The Personal Impact of Open Access Publishing…or I Haven’t Published Much and I Haven’t Perished Yet.
I want to write about my journey of trying to become the writer I want to be and the role that open access publishing has played in my story so far. Becoming published holds power and prestige for new writers and early career researchers; it provides a standard through which one validates oneself and others. In contemplating my own journey I will reference the practice of predatory publishing companies (who exploit the desire to become published by targeting vulnerable groups) and commercial publishers (who lock research behind exclusive paywalls) to explore how openness can be framed as an inclusive political response. I will present the pros and cons of the peer review process in order to reflect upon how my own experience of publishing presents a tension between validating oneself through the traditional means of publication and utilising the freedom to publish openly through platforms designed to facilitate the promotion of a more diverse community of voices.
As a teenager I was an avid Stephen King fan, I loved to read his work (dark and disturbing as it is) and I wanted to be a writer myself. I even started to write a terrible book, which my dad saved. It is currently hidden away in my loft awaiting a mortified opportunity for me to read from or enact it. I had no real idea about what was involved in being a writer; I simply had a dream to live on my own in a cottage in Cornwall (with two dogs) and to spend my days sat at a desk using my imagination. I saved up and bought myself an electric typewriter (they were the future in those days) and, when other popular/normal kids were out playing, I sat in my room trying to write horror stories.
Even at the tender age of 13 I knew that in order to write books and become successful you need to have a publisher. I wrote to Hodder and Stoughton, I explained how much I loved Stephen King, told them my dream of being a writer and boldly asked if they would consider publishing my work. Hodder and Stoughton kindly wrote back; they thanked me for getting in touch and said they would be happy to receive my work. I took this reply as definitive promise of a publishing contract but I never sent them a copy of my book. I am not sure why, but now almost 30 years later I am still trying to become the writer that I wanted to be then. What seemed so accessible to me as a teenager has become something which I agonise about every day, wondering if I will ever be good enough, will I ever be a writer?
Getting your work published has always been a measure of success. How can you call yourself a writer (with any credibility) if no one is reading your work? How can you justify calling yourself this if you are not getting paid to write, you have not signed a publishing contract and you have not had work accepted by a peer reviewed journal? Publishing companies and academic publishers hold so much power; they can make or break a person’s career. Sure, you can write and you can share your work with others, but it used to be the case that to be published (and to be paid or recognised for your publications) was the only true validation of the quality of your work and your skills.
Such is the desire for recognition, validation and sometimes just a concrete published item that people do pay to publish their own work; this is scathingly referred to as ‘a vanity publishing’ and is largely equated with failure. People do this for different reasons and I think the accusation is a little unfair but it largely stems from a desire in the industry and in society to separate good writing from bad writing in terms of quality and audience. The consensus seemed to be that if you are not successful in getting your work published (and in getting paid for doing this) then the standard and quality of your work is not good enough. However, another consequence of publishing companies and academic publishers sourcing and publishing work which they judge to be acceptable is that it is judged with reference to what has already been accepted. As a result new discoveries are viewed as risky and diverse voices are often excluded. The work of these writers is viewed as inappropriate (or not good enough) and, as long as publishers and reviewers want to play it safe, we will have a community of writers, writing and research that is largely hegemonic.
The world of predatory publishing preys on the desires of researchers (in particular) to get their work published and those who are less likely to be accepted by peer reviewed journals are most at risk. Predatory open access publishers charge publication fees to authors in return for publishing their work and the usual editorial standard, quality assurance and peer review processes are not adhered to. Researchers in developing countries are among those at risk from this exploitative behaviour which can damage the credibility of an early researcher’s career. Predatory publishers have little or no regard for the quality of the work they publish; they often spam academics with requests for publications which are masked as invitations to publish their work in reputable open access journals. Read the story of how Gary Lewis recently published his ‘study’ on how UK politicians wipe their bum. He wrote it because he was fed up of predatory publishers undermining the credibility of scientific research and he wanted to see just how low they would set the bar for work they were willing to accept. Lewis submitted the study to the first predatory publisher who contacted him (which turned out to be Crimson Publishers), he made up a reviewer (Dr. I.P. Daly) and sent the paper to Crimson who accepted it. The company wanted to charge him $581 in order to publish it, he explained that he had no funds so they offered to publish it for a $99 ‘hosting fee’, he didn't part with any cash so eventually they published it for free and here it is.
