Two years ago at a conference, I was talking to a professor whom I deeply respect, telling him that I honestly do not know where my home is. I left the country I grew up in when I was 18, spent 11 years in another one pursuing my studies, moved again to a new country to get the postdoc experience I wanted, and here I was 7 years later, moving yet again to another country for academic reasons.

For my very first blog post on this platform, I got inspired by the name of the blog support system itself— Ghost . It made me reflect on a phenomenon that many early-career researchers quietly experience: ghost and ghosted authorship in scientific publications. Let’s plot the scene: You’re a PhD student or a young postdoc, and your manuscript is finally ready for submission.

I know you are conditioned to think that what you are researching has to be novel.  But let’s think about it for a second.

Act I: Enchantment It usually starts early on.  You are looking at something. A couple of bugs on the ground. A star in the sky. The veins on a leaf. The stream of bubbles in your soda. You are just observing. But then you start wondering. What exactly is this? You are curious, you want to know more. How does it work? Is it known? You ask questions.. that lead to more questions.

In the 20 ^th century, Tom Clancy’s espionage novels became so popular that his publisher started hiring ghostwriters to respond to the popular demand. But in science, such a thing would be unthinkable, right? No one should contribute to a research paper and not receive their due credit. In peer reviewing, however… Everyone in academia knows it happens, but it’s treated like the problem that-shall-not-be-named.

Just like the anonymous commenter on a reddit thread or a social media post, I think the anonymous reviewer suffers from the “disinhibition effect” that comes with knowing that they cannot be identified. A reviewer “persona” is created and suddenly gives them the option to be especially harsh (sometimes cruel…). Would they have made the same comment face to face, at a conference, for example?

The first time I heard the expression "low hanging fruit" in science, I got excited. Simple projects that seem to be straightforward – seemingly untouched by other scientists. Projects you could pluck right off the tree and bite into, reaping the succulent fruity juice of success. In three months it would be wrapped up. An easy publication.

How to catch a predator in the academic publisher quagmire. Dear esteemed Professor Waltho, I would like to take the privilege to invite you to contribute your research/discoveries to our overly open access journal. Simply email your manuscript as an attachment to below email... This is a typical opening from one of countless spam emails that flood the inboxes of scientists worldwide every day.

Impact factor. The power of this term is unparalleled in academia. The word “impact” by itself is already so profoundly heavy. And second in line to it, would be tenure.

I was recently at a conference – the friends-and-family kind. International, sure, but mostly populated by academically 'related' researchers. A chance to get all together, talk about new projects, showcase current research, see if there is a possibility for interesting collaborations. A nice sense of community, lighthearted and caring.  This conference also had a student track.

At times, critique could be mistaken as criticism, even though it’s not meant to be. Still, even critique is difficult to deal with.  With time, I learned to ask “W hat is the intention behind this comment? ” to avoid unnecessary arguments.  I don’t guarantee that it always works.