why re-post the old stuff?

Just because!

I started this site in 2013 as a blog about interactions between women and men and Academia. Then I started writing a book, and after that I wrote another book, and I was all like Pshh-shaw, who out there wants to read that old stuff? So I took the blog posts down and advertised that the site was “under construction” for about three years. Now, three years later, I’m all like Pshh-shaw, maybe somebody out there does want to read that old stuff. So I put the posts back up and advertised them as “my other stuff.” Life is a rollercoaster! Who knows what will happen next?

My old stuff generally falls into two categories: unsolicited advice and general unbosoming. They are exactly as useful as their monikers imply! Oh, yes, and there’s also information about why my blog doesn’t allow for comments.

Upon Losing Spock Last Friday

I remember the first time that Spock died. It was 1982 and I was a teenager. My brothers and I gasped as his coffin was shot into orbit during the final scene of The Wrath of Khan. Like most fans, we left the movie theater in shock, but also incredulous. They wouldn’t kill off Spock, would they? The fact that director Nicholas Meyer even dared to experiment with such an idea felt like a dangerous betrayal. As fans, we endured two full years of wondering whether the loss would stick.

Leonard Nimoy knew us well. It was he who directed the sequel to the above, released in 1984: one-hundred and five full minutes of The Search for Spock. Kirk and the rest of his crew, feeling as we did, stole the Enterprise from spacedock and risked everything to bring Spock back to us. They succeeded, we all forgave Paramount, and Spock was with us on the big screen for twenty-eight more years. No, the all-powerful Hollywood with its million-dollar special effects couldn’t kill off Spock. Indeed, in the end it was nothing less than God himself that could take Spock away from us.

Spock was such a popular character that Star Trek waited twenty-six years and 354 episodes before it tried to put another Vulcan on the bridge. In 1995, we met Tuvok (Captain Janeway’s head security officer) and eventually came to love him, though we never regarded him with quite the reverence in which we held Spock. And after all, even hard-core Trekkies like me will acknowledge reluctantly that the show was, in fact, fictional. Just like with The Brady Bunch and Gilligan’s Island and I Love Lucy and almost everything else on television in the 1960s, we knew that the Enterprise and her crew weren’t real. But there was something about Star Trek that seemed so tantalizingly possible that it became to us a vision of the world that we wanted.

Spock is the scientist that I thought I would become. Maybe I wouldn’t look like the rest of the team, or even act like them, but everyone would still believe my solutions. Maybe I didn’t have big muscles and couldn’t fight anyway, but I would still get to go along on every mission, and once in a while it would be me who would save the day. This is not what I became. Spock is also the scientist that I thought I would meet. Someone who would listen more than talk, and be detached and objective. Someone who could set aside ego and emotion in order to focus more clearly on Why. A teacher or colleague who wanted to touch me, but only to transfer information back and forth from my mind. This is not who I met. Instead, I think that Spock’s world is closer to the version of Science that I am still hoping to create. A world where we work with engineers and communicators and doctors and leaders and their security forces not as consultants, but as companions – valued, trusted, forgiven and understood. But most importantly, a world of Science with a place right up front for those who are different. I finally understand why Star Trek was set in 2260 and not any nearer.

Who hasn’t wanted to reach into the grave and pull someone back? To make them understand the full magnitude of how they were loved, and to beg for their blessing one last time? A whole generation of scientists is grieving today, but mostly we will say nothing. We will go to our microscopes, to our telescopes, to our computers and laboratories while nursing a quiet ache. We will mostly not cry. But as Tuvok the Vulcan once said, “Do not mistake composure for ease.” Condole with us anyway. We are realizing that our adolescent adoration of Spock never left us because it was our very first experiment in loving ourselves.

Goodbye Spock. Even a Vulcan who lives for hundreds of years can die too young. Goodbye Leonard Nimoy. I daresay you were loved far more than you knew.

