The precarious years

I tweeted a while ago about looking back at work I’d written but not managed to get published between finishing the PhD and getting my current job.  I wanted to try and be encouraging for those who are still trying.  But there was also an entirely fair comment about when encouragement isn’t enough.  I was also reminded of this post that I half-finished a while ago by various tweets yesterday about the REF and early career researchers.

So, to show a bit more of the complexity of these decisions, I’m going to be as honest as I can here about how that process played out.  I’m keeping this as neutral as possible – one person’s plus is often another person’s minus.

I started my PhD in 2003 when, it’s safe to say, the advice on what was necessary to have achieved to be competitive in the job market was radically different to when I finished in 2008, in the middle of a recession and at the end of an REF (then RAE) cycle.  Having something published by the end of the PhD was a good idea when I started; having a monograph published was necessary to get a job by the time I did so.

In the seven years post-PhD I had two fractional fixed-term salaried posts, a LOT of fixed-term teaching at a number of different universities, first year to third year, early nineteenth century to contemporary fiction.  I learnt a lot, and the range of reading I did has been invaluable.  It was utterly exhausting.

I’m financially more fortunate than most people.  I’ve had lodgers; I’ve let my house.  When I’ve done so I’ve never been much more than breaking even on this (paying bills when living with lodgers, paying my own rent somewhere else when letting, along with maintenance costs, house insurance, etc).

That “fortune” is only because I’ve cared for and/or buried direct relatives in the final year of my undergrad and PhD (my mum, and my granddad on the same side, respectively; I had an interruption to deal with the latter situation).  In terms of mental health and emotional wellbeing I don’t recommend this as a good way to achieve financial security in one’s late twenties.

When I got my permanent job I was actively phasing myself out of academia.  I’d stopped hourly-paid teaching because further experience wasn’t adding anything to my CV.  I was a registrar in south Nottinghamshire, marrying people at the Register Office and in fancy venues around the county.

When I applied for the permanent job I got, I didn’t have any university affiliation.  I did have an unpaid research fellowship by the time of the interview, which a friend very kindly facilitated for me.  My book was fairly recently out, which was the only reason I was keeping applying for academic posts.

I’ve given good interviews, bad interviews, not got permanent jobs that I was essentially doing, and in the end got a job that I thought I had no hope of getting.

I’d made my peace with not having an academic job and enjoying doing a job that I could leave behind.  I got paid roughly the same for a wedding as a seminar, and didn’t have to do any further e-mailing or administration.  I interviewed for other academic support roles in study skills and research development, and was applying widely for any job that was vaguely appropriate.

There are people who are better scholars than me among my peers who graduated from PhD programs at the same time who haven’t got faculty positions; there are people who graduated after I finished my PhD who have permanent jobs and have been promoted above my level.

I’m not sure if there’s any real moral or advice to be taken from this series of ups and downs.  I suppose, ultimately it boils down to the following: keep believing in yourself while you’re in and trying to be in academia.  If you’ve got a PhD you’re potentially good enough (and if someone tries to tell you that you aren’t, seek your mentorship somewhere else).

Doing other things isn’t a failure, and there are definitely positives to be taken from not having a job that is as consuming as academia is.  And keep in touch with friends you made in academia if they are struggling with precarity, or leave the sector by choice or necessity.

In a terrible job market there’s necessarily an element of luck to one’s appointment.  I know I’m lucky, but there have been a lot of bumps along the road.  All I can do having been lucky is keep hoping for other people to achieve that too and using my position as best as I can for the benefit of others.  It doesn’t feel like much, but it lets me sleep at night.

Good luck, wherever it takes you.