Lewis turned the power relation between author/researcher and predatory publisher on its head in this situation but predatory practices such as these not only risk damaging the credibility (and career prospects) of new researchers, they also have a detrimental effect in terms of advancing the research of the scholarly community. Lewis’ hilarious victory shows that there is a growing awareness of these shameful practices and that the community can fight back by sharing information and naming and shaming.
The world of academic or commercial publishing is not without its share of immorality. Lucinda May notes that the profit margins of Elsevier were higher than that of Apple Inc. in 2014. She describes the astonishment one feels when one comprehends that publically funded research (which is peer reviewed for free) sits behind a paywall so that the scholarly and lay community have to pay to access it even though they have already paid to fund it. Although May recognises the value of the standards and rigour equated with academic journals, she suggests that University Presses (who once owned many journals but sold them to commercial publishers) and Libraries should be working together to make openness a reality. In doing so they could circumnavigate commercial publishers to improve the way that research is produced and shared.
John Hynes reflects on the academic publishing industry in terms of the business models and practices used. He describes the same ludicrous situation where public money is used to buy back the results of publically funded research and describes how, despite the belief that increased digital literacy could have seen professors and academics breaking free from academic journals, the publishers responded by adopting a ruthless new business model. The model bundles access to journals together through massive databases which Higher Education Institutions have to negotiate access to every 2–3 years (the University of Manchester pays on average £6 million per year in subscription costs). Hynes notes the use of #icanhazpdf and Sci hub as ways in which the scholarly community rely on the good will of each other to bypass these paywalls by sharing publications and academic log in credentials. Researchers are appealing to and helping one another by publishing openly and by sharing research which is not open so that it becomes open to prevent the exclusion of access.
Peer review is another way in which the community relies on its members to spend time (on top of their paid work and personal research projects) reviewing the work of others so that they can become published. When discussing the reliability of evidence with students I advise them to look for high quality resources to back up their arguments, interpretations and research. How do we know it is high quality? If it is in a peer reviewed journal you are more likely to be able to trust and respect it because the author has had their work verified by their peers; this is what I tell them.
The peer review process is intended to ensure quality as the work of new writers and researchers is checked for reliability, relevance and standard. Reviewers are supposed to ensure that the quality of the work is high, that it is written using appropriate language and that the author communicates their ideas, results, methodology and arguments with clarity. The process is intended to ensure quality and support the development of new writers as it gives them the opportunity to get feedback from their peers who should catch any errors or mistakes which could have a detrimental effect on the researcher’s career. The process is also meant to help writers develop confidence and often gives them the chance to defend their position as they successfully navigate the process that their peers have been subject to.
However, reviewers are not regulated, they are not paid and they can often make bizarre suggestions of content to add into your manuscript (some of these ‘suggestions’ helpfully include reference to their own published research).
