Advice on applying Graduate School: Becoming an Economist: Advice from Current Economics PhD Students to Prospective Ones
Advice on applying Graduate School: How to Win a Graduate Fellowship
Advice on applying Graduate School: Making a Statement
Advice on applying Graduate School: Ignoring Good Advice
Advice on applying Graduate School: Shameless Self-Promotion
Advice on applying Graduate School: The 5 'Virtues' of Successful Graduate Students
Although the previous two article (How Many Article, Set Apart Article) based on the letter I wrote to current PhD students, this summer, have covered a great deal of the ground in this article, I thought it would be useful to include the answers to my final question for anyone who is interested. The question I asked to all of the economics PhD students I could find in the top 50 programs in the US was:
If you could give any advice to an undergraduate student of economics about the process of being accepted to graduate school, what would you say?
If you could give any advice to an undergraduate student of economics about the process of gaining acceptance to graduate school, what would you say?
Most of the answers I received back covered the same ground as on the previous two questions. Below is a short summary of the most common answers…
Take lots and lots of math. Get solid letters of recommendation, if possible from respected and well known researchers or professors. Do research, as an undergrad if possible. Finally, relax and only pursue a PhD if you truly have a deep seated interest in the field of economics.
Instead of rewriting a long summary of what the PhD students wrote me I thought I would just post some of the better responses here for you to review.
If anyone has anything interesting to add, please e-mail me, if it is interesting I will post it along with the others.
Below are some responses from current PhD students…
Talk to graduate students, visit schools, and try to figure out what you want out of economics (and life). From what I can see, schools are very different - find the right one for you. I was caught up in trying to get the school with the best academic reputation. This was not the right track for me. Sometimes the best does not mean the best for you. - U.Mass -
Double major in mathematics, period. Take as many graduate level courses your senior year as you can (I don't know if they offer courses at your university, but I took several master's econ classes as an undergrad). The most important master's class to take would be econometrics. Trust me, it's nothing like what you see in undergrad.
Grad school is harder than you think it will be. I can't speak for other places, but I will say this about Chicago: expect to come in completely under prepared as an American. There is simply no way that you will have the same background as your foreign peers who come from rigorous master's programs. If you want to be treated well, don't come to Chicago. It is brutal, and it is the hardest of the top programs (I have compared my experience with friends at Harvard, Berkeley, MIT, etc.). Despite the fact that grad school will be the hardest thing you ever do, don't buy into everything they teach you; some of this stuff is WRONG and it's your job as an economist to eventually refute bad theory. Expect your profs to be brilliant researchers but horrible teachers--I mean even worse than your worst undergrad profs.
Go to the school that offers you the best fellowship. Consider getting your masters at the LSE or Oxford first--it would really make your PhD experience easier. In the end, you'll be a fine economist regardless of which of the top schools you attend. What matters most is YOU, not what school you go to. You'll probably get pretty disenchanted with the ivory tower mentally of most of your professors anyway. - U.Chicago -
A lot has been said & done already. Study for your GREs because they're very important -- get multiple computer practice exams. Take courses & obtain research experience that you think will prepare you well for grad school. This might include graduate economics classes, or finding some offbeat & compelling research topic for an undergrad paper. Or maybe just trying to fill some deficiencies in your mathematics training (like, e.g., if you haven't taken multivariable calc & linear algebra). I think the econ courses are better preparation than are the more sophisticated math courses, but probability & math stat can be really useful.
Other than that, I'd say try to relax about the whole process. There's not much that you can do at this point -- so a lot of the exercise is just coping w/ the stress & the uncertainty. Brace yourself for the possibility that things could be very disappointing but try to remain upbeat. - U.Chicago -
Get some real work experience before you go to graduate school, even, at the bare minimum, summer internships. Graduate school is a job - it's got the proving grounds, the trials and tribulations, the politics, the solo or team projects, etc. It's so important to have a sense of living in the real world and to get your priorities straight before you let yourself and your ideas be put through such rigorous "training." I've seen a few people get so caught up in their own little minute area of concentration that they forget the big picture, both personally and professionally. You need to be able to treat grad school like job, albeit a demanding one. It really helps to have outside interests, etc. to spend time away from the dept on and keep yourself from getting burnt out. - Duke -
A lot of people told me to apply to the place w/ the best overall program & ignore considerations of field. I think this is a very good idea. I had some ideas about fields that interested me, & I'm really glad that I didn't act on those, b/c I feel like the main learning experiences I've had here were (1) the core curriculum in the 1st year, (2) attending seminars & acquiring a taste for economics. And I think having an advisor in a very similar field as you isn't necessarily that useful. - U.Chicago -
I'd say, "Talk all the math you can possibly fit into your schedule. Taking real analysis might seem pointless, but it will help you immensely. You can pick up the economics as you go along, but you can't learn the math and still keep up." I'd also say that "the making of an economist" book is, from what I've read, a pretty good indication about the level of work you'll be having. I thought it would be time consuming but it was 10 times worse than I expected. Oh yeah, the other thing I would say is that getting accepted somewhere isn't the challenge...finishing is the challenge. When you're looking at a school, ask (or find out on your own) how many people return for their second year, third year, what percentage of people actually graduate with a PhD...I'll bet most places the number is below 30%...that's something to keep in mind. - U.Virginia -
My best advice for someone considering a PhD is to think really hard whether you want it. The PhD program is a long and hard process, and you have to really be completely passionate about it. My experience is that it includes tons of lonely hours in front of a computer, a lot of bumps along the way (people don't buy your theories; you have to revise your work over and over). The exciting thing is that you learn new things and new theories that allow you to look at the world in a different lens and having people around you that discusses your work and help you develop.
