A few weeks ago, fellow bloggers discussed their dissertation experiences. Since Steve got picked up by IHE, I’ll just link to him. I’ve been fortunate to see my experience go from writing the dissertation, to doing revisions, to getting the much prized book contract. None of this was easy. In the spirit of my colleagues, I’ll offer a brief breakdown of that process as it worked for me.

The topic: For the two years I’ve been at Wayne, this part of the process I’ve tried to share with students wondering what to write about. It can be the most frustrating when you are trying to “break into” the field or address its concerns in a novel way - novel enough to get noticed by search committees and taken seriously. I didn’t find my topic because of my director’s interests or because of a keyword I heard frequently thrown around (”community,” “liberation,” “resistance,” “computing”). I came to it via the method I often use now for invention purposes: the pattern. In my readings, I discovered a pattern. That pattern - 1963 - began with Stephen North’s The Making of Knowledge in Composition, was picked up in several others in composition studies, but became “meaningful” when I noticed it in several other areas as well (technology, cultural studies, visual writing). I mentioned the pattern and idea to my director, who pointed me to Eric Havelock’s The Muse Learns to Write. Havelock, too, had found interest in the pattern. But for reasons different than my own. My pattern and his, though, could be joined. From this pattern, I had something to expand upon and develop into an issue I felt was relevant to my field.

The Process: I have no problem being a self-starter. Still, I realized quickly that course work could be used to advance my thinking about this topic. Without making courses bend to my topic, I was able to use seminar papers to flesh out ideas. Some of those ideas made it into the diss. And I wrote. My method was math (my worst subject). If I write - on average - a page a day, and if the dissertation will be approximately 250 pages, then I need 250 days to finish. Less than one year. I finished in one year.

The Revision: Here’s where I screwed up. Like many ambitious, new assistant professors, I wanted a book contract quickly. So I did half-ass revisions and sent the manuscript out too fast. The first rejection - which missed the point of the project - was correct in noting that the manuscript was nowhere near ready. The second rejection didn’t even send it out. Back to the drawing board. I let the manuscript sit for awhile. Didn’t think about it. Didn’t touch it. Worked on other essays. Turned some of the manuscript into publishable essays. The second round of sending out proposals turned up new kinds of rejections: Our plates are full and we are not publishing new books for some time. A chance encounter at a conference with an editor led to a resubmission to one of those presses. As the press gave me another look, I went back to revisions and saw the project entirely new. New organization. New content. New research. In some ways, a new project. I was better informed of the work at this point (more experience publishing essays), and I had created enough distance to re-see my project. As reader reviews came in, I took advice seriously and kept re-working the text. Eventually, I got my prize.

I’ve noted on other folks’ blogs that my director’s advice for writing the dissertation was: “it’s a practice book.” He was right. While I wanted the dissertation to be “good,” I understood even then that it wouldn’t be “good” in the sense of a published book. That took stress off the process. But it was practice as well in that it allowed me the opportunity to develop a complex idea, engage in research in a complex way, attempt to map out a complicated argument, attempt to work in both critique and proposal, etc. The other place I had done this was the Masters Thesis. Looking back, I realize that the thesis was terrible. But it doesn’t matter. As a text, it fails. As part of the process of learning to write academically, it was a success. I began the process of juxtaposing positions that seem too far fetched to go together (Vygotsky, Krazy Kat, and hypertext) - a process I still use today - and worked on the pedagogical proposals that are now natural for me to conceptualize and theorize. It doesn’t matter that the thesis’ particular proposal is silly. The process is what I learned. Having a director who understood the benefits of doing that kind of work also helped.

I note that final point because of too many proposals I see now that are trying to save the world, reform pedagogy, conquer the field, solve all our problems, when the odds that this one text, this practice book, will do that is slim to none. Writing a diss, like a writing a blog, an essay, an idea, is the process of working through concepts as well as the process of learning academic writing. The analogy can be found in first year writing. Those who marvel and make fun of 18 and 19 year olds learning, for the first time, how to put thought to computer screen or paper should remember that these students are learning the process first. Those who sit down to put academic thoughts to computer screen or paper are doing the same - but for the academic audience. Each process takes time and won’t reach its potential in 16 weeks or  - for academics - even four years.