Choosing a Ph.D. Program

I've been talking to various people who are interested in applying to Ph.D. programs. Here are some pieces of advice I keep giving out to help them choose an appropriate program for them.

1. Find out whether doctoral-level work is really for you. The doctorate is, first and foremost, a research degree that prepares people to become knowledge producers. It's not a glorified teacher certification program. (Teaching is an important part of professional preparation especially in my fields, but teaching proficiency or potential is a pre-requisite; training teachers is not the primary purpose of Ph.D. programs.)

2. Learn about the field you are getting into. It is important for a Ph.D. applicant to have a solid understanding of what the field is all about, what kind of research people have done and are currently doing, and what applications (if any) there may be. Familiarize yourself with some of the key ideas, terms and names in the field. Read widely and read a lot. (A master's degree in the same field is not always required, but even with a relevant degree, if you can't demonstrate a broad understanding of the field, getting accepted into a good program can be difficult.)

3. Know what your interests are. At least in the U.S. context, it's not always necessary for a beginning Ph.D. students to have a clear research program at the beginning of doctoral studies. A broad understanding and interest in the field as a whole and in a few areas of specialization would do.

Am I ever going to get to the question of how to choose a program? I know, I know. Be patient. It's not a quick and easy decision like picking the right avocado for making guacamole tonight. If you don't do your homework, you are going to regret it--big time.

4. Read more in the subfield in which you are particularly interested. In this process, you will familiarize yourself with key topics, issues and methodological approaches in association with particular names of authors who publish actively and are cited often. If you have a sense of who's who in the field, you are ready to look at specific programs.

5. Make a list of people whose work you find interesting--their topics, methodological approaches, and their arguments. Leave out people whose work you find incomprehensible or incompatible with your own orientation. (But read their work anyway until you understand what they are trying to say and why you find their perspectives incomprehensible or incompatible--so you can write a good response article, if you must. If you can't, there are different career paths available for you.) 

6. Go on line and find out where they teach. By now, you should be able to do this without looking up the information--from your reading of many of their recent publications. Find out whether they teach in doctoral programs and, if so, what kind of courses they teach, in what department, what other faculty members are teaching in the same program, what kind of courses are offered, what and how their graduate students seem to be doing in terms of presentations, publications, dissertation projects, and job placement.

7. Try to get to know these people. You might contact them by email. Be very polite, tactful, and to the point. If possible, state briefly why you are contacting that particular person. Don't ask any questions that can be answered by looking at the program/graduate school web site or by asking administrative assistants for the graduate program. Ask those questions that cannot be answered by anybody else. If possible, arrange a campus visit and meet with faculty members and graduate students in person.

8. Try to get to know the students of your prospective advisor. When you go to conferences (if you don't, then start going to conferences in the field), go to sessions presented by faculty and students from that institution. (If you can't find anyone from the institution at major conferences in the field, then you know what to do--move the institution to the bottom of the list. Or ask yourself if you are at the right conference. See how to choose the right kind of conference.) Tell them that you are interested in applying to their program and ask them to share their insights about the program, faculty members, financial support, and life in the program, at the university and in the area.

9. If a writing sample is required (as it usually is), choose one that demonstrates your broad understanding of the field and your analytical and research skills as well as the quality of writing. Remember: good writing is not complicated writing. Use keywords in the field, but don't use big words unnecessarily just to impress the admissions committee--they will easily see through it.

10. The statement of purpose or the "personal statement" should focus on your professonal aspirations, not the details of your personal lives. Admissions committee memebers couldn't care less about the close relationship you had with your dog when you were in elementary school--unless you are applying to a doctoral program in, say, animal psychology. The conventions and expectations may vary from program to program, but in general, include: why you are interested in pursuing a Ph.D. in the field (and perhaps what you hope to do in the future), what subfields you are interested in and, most important, why you are interested in the particular program (faculty, courses, quality of graduate student publications, etc.). You don't have to sell yourself too much--this is not a job application. Being a good student and colleague who will successfully and promptly complete the degree and become an active member of the field is sufficient.