I would not recommend getting a PhD for someone who is not interested to become a Professor or a researcher. The investment is huge and the opportunity cost his high. The private sector doesn't normally reward PhD since during the years you spent on a PhD you missed the opportunity to gain professional experience in the private sector. However, If you want to be a university Prof. that is definitely the right path. If you don't, I believe that other graduate degrees such as masters degrees would be just as helpful to climb ladders in the world. They are normally shorter and easier.
If you still decided that you want it, go for it. Get the best recommendation you can, score very high on your GRE and write a good statement of purpose - Harvard -
Be patient. The acceptance process is random. The Quan GRE has lots of geometry, so brush up on it. (Why grad schools pay so much attention to this score is a bit of a mystery to me. The math on the GRE has little to do with what a person sees in grad school. I think that the analytical portion of the GRE is more predictive of success as a grad student because even though the subject matter is far removed from economics, at least it tests reasoning skills, which are very important to a good researcher.) - U.Virginia -
First, be sure that you want to do it......grad school is a long term commitment, it is going to be your life most likely, so you have to be certain that it is what you want....if you are sure about this, learn as much math and statistics as you can......so you can devote your time in grad school to learn the economic intuition which is the hard part.......
good luck in your endeavor......hope to see you around in a couple of years.....(nah, by then I hope that my dissertation is finished....hehehehehhe) - U.Chicago -
This is all very interesting, but there are many things about grad school you need to know about. First, about me: I was three years into the PhD program at UT when I decided that economics was a fruitless pursuit and decided to go to law school. I am much happier for it (so this is a warning).
First, for the number of schools to apply to: if you have a 3.5 from a Cal State in CA and a low 700 on the quantitative, there isn't much to distinguish you from everyone else applying. Second, it is easy to pick the school that is right for you: the highest ranked school you can get into. If you don't get into a top 35 program, you are completely wasting your time. If you don't get into a top 25 program, you may get a job, but not a great job. And if you don't get into a top 10 to top 15, getting an academic job is EXTREMELY difficult.
When I was a TA, I'd have undergraduates ask me the same question: what should I do to go to grad school? My answer was always the same, CHANGE YOUR MAJOR TO MATH! Looking at the courses you are interested in, most of them are a waste of time.
My grad cohort started with probably 32 people and by the time I left, there was probably 12. There were two deciding facts: first, those who knew what they were getting into and second, those who had the mathematical training. I cannot emphasis this enough: "academic" economics has NOTHING to do with business or politics; instead, it is considered by many to be the number applied math field. If I hadn't gotten a BA in math, I'd have been screwed myself. (Little side note: the most successful guy in my cohort never took an economics class before coming to grad school, had a Masters in Physics and came from a family of famous physicists).
SO... looking at your math selection, you are taking the BARE minimum (and I mean the BARE minimum). If you want to go to a real grad school, you need to add the following math courses:
Differential Equations Real Analysis Advanced Calculus More Probability/Statistics As for the application itself, don't spend hours and hours on it. But don't make the same mistake I did: on my first round, I said I was interested in economic history. What a mistake! Economics programs have no interest in these people. Next time, I said I was interested in game theory and experimental economics and got into all the schools I had been rejected from the year before. Of course, the irony is that almost all undergrads have no idea what grad school is like and have even less idea of what economists actually do. What undergrads are taught is almost entirely pedagogical (for example, no serious grad program use Keynesian economics, but every undergrad program does, because it is simple with little math).
Be sure this is what you want to do. If you are still sure you want to do this, the best thing I can recommend is take those math classes NOW! During 2002 - 2003 finish your calc sequence, finish taking the intermediate theory courses, and whatever math/stats course you can (but don't kill yourself). Then, in 2003 - 2004, take some of econ department's grad courses. If you can only take one, take Micro Theory I.
If you have tons of math and some grad classes under you belt, this will definitely help your prospects of getting into a good grad program.
