The Punishing Processing of Publishing: More Nonsense from the Trenches

The Absurdities of Academic Publishing: Desk Rejected by My Own Special Issue

Academics are encouraged to build esteem by serving as editors and referees. Peer reviewing is a time-consuming task—each manuscript takes me at least five hours to review properly, often longer. Generally, the only reward is the intangible currency of esteem.

Back in the late 1980s, being invited to edit a collection of articles that would be published as a ‘Special Issue’ was a mark of prestige, reserved for researchers of international standing. Today, publishing houses churn out ‘Special Issues’ at a dizzying pace, using the reputations of editors to attract submissions and, ultimately, revenue through article processing charges.

Here’s the latest gem in my collection of publishing absurdities.

I recently submitted a manuscript to a Special Issue for which I am the Editor. Naturally, I ensured the manuscript was in scope. However, to avoid a conflict of interest, the journal assigned an independent editor to handle the submission.

To my surprise, the manuscript was desk rejected—deemed out of scope for the very Special Issue I was curating. My response to the journal was measured; in this game, burning bridges is never wise: “I have had a manuscript of mine ‘desk rejected’ from my own Special Issue because the content is considered out of scope. As Special Issue Editor, I believe the article is in scope—otherwise, I would not have submitted it. The issue appears to be that the manuscript was reviewed by independent Editors who may not have referred closely to the scope of the Special Issue. Could the desk rejection please be reconsidered?”

After a month-long flurry of emails to untangle the logistical error, justice was done. The manuscript was reviewed and ultimately published.

After 35 years in academia, I can say this with certainty: publishing is brutal and unpredictable. I suspect many high-quality, important manuscripts have ended up in filing cabinets—not because they lacked merit, but because their authors gave up trying to navigate a system that often feels impenetrable. Basically, publishing wears you down—an emotional rollercoaster of frustration that makes even the most passionate give up. Success doesn’t come from brilliance alone—it comes from tenacity.

In recent years, the publishing system seems to have become more fragile. Shifts in the funding model have exposed how the publishing industry increasingly relies on academics and universities to sustain its business—through high article processing charges, complex open access models, unpaid peer review labour, an overemphasis on impact factors, and the rise of questionable journals that blur the boundaries between scholarship and commerce.

Publishing should be about advancing knowledge and improving lives—especially in fields like pain research. But too often, it feels like a game. A game with shifting rules, opaque decisions, and little regard for the people it’s meant to serve.

I’ll keep sharing these stories—not to discourage, but to shine a light on the system and its shortcomings. My hope is that by speaking openly, I can help colleagues better understand the game, learn its rules, and find smarter, more efficient ways to navigate it.