In our newest "how can we help you?" thread, a reader who is about to start a PhD program writes:

[H]ow and when is one ready to write something publishable? Or to put it otherwise, how do you decide whether an idea should be pursued for a publishable work? after how many papers or books? Should one read "everything under the sun" before start writing for publication? Or for example, if I have an idea of paper after reading ten papers, should I start writing or wait for a comprehensive literature review?

I'm very curious to hear about how other people answer these questions, and suspect there is a lot of variation in how people work. But let me share my own approach.

This reader seems to think that the way to go about deciding whether something is publishable is to read stuff, and then decide before writing whether one has a publishable idea. My sense is that this is exactly the wrong way to approach publishing. Instead, at least in my experience, I've found that the best way to determine whether one has a publishable idea is to discover that in the writing process itself. I've also noticed in a number of previous threads on the Cocoon people have said similar things. Why?

Early in my career (i.e. during grad school and my first year or two post-PhD), I really struggled to publish. In grad school, I got a couple of R&R's at very good journals, but neither one panned out–and in the years that followed nothing else 'hit' for me. One main problem, at least in retrospect, was that I just wasn't completing much work or sending very much work out for review. Rather, I spent the vast majority of my time reading and trying to figure out whether any of the ideas I had were publishable–that is, exactly what the above commenter describes. This, in my experience, is a very common trap that many grad students fall into. Because it's so hard to know whether something is publishable until you write it, if you spend all of your time reading and trying to figure this out from the armchair, chances are you'll never get much done!

Linus Pauling is famous for saying, "The way to get good ideas is to get lots of ideas, and throw the bad ones away." This more or less describes my writing process. I've published 22 papers and 2 books. However, in my Google Drive, you'll find exactly 80 papers and 3 and 1/2 book manuscripts. In other words, I've written vastly more things than I've ever published. Why? This might seem like a terrible waste of time. But I don't think it is in the slightest. I began this strategy (call it the 'overproduction strategy') in about 2010, when after 8 years in graduate school and 2 years post-PhD I had exactly 2 publications to my name: both short 'reply' pieces. In the 3+ years that followed 2010, I published 11 papers. In other words, the overproduction strategy worked, and has continued to work since then. The reason why, in my experience, is several-fold.

First, as mentioned above, it's very hard to tell from the armchair whether something is publishable. The devil, as they say, is in the details. And in order to work out the details of a paper–the things that matter in terms of its being publishable–you have to write it. Sure, you can try writing an outline. But outlines are just that: an overview of the 'big' claims you plan to make in the paper. But that's not enough: the devil, again, is in the details–and you work through the details by actually writing (or at least I do).

Second, I've found that what Pauling says is true. The best way to have good ideas is to have a lot of ideas, and then sort out the good from the bad. However, the way to have a lot of ideas and then sort the good from the bad just is to write a lot, working out your new ideas on paper. This is basically what I do. I read stuff or reflect on the body of knowledge I already have, and then the moment I have a seemingly-cool idea that doesn't seem already 'taken' in the literature (which I determine through web searches), I sit down and write it up. Then I either find that the paper works, or it doesn't. If it seems like it does, then I send it to people and in turn to conferences and journals. If it doesn't, I either give up on it entirely or set it aside to potentially come back to later (which I often do). 

Finally, on the waste of time issue, I've found that this is exactly what the overproduction strategy is not. Here's an analogy: imagine a student of painting wondering whether all of Leonardo da Vinci's sketches were a waste of time. This is obviously mistaken, right? The best way to improve at drawing or painting is to do a ton of it. Every paper I have drafted–even the worst ones–has taught me something and improved my ability to write, organize, etc. Further, a lot of time when I draft new papers I discover new work to read, which often enough generates new ideas to think about and draft up. It's a lot of fun, really, to constantly explore and write new things–a lot more fun, in fact, that simply sitting around reading, thinking, and trying to figure all of this out from the armchair.  