An Open Letter from Your Kid’s College Professor

It’s Finals Week and academia’s annual Festival-of-Regret has officially begun! I am celebrating this year by finally writing the letter to my students’ parents that I wish I had written a long time ago, in the hopes that it might do someone some good. Within it, I’ll employ the feminine pronoun “she” liberally, but all my advice applies to the parents of any student. Incidentally, the enrollment of US colleges has been more than 50% female since the 1980s. Just sayin’.

An Open Letter from Your Kid’s College Professor

Hi there. We haven’t formally met, but I get paid to hang out with your kid. Chances are, you’re paying a sh*tload for the favor, and although shockingly little of it goes to me, I care more than you might think. You see, this ain’t my first ride on the finals ferris wheel. I’ve been in this job for twenty years; I’ve seen students both succeed and fail, often simultaneously and sometimes spectacularly. Ages 18-22 represent an interesting stage of human development. Just like with the earlier stages, there are milestones that are naturally passed during healthy development: between ages 0-1 a child learns to crawl, and so on. During young adulthood a child must take important steps towards self-sufficiency, and similar to the other stages, parental support (or lack thereof) makes all the difference. Towards this, I’m asking you to do five things for your child while she is at college.

  1. Give her some space. Higher learning takes time, and it takes energy. To do college right, your child will need to spend several hours each day sitting in the library and reading, or standing in a lab and experimenting (and that’s just two of the many examples I could put here). She may not be used to spending her time this way and so may have a hard time locating those hours and eliminating the activities that used to occupy them. I cannot overemphasize the following: if she doesn’t successfully find and use those hours, she will likely not do well and possibly even fail out. You are in the overwhelmingly important position of being able to give her those hours out of the time that you used to spend interacting with her. You can choose to give them freely or you can harness her into a yoke of guilt that she will carry for the rest of her life. When she lived at home, she participated in your daily life. At what level do you expect her to continue now that she lives elsewhere? I understand keenly that she is programmed to meet your expectations over mine, and you must also acknowledge this within your dynamics. How often must she visit? Which family events must she attend? Forgive this indelicate question: if you decide to get divorced while she’s in college (and I see this often), to what extent will you entrain her in the proceedings? Making these choices is your responsibility, as she is still relatively unskilled at setting boundaries. Note that you may also have to regulate the amount of space that her younger siblings give her, which means that you will have to make up for the attention that they are accustomed to receiving from her.
  1. Reinforce the fact that learning is her most important job. I am working hard to teach your child how to go recklessly overboard. Together we will do crazy things: We’ll read a single book over and over and then she’ll write (and rewrite) a ten page letter to me about one of the characters. We’ll drive a hundred miles just to see one big rock. She’ll grow intimate with the daily customs of people that lived centuries ago and which are now gone forever. I will lure her towards semi-impossible dreams like chasing the faint hope of a cure for an illness that very few (yet still too many) people will ever contract. Believe it or not, all of these things contribute to a supremely practical skill: during her life, your child will often see people go recklessly overboard for love, for money and for power. My job is to show her that going overboard for learning is also an option. I need you to reinforce my opinion that this is a worthy choice, which means that you must embrace her growing identity as an intellectual. Your relationship is no longer about what she eats or when she sleeps, it is about what she thinks about the world. Ask her which class is her favorite and why. Ask her to show you something that she figured out. Listen to her talk about it. For hours. Praise her work and tell her how proud you are, regardless of whether it was graded “C” or “A” – there is always victory in learning. Help her celebrate her intellectual maturation.
  1. Actively push her towards independence. This is the appropriate time for your child to learn to show up on time, pay her bills, fill out paperwork and meet her physical needs without help from you. One of the wonderful things about college is that it effectively provides training-wheels for many of these steps: food is prepared for you, but is only available at certain times; school is your job, but there’s a syllabus telling you what to do week by week in order to succeed. I’ll be blunt: we are all hoping that your child will outlive you, and Heaven forbid otherwise. Once you’re gone she will have to keep herself healthy and safe without any help from you. College is an appropriate time for you both to start working concertedly towards that goal. Does your child know what to do when she needs a ride somewhere, needs to secure birth control, needs to request an override? Her first recourse in these situations should not be to call you. When you get those calls, cheerfully chirp out, “Oh gosh honey, you’d know better than I would — I’m sure you can figure it out.” Then follow up and praise her for trying to do it independently, even if she screws it up.
  1. Try not to feed into the propensity to complain. We all love to complain, but students – if they aren’t careful – raise this to a high art. Unfortunately, this is also a skill that won’t do them any good in the long run. Your child probably feels compelled to carry on at length about how gross the dorm food is, how disgusting the bathrooms are, how her classes are too hard and her professors are just plain boring (and mean). I know you’re inclined the listen sympathetically, but it’s better for you to redirect the conversation into asking her what she does like about what she’s doing and learning. It’s only by long examination of her preferences that she will settle on a career path, and this is best done out loud and with good attitude. Please bear in mind that just because she doesn’t like a class, it doesn’t mean that she isn’t learning something useful, and it also doesn’t automatically preclude her from earning a decent grade. She’ll get more out of college if she approaches it positively – she’ll also be much more likely to finish her degree.
  1. Think about it, and then talk about it. Why not print out this post and go through it with your college-age kid over the holiday break? As was ever the case, you have far more influence over your child’s education than her teacher does. I am no substitute for a parent, nor will I ever attempt to be. You love her unconditionally for the person that she is, and I love only the things that I am teaching her to do. For the brief period while she is at college, she is both an adult and a child, growing in critical ways. Perhaps this means that we are raising a child together, you and I. It is one of the great privileges of my job to be able to contribute to her growth, but I need your help — we both do. She is your child, and she will never stop needing you. And now that she’s in college, she needs you more than ever.

