F You, Reviewer 2

Yesterday? Blitzen washes his hands of the whole experience. My mood deteriorated so rapidly and completely that I
1. Had a dinner comprised of a half dozen Christmas cookies and didn’t even consider exercise.
2. Abandoned work on the grant or project X in favor or poring over new reviews and cursing this reviewer.
3. Didn’t start Lamott and tossed Tuesdays with Morrie aside to focus on the rage at my paper.
4. “For the love of all that’s holy, if you don’t stop making that freaking whistling noise, I’m going to have to hurt you!” was directed – at shouting level – toward my father when he was playing with a balloon/whistle device he’d made while I was trying to read/curse the comments on my paper.

But perhaps we should start at the beginning.

I woke yesterday morning after hearing Mom instruct the Little One to check on my sleeping status for the 3rd time. I’d hear tiny feet move down the hallway, step lightly into the back bedroom and look upon my closed eyes. Then she would scamper down the hallway to announce, “Still sleeping!”

On the third trip, Mom came with her. “Katie,” she said gently, “Little One would like to open a present from you. Would you like to get up? We have coffee.”

So I blinked my eyes open, having been waking up for the past 30 minutes, and rolled out of the daybed, onto the trundle that sits beside it, then contorted myself so I could leave the tiny room without stepping on luggage, clothes or other random items.

“Which present are you going to open?” I asked around a yawn as I arrived in the living room. Little One pointed at the large box wrapped in blue snowman paper. It had been moved away from the tree to the center of the floor.

“Do you know what it is?” Mom asked me, and I nodded. It was my favorite of all the gifts I’d transported home, so I was pleased it had been selected for early opening. It made it more special.

“What do you think it is?” I asked Little One.

“Toys.” She responded promptly, and observed the box once again, making no move to open it.

“Would you like me to help?” I asked, so she picked up the box, pronounced it “heavy” and set it next to me on the couch. Then we looked at it together.

“Let’s tear this end open.” I suggested.

“OK.” She replied and we gently pulled the paper from the box. After making sure every bit of paper and tape was removed, she allowed me to help her open the lid to reveal stuffed toys of Blue, Periwinkle and Magenta, two books about Blue and a box set of Dora DVDs.

I did well. She was very pleased.

“Hey, Little One,” I said as we watched the first DVD about the land of lost toys (Dora sought her teddy bear, Boots found his blanket.), “how’d you get them to let you open something early?”

She shrugged, but Mom sent Dad after a new microwave – a snazzy model in stainless steel that monitors the steam levels to adjust warming times. She didn’t know how to wrap it, Mom said, so it was just as well to open it now. I was suitably impressed and grateful and stored it carefully in my trunk.

So pleased was I – no cookies eaten and a walk taken – that I decided to check my email and read some blog entries. There’s only so much Dora I can take without some break, so a brief respite seemed in order.

When I glanced at my mailbox – work email goes somewhere different than does blog, online orders and some personal correspondence – my stomach clenched warningly when I saw a notice from the journal still reviewing my last graduate paper. Journals are – for me – the bearers of bad news for the most part. But I’d been confident about this particular paper! We’d revised it three times for this journal already and I felt that by answering every single point for the last two critiques, we were on our way to publication. I’d even bragged to Friend about what a good paper it was! I was learning to write!

I felt sick as I read the tentative acceptance stood, but that major revisions were still required. I read the general comments – unnecessarily harsh – and put it away, near tears. I walked to the living room, my current despondence even more painful in its contrast from my former cheer – and flopped on the couch.

It’s not fair! I thought. To get this far, then to start hearing the same complaints I addressed in the initial review! It’s the same comments, just offered months later! Then I swore. A lot. But all internally.

It wasn’t good.

Much as I’d like to say I refocused my energies and recovered, I didn’t. I am, however, better today. Church was lovely this morning. I sighed at the organ and the sanctuary that was resplendent in deep green wreaths and bright red bows and poinsettias. I tucked my arm though Mom’s when we sang Joy to the World. I nodded along at the message that Christmas is a time of such intense happiness and laughter, but is sometimes overshadowed by stress and tension.

Last night, I tucked myself into the corner of the couch in the darkened toy room. It’s where I currently sit, actually. But the laptop and I went over the specific comments, removed some of the harshest “I’ve told you this already! Why don’t you listen?!” statements from my general responses and made serious progress on this latest revision.

After hours of recreating figures, checking facts, deleting text I like and adding paragraphs that aren’t nearly as relevant, I went back to the initial comment sheet I received.

There were 2 initial reviewers. I liked Reviewer 1 – he was constructive and encouraging. I believe subsequent revisions were directed to him. Reviewer 2 was an asshole. He just didn’t like the paper. Now, that’s OK. There are some flaws with the study and if you ask it to be something it’s not (a validation study instead of an illustration of methodologies), you’re going to be disappointed. And he is – bitterly, cruelly disappointed.

I think Reviewer 1 was finally satisfied with the state of the paper upon its last submission, perhaps feeling that we’d jumped through enough hoops and provided adequate effort to address his concerns. I then believe Reviewer 2 got it back, probably said, “They’re going to publish this crap?!” and set about ripping it to shreds. He fell back upon his original comments – one of which (the major one) I can’t really address. We don’t have the data he wants. I can’t get it. And if that’s a deal breaker, they should have rejected from the first submission because I was clear in my initial responses that I couldn’t provide the study Reviewer 2 wanted to see. I do, however, think what we have is very worthwhile.

Once I got past that particular point, there were several areas (16, actually) where Reviewer 2 had points of varying validity. I’m taking out a section I’ve fought to keep in so far – I’m just too tired and I don’t care that much anymore. I’m changing 3 of the 6 figures, but I’m content with how they’ll look. I have several more sections to add and a couple of comments I don’t really understand, but I can address each of the specific requests. So I feel better about it.

Not good. But better.

But Reviewer 2 almost ruined Christmas, so I wrinkle my nose at him in distaste.

As for today, things are calmer. Mom and I have prepared much of the food for Christmas Eve, all of the presents are wrapped and I’m considering a nap before continuing work on my paper. I’m hoping to wrap it up (or as much as I can) today, then moving on to the grant. It’s excruciatingly frustrating, but it’s what I do.

And Blitzen can get back on track tomorrow, I think.

Since I didn't publish this earlier (napping got in the way), I can note that Christmas Eve was lovely - full of food and games and laughter. It wasn't perfect, but it was very good. I haven't attended to the revisions yet today, but I think I'll charge the laptop and do that tonight. It seems wrong somehow - that I'm going to be up late tending to a paper that appears to be on the naughty list instead of eagerly awaiting morning myself or watching a child bounce in anticipation for Santa's arrival.

But I like Christmas. I'll pout over other holidays, but I'll battle myself for joy on this one.