Daily viva help for PhDs
The viva is all about talking! You have to talk! You have to answer questions! You have to get your ideas across!
But you also have to listen, you have to think, you have to take your time, you might have to make notes or draw diagrams depending on your research.
You have to talk in the viva, but don’t forget everything else you have to do, and can do really well.
It’s a good question to ask about a thesis or a PhD, but a hard one to answer. There are lots of possible factors.
At the start of a PhD you might struggle to respond to the question of how much is enough. All of these factors, and lots more, could make it tricky to consider.
Nearer the end you can give a response and reasons: “This much, and here’s why.”
And the sooner you decide how much is enough, the sooner you’ll be able to work towards that goal.
A while back I published a post, The Fourth Option, which summarised how candidates could respond to tricky questions in the viva. This was specifically about situations where a question seems hard to respond to, or even perhaps seems unfair, but I think that some of the same thinking can be extended to the more general idea of responding to questions in the viva.
There’s so much narrative about the viva that describes it as an overly negative experience, that it’s no wonder candidates think it will be a struggle, some kind of conflict, some kind of ordeal. And then candidates believe the dialogue with their examiners will lead to them freezing, fleeing or fighting.
The fourth option, figuring things out, extends to the whole viva as well. If a candidate does away with narratives of conflicts and trials, if they instead focus on the viva as a chance to talk, a chance to defend their choices, an opportunity to discuss their work with their examiners, then the best way suggests itself. You can do the work, you can prepare, you can be ready, and then you can figure it out.
Far better than worrying you’ll freeze, or assume you’ll need to run away or fight. Like a lot of your PhD, you can figure out what to do in your viva when you find yourself there.
You wouldn’t buy your viva from a supermarket, assuming that the viva was a physical thing you could buy. You wouldn’t find it by wandering up and down aisles, past eighteen brands of pasta sauce and ten kinds of toilet paper. Supermarkets sell to everybody, and vivas aren’t for everybody.
You have to know where to look. You have to be a bit of an expert really.
You’d be more likely to find your viva in a specialist antique shop. These things take time to become what they are. They may be one-of-a-kind, expensive by now, and aren’t for everyone. They’re rarely looked for on a whim.
And your viva is certainly going to be one of a kind, a real curio.
Like my old salmon metaphor, there’s only so far you can go with this! Take away the idea that vivas are rare, and yours is just for you, and find your own metaphor to help you come to it with confidence.
It’s easy to tie oneself up in knots about what to expect in the viva. There are simple expectations to hold on to though. Listen to advice and stories from your peers. Appreciate the range of experiences and the common threads that tie them together.
A topic you know really well.
A matter of hours.
An examination with clear goals, and a clear focus for assessment.
Questions leading to discussion.
Two examiners in most cases.
Make it as simple as you can for yourself, and build your confidence and preparation on a few simple expectations.
I’ve loved Star Wars my whole life.
I ran around playgrounds as a child being a Jedi.
I grew up into a teenager who knew The Empire Strikes Back backwards.
I was a 20-something who would wait an hour for a two-minute trailer to download – remember dial-up modems?
The prequels were not as great as the originals but they were Star Wars.
Disney bought Lucasfilm and OH MY GOSH there were going to be more movies!!!
I became a parent and showed my toddling child trailers for the new movies, both gasping at far away planets and exciting spaceship chases.
And all through 2019 I was unbelievably excited: here it comes, Star Wars Episode IX… The final one, the last chapter, the end of a great story that had been spun since before I was born! Here it comes, here it comes and-
It was OK, I guess.
Not bad… No not bad. Good, yeah, it was good. Not great, not…
It was OK.
The story of many vivas is similar.
Your viva will be a long-time coming, a lot of work and anticipation leading up to a few hours with your examiners. I think it’s fair to expect the viva to go well, but also expect that it won’t be the life-changing event that might be promised by what the viva is for. Disbelieve the horror stories or urban legends, but don’t imagine it will be some crowning achievement or fitting swansong to the final months of your PhD.
It will be OK.
Not bad. I hope it feels good for you. A viva may be a clear success, a great thesis and a great candidate, and yet you could still be left feeling a little disappointed.
“Was that it?” was a question I asked myself after both my viva and Star Wars Episode IX. In both cases, how could the reality compete with years of anticipation?
(and yes, Roman numeral enthusiasts, the title of this post is accurate – this is daily blog post 1200!)
At the end of one of the last seminars I delivered before social distancing and lockdown, a PhD candidate came up to me with a strange smile on his face. He was generous, thanked me for the session, told me how it had been useful – and then surprised me by saying, “I still don’t get how you did it though!!!”
“…I’m sorry,” I said, “I don’t understand!”