If you liked this post you might like like to know Why I Love Science.

My 1-page Comic Book on “Having The Talk With Your Student”

It’s Back-To-School Time! Have you had The Talk with your student yet?

Not sure how? Here’s a handy guide you can Download at the low, low cost of absolutely nothing! It comes to you in the form of a 1-page comic book that I made without any help from grownups (it’s a 1.3 Mb pdf file).

Hey, go read my post from the other side of the fence to further enrich your perspective. Then go read all my other comic books as long as you’re here. I guarantee satisfaction or your money back. Then go stare out the window for a while, forever changed.

About copyright: Yes, you can print this!  It’s all super-duper-legal because I bought the images from Dreamstime for a shockingly measly sum. Golly, how do they do it!?!

Thursday Night Dear Colleague Letter

Here’s a blog about something that happened today that’s kind of about me but also kind of not about me.  It’s hard to tell sometimes. 

Dear Colleague,

Good evening! We’ve worked together for a few years now. Today you sent an email to the Chair that described my work as “pathetic” and asked, “Do she otherwise contribute to the Dept? [sic])” Only you didn’t send it to the Chair of our department. You sent it to me. Oops!

The truly unfortunate thing about your error is that it brings forward my worst behavior, my “bad side” if you will, and you’ll see this demonstrated in a moment. Your email made me feel almost all teh feels. It made me defensive. “She do contribute!” I wanted to remonstrate, “Oh how she do!” Then I realized that there is nothing I can show that will convince either of us that I’ve done enough work and accomplished something good. I wasn’t raised to believe that about myself, and my guess is that you weren’t raised to believe that about me either. What a pickle.

Your email made me rageful. However much disgust you feel towards me is now reciprocated in the disgust that I feel towards you. I will remember both you and your words, to the detriment of us both. Wow. It wasn’t very ladylike of me to admit that, now was it? See, now I’m failing to absorb your contempt gracefully. Sigh.

