Dr Karen McAulay explores the history of Scottish music collecting, publishing and national identity from the 18th to 20th centuries. Research Fellow at Royal Conservatoire of Scotland, author of two Routledge monographs.
My article is out today!
History Scotland Vol.24 No.1, January/February 2024, pp. 12-17
I am delighted to see my article about these remarkable women – and now I have a publication amongst my 2023 outputs!
Soon, very soon, all will be revealed! It’s been quite a quiet year, as far as publications go. Very quiet. But I have had one article and two chapters waiting at their publishers, and this weekend will at least see the article published in History Scotland. Featured on the cover, too.
Hooray!
Image by Belinda Cave from Pixabay
It occurred to me that many folk with a recently finished PhD or some other significant piece of research, must wonder whether to publish it as a book. Now my second monograph has moved to the revision stage, I thought I’d share a few thoughts on the process.
Everyone will arrive at this point with different prior experiences. In my case, I’ve written in a variety of formats and contexts. All writing experience is useful, even if you have to adopt different styles and protocols.
So, here I am, revising the draft of my second monograph. And it’s different. It’s like swimming – eventually you take off your armbands, do a few lengths of the pool, and at some point, head for the sea. I can’t talk about writing a non-academic book, but I can certainly outline what’s likely to happen with a scholarly one.
And then – if it hasn’t happened already – someone utters the dreaded words,
“And what’s your next book going to be about … ?”
Unknown, interested well-wisher
Music by subscription : composers and their networks in the British music-publishing trade, 1676-1820 / edited by Simon D.I. Fleming, Martin Perkins. (Routledge, 2022)
I wrote a chapter for this book, which came out in 2022. I wonder if anyone has read RCS’s e-book version? The hardback itself seems to have sat on the shelf unnoticed for a whole year ….
‘Strathspeys, reels, and instrumental airs: a national product’ (pp.177-197)
The Fellow sits outside Cromars fish and chip shop, and cogitates. The chips – which were too hot to handle five minutes ago – have magically cooled to the ‘am I still enjoying these?’ stage, but I have achieved my aim: a short walk by the sea, and chips outdoors for lunch. Now I have to go back to my desk and face The Fear.
Writing a book? You take a deep breath, and start. One chapter at a time, head down and just keep going.
You get it as good as you can, submit it, and wait for the feedback. Not so different from writing an academic assignment, really.
The report comes back. Taking a deep breath, you read it. Then again, carefully. In my case, it was kind and eminently reasonable. After a bit of thought, you respond.
But now for the scary bit! The revision. At this point, you have to address the gentle suggestions for improvements. Not only are you reaching into the recesses of your brain to produce new sparkling prose to align with someone else’s carefully considered suggestions, but there’s another deadline.
I’ve booked some scattered annual leave (so as not to cause too much inconvenience) and mapped out my time.
The Fellow has a busy couple of months ahead, disregarding the festive season!
I would still have preferred a couple more hours’ sleep yesterday morning, but I sat down to revise my paper in the afternoon, and found my early morning brain had done me a favour: moving a couple of chunks of text didn’t involve much rewriting, and I think it makes a more interesting narrative.
My weekend working pattern is a bit disjointed – anyone running a household will understand – but that’s just my reality. Revise a bit of writing – start cooking dinner – a bit more revision. And so on. I tell myself that my subconscious mind is still working on it. (So, when I was carving the roast …? No, I don’t believe it was working at all!)
I also timed my paper. I think I must still read a bit too fast, though, although I do try to pace it. I don’t gabble. Maybe I should try again tonight, as slowly as I can manage. How do other folk get themselves to slow down? Any special strategies, tips or hints?
Here are suggestions from friends and colleagues. I’ve been practising with the first two already:-
I woke early again this morning, but thankfully my wakeful brain wasn’t in editorial mode today…
I didn’t sleep well last night. Apart from external disturbances, once I was FULLY awake at 5 am – the fourth time I’d woken up – my mind did its usual trick of rehearsing anything I was worried about. I reflected about my choir (I’m a church organist); had a wee think about an optician’s appointment; wondered – again – whether someone about to revise a book draft had any right to think about sewing a jacket – and mused contentedly about the first of two talks I’m giving this month.
Then, there it was. The second talk – the whole hour of it – there in my mind, Word headings structured down the side and all. It’s a perfectly good paper, and I was happy enough with it earlier in the week. I was still pleased enough yesterday evening.