Hope this helps. Good luck!

Choosing Reputable Outlets for Academic Work

In academia, it matters where your present or publish your work. Presenting at conferences and publishing with presses that have established strong reputation in the particular field is important when it comes to hiring, tenure and promotion. Publishing with presses that are less then reputable does not make your academic credentials stronger; in some cases, it can hurt your reputation as a researcher.

Being able to distinguish reputable venues from questionable outlets is part of disciplinary knowledge, and sometimes it is difficult for novice scholars--or experienced scholars outside your field--to tell the difference. (That's why tenure and promotion cases often involve external reviewers who are experts in the field.) But there are some signs to help identify which venues are reputable or at least acceptable. Below are some questions to consider. (The greater the number of affirmative answers, the better; even the most reputable of outlets do not necessarily meet all of these criteria.) 

For conferences: 

• Is the conference affiliated with a major professional organization in the field? 
• Is the conference affiliated with universities or research institutes that have good reputations in the field?
• Is the conference being organized by well-established members of the field?
• Does the conference feature keynote, plenary and invited speakers who are well-established in the field?
• Does the conference have many sessions that are interesting to members of the field who are studying similar topics?
• Is the conference attended by active members of the field who publish on topics that are reputable?
• Does the conference either have a peer review process for proposals or invite only well-established or cutting-edge researchers?

For journals:

• Is the journal edited by well-established members of the field?
• Does the journal have editorial board members who are well established in the field? 
• Does the journal have an editorial review process that involves reviewers who are experts on the topic?
• Does the journal include articles by authors who are well-established members of the field? 
• Are articles in the journal cited frequently and widely in other reputable journals?

For publishers:

• Does the publisher have a booth at major professional organizations in the field?
• Does the publisher have a book series or a journal dedicated to the field or its subfields?
• Does the publisher regularly publish books written or edited by well-established members of the field? 
• Does the publisher solicit contributions primarily from established members of the field or people who are doing cutting-edge work that is being recognized by established members of the field?
• Does the publisher require an editorial review process coordinated by well established members of the field?
• Does the publisher involve well established members of the field in reviewing submissions?
• Does the publisher have an acquisition editor who specializes in your field and is somewhat knowledgeable about the field?
• Are publications from the publisher being cited in other reputable publications or mentioned in conference presentations? 

Here are some red flags to watch out for:

• The publisher emails you out of the blue to invite you to publish your conference papers, theses and dissertations as a book.
• The publisher emails you out of the blue to invite you to edit a book.
• The publisher offers contracts without an editorial review process. 
• The publisher actively solicits contributions from novice researchers and graduate students without a strong track record.
• The publisher does not involve well established members of the field in the editorial review process.
• The publisher has not published at least a few books or journals in the field. 
• The publisher (or journal) has not published at least a few works by well established members of the field. 
• The publisher may mention something along the line of "I can tell you are an expert" without mentioning anything specific or establishing their own credentials. 

These guidelines are only suggestive; there are some new publishers who are beginning to establish themselves in a new field, and doing so by building a system for rigorous editorial review involving experts in the field. Even the publishers that have a few of these red flags may be legitimate publishers and businesses—although being a legitimate business is not the same as being a legitimate or high quality venue for academic publishing. 

"Use your judgment" is probably not a good piece of advice because the judgment requires expert knowledge of the field that novice researchers often don't have. But if you are surprised to have received a solicitation email, that should tell you something. When in doubt, check with your thesis/dissertation advisor or other people who are well established in the field. 

If you don't know who they are, start reading everything. 

Choosing Reputable Outlets for Academic Work

In academia, it matters where your present or publish your work. Presenting at conferences and publishing with presses that have established strong reputation in the particular field is important when it comes to hiring, tenure and promotion. Publishing with presses that are less then reputable does not make your academic credential stronger; in some cases, it can hurt your reputation as a researcher.

