments. There is prestige for the university that comes with getting funding. So it’s something folks like to see at all levels of administration. They like to see folks that are landing pots of money in some form, so I think it did open up some opportunities.

Look out for Part 2 with my advice for new grant applicants!

Graduate school is full of hidden curriculum. From how to get an office to where to find sample comp exams to why to use independent study credits, there are a lot of things you won’t know about when you start and some things you won’t know to ask about. There are books you can read to get some insight on the hidden curriculum, but I want to share something I found helpful in grad school, asking questions.

I spent a lot of the first year of my PhD asking questions. In proseminar, in office hours, in staff’s offices, and with advanced grad students. (Ask my cohort mates…I got a reputation for this.) I asked questions to understand the program requirements, funding opportunities, and to feel out who I wanted to work with.

You could call what I did a form of informational interviewing. Normally informational interviews are used to gain insight into a career path. In some ways, my questions were just that: asking about how to successfully complete a PhD. But my questions were also a way to learn about the culture in the department, which faculty communicated in ways that worked for me (and which didn’t), and to get a better sense of the challenges that students often faced in the program and department that I might also face.

While I think asking questions is particularly important in the beginning of your time in grad school to make sure you understand what you’re signed up for, informational interviewing can be also be helpful to get broader information along the way. So for instance, faculty feedback on draft proposals and articles is often in response to what you have written. But behind that specific feedback is an opinion about how a proposal or article should be written. (Trust me, we all have opinions about these things!) Most faculty don’t phrase feedback like “A literature review should…” Instead they say, “Make a clearer argument in your literature review,” responding to the words you have on the page.  

You can make conversations about your specific work broader by asking questions: What does a strong literature review do in your opinion? How do you prefer to organize your data and methods section? What are the common mistakes you see in the articles you peer review? While faculty may be inclined to give specific feedback in response to your draft, you can push the conversation with these sorts of questions to figure out their broader view of what makes for a good journal article. You can apply the same technique to book writing and grant applications as you advance in your career.

Now obviously asking questions only works if you know to ask so keep an ear out for things that don’t make sense to you to follow up on.  It is more than okay to ask for clarification and more information.  Actually, it is sometimes helpful for folks to realize they’re not talking about something that is widely known.  That could be dropping an acronym, a name of a program or an office on campus, or even referencing something you haven’t read.  Having these kinds of interactions can actually inform future interactions with other students in my experience.  

One thing I found helpful in illuminating some of the things I didn’t know to ask about was talking to advanced grad students and asking faculty very open questions.  With advanced grad students, I asked what they wish they had known.  With faculty, I asked what do I need to know about the next step in this process (e.g., qualifying exams).  These kind of questions always brought up really helpful insight I wouldn’t have known to ask about directly.  

Lastly, let me end by reassuring you that part of the faculty job in programs with grad students is to advise and mentor them.  Answering questions is part of the job.  Asking questions is not being disrespectful of someone’s time in any way.  

Drafting an article for peer-review means writing, revising, and editing, but also making the decision about when it is “done” and ready for submission to peer review. So when do you know when it’s ready to submit?  When should you stop wordsmithing and click that button?  I recently saw these questions asked on Twitter, in response to which there were a number of different takes on it.  As with anything in research, there are a number of different strategies for figuring this out.  

Quick disclaimer first though: I’m going to share what I do and how I got there, but remember that there’s no one way to make this decision.  This is what I do and why, but as I discuss below, there are reasons why this may not work for you.  Keep an eye out for other conversations on the topic and figure out what works for you!

Part of the reason I came to how I approach this decision is because I tried a different way at first.  My first peer review submission was a paper that I started through my job before graduate school.  My co-author and I had written a number of drafts of a paper and gotten feedback from our team several times.  Based on advice from our colleagues, we submitted to a journal to get additional feedback and figure out how to move forward.  

This advice followed me to my PhD program where I submitted an article with two similar analyses that I couldn’t decide between with the hopes that the reviewers would help me decide.  Instead, they were confused.  Weren’t Table 3 and 4 quite similar?  Why did the authors include both?  What should the reader take from Table 3 that is distinct from Table 4?   There were no answers in the reviews, only questions.  

Using the peer-review process to get feedback to strengthen your articles is one approach to the process.  In the case of my article before grad school, it was helpful as we used a sociological framework, but only had one trained sociologist on the team.  The one thing to remember with this approach is that a journal that rejects your paper is one you cannot submit that article to again.  So the best time to use this strategy is when you have the wiggle room to sacrifice a journal from your list of potential places to submit.  If you want your article to stick at the first journal where you submit it or you need the submission to be a serious consideration, this isn’t a good strategy.  

After my second experience with submitting for feedback, I had an amazing co-authorship experience where I learned a LOT about writing a journal article and the peer-review publication process.  These two experiences pushed me to take a different approach.  For feedback, I use writing groups, friends, mentors, and conference presentations.  It means losing potential reviewers for a paper, but it helps me develop a more polished and complete paper to submit for peer-review.  To determine whether the paper is “polished” and “complete,” I look to whether I get feedback that suggests the paper is half baked in two ways: (1) my analysis and (2) the framing of the paper.  Now reviewers ALWAYS have something they want changed or added to an article, but what I’ve noticed between publishing and reviewing articles is that a critique of your methods, analysis, or interpretation of findings can be damning, leading to rejection.  But suggested changes for the framing of a paper are often seen as doable revisions and are more likely to lead to a revise and resubmit.  I assume that this is particularly true when you’ve demonstrated to the reviewers that you can implement a framing, so I focus on executing whatever framing I choose well and completely.  