Or was I?
Yes, I was – consciously, at any rate. Plainly, there was a subconscious part of my mind that was less so.
All it amounts to, is moving a chunk of text, and I can see how to make the link smooth at the beginning of it. I’m just concerned about the other end of it. But lying in the dark, I was warm and comfy – and tired, albeit awake – and nothing was going to drag me down to my laptop at five in the morning.
My mind decided to have a go at something else: the PowerPoint. It’s a lovely set of slides, no problem there.
‘You’re going to have to rearrange the slides’, said my mind, shoogling them about in its imagination. ‘You’re bound to get in a muddle with the order.’
I don’t really think that’s a big deal, though. Just a practical detail, not a conceptual one.
Huffily, my brain metaphorically shrugged its shoulders. ‘Suit yourself. Wanna go back to sleep, then?’
At 6.54 am? On a Sunday morning, when I have to rehearse the choir at 10? Nope, no more sleep. I put the light on. ‘Why is the light on so early?’, asked the other sleepy organist beside me.
So early? He doesn’t know the half of it. And I can’t do anything about my paper until this afternoon.
But it could have been worse – at least I wasn’t Eliza, after a giddy night out!:-
Bed, bed I couldn’t go to bed,
Sung by Eliza in My Fair Lady, by Lerner and Loewe
My head’s too light to try to set it down;
Sleep, sleep I couldn’t sleep tonight,
Not for all the jewels in the crown.
[I could have danced all night …]
I brought it on myself. A solid day’s writing should have been a delicious treat, but my eyes disagreed.
I’d written maybe 1k words (max) yesterday. Today, I was aiming for another 3k. And then – round about coffee time – the right side of my head suggested it might be a bit uncomfortable.
Nonsense, I told it. We’ll get a bit more of this written.
Very well, said my eyes. On your head be it. And it was! When will I learn?
Eventually, I capitulated – I went for a latte, two strong painkillers and a flapjack. I didn’t really want the flapjack, but it was intended to lessen the chance of the coffee and painkillers upsetting my gut!
Back to the laptop, I pushed on, but I did go for a quick walk by the sea at lunchtime. The waves were choppy, and it was raining steadily. But remarkably, the medication, the sea air, and a healthy walk in the rain did the trick.
This afternoon, I was more sensible. I took another break. Did I manage the target 3k? I’m afraid not! However, I got fairly close, and my head was clear to enjoy an evening seminar.
Tomorrow’s another day. I’ll get there yet!
UPDATE!
My book report arrived today. Yes, there are some revisions to be made, but I don’t mind. That was to be expected.
Being ‘beautifully written’ is such a very lovely compliment. 😍
Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay
Logically, it should make no difference where we sit to work on our research. A laptop, a table and chair – that’s it, isn’t it?
However, my concentration is undeniably better in St Andrews, and I’m convinced it’s because of the circumstances. For a start, it’s a seven hour round trip by bus. If I spend that much time just getting there, I’m certainly going to make the most of every hour whilst I’m there.
Secondly, I sit in quiet, comfortable surroundings with no distractions, whether it’s the office-with-a-view, or Martyrs’ Kirk reading room. That’s a privilege.
Time is neither carved up into obligatory breaks at specific times, nor do I need to stop one thing to do something else unrelated but unavoidable. Another luxury!
But most of all, there’s the feeling that being a guest fellow is an honour, so I want to squeeze as much as I can into the time available.
This week, I’ve written half of one of the two talks I’ve agreed to do, and spent a couple of hours at Martyrs’ Kirk. Sadly, one of the books I wanted to see, turned out not to be the sort of book I’d expected. Knowing the author’s prime focus, I thought that it would be a Victorian school book, but this one wasn’t. (At least I hadn’t bought it on eBay!) Maybe it means I’ll think of him as a more rounded individual, though, so perhaps it was worth having a look for that alone.
But that’s another good thing about visiting St Andrews. It’s five minutes from my desk to a library. To look at the same thing in Glasgow would take up a whole chunk of a day, by the time I’d got from home to town. (And when I’m at my own library, I’m just a worker bee – neither a researcher, nor do we have the same resources.)
Mind you, having ruled out Hullah’s national songbook, there’s nothing for it – the next book on my list IS in Glasgow. You win some, lose some, I guess!
Karen McAulay, Musicologist 