If you don't, and are still convinced this is what you want to do, don't despair. I knew people who would get their masters at a school like SFSU and then start again at a good program. - U.Texas -
Don't be shy. First, get to know economists at your University--become a research assistant. It is especially good if they take an interest in you and your success. Second, get the best training you can, including as much math as you can take, especially stat and probability theory. Third, apply to the top schools and have your professors contact people personally. Fourth, consider working for one or two years out of undergrad at an economic consulting firm or the Fed. You'll get to see economists in action, gain RA skills that are valued in graduate school, and make sure you want to become an economist. - U.Chicago -
It's kind of a random thing so one shouldn't take it *too* seriously. Work hard on getting the best GRE scores possible, on getting good letters of rec. and on taking classes that will indicate a good technical background. All the rest will take care of itself. The statement is not too important - admissions committees barely read them. A bad statement will hurt you, a good one won't make much of a difference. - U. Michigan -
Get research experience as an undergrad. It will not only help you get into grad school, but it will help you know whether you're going to like grad school or not, because once you're in grad school, research is the only criterion on which you're evaluated. - Harvard -
Suck up to your undergrad profs (and coordinate with them) so that they'll write you good recommendation letters for the schools you want. Make sure they know what you want to do, too. Personal connections with your faculty and theirs are invaluable. Write a nice little undergrad thesis in economics if you're a gunner. - UCSD -
Works as a research assistant for a professor, ideally a big-name professors. Go to a different school to work as a research assistant, say at Harvard Business School or the Kennedy School at Harvard. Try to get an impressive recommendation letter this way, i.e. from someone the profession knows and respects. - Harvard -
Take as much math as possible and get good grades in math courses. Try to establish a good relationship with at least two professors in your undergrad econ department and work as a research assistant if you can. Finally, it is best to be a well-rounded person, no matter where you go, so pursue other interests that you love-- don't shut yourself in the library, talking about nothing except the fed funds rate and the Laffer Curve! If you have no outside interests, grad school will burn you out quickly. - Johns Hopkins U. -
Well the obvious answer is "Math, Math Math, learn that language well", but beyond that pace yourself, a PhD is just a first step, but it is an important one, and it takes longer than you will easily appreciate. If you take care of yourself, do your best to pragmatically move forward each day, and have patience with your self and the program you are in you will do very well. If you look for difficulty and for problems with {yourself, your advisors, your department, the profession, academic learning, etc.}, you will easily find them, but suffer as a result. Being an Academic does not make you responsible to have the right answer to any research question you are interested in as you ask it, it makes you responsible for wanting to learn about the phenomena that led to your question, and for improving understanding of the problem within the profession- most of the time this leads to a great answer, sometimes you learn things much more important than what you set out to learn, but sometimes you discover that the question its self was too big, or too small and then you are learning how to ask better questions. That requires great personal responsibility, and a willingness to let go of a lot of pride- it is a big deal to remember from day to day. - Berkeley -
Trying to win a graduate fellowship can sometimes feel like playing the lottery -- long odds for a big payoff. I remember well the stress of the application process, and my surprise when I actually landed a National Science Foundation fellowship while some of my academically superior peers did not. I credit equal parts good luck and good strategy.
In the sciences, the best fellowships pay tuition and a stipend of up to $30,000 a year, for multiple years. Some also provide money for research expenses.
Many students learn the ropes of fellowship writing through long, hard experience -- if they learn them at all. What I learned from the application process is that you can tweak the odds in your favor. I would like to offer some tips here to help you get a leg up on your competition.
Make Time
Writing fellowships is not easy. But like any large task, it can be broken down into smaller, more manageable elements. For successful applicants, applying for a fellowship is not a one-weekend, or even a one-month, endeavor. As with any writing project that demands a substantial, polished, well-thought-out product, cramming at the last minute will not produce your best work.
Plan well ahead of your deadline, and build extra time into your schedule. Many people budget considerable time over their summer and fall for a November due date. One winner I know worked on his proposal for over a year.
If you're a first-year graduate student, you should consider taking on fewer commitments from the enticing new menu before you in order to have time to work on fellowship proposals. Count your proposal writing as equivalent to a hefty seminar.
Do Your Homework
Most universities have a fellowship office that can get you started answering your first question: What opportunities for financial support are out there? Set aside a couple of afternoons to browse through binders of information. Don't forget to talk to the staff members in that office; they often have a wealth of experience and knowledge, and can point you to workshops on grant writing.
On the Web, a good place to start looking for fellowships is at GrantsNet. Among the biggest names in the business:
Spending some time searching around the Web or at your fellowship office may reward you with a more obscure, less competitive source of money in your discipline.
Once you've decided which fellowships to apply for, it's time to gather information. Find out which topics are most often supported, and which rarely get the nod. Don't forget to read all of the material supplied by the grant agency.
Tailoring your proposal to the interests of the agency or foundation is critical. Parse the call for proposals thoroughly, and make sure your proposal deals with all the criteria.
Read as many successful proposals as you can find. University fellowship offices may have archived proposals, organized by agency. Hit up previous winners in your department for their proposals, and ask for their advice. They may represent potential editors for your drafts.
Narrow Your Focus
A few students enter graduate school knowing exactly what they want to study. If you are one of them, so much the better -- build on what you have already done.
Many students don't have such focus, although most have some idea of the areas that interest them. Being faced with a blank piece of paper on which to describe your earth-shaking future research can seem daunting.
The first step, then, is to find out what people have already done in your areas of interest. Make use of your university librarian, and be as systematic as possible. Note that no matter how clear you are about what you want to pursue, you will need to demonstrate your understanding of the existing literature. So keep track of what you read -- you will be evaluated partly on the citations in your final proposal.
The Idea
The crux of the application is the research question you will investigate. It can be of your own design; indeed, developing your own good idea is very satisfying. But there are other paths to identifying your research question, as well.
Finding a question that follows logically from an existing line of inquiry is a great way to go. That is where your reading will pay off. Proposing to fill an existing void in the research -- even an obvious one -- has formed the basis for many successful proposals. Often you can find next steps and research gaps directly laid out in the conclusions of research papers.
An equally valid approach is to look to your adviser or another professor for a topic, or merely for guidance on a topic you've identified. You will develop the idea into a solid proposal, and own it by the time you finish.
Make sure you have a hypothesis -- or more than one. Failure on that seemingly obvious point has sunk many an applicant. You need to be able to boil down your research goal to a specific question you propose to ask, rather than discussing a general examination of a topic. Explicitly laying out your approach as a test of null and alternate hypotheses will force you to clarify your thinking about the research you plan to pursue, and it will help you explain it unambiguously.
Try using your course work to help you on your fellowship proposal. Doing your research as part of a class can be helpful. Taking a seminar on your topic of interest can provide structure and focus for your literature review, and a captive audience to evaluate your ideas as they develop. It is also a chance to enlist the support of an interested professor.