Making sure my findings sections are tight and the framing well executed seems to have increased the number of papers I’ve had accepted at the first journal I’ve submitted them to, rather than the third, fifth, or seventh.  (Yes, I have papers that took that many submissions to place.)  It helps of course that I have more experience with writing journal articles and better understand their format, but my approach seems to help too.  

Now I will say there’s one kind of peer-review journal my strategy is still hit or miss for: high rejection rate journals.  Really no matter what your strategy, the likelihood of rejection is high for these journals period.  But I do think my strategy has helped me land in journals with more moderate rejection rates.  

The main critique of this approach from what I’ve seen is that reviewers are going to make you redo something, so you shouldn’t submit something that perfected.  However, this critique seems to be more about your reaction to feedback.  The only problem with submitting something polished and complete is IF you are unwilling to change the article. If you are willing to make the revisions the reviewers ask for, it doesn’t matter if what you submit is closer to “perfect.”  

Another critique is that this approach encourages authors to hold onto their work and not submit it.  This is a really valid potential drawback of the approach.  What I’ll say to that is, for me, the approach has encouraged me to slow down and not rush.  It has calmed my impatience to get articles out the door and off my plate.  Now if you naturally tend to sit on your work and not click submit, then this critique is something to be careful about.  What may help is setting boundaries on how perfect an article needs to be before you submit it.  

Or maybe there’s a third option that I haven’t thought of that you should check out?  What other approaches have you been advised on or implemented?

I’m in the first of two weeks I’m spending focused on my book project, so it seemed like an appropriate time to share something I’ve learned in working on my first book project: Writing a book is NOT like writing articles!  

This academic year, I’ve been alternating my research time between revising and rewriting my dissertation into a book manuscript and working on articles and book chapters.  During my book weeks, there’s a lot of work that is generally familiar to the research process.  I’ve been cleaning and analyzing new data sources, reading new secondary sources, reviewing new literature, and writing.  But unlike the other tasks, writing for the book has been a whole new learning process.  I know good deal about writing journal articles at this point in my career.  I even teach graduate students about it.  But writing a journal article is so different from writing a book that most of those lessons and experiences just don’t translate.  

The first, obvious difference is the tone of the writing.  Journal articles are written to engage with other experts in your field, other PhDs.  But, these days, academic books are predominately written for an undergraduate readership.  This has major implications for the style of writing: Short and simple sentences.  No complicated clauses.  Clear language.  No jargon.  No passive voice.  Define all concepts.

Writing for an undergraduate readership also means writing for a different kind of expert.  Unlike a journal article where you need to prove the rigor of your methodological approach to your reader, many of your book readers will know very little about data and analysis.  Scratch the “data and methods” chapter and sections.  In fact, put it all the way at the end in a methodological appendix for those research trained readers who want the deets.  

But the part that has really thrown me through a loop is where to engage with the literature.  Just as your main audience doesn’t need an extensive review of your methodological approach, they also don’t need an extensive review of the literature.  So what in my mind is a several page section that I prepare to write by reading a lot and taking extensive notes no longer has a specific place in the book.  There’s no literature chapter.  No multiple page section in the introduction.  Instead, literature is used strategically throughout the manuscript.  I’m still wrapping my head around this and what that means for when I do my “reading a lot and taking extensive notes,” but I’m taking a stab at it as I push forward.

What has been helpful in getting a grasp on how to tackle this new writing challenge has been doing more reading.  I’ve read as much as I can about book writing.  (Yes, you could call it a literature review.)  My current favorites are Revising Your Dissertation, an edited volume with essays written by academic press editors, and the Clockwork Muse, which covers long form writing including dissertations and books. The former does a great job of highlighting the major differences between a dissertation and a book, including what academic press editors are looking for in the books that they publish.  The latter includes guidance and examples (this part is crucial!) of the process of book writing.  

I’ve also been reading relatively recently published academic books to look for things I like (and don’t like) in the writing, format, organization, etc.  Recently, for example, I was reading a book that had vague, unclear chapter titles AND no description of the chapters in the introduction.  As someone who didn’t need to read the whole book, I was frustrated that I was forced to skim each chapter to figure out what was most relevant for my needs.  Needless to say, clear chapter titles and a description of each forthcoming chapter are on my list of “dos” for my own book manuscript.

When I find a book that does something well, it goes in my stack of exemplary books.  This includes works that match the tone and style I’m aiming for in my own book.  They’re accessibly written, but still engage with theoretical concepts and debates.  These are books like Eve Ewing’s Ghosts in the Schoolyard, Tony Jack’s The Privileged Poor, and Tressie McMillian Cottom’s Lower Ed.  

I’ve been learning a lot this year working on #ProjectFirstBook.  But there’s much more to go.