Things are further deteriorating, because your email also made me think, and thinking is one of my worst behaviors. I thought about all of the times that I’ve gotten the clear message that I don’t belong in Science. Gee, your email was a love-letter compared to some of the stuff I heard as a student. And because I know I’m not special, I multiplied this by the number of women who work in Science. And because I know we’re not special, I multiplied this by the number of women who have left Science because, unlike me, they had at least one other option that looked better.

It made me wonder. “Why the f*ck are there any women in Science at all?” I keep asking myself. Is the price that I paid and keep paying worth it? I am sure that you believe that you’ve struggled during your career. Did you ever skip a holiday in order to meet a deadline? Me too! Did you ever spend a night in a Turkish police station trying to explain the concept of rape? No? Well, I did. It can really disrupt your field season, Boy howdy. I really wish that I could say that I am special in this respect. I know that I am not.

Your words impressed me. When I read them, I felt a tingle down my legs as my endocrine glands pumped fight-or-flight hormones into my quadriceps. I became physiologically prepared to run away from the university. Do you ever feel that way at your desk? When you read a paper that contradicts your findings? When you get a proposal rejected? Do the small disappointments of our calling threaten you viscerally, like a hunted animal who has recognized the smell of her predator? Could your career come apart like a sweater unraveling, one that you have knitted all of your life? No. Supposedly mine can’t either. But I feel as if it could. Gosh, your words have power.

Guess what, I did you a favor. I forwarded your email without comment on to its intended recipient, and I put you in the cc: field. I can explain to you how that works if you ask me nicely. I’m sorry for the awkwardness, but trust me, it won’t last. We’re just the latest contestants on everybody’s favorite game-show Let’s Pretend Nothing Happened! I’ll take print-it-out-and-shove-it-in-a-file for $400.

You didn’t ask for my advice, but I am going to give you some anyway: Learn to use your email. That “to:” field is not there just for decoration and I seem to remember “reply-all:” tripping you up more than once during the last few years. But don’t be discouraged, you’re way ahead of me. You’ve already learned how to type out what you really think and send it out into the world. I am just now learning how to do the same.

Sincerely Yours,

Hope Jahren


Six Things you Can Do when People Say Stupid Sexist Shit To You

Part of being a woman in Science is having your male (and, more rarely, female) colleagues bolt off-leash and say crazy shit to you on a regular basis. When I was seventeen I told my Calculus professor that I wanted to major in Math and he asked, “Why? So you can solve integrals in your bikini for dirty old men?” During the years that followed I heard “Probably they just needed a woman on the interview list” and “Why aren’t you home with your baby?” I fully expect to hear “Why aren’t you and your shriveled old uterus dead yet?” before it’s all over. In my old age, I’ve realized that I can’t make the stupid comments stop. I would if I could. I would wave my Good Witch magic wand and about five percent of the guys in the world would shut the f*ck up about ten percent of the time. But I can’t. So what can I do? I can present to you an incomplete list of your options.

Six Things you Can Do when People Say Stupid Sexist Shit To You

1. You can detach. When my son started little league they had to explain to me which one was the bat and which one was the ball, but I’ve learned a lot since then. For example, my son plays third base and if he makes a crap throw the first baseman can’t be blamed for not catching it. I’ve decided that human communication is also like this. If some bozo wings a wild crap verbal throw toward me, I don’t expect myself to catch it. I generally watch it go by like “That was a wild crap verbal throw. Your error.” They can say it, but I don’t have to take it in.

2. You can react honestly. Some say that you should just blow this stuff off and not let it get to you. That’s not only bullshit, it’s also pretty much impossible. One of your options is to say whatever comes into your head. I’ve used “Do I get to tell you what I think of you now?” and “I think that about half of what comes out of your mouth is garbage.” I was at a meeting where a male colleague (actually, my supervisor) brought up my single solitary RateMyProfessor.com review. It says, “Class sux its way to hard But shes hawt so at least theres something to look at”. My colleague guessed that this had flattered me. I answered him, “No it doesn’t, it hurts. It hurts to be called a ‘thing’.” Everyone present got uncomfortable as hell, and possibly thought me weak and whiny, but I asserted my dignity by claiming that hurt. The internet said that I am a “thing”. I say that I am not a “thing”. I am right.