Being able to distinguish reputable venues from questionable outlets is part of disciplinary knowledge, and sometimes it is difficult for novice scholars—or experienced scholars outside your field—to tell the difference. (That's why tenure and promotion cases often involve external reviewers who are experts in the field.) But there are some signs to help identify which venues are reputable or at least acceptable. Below are some questions to consider. (The greater the number of affirmative answers, the better, but keep in mind that even the most reputable of outlets do not necessarily meet all of these criteria.) 

For conferences: 

• Is the conference affiliated with a major professional organization in the field? 
• Is the conference affiliated with universities or research institutes that have good reputations in the field?
• Is the conference being organized by well-established members of the field?
• Does the conference feature keynote, plenary and invited speakers who are well-established in the field?
• Does the conference have many sessions that are interesting to members of the field who are studying similar topics?
• Is the conference attended by active members of the field who publish on topics that are relevant?
• Does the conference either have a peer review process for proposals or invite only well-established or cutting-edge researchers?

For journals:

• Is the journal edited by well-established members of the field?
• Does the journal have editorial board members who are well established in the field? 
• Does the journal have an editorial review process that involves reviewers who are experts on the topic?
• Does the journal include articles by authors who are well-established members of the field? 
• Are articles in the journal cited frequently and widely in other reputable journals?

For publishers:

• Does the publisher have a booth at major professional organizations in the field?
• Does the publisher have a book series or a journal dedicated to the field or its subfields?
• Does the publisher regularly publish books written or edited by well-established members of the field? 
• Does the publisher solicit contributions primarily from established members of the field or people who are doing cutting-edge work that is being recognized by established members of the field?
• Does the publisher require an editorial review process coordinated by well established members of the field?
• Does the publisher involve well established members of the field in reviewing submissions?
• Does the publisher have an acquisition editor who specializes in your field and is somewhat knowledgeable about the field?
• Are publications from the publisher being cited in other reputable publications or mentioned in conference presentations? 

Here are some red flags to watch out for:

• The publisher emails you out of the blue to invite you to publish your conference papers, theses and dissertations as a book.
• The publisher emails you out of the blue to invite you to edit a book.
• The publisher offers final contracts without an editorial review process. 
• The publisher actively solicits contributions from novice researchers and graduate students without a strong track record.
• The publisher does not involve well established members of the field in the editorial review process.
• The publisher has not published at least a few books or journals in the field. 
• The publisher (or journal) has not published at least a few works by well established members of the field. 
• The publisher may mention something along the line of "I can tell you are an expert" without mentioning anything specific or establishing their own credentials. 

These guidelines are only suggestive; there are some new publishers who are beginning to establish themselves in a new field, and doing so by building a system for rigorous editorial review involving experts in the field. Even the publishers that have a few of these red flags may be legitimate publishers and businesses—although being a legitimate business is not the same as being a legitimate or high quality venue for academic publishing. 

"Use your judgment" is probably not a good piece of advice because the judgment requires expert knowledge of the field that novice researchers often don't have. But if you are surprised to have received a solicitation email, that should tell you something. When in doubt, check with your thesis/dissertation advisor or other people who are well established in the field. 

If you don't know who they are, start reading everything. 

Reading and Learning Strategies

Just after writing my earlier post "How to Read Everything?" I found this article by David Glenn in the Chronicle of Higher Education:

Close the Book. Recall. Write It Down.
The best way to study for an exam? Don't just reread chapters and review notes — put everything away and then try to write down, or describe out loud, what you know. That's the conclusion of two papers recently published in psychology journals. "After you've read something once, you've gotten what you're going to get out of it," one professor says, "and then you need to go out and start applying the information."

Well, writing specialists have long been talking about the benefits of writing to read. Putting the knowledge to active use is the best way to understand and remember it.

For me, writing an article, in which I not only tell but transform knowledge (Bereiter and Scardamalia), helps me read better and learn more. I'm also focused on accomplishing a rhetorical goal (see Cumming's recent work on goal theory) or object (Engeström), rather than on learning itself. (See how I'm putting my knowledge to active use?)

Those late-night conversations (over beer) with Dwight Atkinson is also helpful, because we challenge each other and stimulate further thinking.

