Postgrad Chronicles #1: Alone in the lab...

Hi everyone! Even though I don’t have much of a following yet, here’s a little story for you. So, as a postgraduate researcher, I’m supposed to clock into the lab every day, even when tasks can’t be completed because, well, the equipment is malfunctioning and the technicians aren’t around to fix it. The lab staff has made it abundantly clear that we should not touch anything ourselves, as doing so could potentially void the warranty on the expensive equipment we rely on. This situation can be incredibly frustrating, especially when you are eager to make progress on your research. On these days when the lab is essentially at a standstill, we try to redirect our focus towards side tasks that are still productive, such as working on manuscript publications, preparing for supervisor meetings, and drafting grant proposals. However, since I’m just an M.Sc. student and don’t have any funding responsibilities in the lab (being the most junior person in the group), I often find myself in a unique position. I frequently end up observing my labmates as they navigate their own challenges, and I make it a point to lift their spirits when they get bogged down with the seemingly endless paperwork that comes with our academic responsibilities. Recently, with the holidays approaching, a significant number of my labmates decided to take their leave, seeking a well-deserved break from the rigors of research. To add to the situation, the technician who usually handles our equipment issues won’t be returning until the New Year, leaving me in a rather solitary state in the lab. So, there I was, alone in the lab, trying to figure out what to do with my time. I’m not exactly the social butterfly type; I tend to keep to myself, and most of my interactions with others happen because of my PhD labmates or supervisors. But today, with the lab being so quiet and empty, I was just… bored out of my mind. That’s when I started scrolling through my drafts on my laptop, looking for something—anything—to occupy my thoughts and time. Back in my undergrad days, I had written a plethora of unpublished rants during the mandatory non-STEM classes I had to sit through. I never really liked those classes; they felt like a distraction from what I was truly passionate about, and I guess I took out my frustrations in writing. The rants ranged from humorous observations to more serious critiques of the educational system, and as I read through them, I began to see the potential they held. Then it hit me—why not share these rants with others and try to monetize them? It sounded like a fun and creative outlet, and I thought it could be a way to connect with others who might feel the same frustrations I did. It sounds easy enough, right? All the ads online say self-publishing on Amazon’s KDP is a breeze, and I was eager to jump on this bandwagon. So, I gave it a shot, pouring my heart and soul into formatting and uploading my work. Two weeks later? No sales. Nada. I was left feeling disheartened and a bit embarrassed. I thought maybe my books were terrible, so I sneakily sent them to my mates for feedback, using my alias email to avoid any potential awkwardness. (Don’t worry, they promised not to tell the PI—I’m safe.) They said the books were fine, filled with relatable content and humor, but the issue was likely marketing. And, as you might guess, marketing is my worst nightmare. I have always felt overwhelmed by the idea of promoting myself and my work; it feels so foreign to me compared to the scientific rigor I am accustomed to. So, what did I do? I retreated in defeat, hoping that maybe, just maybe, one reader would find my work helpful and spread the word by word of mouth—because, let’s be honest, I’m not about to start a marketing campaign. I’m still figuring out how to navigate the complexities of academia, let alone the world of self-publishing and marketing. But who knows? Perhaps this experience will lead to something greater, or maybe it will simply serve as a humorous anecdote to share with my labmates when they return.