3. You can smile. I also like this one. I smile a Mona Lisa smile and say, “I’m going to remember that you said that.” Then I quietly and physically stand my ground. I maintain eye contact and continue to listen. This greatly unnerves the bozo because people don’t much listen to each other any more, and people may not generally listen to this guy in particular. I claim the few square feet that I am standing upon and I will not be moved. I let him run away from me.

4. You can lawyer up. This one is tricky because not every horrible stupid thing a bozo can say to you meets the criteria for Sexual Harassment according to the terms set forth by your institution. I recommend familiarizing yourself with the policies (both state and corporate) that apply to your workplace. If you suspect they’ve been violated, you can say, “You know what? I know the laws on Sexual Harassment and you’re dancing on the edge of some ugly shit.” Will Dr. Bozo treat you differently after this? Hell YES, but that’s kind of the point. It’s better for both of you if he knows where you stand, and let’s face it, you were never going to be BFFs anyway. But guess what? Sometimes after you charge the air, they change their tune. I know, I know — it seems impossible, but sometimes they actually do.

5. You can simply keep going. It’s not only your short-term response, but your long-term response that matters here. Whether they know it or not, they say this stuff because they want you to go away. One way to win the argument decisively is just not to go away. Every day that I don’t go away is my victory. Maybe I’ve done some bad science, done it poorly, f*cked up and slid back – but I never went away. Yes, there were men who told me that I couldn’t do Science, and here I am doing it. And that’s how I know that they were wrong. That’s how I know that they are wrong about you too.

6. You can find your own style. There’s no right or wrong way to survive a car crash. Give yourself permission to react in the moment the way that seems natural, authentic, strategic, safe, whatever. You and your self-worth are what’s important here, not them. For me, it’s simple. Almost as simple as they told me I was.


Are you a guy who doesn’t say stupid sexist shit to women? Good for you, here’s a cookie <<nom nom>>. Here’s also a bunch of bossy advice about how to be an ally.

How to Turn A “Good” Proposal Into An “Excellent” Proposal in Eight Admittedly Arduous Steps

I’ve reviewed a lot of proposals lately and it has made me cranky, so here I am trying to teach the Hungry Man how to Fish and thus Eat for a Lifetime. I’ll be blunt: Have you been getting evaluations of “good” on your grant proposals? If yes, then you really need this information.

How to Turn A “Good” Proposal Into An “Excellent” Proposal in Eight Admittedly Arduous Steps

1. Do the Math.  You’ve already done the budget, right? Because budgeting work comes apart in your hands like dry f*cking cornbread, creating more and more crummy little tasks as you handle it until suddenly it’s done and you’re not totally sure what happened, but you do have an excel file with a grand total figure somewhere near the bottom. Write this big fat number on the back of your hand with a Sharpie and stare at it for a few days. You know what? That number represents a crapton of money by anyone’s standards. Divide that number by ten, or even a hundred. Now ask yourself, “What would it take to convince me to give someone that much of my money?” Uh-huh, I thought so. Listen: your proposal has to be well-nigh perfect to even have a chance of being discussed, let alone funded. Yes, proposal writing is the hardest part of the job, simply because there’s so much at stake for all parties concerned.  So get ready cause this is going to be slightly less fun than a goddam root canal.

2. Be Specific.  I don’t know about you, but before I give my money away, I want to be fully confident that the person I am giving it to has both a clue about what they’re doing and a plan for how to get there. Paragraphs explaining how Climate Change is Real or why Cancer is Bad are not helpful to me; if I am even considering giving you tens of thousands of dollars to study something then I probably believe it’s important even more than you do. What I want are the specifics of how you are going to get the question answered. I want to evaluate the details of your approach. You need to convince me that you’ve thought hard about it, considered your options, and visualized what success looks like from start to finish.