Know Your Audience
Your proposal will be read by busy scientists who probably are not expert in your exact area of interest. They read hundreds of proposals in a sitting, with the goal of quickly eliminating those that don't stand out as excellent. Make it easy for them to choose yours. How?
Write clearly. The most brilliant idea can easily be swallowed by stilted prose. Re-read The Elements of Style.
Minimize your use of jargon. Remember, you are not writing for someone who knows your topic fluently. State things simply in common terms, and define your terms clearly if you must use nonstandard language.
Format appropriately, but don't overdo it. Underline your hypothesis, italicize key points, put big ideas in boldface type, use bullets. Those tricks will help readers who are skimming your proposal, and will make the main concepts stick in their heads for that extra moment.
Use figures and graphics where appropriate. If you have preliminary data, relevant information from another source, a map of your study area, or a simple graphic to represent your ideas, by all means include it. It will probably count toward your page limit, but a strong visual element can be well worth the words you trade for it.
It's All About You
Don't forget that most graduate-student fellowships are intended to support a person, not an actual product.
Your main task is to demonstrate that you can conceptualize and present a strong potential research path. Many students I know who received an NSF grant are conducting research different from the project they proposed, and the NSF is generally fine with the switch.
Remember that your entire application counts, not just your research plan. Don't neglect the other essays you are required to include. For example, the section on your background should justify why you are qualified to carry out the research you propose, and the section on career goals should show how you plan to use the skills you will develop during your schooling.
Successful proposals seem to have a few elements in common. Some of those characteristics are:
A focus on a "hot" area of the discipline. The scientists evaluating your proposal will have a broad familiarity with the field, and may know what the spicy topics of the season are. You will impress them if you are on the ball enough to address an active debate and controversy.
A "doable" scope. That means the project should be doable by you, on a dissertation time scale, with the resources you expect to have available. The scope of most proposals is too large at first, and needs to be narrowed.
Clear knowledge of the subject. Demonstrate your familiarity with the system, field site, organization, organism, star cluster, or whatever you intend to study.
Relevance to the grant agency's goals. Private foundations might have programmatic areas of interest you can contribute to. Even the NSF, which promotes basic research, seeks applicability in the work it finances. In some cases, such as the EPA's STAR fellowships, relevance is essential. Be shameless about emphasizing how your project will further social goals or have policy implications.
Drafts, Drafts, and More Drafts
Don't be afraid to start writing the proposal before you feel ready. Rewriting again and again will tighten your prose, clarify your ideas, and polish your proposal. It will also help you ferret out typos. I found four in my final proposal when I reread it the other day. I got lucky in spite of that. You might not.
Ideally, professors in your field will carefully read and improve your drafts. Others who are not as expert, including friends, family, and peers, can evaluate your writing and logic. If what you are trying to say is unclear to a fellow student, chances are it will be unclear to the evaluation committee.
Prep Your Recommenders
Fellowships can require four or more glowing statements about what a wonderful and brilliant person you are. To get this far, you probably have developed and maintained relationships with people, hopefully professors, who can attest to your best qualities.
It's important to offer evidence that your work has the support of your department or university. Grant agencies want to know that faculty members are invested in your success. Even if you are a first-year graduate student, your advisers should understand their function in this regard, and if they don't, it is completely legitimate to politely let them know.
It doesn't hurt if your recommenders are prominent in your field of interest. However, it is more important to have someone in your corner who writes well and wants to be your champion than to choose a big name who is not invested enough in your success to put the effort into writing a glowing appraisal.
Some applicants actively cultivate, and even coach, their recommenders. One student in our department actually lays out a list of important points, respectfully asking each letter-writer to attest to an aspect of her qualifications (quantitative skills, creativity, language skills, etc.) that supports her application.
Give your recommenders copies of your draft proposal well before they write their letters. Better yet, give them a copy of it well before it is due, and solicit their feedback. The more they invest in you, particularly if you might work in their research group, the better off you are.
Apply, Already!
The odds may seem against you, but this is a worthwhile exercise. A month before submitting my NSF proposal, I was deeply distressed. Everyone else applying seemed so much more in control, confident, and focused. I came pretty close to chucking the whole thing. I'm glad I didn't.
The reason I stuck with it was that I shifted my attitude from an all-or-nothing, win-or-lose mentality. I relaxed, accepted that my chances were slim (everybody's are!), and approached the process as an opportunity to explore an idea that I actually wanted to pursue, without attachment to the notion of a big payoff.
However your fellowship application turns out, you will gain valuable experience and a much deeper understanding of a field of interest to you. You might also get a dissertation topic out of it, or, equally valuable, the knowledge that you don't want to explore that topic. You will also gain a template for future proposals.
Some fellowships will even send you copies of reviewer's comments, which will help you recraft your proposal for resubmission to that agency or elsewhere. And maybe, just maybe, you will be rewarded by a life-changing letter.
Last Tuesday, I heard a satisfying clunk as my final graduate-school application hit the bottom of a mailbox at the post office. I'm finally finished applying to grad school, and it only cost me $1,500, not including postage.
(Why so much? The average application fee has burgeoned to $60 to $75, the Educational Testing Service charges $15 for each test score it transfers -- not to mention the cost of taking Graduate Record Examination's general and subject-oriented tests, which are around $120 a piece -- and some colleges charge students to send transcripts, although not mine, thankfully. Multiply those costs by the fact that many students apply to 10 to 15 different graduate schools, and you get the picture.)