Anyway, these are just my thoughts and experience, and may of course not generalize to everyone. But I figured I'd share them. What do you all think, particularly those of you who have success in publishing?

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8 responses to “Deciding when you have a publishable idea?”

  1. Bryce

    I agree with Marcus that trying to determine whether an idea is publishable before you have written a decent amount is not a good idea. There are a lot of reasons for this, but the biggest is that most of the time you really don’t know how an idea is going to pan out until you start typing words and trying to work it out in the details.
    Along with what Marcus says, I think it’s helpful to transition from thinking of yourself as trying to get a publication, to thinking of yourself as carrying out a multifaceted research program. Your research program is trying to make an overarching argument or series of arguments within an area of philosophy. Some of the pieces of your program are important, and maybe one is the centerpiece, and these you try to get into top journals. Then there are smaller pieces of variations on themes that you send to other places. But a lot of the ideas are “worth publishing” because they are all a part of the entire long-term project. Some might not make the cut in the end, but there are a multitude of journals and you can send work to many of them.
    So the more important question is how to know whether your research program is worth spending time on. The easiest way to tell is to ask yourself, are other people working on this too? If they are, it’s worth spending time on. Then the task is figuring our what you are saying about your field. Then you get to writing.

  2. Outliner

    Marcus
    I would like to suggest that there is more value in outlines than you imply. I find an outline for a paper enables me to figure out what I want to investigate and argue. Then working from an outline, one often learns how one must qualify one’s main claim, as one realizes what one can actually do, or what one’s research supports. So the outline can actually be very useful heuristic.

  3. Marcus Arvan

    Outliner: Good point. I have never been an outliner myself. They just don’t seem to aid my process one way or the other. But I have known outliners like you who find them helpful!

  4. Writing

    Based on my observation of reading philosophy papers and writing them myself, there are at least six approaches to writing philosophy papers: construction, expansion, reconceptualization, correction, interpretation, and criticism.
    1. Construction means writing original philosophical ideas that nobody else has written about. This is obviously the most difficult since originality depends on some sufficient level of creativity and imagination on the part of the writer. Many times, construction in philosophy is synthesizing others’ ideas to make something new since completely original ideas are rare.
    2. Expansion means adding-to the work of another philosopher. Just the other day, I came up with an additional important point that an author failed to mention, which could be epistemically fruitful to their work. Expansion is suggestive. It’s about suggesting that the author should have added-this-thing to their paper that could be fruitful to their inquiry.
    3. Reconceptualization means redefining or reimagining a concept or idea that you think is inaccurate, imprecise, or unfruitful to you and others. This does not have to target specific authors, but rather, the general concept instead e.g. justice.
    4. Correction means fixing something or somethings of another article, which can lead to more accurate, precise, and/or compelling conclusions.
    5. Interpretation means interpreting another philosopher’s idea(s). This can also serve as a secondary source, which can be epistemically fruitful for educational purposes.
    6. Criticism means critiquing the author’s argument and showing why their argument is unconvincing or false and why we should not accept their argument.
    Some philosophy papers can include some, all, or one of these procedures. Which type of procedures above is most publishable? I don’t know. That would require some empirical research to determine which category of philosophy papers above make up how may percentages of published papers.
    Writing philosophy papers is difficult partly because lots of students and professors lack some frames of reference of the types of procedures associated with writing philosophy.
    Original ideas and arguments are important, but we also need secondary sources for educational purposes. Teaching difficult ideas without high quality, clear, and accessible secondary sources can be difficult for students to comprehend what’s being taught unless the teacher is very competent at explaining these concepts to them in the first place.

