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Friday, January 21, 2000

First Person

The Clandestine Career Search

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Lately I have found myself identifying with those informants on cheesy tabloid news shows like Hard Copy -- you know, the nameless individuals who conceal themselves with camera tricks and scrambled voices. I, too, have a dirty little secret and a self-imposed disguise, only in my case the disguise is a pseudonym.

My first Chronicle article was scarcely a hard-hitting exposée, but in it I dared to express sentiments you won't hear from many academics -- dissatisfaction with academia and interest in alternative careers (in my case, biotechnology and science writing and publishing).

That most academics don't share my interest in science journalism is not surprising. Academics, like many others, have a love-hate relationship with the media -- craving its attention but continually bemoaning the poor quality of the coverage. In the media's view, scientists are the very source of the problem they complain so much about.

That is, stricken with an unfortunate inability to communicate, scientists cannot describe their work to the layperson. And so, like bad neighbors, scientists and science journalists are locked in a perpetual gripe-fest.

Academics' opinion of industry is better, but still rather low. Because economic interests rather than basic scientific ones motivate industrial research, it is perceived by many academics as second-rate. Some feel that industry is a haven for scientists ill-equipped to survive in academia and more comfortable working for a company where they are told what to do.

Those with too narrow a perspective or with too vested an interest in academia may not be able to recognize what alternative careers can offer. A great frustration of mine with academia is my incredibly shrinking topic area -- a necessary adaptation to the information overload in neuroscience. (When I began graduate school, my area of study was the neural basis for pain sensitivity. But this area encompasses so much information that I have had to specialize more and more. Now I cannot describe my topic area without adding four qualifers to the original five-word description.)

I am less likely to face this frustration in science journalism or scholarly publishing because these fields place a premium not on learning everything possible about a tiny topic, but on learning in less depth about many topics. An assistant editor at a scientific journal, for example, might be responsible for reading and evaluating all articles on general biology. Likewise, a science journalist reports on manifold topics.

For its part, industry offers a streamlined mechanism for bringing basic research to the clinical world. This is a major asset to the scientist for whom clinical application of her research is a goal. In academia, the progression from basic research finding to clinical application is much slower.

The hard-core academic would still argue that these opportunities entail too serious a cost -- that of no longer being a "player" in science. In my view, the opportunity to use scientific knowledge in an influential way is not lost by leaving academia. An editor's task of deciding whose papers to publish in a scholarly journal is a hugely influential job. Although their role is less direct, a science journalist or public-information officer also has the chance to influence science because her writing is read by doctors, voters, and policymakers -- people whose opinions affect support for science.

When you think about it, an editor, journalist, or industrial scientist ought to be an academic's best ally. Nevertheless, my adviser's first reaction to my interest in these fields was typical -- he told me that I should not sell myself short. He has promised me full support, whatever my career choice, but his advice is to stay in academia. Not unlike some parents, most advisers' greatest hope is that their students will follow in their footsteps. Leaving academia may be perceived as an act of betrayal.

An unfortunate consequence is that few advisers support their students' interests in non-academic careers. Even if they are supportive, they cannot protect their students from the negative opinions of their colleagues. This is a particular problem if you are sitting on the fence between academia and alternative careers, as I am.

Since some academics view interest in alternative careers as a sign of poor scientific ability, weak stamina, or a lack of dedication, how is it possible to explore these careers without sabotaging one's chances for an academic job? The danger of injuring my academic credibility is real -- for an application for a postdoctoral position, my adviser told me to remove all references to my interest and experience in science writing. He cautioned that this information would preclude me from serious consideration.

On the flip side, it is also difficult for someone like me to look respectable to employers outside of academia. Science journalists find it insulting when Ph.D.'s decide on a whim to reinvent themselves as writers. It is imperative to demonstrate more than a passing interest in any non-academic career to avoid being perceived as someone who could not hack it in academia and is looking for any way out possible.

So, what's a girl to do? Since my adviser has no experience placing students in non-academic careers, I do my homework. I read articles and books about career transitions, lurk at career Web sites and haunt career services, and go to every relevant talk I can find. I research biotechnology companies to find out whether they offer postdoctoral positions, and at conferences I look for their posters to find out more about research programs. I have also joined the National Association of Science Writers.

In addition to these informal ventures, I have tried to gain experience for a job in science writing or publishing by working at my university's writing center and taking a copy-editing class.

I do all this as quietly as possible -- because I still worry that I will be found out. This fear is dangerous. In concealing my interests from others I could end up deceiving myself -- losing sight of my own passions among everyone else's opinions.

Erin Keay is a pseudonym. She is a Ph.D. candidate in the neuroscience department at an Ivy League university. She will be recounting her experiences on the job market over the next several months.