Richard Smith (former editor of the British Medical Journal) wrote this illuminating critique of the peer review process. He notes how, when an experiment was conducted to assess the value and quality of peer review by circulating a paper containing major errors, many of the errors went undetected; nobody spotted all of them and some didn’t spot any. Smith was also chief executive of the BMJ publishing group for 13 years and over time he has witnessed or experienced the peer review system as open to abuse including: inconsistency between reviewers, bias against women, bias against the researchers’ institution (resulting in the Matthew Effect), the stealing of junior researchers work, blocking, plagiarism and dishonesty. He suggests that the process can be improved through the use of e.g. blind review and by opening up the process to increase accountability. Smith also suggests training reviewers to try and ensure consistency of practice but he interestingly notes that, there is no real evidence to support the worth or validity of peer review as a process and concludes:
‘So peer review is a flawed process, full of easily identified defects with little evidence that it works. Nevertheless, it is likely to remain central to science and journals because there is no obvious alternative, and scientists and editors have a continuing belief in peer review. How odd that science should be rooted in belief.’ (Smith)
Other problems concern the amount of time that peer review takes which creates ‘publication lag’ and can be very frustrating for an early career researcher under pressure to publish. Publication lag has tripled over the last 30 years (see article from The Conversation), it can be hard to find helpful referee’s and the process is open to corruption (e.g. people setting up accounts to act as their own referee or suggesting sympathetic friends and colleagues). Reviewers largely receive no payment for their work even though the estimated value of their unpaid time is around £1.9 billion per year. I have recently been asked to review the work of others (and I will treat this with responsibility and compassion) however, no guidance has been given to me and as an author who has received reviewer comments, these vary largely and turning requests for change or adaptation into action is not always easy.
The process of peer review is not without its disadvantages as those unaccustomed to speaking the ‘academic language’ (those with new or different voices who may be from under-represented groups) are more likely to have their work rejected or homogenised. New approaches are being trialled to improve the process such as: new referee awards and referee databases , public records of the referees and how much experience they have (as used by Publons who also reward their referee’s) and processes such as post publication peer review (but this faces its own challenges).
Open access publishing gives a platform to aspiring new writers (and researchers) in which they can publish their work, receive feedback, and even get paid. Anyone is free to publish their research, results, thoughts, desires and observations. Many open journals and publications use peer review but open platforms such as Medium and WordPress allow you to publish and share with the community without having to jump through the burning hoops of academic convention or distil your voice. The scholarly community is made up of individuals who are all trying to become the writers and researchers that they want to be to achieve goals that have mattered to them since they were children. To seek to exploit them on this journey (as the predatory publishers do), to hinder the sharing of research (as commercial publishers do)and to use your power as a reviewer to prevent new, engaging, relevant and interesting research not only has a negative impact on the community as a whole but it can be devastating, crushing and deeply disheartening for an individual.
When you write you are vulnerable (and you can pretend you are not, but you are) and sometimes the desire to express yourself overrides the desire for payment and recognition from others. I write because I am a writer, whether others see me this way or not and open publishing platforms have helped me to take some initial steps on the way to becoming the writer I have always wanted to be. Receiving a letter from a publishing company when I was 13 filled me with excitement and anticipation of what I hoped would be a prolific writing career to come and I now have a few (very, very few) publications to my name which have gone through peer review etc. but I have plans: to publish my thesis as a monograph, to publish the results of an impact study in relation to the University of Manchester Library’s skills programme (My Learning Essentials) and I am currently writing my second book review for Ophen Reviews where I am now an English Language copy editor. I reviewer submissions for a number of journals and I have a (not so) secret dream to revisit the world of fiction to produce a crime novel (I already have the title and am currently developing two murderous characters).
Despite the small steps I have taken, and the amount of time I spend writing in my current role (which involves teaching academic writing to others) I cannot call myself a writer without feeling vainglorious. Each night I write in my journal ‘I am writing because I am a writer’ to try and reinforce my belief that this is what I can become; it is not easy to let your words go and release your work, it involves a leap of faith which is difficult to make for some of us. I haven’t published in highly rated peer reviewed journals, I do not contribute to the Research Excellence Framework, I do not have a publishing contract, and not many people read my work so although I write and I do my best to share some of my writing, I do not yet think of myself as a writer, others do not think of me like this, and I am certainly not thought of as successful.
Writers have a personal drive to write and they need to share their work, researchers need to share their research, it is inexplicably tied to how we think about ourselves and identify as who we are and it is important to be received and supported in our communities. The personal impact of becoming published can get lost in some of the debates about profits, partnerships and peer review but behind these discussions there are individual people with ideas to share and something to say who are driven to say it. Open publishing has given me an invaluable platform from which I have taken the leap to become the writer that I want to be; it has given me a voice so that I can speak openly to share my journey, publish my work, and be heard so that others may respond.