Most of the application process is done on the Web, but you still have to mail a few things the old-fashioned way, namely a writing sample and a personal statement about why you want to pursue a Ph.D.
The writing sample is easy enough, but the personal statement? On the surface, writing a personal statement didn't sound like a very difficult thing to do -- it seemed like a slightly harder version of the application essays I wrote to get into my undergraduate college. But now that I've finished writing mine, I realize it was the weightiest thing in that mailbox.
About four months ago, as I prepared to start crafting my personal statement, I stopped in to visit my mentor, Bill Jeremiah, to get some tips -- just in case I encountered writer's block.
"Bill," I said. "I've never written a personal statement before. Any advice?"
He glanced at me from over the mountain of undergraduate essays he was grading. "Well,' he said, "the personal statement is probably the single most important part of your application. It has to be absolutely perfect."
"Perfect?" I gulped. "What do you mean by 'perfect,' exactly? Are you suggesting an objective standard by which mine and all other personal statements will be measured? Or are you saying, perfect in the sense that my statement is an accurate portrayal of an individual life, with all its flaws and yet noble qualities as well? I mean, how could a personal statement even be 'perfect' when, by its very nature, such statements are subjective?"
Bill sighed and laid his pen gently on his desk. "Don't worry about it. Just be yourself and you should do fine."
When I returned to my apartment, Bill's exhortation rang through my head, "It has to be perfect." I tried to think if I had ever written -- or ever read -- a perfect document, when I was suddenly reminded of my favorite "Far Side" cartoon. In it, Abe Lincoln stands in front of a podium with a crowd of people gathered around. The reader can see over Lincoln's shoulder. On the podium rests a piece of paper, which reads:
And the bartender said, "That's not a duck!" (Pause for laughter.) Four score and seven years ago ...
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Right! I thought. Begin with a joke or a funny anecdote to get the reader's attention. Show that admissions committee that although I am a serious-minded scholar, I can appreciate a good knock-knock joke or well-placed pun. I mined my brain for amusing personal stories that somehow related to my desire to pursue a Ph.D. in English literature, but came up empty-handed. I needed help, so I turned to the guidebook on applying to graduate school that a professor had given me as a graduation gift. Under "personal statements," I read the following: "Do not attempt humor."
As the walls of writer's block began to collapse in on me, I remembered Bill's other piece of advice, "Just be yourself." I took a deep breath, sat down at my computer, and began to type:
Occasionally, when I read a book, there are moments when the gulf between past and present contracts, and I am suddenly aware of my connection to a larger community, a great chain of readers stretching back into history, who have all interacted with this work, just as I have now. Those moments always leave me with the sense that literature has gravity -- that the ideas put forth in novels, poems, and stories have weight and should be reckoned with. Perhaps that feeling first inspired my love and passion for the study of literature.
The next morning, I sent Bill a copy of my first draft. I expected to see a response in a day or two, something jocular, but brief, saying, "Great job, good start, just a few things to fix and you're set." But about an hour later, I received the following e-mail message: "We need to talk."
When I sat down in Bill's office, he held a copy of my statement so red with ink that it looked as if it had been attacked by wild beasts. "I don't know quite how to say this," Bill began, his brow furrowed with concern, "but I have to say, if I were on an admissions committee and read this statement, I'd put it on the rejection pile."
"Oh?" I said. "That's very interesting. What's wrong with it?"
"Well, let's look at this word, for instance," he said. "I'd recommend you not say 'love.' It might communicate the wrong message. What about 'commitment'? Jane, I'm going to be honest with you; your statement sounds a little critically naïve. Are you sure you're ready for graduate school? You shouldn't go just because you love to read -- grad school is about preparing for a profession. It's not a book club."
"I know it's not a book club," I said. "I was just trying to show that I care."
"Yes," Bill said. "But that's not the point of a statement like this, really. The people who read these things want to know whether or not you will be an asset to their program. You have to prove that you have the potential to eventually publish, teach, and make presentations. You have to present yourself both as professional and as someone who is able to be taught."
In that light, I could see why my statement must have been such a disappointing shock. I pictured Bill at home, sitting in an overstuffed leather chair in a book-lined, walnut-paneled office. In one hand, he holds a glass of an estate-bottled Napa merlot, in the other, a copy of my personal statement. He begins to read. Suddenly, he sees them -- red-flag words scattered through my essay like land mines. He chokes on his wine; does she know how this sounds? He can picture the admissions committee descending on my statement like a pack of wolves on a wounded dog. Words like "love," and "passion" do not belong in a personal statement about doctoral study in English. They belong in a Harlequin romance. The statement is childishly idealistic and lacks the proper level of critical detachment needed in a serious scholar. Somewhere outside, echoing across the snowdrifts, he hears a howl.
I returned to my apartment and looked at my statement. Bill was right. It did seem naïvely idealistic. Too much like Dead Poets Society, and not enough like Discipline and Punish. As I sat down at my desk to begin again, I tried to channel my inner Foucault so that I could think about my work and my abilities with the appropriate critical distance.
This, it seems, is the real challenge of academic writing -- how to write about a topic in an engaging, yet detached manner. I don't think I've quite mastered it, though I'm trying.
When I was an undergraduate, I began to notice a change in my writing style as I entered upper-level English courses. My essays tended to be jargon-heavy and full of what Hemingway called $10 words. When I read them now, I'm reminded of when I was a young girl and used to walk around the house in my mother's high heels, tripping in my attempt at sophistication. My writing sounded like I was playacting at being an academic rather than actually being one.