By the way, when I was in junior high school, I had a personal policy of not cramming for exams (including language exams). If I understand the material, I reasoned, I should be able to do well on those exams. I was somewhat naive because I didn't know that knowing something and doing well on the exams are somewhat different things because of other factors, such as the familiarity with the genre. But I did intuitively understand something about test validity.

How to Read Everything?

The phrase "read everything" seems to have become my mantra in advising graduate students and scholars. I mentioned this when I was visiting National Chiao Tung Unviersity in Taiwan a few weeks ago, and more than a few people said they were going to start reading everything in their email message to me or even on Facebook!

Today, I just received a comment from Joe in response to my earlier blog entry on reading everything:

I've just come across this wonderful blog. Thank you so much for your valuabale advice.

People have been advicing graduate students (especially M.A. students) to read a lot. However, hardly do they talk about how to read. I have found myself struggling with reading for graduate school and so have my friends. Would you mind sharing your thoughts or your strategies on this? Do you take notes for everything you read? Thank you, Dr. Matsuda.

Some of my answers can be found in other related blog entries (a list of related entries as well as other pieces of advice for graduate students can be found here) and in "Coming to Voice: Publishing as a Graduate Student" (2003). But I don't think I've had the chance to talk about taking notes.

The answer is: I don't.

Most of the books and journals in my personal library are clean--I could sell them on ebay or Amazon anytime, though I rarely sell my books because I consider them to be important tools of my trade.

I've always found underlining or highlighting texts to be more distracting than helpful. (My suspicion was confirmed in the introductory psychology course I took during my first year in college, where the professor mentioned a study showing that underlining is not an effective strategy for studying.) I also don't like how those marks left on the pages actually constrain my reading the next time I read the same text--they distract me away from grasping the meaning in larger contexts and particularly in the context of my current thoughts. For that reason, I don't like buying books second hand or borrowing books from the library. Sadly, some people underline books from the library!

When I was a master's student, I used to buy lost of sticky tabs at Staples and put them by the line that seemed important. The idea was that I would be able to take them off when I was done, though I almost never did. (Some of my books from those days still have yellow tabs sticking out.)

I thought the sticky notes would help me find places that I needed to refer to during class discussion or when I cite the source. What I learned after a few years was that: 1) I put too many tabs that they became meaningless; 2) even when I didn't put too many of them, they made me feel as though I had to talk about all of them during the discussion or in citing that source; and 3) too often, what I ended up citing was in places other than those that were marked with the sticky tabs.

I have also tried to take notes on separate sheets. It was useful when I was preparing for comprehensive exams, but I also noticed that I seldom looked at them again unless there were specific and immediate reasons for taking notes. I tend to lose my notes in the pile of stuff in my (cluttered) offices. Some of the notes have survived because I filed them away with the articles I read, but I stopped doing this because the same filing strategy wouldn't work for books. (I find it important to develop a thinking system to be consistent so my distributed cognitition does not become disturbed cognition.)

Even if I don't lose them, I often can't reconstruct what I meant--not only because of my terrible handwriting but also because the notes are always already out of context and outdated. So I stopped taking notes and started to rely on my memory.

I don't regret having gone through these stages of trying different strategies because they probably facilitated the development of my reading strategies and the understanding of the contents. But at some point in my professional development, I took the leap of faith--I learned to trust my own intuition. I felt that it actually helped me read faster, read more, and understand the important points better. And those ideas would come back to me when I need them because I've already rehearsed the conversations as I was reading them. That is, I felt my knowledge became more contextualized.

Some people ask if I have what's called a photographic memory (like Cam Jensen).

The answer is: I don't.

But I do tend to remember books by their color, and the visual design of the text. I often remember which part of the page I found the idea (e.g., top left corner of the page, about half way through the book).

Some people might wonder how I could do this with academic publications, which are visually not as distinct as, say, magazine articles or web pages. Well, I thought the same thing about houses in Arizona--they all looked the same when I moved here, but now I can appreciate individual differences among various neighborhoods and individual houses.