Let’s start with the Title. Here’s a sucky Title for a proposal:

“Characterization of Rat Vomit”

As a reviewer, I see this and think, Okay how about ‘rat vomit is gross?’ There, I just characterized it. Whoop-de-doo.

Here’s a better Title:

“Identification of Rare Amino Acids within Rat Vomit using Barfatron Energy Spectra”

As a reviewer, I see this and think, Golly, I didn’t know the Barfatron could do amino acids. Let’s see what the kids are up to in this one.

Note that the better Title states not only what you want to figure out, but how you propose to do it. Now I’m going to read your proposal in order to find out how many rats, how much puke, which amino acids and why those, how you correct for bile and saliva contamination, etc., etc. Ironically, we both know damn well that you won’t end up following this exact course of action, best-laid-plans and all, but proving to me that you can form a realistic plan is absolutely key.

3. Be Quantitative.  After you write anything, go back and replace all qualitative statements with quantitative ones. General Rule for All Scientific Writing: If it is worth taking up the space to say it, then it is worth saying precisely. Knowing and showing the numbers is basically the only thing that separates a Scientist from a Guy Selling Vitamins At The Mall. Both callings have their place, I suppose, but government agencies are better oriented towards funding the former.

Example time! Here’s a sucky Methods sentence:

“We will collect vomit from each rat in sufficient volume for analysis.”

Here’s a better version:

“Once a week during Year 2, a cohort of one hundred post-menopausal female rats will be monitored for pallor changes upon the administration of 150 mL of Woolworth’s ipecac solution. All esophageal expulsions produced during the twenty-four hours following the initialization of regurgitation will be collected within sterile 1L Lufthansa sick bags fastened to subjects’ ears using STAPLES’ staplers and staples.”

4. Tell Me Why Oh Why.  While your proposal’s Introduction has to be mighty short, it must argue in stringent terms that academia as we know it will come to a grinding halt unless someone does the work you propose. Tell about how you examined the shit out of the literature only to become aware of a gaping hole in the current state of knowledge even as it dawned on you that you – and really only you — are perfectly set up to rectify this serious collective intellectual oversight.

Get it? Here’s a sucky Introduction sentence:

“Numerous studies have characterized the inorganic acids in rat vomit [refs. 1-8], but to our knowledge, no work has been performed to identify rare amino acids.”

Here’s a better version:

“The chemistry of rat vomit remains the gold standard for diagnosis of tummy health, a measure of wellness that can be usefully extrapolated to every organism that has ever lived [ref. 1]. My survey of the literature revealed that amino acid concentrations seldom exceeded 99.9 kg/ml in both pre- and post-menopausal rat vomit [refs. 2-9]. These studies, though current, did not incorporate the contribution of rare amino acids, as their detection has only been made possible by recent advances in Barfatron technology. My previous work has demonstrated exhaustively within other contexts how rare amino acids actually control the whole damn world [refs. 10-12]. Here I propose to definitively quantify the contribution of rare amino acids to rat vomit across menopausal status, thus making possible a new definition of rat nausea, integrated across an energy spectrum ranging from gamma to radio waves.”