Like many students in my position, I am still weaning myself from the notion that graduate school is analogous to college. On a rational level, most of us realize that graduate school will be difficult -- much harder than our undergraduate course work. But on an emotional level, many students believe that graduate school will somehow fulfill unsatisfied intellectual desires -- that it will be a haven for ideas, or a place to finally prove our genius.
My eureka came when I realized that graduate school is not a summer camp for intellectuals; it's more like boot camp for future academics. The purpose of graduate school is to train students for a profession. It's like an apprenticeship of sorts, except for at the end of it, you're not necessarily going to find a job.
The more I thought about graduate study as a job, the easier it was to write my statement. No longer did I feel compelled to divulge my innermost hopes and dreams; that wasn't what this particular assignment required. Instead, I needed to state why I should be hired to be a graduate student.
And I think I made a good case for myself -- maybe not a "perfect" case, but a solid one nonetheless. Now I just have to wait and see if anyone else agreed.
When I decided to apply to graduate school in English literature, I expected an enthusiastic response from my mentor, Dr. Bill Jeremiah, at my small liberal-arts college. (Note to readers: Names have been changed to protect the innocent -- namely, me. After all, these people will be writing my letters of recommendation.)
I was choosing to pursue the life of the mind. What could be more admirable? But instead of giving me a standing ovation, Bill adopted a set of facial expressions that ranged from grave to deathly grave.
"Jane," he said, "I think we need to talk." His voice had the same tone as emergency-room doctors from B movies, the sort of doctors who approach the patient's next-of-kin and say things like, "I'm afraid your daughter has only an hour to live."
"Sure," I murmured. "Talk. Great."
Bill led me to his office and sat me down in the only open space amid the piles of books. It happened to be the patch of ground directly underneath his framed Harvard diploma.
"You might want to reconsider," Bill said. "Graduate school can be taxing emotionally, mentally, and physically. There's no guarantee that you'll finish, and it's even less likely that you'll get a job once you're through. When it's all said and done, you might wonder if it's worth it." His voice was calm, but I could tell by his furrowed brow that what he truly wanted to say was, "Graduate school is a slow and unrelenting descent into hell. Save yourself while you still can."
I felt the earth move under my feet. Grad school had been my last great hope. For most of my life, I tried to hide the fact that I liked to learn because it cut down on the amount of after-school beatings from my less enthusiastic classmates. Even in college, where students pay to learn, I discovered to my dismay that many of my peers cared more about beer bongs and frat parties than Shakespeare and Yeats. But despite my disappointment, I remained optimistic because I was holding out for grad school -- the nerd Utopia -- a place where thoughtful people gathered to discuss ideas that really mattered.
When I told this to Bill, he gave a wry laugh. "Let me guess," he sighed. "You thought that grad school would be fun."
I left Bill's office with lead in my guts. The last time I'd felt this low was when I was 7 and my brother Peter told me that Santa Claus was just Grandpa in a red suit and a fake beard. No. It was worse -- it was the death of all my dreams. I could hear the ER doc in my head say, "Sorry ma'am. There was nothing we could do."
I'm usually not so melodramatic, but disillusionment is hard to bear. I decided I needed a second opinion, so I stopped by the office of another professor, Dr. Natalie Poppins.
"Natalie," I said, bracing myself for the worst, "I want to go to grad school."
She let out a whoop of joy that rattled the walls. "That's great news," she exclaimed. "You'll love grad school. I spent the best 11 years of my life there and I don't regret one minute."
My eyes bulged. "Eleven years?"
"And even though I still owe $70,000 in loans," she said, "every penny was worth it." She handed me a cup of tea. "Spoonful of sugar?"
"No thanks," I said. "I thought people pay you to go to grad school -- I thought a Ph.D. usually takes four years."
Natalie laughed merrily. "Don't worry about the time and the money," she said with an indefatigable smile. "You're investing in your brain. A learned mind is the world's most portable skill set. No matter where you go, no one can take it away from you."
I blanched. As an English major, I was well versed in dramatic irony. I could imagine several things that could cause my brain to depreciate in value, especially since grad students are notoriously prone to stress, alcoholism, male-pattern baldness, schizophrenia, and self-induced massive head trauma.
As I left Natalie's office, a blanket of ambivalence enveloped me. Grad school had always seemed like the obvious next step, but now I wondered if anyone thought it was a good idea. This much I knew: Graduate study would be long, difficult, potentially expensive, and possibly fruitless.
I wondered if part of my confusion over graduate school stemmed from the completely contradictory advice I'd received. Maybe, I thought, just maybe I'd be better off consulting someone a little older, someone who had years of experience in the academic world, someone who could put things in perspective. With that in mind, I dropped in on my academic adviser, Dr. Stephen Methuselah.
"Doc," I cried, "Please, tell me the truth. Is grad school worth it?"
"Jane," Doc said, his sage eyes brimming with wisdom, "I've been out of graduate school for over 30 years. Everyone I know from school is either dead or retired. Maybe you should talk to someone who's graduated more recently. Have you met with Bill or Natalie?"
"Doc," I said, my head hung low, "I'm at the end of my rope. I can understand if my professors want me to know what I'm getting into, but why do they have to make grad school sound so hopeless and scary? It's hard to motivate myself to apply when all I have to go on is an overwhelming sense of dread coupled with the near certainty of failure. The application process is dehumanizing enough -- the test scores that tell you how intelligent you are, the check boxes that tell you what sex and race you are, the rejection letters that tell you how worthless you are. The last thing I need is professors who don't believe in me. Just tell me I have what it takes."