  5. Michel

    I agree: something becomes publishable as a result of the process of writing, not of thinking. Draft up an idea, conference it, re-work it, etc., and you’ll eventually come to the point where it’s publishable. (Or not, in some cases. Sometimes what you realize after a little while is that it’s unworkable.)
    I think most ideas are potentially publishable, however. It’s just a matter of working it up to that point. Some ideas take a lot more work than others, and some aren’t worth the trouble. But I think that with enough work, you could probably get most stuff out there somewhere. As far as I can tell, it’s not usually the ideas stage that trips people up.
    (FWIW, like Marcus, I too aim to be an r-selector. I’d rather overproduce and be pleasantly surprised than face the crushing disappointment of having all my eggs in one basket.)

  6. Multiple top 5 publications

    It is definitely not the case that you should read everything under the sun, or even do a literature review, before a paper is publishable. Nobody would ever get anything written if that’s the case.
    I think that the skill of learning when some idea is publishable is more of an implicit skill that you learn in the process of learning to properly write good philosophy.
    To the OP: you’re just starting out a PhD. Nearly nothing you write now will be readable, let alone publishable. But there will come a point in your PhD coursework where you will recognize a good paper. And it is good papers that are publishable, not just good ideas. If your experience is like mine, you’ll eventually be writing (e.g.) a term paper, and you will know even before you finish writing the paper whether it will receive an A or whether it’s the sort of paper that will receive an A- and you just move on from that course.
    In other words, eventually there comes a point when you just implicitly recognize when something you’re working on is or isn’t good. This has more to do with broad features of how a paper is put together–how it is framed, the kind of “story” it tells about why its point is important–than whether the idea itself has XYZ features or engages with XYZ% of the literature. Don’t worry about those particular things. Just focus on learning to “feel” when a paper is put together well.

  7. Tim

    I might recommend OP conceptualize things slightly differently. The original question is about when to pursue an idea for publication. But I think this question can really be broken down into two slightly different questions:
    1. Has someone else already published this idea, or something near enough? If they have, you probably shouldn’t pursue it as many will think your work doesn’t make a novel contribution. To answer this question, you should do a literature review. For instance, when I am thinking about a new idea, I might read 20-40 papers/book chapters. I don’t regret this reading because, it is fun and I enjoy it–even if i discover someone has already published that idea.
    2. What exactly is this idea anyway, and is it any good? As a number of people have already pointed out, an excellent way to answer this question is to write. I also recommend that. You don’t need to do an expansive literature review to answer this question–at least not initially.
    The path from idea to publication will have to answer both of these questions. I think different people might prioritize one over the other. I tend to try to answer the first question first. One reason is that by doing a literature review first it starts to help me refine my idea by the time I start trying to answer the second question. But there could be other approaches as well that work perfectly well.

  8. Writing

    Subsequent thought: I came up with two more types of philosophy papers I’ve observed: 7) commentary and 8) compare and contrast.
    7. Commentary means explaining a philosopher’s ideas and summarizing them. This is similar to interpretation insofar as it involves an elucidation of a particular author’s work or ideas. In other words, commentaries function to shed light on aspects of a philosopher’s work that are often neglected or are underrated. It aims to show why those aspects of the philosopher’s work are fruitful. Based on my observation, these sorts of philosophy papers are often found in ”Companion to” textbooks. These also make great secondary sources depending on how accessible they are written. I have a ”Companion to Virtue Ethics” and ”Companion to Philosophy of Education” textbooks, which I think are educationally fruitful. Commentaries are mostly descriptive. They often serve as introductions to the ”ins and outs” of a field or certain ideas.
    8. Compare and contrast is literally compare and contrast. It’s about comparing and contrasting two or more ideas. This can also be fruitful as secondary sources as well. I personally like these papers as well because it saves us the time of having to search for competing ideas to contrast and compare them to. When done excellently, compare and contrast articles can shed light on the tensions, problems, benefits, and costs of two competing ideas. I have educationally benefited greatly from commentary and compare and contrast essays myself. Of course, these were written very clearly and accessibly. If done excellently, compare and contrast articles can help us transcend parochialism by letting two competing ideas read against each other and disrupting people’s stereotypes and naive expectations of a particular philosopher’s ideas especially if they’re from different cultures.

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