5. Consider The Funder’s Objectives.  Newsflash: Funding agencies don’t give away money just to experience the Rockwellian charm of playing Santa Klaus. The agencies, as well as those in their service, are actually trying to accomplish something. To get funding, you not only have to convince reviewers that you’re competent, you must also convince the agencies that you represent the wisest possible investment towards meeting their objectives. The only way to get a clear idea of what the program’s objectives are is to call or visit the Program Manager and ask her (or him, I guess) directly. She’ll start out by saying, “It’s simple: We want to fund the best science,” but keep her talking and you’ll eventually hear things like, “Wow, I’ve heard a lot of buzz over rare amino acids, tell me more,” or perhaps, “Yeah, but so much of the Barfatron work that we funded in the 1990s proved to be a dead-end.” These conversations are invaluable when you are deciding which grants to apply for. Writing a fundable proposal is a huge task, you can’t just shot-gun towards every solicitation you see, it just ain’t gonna work. You need to get feedback about your idea’s fit before you start, and that’s where talking to the Program Manager comes in.

6. Write it Well.  Okay, now you have to make all that super specific arcane shit interesting to read. The better written it is, the more of the proposal the reviewer will actually read. More reading equals more chance at gaining an informed review and useful suggestions. Beware of joining multiple PI grants where each “writes her/his own section” and then someone stacks it into a 15-page science Jenga: such piles usually collapse into rejectionland before they even hit the panel. It’s simply inescapable that near to the deadline, one of the PIs has to take the reigns for at least three days and read the whole thing out loud a few times to make sure that it flows well and makes sense. And they must also format it beautifully, with at least one dazzling figure or colorful illustration per page – which looks a lot better than any whole page of monolithic black text. Sound like too much work? Then let’s do some more math! Take the grand total dollar figure and divide it by 15 pages, and guess what, that’s how much money each page of your writing thinks it deserves. Ask your journalist friends how much they get paid per page. Upshot: proposal writing has to be the best writing of your career.

7. Gird Your Loins.  Steel yourself for a long haul, because most grants will have to go around at least two times. It’s rather like the revision process with a manuscript in that it’s quite rare when something gets accepted without any revisions. Odds are that your reviewers are going to have expertise very close to your own and the funding agency is counting on them to help you tweak your proposal into a plan with the maximum likelihood to succeed. As with papers, the objective is not to get past the reviewers, it is to learn something from them. The best way to show that you’ve done this is to include an explicit boxed paragraph before the Introduction stating how any revised proposal has been changed due to input gained during the previous cycle. Mayhaps thusly:

“Within the previous version of this proposal, Panelist #1 objected strongly to our request for one large yacht within which to sail rats back and forth between Oxnard and Catalina Island as a method for triggering seasickness prior to actual vomit collection. In this version, we have reduced costs drastically by substituting four semesters of support for one RA who will spend 10 hrs/wk sharply kicking each rat in the solar plexus until a glassy-eyed retching posture is achieved, in keeping with the suggestion of Panelist #2 that we ‘hit the little f*ckers until they blow chunks’.”

8. Don’t Lose Hope.  Buck up because it’s probably going to be okay. If you can get just one decent-sized grant before you go up for tenure, that may be enough; it sure will be if I’m reviewing your file. If you can get into the habit of writing two good grant proposals each year, you’ll improve rapidly with each cycle and likely get there in time. I’ll say it again: always talk to the Program Manager before writing, tell her your idea and pour your heart out. And remember that even though you’re an expert, you still have an awful lot to learn.

Guess what I’m psychic! Lots of people are going to say that the above advice is sort of good but also sort of wrong and that I should have instead specified x, y and z. The people who say that should go write their own blog posts and specify x, y and z. Then they should tweet me so that I can read & RT them.

And just in case someone is still reading, I feel moved to gripe about how I really, really hate the words “Characterization” and “Implications” to the point that I wish that they had never been invented by the Greeks or Lats or whatever, both being so vague as to be utterly useless. I don’t care how you ‘characterize’ something, I want to know what you measured. I don’t care what you think the ‘implications’ are, I want to know what you claim this means. For cripes sake, quit dancing around and say something, so I can either agree or disagree with you and we can both move on with our lives.

Fortunately for the world at large, I have lots more unsolicited advice to give out, such as what you should do after you get tenurewhether or not to have a baby and how to make cheese.  You also can’t comment on this page and here’s why.


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