He looked at me fondly. "Of course you do. And so do most people who apply. And some get in, and some don't. It's not fair, but neither is life. If you haven't learned that by now, then you'll certainly learn it once you're in grad school."
"If I get into grad school," I said.
Doc chuckled. "Sure you will. Someone has to get in, or else who would teach?"
"You mean, whom would the professors teach, right?
I attended my first academic conference during my second year of graduate school. While I was there, I ran into a professor whom I had studied with as an undergraduate, and who had written a letter of recommendation for me for graduate school. I saw him at the tables the conference had set up to sell books by the presenters and keynote speakers.
Before I went over to say hello, I noticed that he was looking at his own book -- an analysis of contemporary poetry published by a prestigious university press. Several copies were lying flat amid a long line of similar books along the edge of the table. He appraised the situation, and then approached the person behind the table. The bookseller nodded, and handed him a little white stand, which he used to take one copy of his book and set it up on top of the others, displayed visibly to all comers.
"Oh my God," I thought at the time, "what shameless self-promotion. I can't believe an academic would do something like that."
What I didn't know then, as a graduate student of not even two years vintage, is that having a successful academic career largely depends upon your talents at shameless self-promotion.
It is not entirely our fault, however. We are schooled in this behavior -- compelled to it, practiced in it, tormented by it -- with the constant rituals of self-evaluation we must undertake at every step of our careers.
And self-evaluation, if you have ambition to succeed, means self-promotion.
A few months ago I sat down with the dean and provost of my college, along with my department chairman, to undertake my third-year review. That meeting, which lasted less than 30 minutes -- and was, happily, mostly positive -- was based on the written evaluations that had been submitted for me: a two-page letter from my chairman, a two-page letter from the dean, and around a 400-page document from me.
Those 400 pages included three years of syllabi, other course materials, and the manuscript for my first book -- material, in other words, that I needed only to compile for the review, not write. But the first document in the stack was a 25-page evaluation of all the documents that followed, and an analysis of what I have done well and not so well in my first three years on the tenure track.
Is there any sentence more difficult to write, without sounding like a pompous ass, than the one that follows this opening: "My primary strengths as a teacher include ..."? I would be interested to see the reaction of the freshmen in my 8:30 a.m. composition class in my first semester of teaching if they were to learn that I thought my primary strength was cultivating good discussions. Their exclamations of protest might be the first time I heard their voices.
But in three years I got better -- and I got smart enough to avoid 8:30 a.m. classes after that. So I felt justified in making that statement.
Equally difficult to write were the sentences that identified my weaknesses. I didn't want to be like the candidate for a nonacademic job interview who responds, when asked about his worst quality, that sometimes he works too hard. But I also didn't want to criticize myself too harshly; they might actually believe me.
So I settled on a few things that I have been wanting to do for these past few years, like put my courses online, but haven't got around to yet.
Of course, this third-year review is just a warm-up for the tenure review, for which I will have to write another one of these self-evaluations of my first six years. (I am told by savvy colleagues that you can crib much of your tenure self-evaluation from your third-year document.) I can't imagine how many trees will perish in the process of compiling and writing all of the documents for that review.
These self-evaluations get on my nerves, because at times it feels like laziness on the part of the administrators. Evaluating me is part of their job, right?
Let's try this, I want to say: I teach, serve, and write; you evaluate me. I don't see why I should have to do both my job and your job too.
Of course, as always, I know there is another side. The process of having to write a comprehensive self-evaluation forces me to articulate the reasons for doing what I am doing, and that articulation can help me create a better fit between my pedagogical theories and my practice.
I also don't like people telling me what to do -- that's why I became an academic, after all -- so I am more likely to change my behavior as a result of a self-evaluation than as a result of someone else's evaluation.
Given the unsupervised nature of much of what we do in this business, I am really in the best position both to describe and to evaluate my work most effectively. After all, if I develop and perfect an incredibly innovative and effective teaching technique, but no one is observing my class on the days I use it, I have two choices. I can either continue to use it for the benefit of my students, or I can use it for the benefit of my students and describe it in my self-evaluation, so it benefits me, too.
And if I put it in my self-evaluation, I pretty much have to explain that I put it in there because it's incredibly innovative and effective.
That definitely seems like a smarter alternative to me than not telling anyone about it. So as my three years on the tenure track have passed, I have become much more willing to promote myself in descriptions and evaluations of my work, both within and outside of the college.
Still, for me, and I bet for many other academics, the need in such documents to trumpet my work confidently -- to argue why I am the best person for the job, or for continued employment, or for tenure and promotion, or for a course reduction, or for a grant, or a publisher -- never stops feeling like shameless self-promotion.
Maybe someday, when I'm famous, other people will praise my work for me. The president of my college will trot me out before the Board of Trustees, roll down my list of publications and teaching awards, and ask me to deliver some witty remarks after dinner to help pry open bulging wallets; Stanley Fish will court me for his newest stable of superstar academics; Oprah will laud my latest memoir for her book club.
Until then, I can see only one candidate for the job of shamelessly self-promoting me.
It doesn't matter where you earn your degree, how much you publish, or how well you teach," I tell my students who are going to graduate school. "Nothing you do is enough to guarantee a tenure-track job in the humanities."
As I noted in the first two columns in this series, only about 50 percent of Ph.D.'s in English eventually land tenure-track jobs, and the same holds true for most other fields in the humanities. Some of the remaining 50 percent will have prestigious degrees, distinguished advisers, substantial publications, and luminous personalities. That's just the way the academy is today.
