Publish Not Perish

The Consistent Writer Is Not the One Who Never Gets Sidetracked | Ep. 42

Most of us are carrying around a definition of consistency that is quietly working against us. The image that forms when I say the word to the academics I coach is almost always the same: the writer who rises at 5am, never misses a session, has color-coded their calendar down to the fifteen-minute block, and produces words every single day through sheer discipline. It’s the ideal image of the productive scholar. In this episode, I want to gently dismantle that image, because I don’t think it is consistency at all. I think it is a fantasy. And I think most of us have spent a significant amount of time feeling like failures in relation to a standard that was never real to begin with. My definition of consistency, arrived at after years of coaching writers and also after years of being a writer who has stared at a blank document wondering how I ended up there again, is this: Consistency is not sticking to a writing routine perfectly and never getting off track. It is the commitment to return as soon as you can. That distinction matters more than it might seem at first. I spend time in this episode on the difference between avoidance disguised as busyness and genuine overwhelm that requires triage, because those two things feel different from the inside, even when they look similar from the outside. I also return to a metaphor I find myself coming back to again and again with clients: the meditation analogy. A meditation practice is not about achieving uninterrupted focus. It is about noticing when your mind has wandered and bringing it back, without drama, without self-flagellation. Writing consistency works the same way. Returning to your desk after three weeks away carrying a backpack full of shame is not actually productive. The punishment is just another obstacle between you and the sentence. What I most want you to take from this episode is permission to come back without the accumulated weight of the time you were away. The practices and the structure still matter. And the interruption is not a failure; it is just an interruption. Regardless of the detour, the destination was always there. Get full access to Publish Not Perish at www.publishnotperish.net/subscribe [https://www.publishnotperish.net/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_4]

Peer Review Is Not a Verdict | Ep. 41

There is a version of peer review preparation that looks more like fortification. You revise and revise, patch every gap you can anticipate, and submit hoping that reviewers will find nothing to critique. And, believe me, I understand that impulse completely. When your book is bound up with tenure, promotion, years of accumulated work, and your sense of whether you actually belong in this field, critique can stop feeling like feedback and start feeling like a verdict. But peer review was never designed to tell you whether you are a real scholar or whether your project deserved to exist. It is diagnostic. It shows what is working, what has not yet come clear on the page, and what the project might need in order to become what it is trying to be. In this episode, I also get into something harder: how to work with feedback that feels frustrating, unfair, or even hostile, without either collapsing under it or dismissing it out of hand. Not every reviewer is right. Not every suggestion should be followed. But even a poorly framed or seemingly off-base comment can sometimes be pointing at something real—a problem of scope, audience, framing, or significance that the reviewer couldn’t quite name, but you, once you stop wincing, might be able to see. The approach I want to emphasize here is about treating reviewer feedback as information rather than punishment, so you can sort through it with more steadiness and judgment than the first raw read usually allows. In the end, the goal of peer review is to come through it with a clearer, stronger, more intentional book—and with a little more trust in your own capacity to receive hard things and keep writing anyway. Get full access to Publish Not Perish at www.publishnotperish.net/subscribe [https://www.publishnotperish.net/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_4]

Why Your Book's “So What” Feels So Vulnerable | Ep. 40

Most of us know our work needs a strong significance claim, but actually writing one can feel surprisingly difficult. I doubt that’s simply because writers don’t understand their projects. Often, it’s because we’ve been trained as scholars to be careful, qualified, and intellectually humble, while the “so what” asks us to do something much more exposed: to say, clearly and confidently, that our work matters. In today’s episode, I’ll walk through why significance often crystallizes late in the writing process, why vagueness can feel protective, and how to think about the “so what” as something your book makes possible rather than just a gap it fills. My hope is that this episode helps you stop treating an elusive significance claim as evidence that something is wrong with your project. Sometimes the "so what" is already there, threaded through the work, waiting for you to see it clearly enough to name it and feel confident enough to claim it. Get full access to Publish Not Perish at www.publishnotperish.net/subscribe [https://www.publishnotperish.net/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_4]

What Lifting Heavy Things Taught Me About Writing | Ep. 39

In today’s episode, I’m reflecting on what a year of lifting heavy weights has taught me about writing. When I first started working with genuinely heavy weights, I realized that the hard part was not only physical. My brain often told me to stop before my body had actually reached its limit. That experience in the gym has an uncanny resemblance to the moment in writing when an argument gets difficult, the structure will not quite settle, and suddenly email, footnotes, or “just a little more reading” starts to look very appealing. I talk about the difference between real rest and avoidance and why both matter for academic writers. Rest is essential and it is part of how growth happens. But sometimes what looks like rest is actually a retreat from the intellectual discomfort that makes our work stronger. I also reflect on consistency, not as writing every day or meeting some punishing productivity standard, but as the practice of returning to the gym, to the page, and to the hard thing that slowly builds progress over time. All of this is to say that you can do hard things, and it is the act of doing those hard things that makes the magic happen. Related Content https://www.publishnotperish.net/p/writing-should-be-hard?utm_source=publication-search [https://www.publishnotperish.net/p/writing-should-be-hard?utm_source=publication-search] https://www.publishnotperish.net/p/sticking-with-your-writing-when-the?utm_source=publication-search [https://www.publishnotperish.net/p/sticking-with-your-writing-when-the?utm_source=publication-search] Get full access to Publish Not Perish at www.publishnotperish.net/subscribe [https://www.publishnotperish.net/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_4]

You Don’t Have to Start with an Outline Either | Ep. 38

In my newsletter this week, I explained why I almost never start any sort of writing project with an outline. It’s simply because I’m much more of an explorer-writer than an architect-writer: I usually need to move through the material before I can see the structure. Architect-writers begin with the blueprint, the chapter map, and the planned sequence of ideas. Explorer-writers need to write fragments, follow associations, talk through examples, or spend time with one part of the project before the larger argument becomes visible. You can read more about the distinctions I’m making here: If you’re an explorer-writer too, common academic writing advice can make you feel like you’re doing everything wrong, especially when that advice begins and ends with “make an outline.” But struggling to outline at the beginning doesn’t necessarily mean you’re avoiding the work, lacking structure, or failing as a writer. It may mean that writing is how you discover the argument before you can organize it. In this episode, I discuss a method for still producing structured academic prose without beginning with an outline. Academic writing still needs to become generous to the reader. Your reader needs a path through the problem, the evidence, the intervention, and the stakes. But the process that helps you find the argument is not always the same as the structure that helps someone else follow it. So, I walk through a more useful process for explorer-writers: start where there is traction, write to discover, harvest what appears, cluster before sequencing, name the emerging argument, build the reader’s path, and use a reverse outline to refine the structure. You don’t have to begin as the architect. You can instead begin as the explorer, learning the shape of the terrain as you go. Get full access to Publish Not Perish at www.publishnotperish.net/subscribe [https://www.publishnotperish.net/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_4]