Never July: Taking down my busy shield to plan outputs for the year

Happy (Never) July!

You might be confused because I'm writing this blog in January, just after the new year. The new year ushers in expectations that we'll change our habits, get organized, finally do that thing…and Publish It! I don't know about you, but this year feels different to me. It's been a slow start. It's not just because I have two papers out for review and I'm in the waiting period—a time when I should be starting a new paper (seriously don't have the motivation at the moment). It also doesn't seem to be because I'm still adjusting to seasons with cold, dark, long January days after living in Singapore for a decade, where the sun shines year-round on the equatorial island.

It's more than that.

It occurred to me that this year marks a major transition in the Chinese zodiac. Last year was the year of the wood snake, and this year brings in the fire horse. If I was back in Singapore, I would have known that because the Lunar New Year is a big deal. But here in Denver, it's not a thing.

Well, so what?

Wherever you fall on the 'it's a big deal' / 'it's not a thing' spectrum, I like the idea of taking the time between the Gregorian New Year (January 1st) and the Lunar New Year (February 17th) as a transition period. A chance to wrap up whatever came with me from last year and try on new habits before I fully commit (and potentially fail). It removes the urgency of starting everything fresh and new on January 1st—it gives us space to decide what needs to move forward with us in the new year and what 10% needs to change to keep us moving forward (to whatever goal or life stage comes next).

Before I dive into the main topic of this blog—specifically, my approach to planning publication outputs for the year—I want to talk about this astrological transition from snake to horse (don't worry—I'm not going all woo-woo, although I'm happy to do that offline if you want to chat). I also want to talk about how planning to do less now means you might find you've done more later. 

The year of the wood snake has the energy of introspection, transformation, growth, and shedding old habits. In numerology (9), it marks the end of a long cycle. On the other hand, the fire horse brings the energy of independence, strength, rapid movement, and bold, authentic choices. It's a rare combination of zodiac (there are 12) and element (there are five) that only happens every 60 years. In numerology (10, which is also 1+0=1), it marks the beginning of a new cycle. It's all about intense energy, transformation, and opportunities for breakthrough with mindful planning.

All of this is motivation enough for me.

Before galloping forward (sorry not sorry for the pun), we still have a few weeks to 'shed' (I'm so puny!) the things we need to, revisit bigger goals, and mindfully plan. My intention is to set realistic goals and—plan to under-achieve. In my experience, when I plan to do less, I end up doing more. Which feels so much better than planning more and doing less. I am not interested in living a life where I constantly miss deadlines, have a bottomless to-do list, or never exercise or meet up with friends because my calendar is totally filled. To be totally honest, I have gone years where my calendar was so overloaded with meetings and tasks that half the non-deadline things just moved to the next week. And the next, and the next.

I call it the busy shield.

The armor of busyness that we surround ourselves with that we believe gives us purpose. That we believe validates us. I offer two quotes:

The most invisible form of wasted time is doing a good job on an unimportant task.

Busyness is not a badge of honor, or a sign of moral superiority.

And one more quote—one that shook me awake and why I shifted my career:

Don't wake up one day and realize you are at the top of the wrong mountain.

I was looking back at some of the newsletters I sent last year (sign up below 👇), and I want to share what I wrote in July because, well, it's never July:

For those of us tied to Northern Hemisphere academic cycles, July brings the promise of long days and flexible schedules. There is a feeling of being untethered. It's a time when we plan to catch up on all our big projects—right after we clear out the nagging to-do list of loose ends. We plan to complete research projects, present at conferences, write and publish papers, and go on vacation with our families who haven't seen us since that last recess break. July seduces us with time—time to get everything done. Optimistically, we dive in, but suddenly it's August and time is up.

But wait, we didn't finish anything! Why? Because it's never July. Of course, July happens. What doesn't happen is a mythical world in which you accomplish a year's worth of goals. July lured you into making promises to yourself that were impossible—Herculean—to accomplish. At the end of July, I'm often more exhausted than I was in June. Precisely when I should be re-charging, I over-extend.

This (never) July, I challenge you to set realistic goals—to under-achieve.

To do less to do more…

When I started grad school, I also started making daily to-do lists. I loved the feeling of being able to cross off an item. It gave me a sense of accomplishment and permitted me to move on to the next task. At the end of the day, any remaining tasks would simply become the starting point for the next day's list. What happened was that the next day's list became longer and longer, and I found myself moving more than half my list to the next day before I even started my first task. I created a mantra to justify my actions: Why do today what I can put off until tomorrow? Clever, but self-defeating.

