Six years ago, I woke up in the
middle of the night and scribbled down a note to myself. I was in my niece’s
bed, in Rome. It was May and I was between Antarctic and Arctic tourist
seasons. Over the previous weeks, I’d been reflecting on where my life’s
journey had brought me and what I wanted to do next. If I were to step away
from this life of ships and ice and nomadism what would I do with myself? I was
restless that night, tossing and turning and struggling to sleep soundly.
Finally, in the early hours of the morning, I reached across for my notebook
and wrote down the whimsical idea that kept stirring in my mind. ‘Write a
book,’ I scribbled in the middle of a clean page. Then I rolled over and went
back to sleep.
Last Wednesday, I got a lot closer
to achieving the goal I set myself six years ago. I submitted my PhD thesis. With
my three fantastic supervisors, Tom, Libby and Cameron, I fronted up to the
Examinations Office of the Australian National University at 9.30am, and handed
over the piece of work that’s consumed my time and creative energy for the best
part of four years. In the end, it materialised as a 309-page or 75,000-word
manuscript. It had nine chapters, a bunch of photos and maps, and 450
footnotes. And it was bound in a forest-green hardcover with silver foil
lettering that pronounced its name - Explorers of a Different Kind: A History of Antarctic Tourism 1966-2016.
I didn’t have to do a PhD to write
a book, of course. And for a while there, I insisted I wouldn’t do a PhD. I
would avoid all that unnecessary stress and academic hoop-jumping and do it all
on my own terms. But when I woke up and read those three simple words again—write
a book—a bunch of practical questions began bubbling to the surface. How do I
write a book? What do I write it about? How do I pay my bills while I write it?
Who will read it and give me honest, constructive feedback? How do I get it
published? When I talked to colleagues and mentors about this book-writing idea,
many of them responded with the question I least wanted to hear: “Why don’t you
do a PhD?”
I knew there were good reasons to
take an academic route. With a PhD project came a scholarship, access to
resources and supervisors to mentor me. A PhD would also make writing the book
an official job—something I had to
prioritise and had to complete. No
caving in to pressure to ‘get a real job’ halfway through the project. But when
I went in search of a PhD supervisor, those I spoke with found my idea—to write
a thesis that was more like a book—a bit too unconventional.
Then I stumbled across a book
called Slicing the Silence: Voyaging to
Antarctica. It was written by Tom Griffiths, a history professor at the
Australian National University in Canberra. It was beautifully written—elegant,
humble and humorous. Not dry or academic but still deep and meaningful. ‘Dear
Professor Griffiths,’ I wrote in my first email to Tom. I introduced myself and
my research interests, and explained why I wanted him to supervise me. It took
a few months for Tom to get back to me (he was in Antarctica) and then it took
a few more months for us to meet (I was gallivanting).
Tom and I met in June 2012, while
we were both in Hobart for an Antarctic Treaty Meeting. We talked about Antarctica,
my book and the pros and cons of doing a PhD. I felt physically ill when we
talked about the cons. I had a love-hate relationship with academia and I knew
I was queuing up for an emotional rollercoaster. But I also knew that I would
learn a lot, that my world view would be challenged and broadened, and that the
final product would be so much better for it. A few days later, I wrote to Tom
and confirmed that I was in.
By the time I officially started
the PhD, in was late March 2013 and I’m not entirely sure where these past four
years went. I didn’t work solely on the thesis that whole time. I returned to
Antarctica, went to a few more Treaty Meetings and directed a musical (more
about that soon). But for the most part, I gathered source material—travel
accounts, memoirs, government archives and reports, newspaper articles and
tourism statistics. I interviewed people in the flesh and over the phone, and
spent hours transcribing the interviews. I read a tonne and wrote a tonne. I
travelled around Australia and the United States gathering yet more sources.
Then I returned to Canberra and read a tonne and wrote a tonne more. In the
final five months, I lived with Team PhD (my parents) who took care of
everything else so that I could focus on getting the last of the words out.
During those four years, my thesis
was often my first and last thought of the day. I was haunted by ‘thesis guilt’
when not working on it. And although I tried to keep a work-life balance, I’m
not sure ‘balanced’ is how I would describe my PhD journey. I was consumed,
obsessed and doggedly focused on one thing. And then, all of a sudden, it was
gone. Out of my hands. Finished.
Well, almost finished. Three copies
of my thesis are now on their way to the three examiners who will read it and
determine whether it’s worthy of being called a doctoral thesis. The fact that
I’m confident I won’t fail is based largely on my trust in my supervisors. I
know they would never lead me astray. In a few months, I’ll receive feedback
from the examiners, who are likely to ask that I make a few amendments before
re-submitting the finalised thesis. Then I’ll graduate and therein only answer
to those who call me ‘Doctor Diane’. In the meantime, I’ll rework the thesis
into a book and start courting publishers. So stay tuned for a book launch
somewhere near you.
When I began my PhD, I thought I
might like to be a full-time writer. The plan was that the PhD would produce
the first book, which would then lead to the second and third and so on. Though
I love writing more than ever (and plan to continue), I realised that I’m not
cut out to be a full-time writer. I take my hat off to those who make writing
their day job—who devote themselves to their craft; to sharing with the world
their beautiful, original and thought-provoking stories; to sitting in that
chair day in and day out, churning out words for a living. Six years ago, I
wondered whether I could be one of them. Now I have my answer.
So what’s next? That’s exactly the
question I’ll be pondering while roaming the shores of the Adriatic Sea this
summer. Whatever comes next, it’s likely to take me to warmer latitudes and
involve fewer ships. It’ll build on from what came before it. And it’ll be an
adventure.
To be continued...
|
The final product!
 |
| With my fab supervision team (from left to right): Cameron Muir, Libby Robin, me and Tom Griffiths. Plus Canberra's gorgeous autumn leaves and Black Mountain as backdrop. |
 |
| Making it official in the ANU Examinations Office. |