I've also learned not to worry about sticking to the same text in the reading process--I read regular texts like hypertexts. (People in the field of computers and composition seemed to be busy theorizing the notion of hypertext in the early 1990s, but even back then, I found the concept to be straight forward and intuitive.)

Sometimes I start thinking about a related topic as I read. If that happens, I often put down what I'm reading and start looking for other related reading materials. They may be something I've read before or sources that are mentioned in the text I'm reading. Or I may follow my hunch and go to a text that might have something related, and I often do find something interesting, which is really exciting. It's like a mental game--I have a lot of fun doing this.

I can still keep track of who said what because I try to get to know them personally. As I read, I form ideas about each author. I also try to meet them at conferences and get to know them so I know where they are coming from. Academic reading and writing to me are really like joining a conversation with a group of people I care about.

For similar reasons, I usually don't take notes when I listen to presentations. I used to take notes to ask questions, but I stopped doing that as well. After hearing countless conference presentations, I know the genre inside out, and that helps me understand where the speaker is going. (I can also tell when the speaker is not going anywhere.) If I am the respondent, I may take notes, but mostly to outline my responses (if I have to respond, that is). They are not "records" of what I write; instead, they are part of my distributed cognition.

At CCCC this year, for example, I served as a respondent for a panel with Suresh Canagarajah, Bruce Horner, Min Lu, Catherine Prendergast, and John Trimbur. I used a small notepad (courtesy of the convention hotel) to create an outline of my response as I was listening. I started doing something similar at a TESOL academic session on writing (organized by Chris Tardy and featuring Lourdes Ortega, Meg Gebhardt, Youngjoo Yi, Ilona Leki, and Miyuki Sasaki). But in the middle of the session, I decided that it wasn't working, so I took out my laptop and start creating PowerPoint slides, which became my formal response.

I also don't take notes during meetings--I remember things better if I'm engaged. When I served as the chair of the CCCC Committee on Second Language Writing, I always asked someone I trust (e.g., Jessie Moore at Elon University and Angela Dadak at American University) to take the minutes. If I do take notes, it's usually to help organize the meeting.

If there are things that I need to follow up on, I would sometimes write them down, but if I don't act on them right after the meeting, they get lost. These days, I just email those tasks to myself (or ask others to email me) so I would actually follow up on them.

My strategy, then, has been to just read, read and read, and keep adding them to my mental intertextual map. Or sometimes they get integrated into my thinking directly as I get stimulated and start developing my own ideas. I don't even write down my own ideas, either, because if it's a really good idea (and one of my criteria for a good idea is that it responds to the particular rhetorical situation), it would come back in the context of my immediate thoughts when appropriate. If not, then the idea is going to be out of place, which is what I often see in manuscripts that I read.

I used to keep a clipboard by my bed so I can write down my ideas anytime, but I gave up on that as well. If I can't remember it when I needed it, I figure, it wasn't a good idea to begin with. If it really made sense, I would have the same thought again.

Of course this leisurely approach to reading (and thinking) requires a lot of time, but that's what my profession is about--I'm in the business of acquiring and making knowledge. If I have to know everything about my field, I might as well enjoy it. It may seem impossible, but it does get easier as my content and formal schema develop.

The key is not to wait until I have to read something for my projects. When I read as I write, my reading process becomes much more focused and purposeful. That's good, but that's different from "reading everything." Rather, it is the result of reading everything; I feel I can be more focused partly because I have already developed a strong intertextual network in my mind. I often know exactly what information I need and where I can find it.

Read Widely

Nels Highberg's comment and his related blog entry has inspired me to clarify my advice and to articulate its corollary: Read widely.

I try to keep up with the literature in both rhetoric/composition and applied linguistics/TESOL, both of which are highly interdisciplinary, drawing on various areas of humanities and social sciences. I often find myself having to go into many other fields to fully understand my own fields. And I happen to believe that borrowing ideas from other disciplines requires a deep understanding of the intellectual and historical contexts in which those ideas were developed--so I know what the idea can and cannot do as well as what my borrowing might do to my field and the field it came from.

Naturally, my reading list continues to snowball.