"So, point taken," an undeterred student might say, "there are no guarantees. I'm going anyway. But how can I maximize my chances for a tenure-track job?"
Besides raw intellectual ability, graduate students who eventually get tenure-track jobs seem to share five "virtues" (though in varying proportions):
Discipline
Work every day if possible. Do not believe in the myth of the romantic artist, who produces a masterpiece minutes before a deadline. If you work less than 20 hours a week on your writing (in addition to coursework, teaching, and other responsibilities), you'll probably never build up a respectable publishing record, much less finish your dissertation. I find that it is best to write for three or four hours every morning, when my energy level is high and my mind is relatively clear. Don't be a perfectionist, delaying publication until all interest in a topic has passed (including your own).
Publish as much as you can, and if some of your work is unsuccessful, move on, and dilute it with better publications. Sooner or later, you will attract positive attention. Ignore those who encourage younger scholars to produce less work because of the glut of scholarly publications and the shrinking of university presses. You can be sure that most hiring committees and your competition will also ignore that advice. There are new electronic publishing venues emerging even as the old paper ones decline; in some respects, there has never been a better time to be a writer.
Networking Ability
Contrary to the myth of professorial introversion, social networking is necessary, even for the most individualistic professional activities. Opportunities to publish often emerge from direct solicitations from editors and publishers who recognize your authority and availability.
You have to be known in at least one field.
Reaching such a position requires a difficult phase of unsolicited and unpaid submissions, and it also requires making personal contacts at conferences and seminars. On the level of the job search, strong qualifications (publications, teaching experience) are necessary but insufficient. There are dozens, often hundreds, of qualified applicants for every academic position. Personal connections often differentiate one equally qualified candidate from another. Individual members of hiring committees can be concerned about the impact of their choices on professional relationships.
You need to cultivate the respect of senior faculty members (both within and beyond your graduate school) who will be willing to write letters and make phone calls on your behalf. If you have a shortage of people who are willing to stake their reputations on you in the form of strong recommendations and offers to publish, it is a sign that you are considering the wrong profession.
Mental Health
More than any other factor, mental stress (often combined with physical symptoms) prevents the majority of graduate students in the humanities from completing their degrees. The academy has become so hypercompetitive that it seems difficult to succeed except by the exclusion of all other motives, activities, and social interactions.
Graduate school can be characterized by intellectual confusion, a lack of social support, and intense feelings of powerlessness and even worthlessness. It can be more like a shark tank than a symposium. You will probably find for the first time in your life that you are not the smartest person in the room -- and that you are possibly the dumbest.
You may not make a single genuine friend with whom you can share your feelings. Intemperate confessions to supposed friends have a way of becoming public gossip. You may also find yourself at the mercy of an unchallengeable adviser, whose disapproval can decisively end your academic career.
Grad students sometimes alleviate their stress with alcohol or drugs; it is a tradition of writerly romanticism that destroys one's capacity for steady work. The best method of relieving stress is to keep a sense of perspective; try to have a meaningful life outside of the profession. Do not accept depression and physical decline as components of "academic macho." Guard your health: Eat a balanced diet, get enough sleep and exercise, and make friends with people who are not academics.
Flexibility
Consider every plausible job opening in your field; do not turn your Ivy League nose up at a military academy in the Ozarks. It might be your only chance. The majority of academic job seekers cannot afford to be selective about their first tenure-track position. You must be willing to live anywhere and teach anything remotely related to your field. You should be willing to teach at any kind of college or university, including junior colleges and small, liberal-arts colleges with a teaching load of four or five courses each semester.
Once you have a job, your other "virtues" should eventually make it possible for you to move to a more congenial location and institution. Do not put down deep roots if you wish to advance in your career by moving around. Avoid buying property or becoming emotionally entangled with other academics. It helps if you are single and childless, or have a partner who is willing to subordinate his or her career to yours. Dual-career academics face almost insurmountable problems unless they are already academic stars.
Patience
Graduate school in the humanities will take at least five years; it is more likely to take eight years. You will then, in all likelihood, spend one to three years in a poorly paid, postdoctoral position before landing your first tenure-track job.
Each year will be more stressful than the last. You'll find that it's not always the "best" candidates who get hired, but the ones who were selected by a seemingly random process; invisible, unarticulated variables trump "qualifications" every time.
If you finally find a tenure-track job (remember that 50-percent probability), you will work even harder for six more years before you are finally granted tenure, itself a decreasingly secure institution. Overall, the direct road from college graduate to tenured professor will take a minimum of 12 years, and possibly as many as 20. If you are a typical graduating senior, you probably will be in your 40s by the time you have tenure. Meanwhile, you will watch your nonacademic peers (many of them not half as smart, ethical, or hard-working) rise in jobs that pay several times your income.
"Are you sure this is what you want?"
"Remember," I repeatedly advise, "you can do everything right and still fail if your goal is to get a tenure-track job. But I think you are at least less likely to fail if you cultivate these 'virtues.'"
I don't mean to offer some kind of Franklinesque success strategy for grad students. The academy has never been a pure meritocracy. But can anyone deny that the relationship between graduate education and academic employment has become seriously out of balance?
If you are one of the few who made it to the tenure track, you undoubtedly had to work hard and make many personal sacrifices. You undoubtedly possess many of these "virtues." But, if you are honest with yourself, you will admit that you were also very lucky.