I felt constantly overwhelmed until I had a mentor give me some advice. And I pass it on to you: First, what is my big picture priority? Easy: publish a paper this year. Next, what is the most important thing I need to do today to move me toward that goal? Easy: write a paper. Wait, not so fast: keep in mind, the one important thing isn't necessarily to work directly on the big picture goal but could be to tackle another looming deadline to create space on another day to work on said paper.

Finally, because eventually all the little tasks must also get attention: What are three small tasks that can be easily knocked out today to save myself the anxiety of moving them to tomorrow's to-do list? And…if possible…What is one task I can remove from my list entirely because I don't really need to do it…?

My current mantra: What can I do less of to do more?

With my slow start to 2026 (do you feel it too?), I'm going to walk you through a three-stage planning process that works well for me. It’s a way for me to get clear on what I can do less of to do more.

First: What's the Big Picture?

It's easy to hop on the research and publication treadmill without a clear view of the big picture about why we are actually doing it. I remember my master's thesis advisor stating mid-way through my two-year research project that she expected me to publish two papers from my research. I felt a mix of pride and terror. At that point, I planned to go into practice after graduation, and if I'd stopped to think about it, I really didn't need two publications to advance my career. As it turned out, I graduated into the 2009 market crash and ended up in a PhD program because it was that or unemployment. I was told by my new advisor that two publications were the minimum requirement to land an academic job. At that point, I was ahead of the game. I graduated and started on tenure-track, with a new expectation for at least one publication per year to be promoted. I felt a mix of confidence and overwhelm. So I started mindful planning and did more by doing less.

That's my story in a nutshell. What's yours?

Start with why do you want to publish?

Here are five reasons to help you brainstorm the big picture:

1. Career Advancement and Job Security

Let's be real, publishing is the currency of academia. Whether you're in it for tenure, applying for your ideal position, or hoping to move beyond adjunct life, your publication record matters. It's not just about checking boxes—though let's be honest, sometimes it is—it's about demonstrating that you're actively contributing to your field. For early-career researchers, publications are often explicit requirements in job postings. You need them. For those of us further along, continued publishing shows we haven't stagnated. It opens doors to leadership roles, endowed chairs, and the kind of job security that lets us sleep at night.

2. Contributing to Your Field's Knowledge Base

Here's the thing, we didn't get into research just to collect data and file it away. We got into this because we're curious, because we want to solve problems, because we believe our work matters. Publishing in academic journals is how we share what we've discovered with the broader scientific community. It's our contribution to the conversation—the one that started long before us and will continue long after. Your research becomes part of the permanent academic record. It influences theory, shapes practice, and sparks future research. And if you're like me—an academic-turned-practitioner—publishing is how you bridge the gap between real-world experience and evidence-based knowledge. It's how we make our fields better.

3. Establishing Credibility and Expertise

I'll admit it: imposter syndrome is real. But you know what helps? Having your work validated through rigorous peer review and seeing it published in a respected journal. It positions you as an expert—not just someone with opinions, but someone whose ideas have been vetted by the scientific community. This credibility matters. It leads to speaking invitations, consulting opportunities, and those collaborative projects that make academic life fun. For graduate students and postdocs, early publications signal you're serious. For those mid-career, top-tier publications establish you as a thought leader. Either way, publications build your reputation and give you the confidence to own your expertise.

4. Networking and Collaboration Opportunities

Academia can feel isolating, especially if you're at a teaching-focused institution or working in a niche area. But here's the thing about publishing: it connects you with other researchers working on similar questions. Your publications spark conversations. They lead to citations (yay!). They generate invitations to collaborate, present at conferences, or join research teams. Even the peer-review process itself—though sometimes painful—creates professional relationships. Reviewers become collaborators. Editors become mentors. And for international scholars, publishing in widely-read journals increases your global visibility and opens doors to cross-cultural partnerships.

5. Securing Funding and Resources

Let's talk about money. A strong publication record isn't just nice to have when applying for grants—it's essential. Funding agencies want to invest in researchers with proven track records. They need evidence that you'll actually disseminate your work and that it will contribute meaningfully to the field. Publications demonstrate productivity and impact. For new investigators, even one or two strong publications can make the difference in securing your first grant or seed funding. For senior researchers, sustained publication is critical for large-scale funding, multi-year projects, and training the next generation through funded graduate positions. The reality is that if you want resources to do your research, you need to publish.

Once you are clear on why you want or need to publish, it's time to be real about the benchmarks. Is there a total number to get to the next level? Do you need an annual number of outputs? If you struggle to write, are there alternative outputs that might satisfy a requirement, such as a conference poster or presentation? Keep in mind, peer-reviewed journal publication is the gold standard when it comes to scientific outputs. Book chapters, reports, exhibitions, conferences—all of those are proof of your expertise, but none compare to the weight of a peer-reviewed journal paper.

