Publish Not Perish

I often use a GPS to show me where the traffic is so I can pick the fastest route to wherever I’m going. Often, I already know several ways to get there, so it isn’t about being lost; it’s about choosing well given the conditions I’m actually in. A few well-timed turns can save me 20 minutes! For academic writers, the question becomes: what well-timed turns could get you to your draft more efficiently? This is the question we ponder in today’s episode.That question is at the heart of the 80/20 rule, also known as Pareto’s Principle, which holds that roughly 80 percent of your results come from roughly 20 percent of your effort. Think of that 20 percent as the well-timed turns: a small portion of what you do tends to drive most of your progress, just as a few smart turns can save most of the time on a drive.For those of you tackling book projects, the traffic is relentless. There is always one more article to read, one more paragraph to polish, one more email to answer, and one more piece of feedback to weigh, and many of these feel entirely defensible. The key is to focus most of your effort on the 20 percent of your work that actually makes your project publishable! (Hint: it’s not editing and re-editing sentences for the millionth time.)I close with a small exercise for the week, a kind of route check for your writing: choose one writing goal, ask what would most directly move it forward, notice what feels related but is probably lower-impact right now (the scenic detour, if you will), and consider which standard you could lower without harming the final project. I hope this conversation helps you choose your route a little more deliberately, and I’d love to hear where the GPS sends you! This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.publishnotperish.net

Writing a book means making thousands of decisions alone, about argument and structure and which sentence earns its place, and then one day the reader reports arrive and several other minds enter a room you thought was yours alone. Even when that feedback is generous and clearly meant to help, it can still knock you sideways, because a book is an entire architecture, and someone suggesting you rethink the structure or add an entire set of literature is much bigger than a line edit.In this episode, I talk through why that disorientation is a normal, even predictable, part of the process and why giving yourself a beat before diagnosing what the feedback means is not procrastination but genuine preparation for the work ahead.Once we’ve sat with the feeling of it, I walk through the system I actually use to make sense of a stack of reader reports: sorting comments by topic (argument, literature, evidence, methods) and then again by scale (minor, medium, major), so you can tell the difference between a bookshelf issue and a load-bearing wall.I also get into the harder, less discussed skill of deciding what not to revise, and how keeping a simple tracking document, noting the concern, your decision, and your reasoning, becomes part of the intellectual labor rather than an administrative afterthought.My hope is that this episode gives you a concrete way to hold onto your authorship even while taking feedback seriously, so you can strengthen the book without handing it over entirely to everyone else’s preferences.As a bonus for today’s episode, here’s a guide on how to think about and work through the revision process for a journal article. Even though the guide is focused on articles, you’ll see many of my major revision processes apply, whether it’s a shorter or longer form project. https://drive.google.com/file/d/167u8HSnk9-UMpGFDiV-mMeGrC-VR1ASu/view?usp=sharing This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.publishnotperish.net

I signed up for a certification in neurodivergent-inclusive coaching because I wanted to understand my clients better, but I learned so much about myself in the process. Since childhood, I’ve known I was dyslexic, but the training provided me with fresh insights into the patterns of my attention, working memory, task initiation, and energy, deepening my understanding of why I resonate so strongly with my clients who have ADHD. More importantly, the course sharpened something I’ve believed since I started Publish Not Perish: a writing strategy is only useful if it works for the brain that actually has to use it, not for an imaginary academic who sleeps well every night, teaches without depletion, and can produce on command.Much of the training centered on executive function: capacities like task initiation, planning, working memory, emotional regulation, and flexible thinking. Looking at academic work through that lens makes a lot of writing trouble that seems mysterious or moral become specific and workable. Three days of avoiding a document probably doesn’t indicate laziness or poor discipline. The task may be too big, your capacity may be depleted, or the stakes may feel so high that starting becomes difficult. Each problem calls for a different response.In this episode, I talk about what this training taught me about neurodivergence, writing, and my own brain, and why you may not need another productivity system so much as a better understanding of what produces friction for your brain and what lights it up. Ps. Much of the definitional information I share in this episode comes from the course Neurodivergent Inclusive Coaching, which I took with the organization In Good Company in 2026. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.publishnotperish.net

A few weeks ago I published an episode about treating your writing plan as a Google Doc and not a PDF. The rationale is that just because you plan to write that chapter draft in four weeks doesn’t mean you can predict everything that can get in the way of that plan. While I still hold there is no crystal ball for planning writing projects, I do think there's a common planning mistake that I see many academics making: we plan without taking into account what is actually on our plates and instead plan in some sort of ideal void that is free of the rest of our responsibilities. It’s a sort of amnesia that forgets the hiring season, the grading spike, the invited chapter we agreed to months ago, the family visit, and the always, already hectic semester rhythms. As a result, we often make writing plans without all the data we need, and when those plans collapse, we feel behind and ashamed that we have failed the plan. In this episode I walk through what it looks like to plan from a fuller view of your responsibilities, starting with your work calendar and the service commitments that look tiny on paper and enormous in the nervous system, then the writing obligations beyond the book that draw from the same intellectual and emotional reserves, and finally the parts of your life outside work that have their own seasons of less quiet, less privacy, and less energy. Once you can see all of it at once, you can scale the work to the conditions you are actually writing in, which might mean rereading the chapter and revising ten pages rather than finishing the whole thing, or leaving yourself a clear memo so that future you can re-enter the manuscript without having to excavate it. And if just revising ten pages makes you feel like you’re not being ambitious enough, remember that scaling your writing plans is what actually allows ambition to survive your actual work life and life life. Related Content: This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.publishnotperish.net

There’s a fantasy that circulates with writers, including academic writers, that writing has to feel meaningful, or clear, or inspired before it counts. Today I want to trouble this notion and instead present what I think is a more realistic version of what actually happens in a writing life.Much of your writing days will be insignificant, banal, or feel like you are going in circles. Yet, when one writing session becomes the referendum on whether years of work on your book or article were worth it, the work is buried under all that weight, and we start requiring impossible conditions before we’ll let ourselves begin to write.I talk through why “I don’t feel like writing” and “I can’t write today” are two different sentences, even though we treat them as the same one, and what it looks like to let a session be ordinary instead of steeped in ceremony.To be clear, I’m not arguing that anyone should push through exhaustion, grief, or genuine distress, because there’s a difference between dealing with life stress and managing feelings about writing. I’m talking about the smaller, more common friction: boredom, the dread of opening the document, the sense that we’re not ready or clear enough yet. You don’t need inspiration to write. Instead, inspiration comes through the act of writing itself.I walk through a few ways to shrink a writing session down to something you can start before you feel like it and why repeated, unglamorous contact with a project does more for it than waiting for the beautiful, spacious afternoon. I hope you find my musings useful! This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.publishnotperish.net