Minor Revisions: the meaning behind the title

I have 7 publications. I guess depending on your field, that can seem fantastic, average or not so great. Since 2 of my 3 first author papers remain under review, I continue to log in to submission pages and hope that the review process is moving along smoothly. And when I get the email – the one with decision in the subject line, I take a moment to inhale, hold my breath for a moment, and then exhale whispering “minor revisions, minor revisions, minor revisions.”

I’ve been around long enough to know that no community is reading of scientific work and saying “yes! Print this as is! To touch it would be to alter a masterpiece!” There’s always something, and if anyone has ever received a total acceptance – no changes at all – I’d really like to hear about it. Send an email or leave a comment. You’ll change my life.

But to complete a request for minor revisions is to change some wording, add additional explanation – generally quick, easy fixes that clarify your work. Major revisions – well, that’s worse. It’s still positive – you found a journal that’s interested, but you need to head back to the project you thought you’d left behind and do some serious work. Restructure, add data, explain something completely differently than your original attempt.

Worse yet, and I have more experience here than I care to detail, is the outright rejection. I’ve most often received detailed critiques, the kindest ones contain encouragement and positive points on which to expand. The others, if you aimed too high in your selection of journals or wrote a paper that the reviewers, for whatever reason, hated, just send a short note – rejected, but please think of us for your future publishing needs.

So I wanted to go over my papers – the stories, the status and how they came to be. Plus, then if I’m crushed by yet another rejection, I can tell you about it and maybe elicit some sympathy. But I’ll talk about those last.

This will give me another series post, which I like. First, it encourages repeat visitors. And when I see people who have returned on my site meter (which if you know anything about me, you know I love that little counter!), it makes me happy. That you found something that made you want to return is a big deal to me.

Second, sometimes I’m not sure what to write about. Someone told me that the first 100 posts on a blog tended to be a little less than brilliant. Since then, I’ve relaxed – written just to write, and forgive myself for any lack of insight or helpful information because until I get to 100, I’m still practicing. Getting used to forming thoughts and connecting experiences. But these series posts give me topics for a couple days. And it’s nice to have something to write about when very little is going on at work right now.

The first one’s free
Paper 1 came from my summer research experience before my senior year of undergrad. I worked hard – came in really early, toiled over weekends, read the same textbook until I almost had it memorized as I desperately tried to understand concepts for which I had no background.

My effort was duly noted though. My summer advisor decided that we would publish the results and that I would be first author on the paper. Though I didn’t know it then, it was a generous gesture for 8 weeks of work. I wrote the paper – spotty introduction taken largely from my textbook knowledge and review papers, methods, results, and a few paragraphs of discussion. I didn’t really know what we had, to be honest.

It took 3 years to publish the sucker. I’m not sure how many journals they went through, but they continued to revise. Waited on more results that would make the climate more friendly for our work. They took rejection in stride – when I would send email to check progress, my summer advisor would tell me that they were doing more reading, getting more reviews, working through some interpretation problems.

I was impatient – wanting to get that publication on my CV for grad school, then fellowship applications. But they waited – the 2 professors in engineering. Kept it in mind, but allowed themselves time to process. Moved past the irritation at reviews that are incorrect – a result of reading too quickly or misunderstanding a point that should have been clear – to gather the valuable information that would improve the paper. And they were successful – publishing in a good journal and proudly sending me 5 reprints and a congratulatory note.

I got spoiled – they liked me, thought I did a good job, and endeavored to help me and my career through this publication. As I read through this paper, words that aren’t mine for the most part, I find snippets of my original text – a few sentences in the introduction, several paragraphs of the methods, the graphs in the results. The work that made the paper – the reading, the rewrites, the mulling over ideas, discarding some, keeping precious few. Fighting for some interpretations – sending letters to the editors seeking additional consideration, abandoning others that may be right, but constitute only speculation. I didn’t do any of that – was physically separate from the process by virtue of being 200 miles away finishing undergrad.

It was a gift – a summer experience made successful through sacrifice of graduate students who trained me, helped me solve problems, and answered questions over the reading. Then a paper that was carefully tended to in my absence, and eventually brought to print. It sits first on my CV under Peer Reviewed Publications. And what I think of when I see it is what academia can be. A place where confidence is built, people are welcomed and taught, and hard work is rewarded. I think of how I need to help other people – sometimes padding my own CV is less valuable to the community than spending some time editing abstracts for younger students. Giving them the knowledge that sometimes the educational system is about learning, not just pride, publications, and funding opportunities.