So Long, And Thanks for all the Fish-Hooks

It's over.  The completed manuscript is now in the post (recorded delivery, of course). After many, many years of struggle, I can say goodbye to my Ph.D. Thesis for good.

My mother once gave me a newspaper cutting from the Times Higher Ed entitled 'My PhD Nightmare'.   It was a brilliant insightful piece which summed up the frustration perfectly.  The whole process of research, writing-up, submission and publication has been a rites-of-passage, to which in my case there has seemingly been no end.

My supervisor told me from the start that the Ph.D could no longer be viewed as the work of a lifetime.  It was a finite chunk of research and writing that should be scheduled for three years, no more.  I disregarded his advice.  I bit off more than I could chew and embarked upon an epic. 

In retrospect, I took on too much, but at the time I was still very immature intelluctually and emotionally.  It soon became apparent to me that I'd taken charge of something far bigger and more important than me.  It was a hard struggle.  It took three years full-time and another four of writing-up before I finally submitted the thesis for examination.  My supervisor moved on.  I moved on.  Two years after submission, I was awarded the degree.  Support from my university at this crucial stage was non-existent, and I lacked the confidence to press ahead with publication.  I was also so exhausted that I just let it lie.  I was jaded by archaeology, I was struggling trying to stay in the profession and disseminating the results of my research got punted right down to the bottom of my priorities list.

After four years or so, I finally started circulating amongst my peers again.  My subject had progressed, and people were more interested in my ideas. At conferences I was often asked when I was going to publish, because my research was rather important and it really ought to be more widely circulated.  Inspired by their enthusiasm, I dug out my old thesis and re-read it.  Instead of cringing with embarrassment, I thought, Wow, did I really write that? 

And so, the decision to publish was made.  Easier said than done, when you've got a 500 page tome in three volumes which has endless tables and figures and 2000+ artefacts for illustration.  It was only when I got the luxury of a permanent post that I had access to the resources I needed to finish the job.  It's taken more than three years of sacrificing lunch-hours and teabreaks (okay, so I should have been working late each night, but hey, I've got a life.  I write my novels then!) but it's done at last.

Looking back on it, there have been numerous high points and low points.  It's nearly driven me to madness on several occasions.  The sense of isolation has at times been overwhelming, and it has done absolutely nothing to progress my career.  But if anyone ever asked me if I'd do it all again, the answer would always be a resounding 'yes'.  I've worked and hung out with some brilliant people.  I've been granted hands-on access to many fine prehistoric artefacts and I've been given unique insights into the people who made, handled and discarded them.  I've also had the privilige of carrying out a piece of individual and entirely original research which threw up some brilliant results and of which I am still immensely proud.  I would not have missed it for the world.

If my literary and creative works are like children, then my thesis is the teenage son who just won't flee the nest.  It hangs around most of the time looking sullen and being rude and dismissive whenever you try and engage it in conversation.  It stays out late.  It comes home drunk and abusive.  It is a source of constant fear and anxiety which is, nonetheless, a part of you that just can't be jettisoned, no matter the cost.  I love and loathe it simultaneously.

Now it's gone.  It's been shoved out of the door and the locks have been changed.  The feeling of relief is indescribable, so tonight I will go out and celebrate.

As for the Title quote?  Yes, I did come across a fish-hook in my travels.  But after careful consideration, I dismissed it as a piece of 'twisted bronze wire'. 

And of all bizarre co-incidences, as I was sifting through the final copy last night and preparing the MS for submission, Bettany Hughes' series on the Romans in Britain was playing on one of the History channels.  Who should be interviewed there but one of the museum curators whose collections I visited during my research trips?  Last time I saw him was over fifteen years ago, when I was a cheeky little postgrad who kept bugging him to dismantle his museum displays . 

The Ancestors move in mysterious ways alright...

.

So Long, And Thanks for all the Fish-Hooks

It's over.  The completed manuscript is now in the post (recorded delivery, of course). After many, many years of struggle, I can say goodbye to my Ph.D. Thesis for good.

My mother once gave me a newspaper cutting from the Times Higher Ed entitled 'My PhD Nightmare'.   It was a brilliant insightful piece which summed up the frustration perfectly.  The whole process of research, writing-up, submission and publication has been a rites-of-passage, to which in my case there has seemingly been no end.

My supervisor told me from the start that the Ph.D could no longer be viewed as the work of a lifetime.  It was a finite chunk of research and writing that should be scheduled for three years, no more.  I disregarded his advice.  I bit off more than I could chew and embarked upon an epic. 

In retrospect, I took on too much, but at the time I was still very immature intelluctually and emotionally.  It soon became apparent to me that I'd taken charge of something far bigger and more important than me.  It was a hard struggle.  It took three years full-time and another four of writing-up before I finally submitted the thesis for examination.  My supervisor moved on.  I moved on.  Two years after submission, I was awarded the degree.  Support from my university at this crucial stage was non-existent, and I lacked the confidence to press ahead with publication.  I was also so exhausted that I just let it lie.  I was jaded by archaeology, I was struggling trying to stay in the profession and disseminating the results of my research got punted right down to the bottom of my priorities list.

After four years or so, I finally started circulating amongst my peers again.  My subject had progressed, and people were more interested in my ideas. At conferences I was often asked when I was going to publish, because my research was rather important and it really ought to be more widely circulated.  Inspired by their enthusiasm, I dug out my old thesis and re-read it.  Instead of cringing with embarrassment, I thought, Wow, did I really write that? 

And so, the decision to publish was made.  Easier said than done, when you've got a 500 page tome in three volumes which has endless tables and figures and 2000+ artefacts for illustration.  It was only when I got the luxury of a permanent post that I had access to the resources I needed to finish the job.  It's taken more than three years of sacrificing lunch-hours and teabreaks (okay, so I should have been working late each night, but hey, I've got a life.  I write my novels then!) but it's done at last.

Looking back on it, there have been numerous high points and low points.  It's nearly driven me to madness on several occasions.  The sense of isolation has at times been overwhelming, and it has done absolutely nothing to progress my career.  But if anyone ever asked me if I'd do it all again, the answer would always be a resounding 'yes'.  I've worked and hung out with some brilliant people.  I've been granted hands-on access to many fine prehistoric artefacts and I've been given unique insights into the people who made, handled and discarded them.  I've also had the privilige of carrying out a piece of individual and entirely original research which threw up some brilliant results and of which I am still immensely proud.  I would not have missed it for the world.

If my literary and creative works are like children, then my thesis is the teenage son who just won't flee the nest.  It hangs around most of the time looking sullen and being rude and dismissive whenever you try and engage it in conversation.  It stays out late.  It comes home drunk and abusive.  It is a source of constant fear and anxiety which is, nonetheless, a part of you that just can't be jettisoned, no matter the cost.  I love and loathe it simultaneously.

Now it's gone.  It's been shoved out of the door and the locks have been changed.  The feeling of relief is indescribable, so tonight I will go out and celebrate.

As for the Title quote?  Yes, I did come across a fish-hook in my travels.  But after careful consideration, I dismissed it as a piece of 'twisted bronze wire'. 

And of all bizarre co-incidences, as I was sifting through the final copy last night and preparing the MS for submission, Bettany Hughes' series on the Romans in Britain was playing on one of the History channels.  Who should be interviewed there but one of the museum curators whose collections I visited during my research trips?  Last time I saw him was over fifteen years ago, when I was a cheeky little postgrad who kept bugging him to dismantle his museum displays . 

The Ancestors move in mysterious ways alright...

.