“Well,” he said, with a sort-of-frustration, “You just stood and presented for nearly three hours! You didn’t have a script you read from – I didn’t even see you look at notes! And you responded to all of our questions! How did you do that???”
And I told him the simple truth: it was practice. That day was probably Viva Survivor 240-something! I’m in a fortunate position that I’ve been asked to share the same developing session many, many times. I get to publish and share this blog. And over time, through mistakes and mis-steps and finding what works I got good.
I wish that I had made the connection on the day, which only came a few months later, that this truth is also the simple truth for how candidates do well at the viva.
Yes, there’s a challenge – yes, there’s hard work to do – yes, someone could be nervous or worried, as I am when I present – but they’re in a fortunate position. Like me and my work, they must have become good by now. They’ve developed their talents, their research, their thesis, and now get to have a conversation with their examiners.
I like to imagine that the PhD candidate who spoke to me has had his viva by now. Perhaps, when describing his success to a friend they’ll stop him and say, “Wait wait, you talked with them for how long? And they asked you all about your research and your thesis! You didn’t have any long breaks, or any chance to confer with your supervisor – you didn’t take in a script or go away to check your files! You responded to all of their questions…
…how did you do that???”
I’ve been learning how to play chess over the last few months. I’m a total beginner. I knew how the pieces moved, have always been interested in the game but from a great distance. A video I saw by chance on YouTube has hooked me, and now I’m trying to get good enough that I can help my daughter when she starts learning in school next year.
As I’ve been learning recently, you have to analyse constantly in chess. Be thinking several moves ahead: if I play like this, what are the possible likely responses, and what could my responses be to those moves. It’s a curious thing: I’ve played lots of kinds of games over the last few decades, and played plenty of games where you have to think ahead, but never has it struck me in the way that chess has now. In doing so, it’s giving me a new way of seeing games (when you’re playing to win!).
Another thing that stands out to me is that this way of looking ahead in playing chess is completely the opposite of how I think about the viva and preparation for it. Thinking two moves ahead for the viva doesn’t work. You can’t game the viva by writing your thesis in a certain way, to avoid questions or lead examiners in a preferred direction. It’s not possible to think ahead and anticipate all of the questions you might be asked, then think about possible responses – and think abut the remarks or questions that might come from those responses.
Thinking two moves ahead won’t help you win your viva: instead you have to continue with the same long-term strategy. Do good work. Learn things. Become talented. Keep going. Then whatever move your examiners make, you’ll be able to respond well.
…ask for it.
This year, everyone needs help. Everyone is hurting somehow. Everyone is pressured, tired, concerned, and it could be tempting to think that it’s best not to bother people. What’s your viva compared to someone else’s troubles, worries, workload? Keep it to yourself, you might think.
Ask – of course, pick your moment, be aware of other’s circumstances, be prepared to perhaps compromise – but ask.
Ask your supervisor for a Zoom chat, but be concise and targeted with your questions. Ask your colleagues for help preparing, and be prepared to offer the same in return. Ask your friends and family to give you space – whatever your living situation, ask them to support a little place and time of calm so that you can get ready.
Support others however you can at this time, and look for the support that you need. In a strange and radically different world from a year ago, you matter, your viva still matters. Ask for the help you need to get it done.
Academia is rife with imposter syndrome. Lots of talented people, wondering about whether or not they are really talented, worried that they will be found it. For researchers at postgraduate level, I don’t think imposter syndrome starts with the viva, but the viva can certainly increase worries about being “good enough” or being revealed.
Working against imposter syndrome takes time, but perhaps a starting point is understanding that even the most high-achieving people in the world can feel it. Author Neil Gaiman describes meeting an older gentleman at an event who had the same first name as him:
…I started talking to a very nice, polite, elderly gentleman about several things, including our shared first name. And then he pointed to the hall of people, and said words to the effect of, “I just look at all these people, and I think, what the heck am I doing here? They’ve made amazing things. I just went where I was sent.”
And I said, “Yes. But you were the first man on the moon. I think that counts for something.”
Neil Armstrong worried that he was an imposter. Neil Armstrong!
If you worry about doing enough, chances are your examiners do. Perhaps your supervisor does. Some of your colleagues certainly will. And knowing that is not enough to banish your own feelings, but if you realise that lots of people struggle, that you’re not alone, perhaps you can start to work against it.
Seek help. Ask questions. Share with your community. Find out what people do to realise that they are good enough.
Because if you’ve submitted your thesis and your viva is coming up, you MUST be good enough. You’ve earned this. You are good enough. You might not banish imposter syndrome with ease, but you can work through some of the worries that come with it. You can start to feel better.
Take one small step to begin with.