Posted on behalf of the Rookie Rocky

In the world of marketing, brands are arguably as valuable as anything else. The idea is that a distinguished brand promises the quality of service or goods that can meet the customers' expectations.

In the world of scientific research, I wonder if it’s pretty much the same. Recently, I have been struggling to get a paper published, and it seems to take more effort to satisfy the reviewers and editors than ever before, even though I wrote the paper in exactly same way as I have for many years. The message I get is: now you can breeze through the process no more. The reviewers question everything and the editors seem to be a lot more cautious about their concerns.

As a result, I’ve started wondering whether I got an easy ride under the established "brands" of my PhD and Post-Doc supervisors. Would my work have been published had I worked for myself or someone just like me - a newly independent academic? To qualify this question, I think almost all reviewers and editors, of course including those excellent ones at Nature journals, are fair. They do not judge the merit of a manuscript by whether a novice or a Nobel laureate generated it. Good papers are good no matter who wrote it, which is something I really like about science. The trick comes when a paper is not that good, nor that bad – that’s when the marketing effects may factor in. An established scientist would certainly have a strong publishing record that backs his/her credibility, which is something that rookies have to earn. It is just like we founded a start-up company, and the first thing we need to do is to familiarize potential customers with our new brand. Continuing the analogy, it is quite reasonable that people would choose to buy Coke or Pepsi rather than Rocky-Cola. That is not something we should complain about. In some ways, I feel this is rather nice as it will provide a window to aspire to higher standards: Hopefully one day I will have my own brand that compares with those of scientists I admire, and Rocky-Cola will be something that people really enjoy.

Posted by Catherine Goodman at 10:30 AM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

Posted on behalf of the Rookie Rocky

I still remember most research institutions that I interviewed with told me that my job would be 40% teaching, 40% research, and 20% service. What they did not manage to convey though, is that actually another 200% of the job for a junior faculty member goes to grant writing. A perfect example is this, the second semester in my rookie year as an assistant professor: I am off teaching duty. However, if you think I have one more free minute than last year, think again. Actually, don’t think again - I don’t have time to wait, because another grant is due tomorrow!

The reason for my long absence from the Sceptical Chymist is purely because my time is almost all caught up by non-stop grant writing, revising, re-writing, and submitting in the never-ending grant application cycle. As most starting academics do not have large amounts of external support (this may have started changing, as some lucky ones do have a significant amount), junior faculty members tend to apply for everything they can find because (1) the competition is so keen, and you never know whether your proposal might wow a particular group of reviewers, and (2) the amount of such support usually is relatively small. Thus, even if you get some grants funded, each one does not help that much in paying your bills. This results in many short proposals built on similar ideas with only slightly twisted applications or directions. On the top of that, the effort to put together even one of these small grants is extensive. I’m not sure what people with larger groups do; in a public school like mine, I have to collect over twenty different forms and files for a small grant application, including a budget, justification, CVs, letters, research plans, approvals…etc., etc. You keep navigating among ten different offices on campus and talking with people who are in charge of contracts, IP, safety, budgets... Toward the end, getting the grant out of the door becomes the only goal. Is there anything else that makes you feel better than finally sending these 100-page paperweights that you have read and modified a hundred times to someone else and making it his/her burden?

…

Well, getting a phone call saying your effort actually paid off would definitely be better. Keeping my fingers crossed...

Posted by Catherine Goodman at 06:38 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Posted on behalf of the Rookie Rocky

It seems that teaching is something that everyone is trying to get away from in a major research institution. When a young scientist freshly out of his/her training considers an academic job, one of the concerns is, “how much do I have to teach?” The common answer to this question seems to be “the less, the better”. After all, research is the foremost factor in determining how well you do in such an institution. And in most of the hard science departments, and all medical schools, the investigator's salary is dependent on research funding but hardly, if at all, on teaching.

However, I recall that in high school and college, my excellent teachers successfully woke up the little curious genie deep inside me. Thanks to them, I decided to pursue a career in science. Also, the main reason I stayed on the academic pathway is because I enjoyed teaching a lot (as a TA, tutor, etc.). Do I still like teaching now? The resounding answer is “yes, very much”. I had so much fun with my motivated, knowledge-hungry, lovely students in my first semester as a course instructor. Furthermore, I learned much about science and about life from this teaching experience.

However, if I could find some way to circumvent my teaching duty, I think I would most probably go for it.

(ed's note: Hubert and I have decided we are living in parallel universes. For our thoughts on this topic, check out our recent editorial.)

Posted by Catherine Goodman at 12:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Posted on behalf of the Rookie Rocky

Chemical biology is certainly one of the fast-growing fields these days, and has become an eye-catching term. The sheer fact that high-profile journals and departments have named or renamed themselves with this phrase demonstrates the promise and potential of this interdisciplinary study. Naturally, it is not surprising to see more and more chemical biologists emerging above the horizon. Though what does chemical biology really concern? The best answer may be "it depends”. According to my humble understanding, it could cover anything that is relevant to chemistry and/or biology. However, sometimes, the categorization may affect your career development to some extent - especially to a person who just launched his/her career, this explanation becomes rather crucial. The culture of chemistry is distinct from the one of biology: in chemistry, new investigators tend to start in a different field from their previous work, while many biologists carry on projects started with former senior co-workers. What are you supposed to do if you feel that you are standing right on the borderline? To modernize Hamlet a bit: "To study chemistry or biology, that is the question." Again, the best answer may be "it depends”. It certainly depends on the people on your tenure committee, the journals to which you send your manuscripts, and the study groups that review your grants. Just like many things in life, being vague might not be a bad strategy.

(ed’s note: we at Nature Chemical Biology have also thought about these issues. Check out this editorial for more.)

Posted by Catherine Goodman at 10:22 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

[Editor's note: another guest blogger has joined our team... this is Hubert, facing the challenges of a new professorship]

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Posted on behalf of Hubert:

For years, I went straight to a seat in the third or the fourth row in a seminar room because if I sat too far in the back, my imperfect eyesight caused me trouble, while the first one or two rows were usually reserved for the faculty members: Although there obviously aren’t assigned seats, professors do usually sit in the front of the audience, sort of like a first-/business-class arrangement in an airplane. To actually sit in a “business-class” seat as a brand new assistant professor along with my colleagues, including a number of National Academy of Sciences members, brought me a mixture of feelings, including a thrill of excitement, needless to say, and a lot of pressure: Now, even a boring seminar won’t be a good chance to doze off! You are under much closer watch by the seminar speaker, by the students and post-docs behind you, and of course by yourself. You have the feeling that you really need to learn more in order to match this higher expectation that everyone has of you. You are supposed to ask smart questions, to understand those “smart answers”, and maybe sometimes, give clever comments even when the topic is way over your head; in short, you are now supposed to walk on water in a seminar room (behold the rookie professor)! I guess this might be the price you have to pay in order to ride as a business-class passenger.

Posted by Catherine Goodman at 03:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)