It's certainly impossible to have read everything in all of these (and many more) areas of knowledge. So, my advice, "read everything," is not an imperative to have read everything--a state no one will ever achieve. Rather, it's a call to begin and continue reading deeply and widely.

"Read Everything" Again

My blog entry on reading everything seems to have generated some interesting discussion. I like what Derek Mueller says:

This paradox is the ongoing challenge, no? Read everything; to read everything is impossible. Still, one must. But cannot. Etc. The outlying factors bear down and raise related questions: write everything? How much to read before writing? While writing? How much to write while reading?

It is indeed paradoxical, especially because the professional literature keeps expanding. Nevertheless, it is important to "collect" everything, as Collin Brooke suggests, and to develop a mental map of the field that continues to evolve with the researcher's knowledge of the field.

Derek also poses an important question--when do we stop reading and start writing (or do we stop reading)? Of course the reading process never stops. As I write, I discover what I know as well as what I don't know or don't remember well, or inconsistencies in my thinking, prompting me to go back to various texts. (I sound like my dear friend Don Murray when I say this.)

When I was an MA student, I approached the process of reading to write as "information crunching"--and I had the image of defragmenting hard-drives in mind. I would type up relevant passages into the document, break them up into smaller clusters, rearrange them to fit the evolving organization of my own writing, and then paraphrase or summarize what I can, leaving the rest of the original texts as direct quotes.

After having read (and written) quite bit in the field (though still not enough), I began to experience what Jeff Rice describes:

At some point in my career, I found myself able to perform a pretty amazing (to me) feat when writing. I was able to pull out of my memory not details, but positions, ideas, arguments, stances from my past reading. That build-up is important. Out of it, I can write, and I can join the conversations.

My writing process changed quite a bit while I was working on my Ph.D. at Purdue. I would now just read, read, and read (though increasingly, I find myself drawing mostly on what I remember having read) and then, when I feel I have a good sense of the topic and my overall argument--the vision, if you will--for the entire article, I start drafting without looking at anything. I can often cite sources from memory, though I try to verify them later for accuracy. Then, as I read through my own writing numerous times, I keep adding more sources, this time checking the original sources for exact wording and page numbers.

I also feel that reading the professional literature has become much easier. I know what to read carefully (and several times) and what to skim through quickly because I can often predict where I might find certain arguments or pieces of information because of my genre knowledge. Sometimes I can even predict what the text is going to say before reading it based on my knowledge of what's been said and done; in those cases, reading is a matter of confirming my predictions and noting any discrepancies.

All of this may seem overwhelming to those who are only beginning to read--ahem--everything, but it'll come with practice. But it probably doesn't happen to those whose reading experience has not reached a critical mass.

Read Everything

One of the stock pieces of advice that I give gradaute students is to "read everything." Of course it's impossible to read everything that has ever been written, but I do expect researchers to have read everything--literally everything--on subtopics within the field on which they are writing.

When I start a new project, I usually begin by collecting all the books and articles that have anything to do with that topic. I prefer to buy those books--especially those that are often cited in one of my own fields--rather than check them out from the library or through the ILL. I need to have all my intellectual tools at my disposal. That has always been my preference--even when I was a poor graduate student. Building a good professional library is an important investment.

I scan through them to explore the intertextuality--which sources get mentioned more frequently and how. I then collect more sources if I don't have them handy. Without this process, it wouldn't be possible to come up with viable research questions or to know what questions or concerns reviewers and readers might have.

Reading everything is especially important at the beginning of a researcher's career. One of the problem of novice researchers trying to read selectively is that they are not likely to have developed appropriate criteria for choosing what is important and what is not. The discernment in reading scholarly books and articles can come only from an extensive knowledge of the field, which is, after all, a synthesis of the diverse bodies of knowledge held by everyone who identifies herself or himself as a member of the field.

A novice researcher who doesn't try to read everything is like someone watching Star Wars Episode III without having watched the other five episodes. The main plot and some of the details might still be entertaining, but the person's appreciation of the film is necessarily limited by the lack of background knowledge and intertextual awareness.