Like dropping a rose petal in the Grand Canyon and waiting for the echo

Academic publishing is such a protracted and arduous process that by the time the article appears in print, I've forgotten what I was trying to say and why it mattered.

It starts with the merest inkling of an idea that grows and possesses my mind until I'm compelled to do some preliminary research just to see whether anyone else has already covered the topic, and then there's more research and thinking and note-taking and drafting followed by feedback from friends and colleagues and revision and more feedback and more revision, and then, finally, polishing up the essay for submission to an academic journal, in this case the premier journal in my field, and then, months later, one very positive reader's report overwhelmed by two encouraging yet negative reports, and then more revision in response to the readers' reports and more feedback from colleagues and more revision and then, finally, submission of a significantly different essay to a smaller and less prestigious journal, followed months later by an acceptance (hurrah!) and then the whole copy-editing and production process, during which time the essay loses its playful title ("Schrodinger's Trash"! What's not to love?) and some of its more clever lines to become a bit more staid and conventional, and then, finally, more than five years after this whole process began, the essay appears in print in an obscure journal where it will be read by the handful of scholars who care about the topic, all looking for flaws.

But: It's a publication! A line on my vita! Proof that I've accomplished something that may outlast my mortal flesh! And it arrives just in time to contribute to the ongoing conversation about the arbitrary ways by which we determine whose lives matter and whose stories deserve to be told, so that's something.

A friend recently asked me whether there's any money in academic publishing and I said no, we do it ostensibly for the noble goal of contributing to the scholarly conversation on important topics and, more practically, to prove that we're worthy of hiring, tenure, or promotion, so I'm not sure why I'm still doing this but I'll admit that I enjoy the frisson of pleasure that occurs when a new publication appears in the mail--even if very few people will ever read it. Good has been done here! Brief pause to pat myself on the back before I move on to the next project.