Second: Set Minimum and Aspirational Goals for the Year

When it comes to planning your publication outputs for the year, I recommend setting two types of goals: minimum and aspirational.

Your minimum goal is the baseline—what you absolutely need to accomplish to feel like you've made progress and met your professional obligations. Maybe that's one solid journal paper or presenting at a conference with the aim of publishing next year. Typically for tenture-track, the baseline is one journal paper per year. For graduate students it might be two papers total—or one paper every other year. For practitioners, it might be one paper to land a new client or be eligible for grant funding; it can vary widely and only you know your situation.

Your aspirational goal is the stretch—what you'd aim to achieve if everything goes smoothly this year, if reviewers are positive, and if no major life events call for your attention. Perhaps that's three publications, or one in a top-tier journal, or diversifying your outputs with a book chapter. The key is being realistic about your minimum (don't set yourself up for failure) while giving yourself permission to stretch with your aspirational goal.

Here's my advice: celebrate hitting your minimum like it's a major win—because it is. If you reach your aspirational goal? Kudos to you; you are ahead of the game. It gives you permission to aim for the minimum next year for more work-life balance.

Third: Mindful Planning

Now it's time to get into the details—without getting too detailed. The objective of mindful planning is to create an actionable roadmap that sets clear targets without the rigidity of endless deadlines.

Here's the approach I've developed over the course of my academic career that I wish I'd started as a grad student.

First, make a list of ongoing research projects and in-progress outputs (these can, and probably should be, related) for the calendar year. Outputs include journal papers, conference presentations, books, book chapters, etc.

Second, create a timeline differentiating hard and soft deadlines. Add other academic and personal deadlines and events (e.g., exams, applications, vacations, etc.).

Third, plan weekly tasks (e.g., draft literature review, submit conference abstract, "on vacation") to ensure progress across projects and outputs without overloading the calendar.

Last, decide if any outputs need to be let go of (deleted off the list because you don't have time or the effort doesn't match the benefit) and if/when new ones can be added. For example, if you plan to submit a paper in May, plan to start a new manuscript in July—not never July, the real July!

Let's talk about one more thing: rejection. If you write, you will face rejection. That is the reality and not a reflection of your work. Read 👉 13 reasons papers get rejected. If you're planning to submit papers this year, plan for at least one rejection or revise-and-resubmit. It's not pessimism—it's reality. In fact, R&R’s help us become better writers. My suggestion is to build buffer time into your timeline and have a backup journal in mind so that a rejection or multiple rounds of revision don’t derail your entire year. My experience is that papers move at different rates so take into account the timelines posted online by your target journal. If they don’t match your desired timeline, you might choose to go with a different journal.

Planning is great, but accountability is what keeps us on track. Consider finding a writing partner, joining a writing group, or scheduling regular check-ins with a colleague or mentor. Even something as simple as sharing your goals with someone who will ask "how's that paper coming?" can make all the difference. Join the Watering Hole, a supportive space where academics at all stages—from new grad students to seasoned researchers—can ask questions, share advice, and navigate the publishing journey together. And remember that I’m always available if you need some motivation.

Don’t be surprised if your plans derail at some point. A reviewer will request major revisions, a family emergency will happen, or you'll simply lose momentum. When that happens, revisit your minimum goal and adjust without guilt. Remember: doing less to do more means giving yourself permission to recalibrate, not abandon ship.

That's it in a nutshell—my roadmap to help you plan your 2026 outputs.

I've included a free download based on the template I use. Feel free to adopt it or modify it to make it work for you.

Download free Planning Template: Academic Outputs for 2026 👈👈👈 click here

If you want more support or guidance in planning academic outputs for 2026, I'm hosting a free mindful planning workshop the week before Lunar New Year—just in time to make the transition! If your energy is feeling a little heavy these days, ask what you've brought into 2026 that still needs shedding. You just might find a fire ready to spark!

Find out more details and register click here 👇👇👇

👉👉👉 Mindful Planning Workshop 2026 👈👈👈

The recording will be available after the event so if you can’t show up, you can still watch it at a later time.

Footnotes 

Don’t forget to check out my new video this month on writing about your sampling methodology (even if you don’t think you have one).

You can find it in the Publish It! Library 👈 click here   

Find the full version included in self-paced Draft It! The Essential 10-Week Workshop 👈 click here

All my free videos are also on my YouTube channel 👈 click here

I upload new content monthly so if you are interested subscribe here 👈 click here

And while you are at it—join the Publish It! Community Watering Hole 👈 and share your experiences with other academic writers. It’s free!