It took far longer to get my first book to publication than I ever thought it would. It began as my dissertation, completed in 2005. The next year I began a tenure-track position at a small liberal arts college with a 3:3 teaching load and fairly heavy service and advising expectations. The year after that, my oldest child was diagnosed with both a disability and a chronic illness.
His conditions entailed regular visits to medical specialists and therapists, some up to two hundred miles away; when at home, he required direct supervision at all times. When time allowed, I worked on the major revisions the manuscript required. Extended or multiple visits to archives were simply not a possibility, as he needed specialized care and could not be left. I would have to make the most of the material I had (and fortunately, I had quite a bit). I lost one entire summer to recovery from emergency surgery.
Finally, after six years, I had a fully revised draft ready to submit to a press who had expressed interest. They sent it to readers, who returned thorough reviews which, while supportive, recommended substantive revisions. These were entirely fair, and I probably could have completed them in a year, under normal circumstances. However, my son's illness had just progressed from chronic to acute, and I decided I needed to focus all my energies on helping him.
That situation was so overwhelming for the next few years that I had no thoughts or energy to spare for the manuscript. I didn't even look at it, in fact. But as my son slowly started to recover, I began to think about giving it another try. I got back in touch with the press, and we agreed that it probably wouldn't work to proceed with them anymore. Nonetheless, I tackled revisions in a serious way and began thinking about where else a good fit for the manuscript might be. And thanks to an editor, readers, indexer, copyeditor, and countless others willing to work through the exigencies of pandemic publishing, the book is now in print. More importantly, my son is doing well.
I share my story not for sympathy or because I think it's unique--but because I recognize that these sorts of experiences are becoming all too common in the age of Covid and Long Covid. So many academics, especially caregivers, are seeing their work goals recede into the distance as they try to be the safety net that our society and institutions fails to provide.
Many, particularly contingent and untenured faculty, are feeling anxious about how their caregiving responsibilities have affected, and continue to affect, their scholarly productivity. And they don't feel they can acknowledge their situation--I certainly have not, before now. I would like to normalize talking about some of the challenges we are facing. I'd also like to encourage those of us with tenure to be more creative in thinking about how to extend greater flexibility and support to our colleagues.
N.B.: I've attached labels to this post such as "Publishing advice" and "Research tips," which are quite misleading. Nothing here should be construed as advice or tips, as I do not recommend this path if you can at all avoid it. But I did want to assure anyone else who might be sharing a common experience that you are not alone.
--Kristin A. Olbertson
