The realities
of the tenure clock can result in enormous pressure on faculty no matter what
the circumstances of a particular person or institution. There is no one-size-fits-all model for
succeeding in a tenure-track position.
Sometimes the department, college, and university expectations for
tenure and promotion are clearly communicated. Often, they are not. Even when
you know what’s expected for tenure, the timeframe can be tight and
nerve-wrecking. And even when you have
met the requirements, a certain anxiety creeps in and seems unavoidable. This post explains my journey to tenure and
promotion. Tomorrow’s post will then conclude with a few thoughts about life on
the “other side” as a tenured associate professor (spoiler alert: it doesn’t
get easier, but it does get better!).
In my previous post, I explained how I turned in my initial book submission in late May
2014, two weeks before my son’s arrival.
Sending in my manuscript meant I had the first several months of my
son’s life free from research to focus on my baby. When I received my initial
readers’ reports that November, I slowly returned to writing and revising. See my earlier
post on balancing feedback for more on those initial reports and
incorporating their suggestions.
Fitting in
my revisions around teaching three classes and caring for two young children
was no small challenge. It took me nine
months to complete what I hoped would be the last round of revisions. I sent the revised manuscript to the press the
day before starting class in fall 2015. [You
might be noticing a pattern of how deadlines usually work for me.]
Late in
the fall of 2015, I received two new reports on the revised manuscript from my initial
readers, Martha Jones and reader #2.
These reports were probably the hardest set of feedback I received
because it meant that my book required additional, substantial revisions. The
ticking of my tenure clock grew louder.
I never believed the book was perfect.
But I had hoped that any additional suggestions from my second reader would
include a recommendation that it be published.
Instead, my editor indicated that the book would be sent to a third
reader to determine its fate. If the third reader recommended publication, I
would be good and my tenure application in fall 2016 should be safe. After many
years of working of research and writing, it felt like so much was riding on
what one person thought of the book.
Martha
Jones, who identified herself to me at this point in the process (and gave me
permission to name her in these posts), continued to recommend publication. But
she challenged me on chronology, in particular.
She warned that using a thematic structure for the book obscured a sense
of change over time in the St. Louis freedom suits. She also pushed me to
define my place in the historiography. I
knew that tracing change is important for a historian, but by this point in my
revision, I felt wedded to the thematic structure of the book. In my view, the
St. Louis freedom suits did not lend themselves to a simple chronological
organization. The cases began with smaller numbers that increased rapidly by
the mid-1820s and then dropped off sharply after 1845. From the mid-1820s until
the mid-1840s, a similar set of issues came up in court and resulted in similar
overall patterns of outcomes. To help address her concern, I resolved to make
these periods of chronological change clearer in the revisions.
I was less
sure how to respond to the feedback I received from reader #2. The second reader remained frustrated with
the appellate material I included in the book despite my efforts to trim it
down and explain its place. Given that I
argue for the importance of using local court records, I understand this reader’s
frustration with my use of appellate cases for context. I made the decision to use appellate cases mostly
for practical reasons. The tenure
deadline meant that I simply did not have time to complete additional
large-scale research in local courts across the slaveholding states. Until additional local studies of freedom
suits are published, the appellate material remains the best way to contextualize
St. Louis’s story. The second reader
also had concerns about my use of the term “legal culture,” asking me to
clarify further not only what legal culture is, but also what it is not. These comments reminded me that legal culture
cannot be everything or the term had no meaning. I then crafted a more precise definition that
made clear what I meant by using the term “legal culture”.
Reading
back through the manuscript with these critiques in hand, I felt the creep of
self-doubt and discouragement. I knew
the second reader was right about both of these issues, but I was unsure how to
fix them. My editor cautioned me against
making too many changes while waiting for the third reader’s report. Because so
much was riding on the third reader’s evaluation, the editor sought out someone
who had time to read the manuscript quickly. A swift response would allow me
time for further revisions or, in the worst-case scenario, submitting to another
press. I was panic-stricken while
waiting for the third report. I had sleepless nights and anxiety-ridden days. [Post continues after the jump break.]
Thinking
about how the process unfolded for me, I feel fortunate that my institution
allowed some flexibility with the timeline for tenure. (Auburn allows extensions on the tenure clock
for a number of situations, not only for having a child. Even institutions that do not grant family
leave often have some sort of policy in place for extending the tenure deadline
with a major life event.) I did have to
take the step of affirmatively applying for extra time—which I did. I received two years’ extension of my tenure
clock (one year for each child). At the
time of my first application for that extension, I never thought I would need
the extra time. I underestimated how much revising I would need to do. Waiting
on the third reader’s evaluation, I realized how important taking those extra
years could be.
I was also
very fortunate to have a research leave semester in spring 2016. I had planned to use my leave semester to
begin another article project and start thinking about my next book idea. Neither of those plans happened that semester. When the third readers’ report arrived, I
knew that I would be using all of my leave time to finish the book. My third
reader recommended publication, but the report also included a long list of strong
suggestions. I hoped my editor would
recommend publication and take the project to the Press board for final
approval, but he asked me to make one final push to address reader #3’s
concerns. I am grateful for this last
set of revisions (and for reader #3!).
When I
initially read the reader’s suggestions—for example, improving the “narrative
drive” of the manuscript—I felt lost about how to implement them. None of the critiques struck me as unfair or
incorrect, but I struggled to figure out how to put broad ideas like narrative
drive into an increasingly polished (or so I thought!) manuscript. I once again sought advice from trusted
advisors and colleagues, and, after developing a plan of action, I scheduled a
phone conversation with my editor. In
that phone call, I pitched to him a list of specific ways I intended to address
the reader’s concerns. For example, to
improve the flow of the narrative and the readability of the book, I agreed to
include brief anecdotes to start each chapter.
I also cut all of my chapter’s conclusions because they tended to repeat
what I’d already said throughout the chapter before transitioning to the next
chapter. I tightened the argument and
set up for the book in the introduction, cleaned up some of the wordiness
throughout the chapters, and wrote yet another draft of a book conclusion. It was tough to cut so many of those
hard-fought words from the book, but in the end, I know they made the book
stronger.
I turned
the final manuscript in to the Press after a couple of months of full-time
revising. And then I waited. I felt fairly confident after my discussion with
the editor that the book would eventually be accepted. Now I worried about the
timing for tenure. If I could submit the final manuscript by May, I could go up
for tenure the following year. If not, I
would be bumped into that last year of my twice-extended tenure clock. I
continued to fine-tune the manuscript and add final pieces of historiography to
the footnotes while I waited to hear from my editor.
I think I
will always remember the exact moment I got my editor’s email that the Press
Board had approved my book for publication. I was walking back to my office hallway
(which we affectionately call “the cul-de-sac”) with a colleague, and I heard
the familiar ding of my email. I glanced
at it while we were talking (I know, I should stop doing that). I started jumping up and down, and she
immediately did too. It was a good day. All of the hard work, the late nights, and
the multiple rounds of major revisions were worth it.
Tomorrow I
will conclude my month at LHB with a few final thoughts on post-tenure life.
