My Viva Experience

by Dr Sarah Robins-Hobden

While anticipating the Hive Doctoral Discussions event on Viva, we thought it's a good idea to re-post a brilliant piece written by Dr Sarah Robins-Hobden, Researcher Developer, Trainer, and Coach, on her own Viva. The piece was originally posted on the Doctoral School blog in 2010: https://doctoralschool.wordpress.com/2010/10/07/my-viva-experience. We find Sarah's notes and tips on her Viva experience priceless, so we'd like to share them with all of you who are preparing for their own Viva. Enjoy!

Notes on my viva

Just a note: I found my viva exam to be one of the most positive experiences of my doctorate.  If you’re looking for viva horror stories, you’ll need to go elsewhere, sorry.

Firing up

 

I had not been nervous really until the actual day of the viva.  Then it started to come on in the morning, building slowly, until early afternoon, when I started to feel drenched in fear.  Immediately before going in at 3pm, it was at its utter worst.  The viva took place in my internal examiners office, and as my Supervisor escorted me from the cafe, I felt I was walking the walk of doom.  I shook hands with my examiners, and sat at the table, in front of a small bottle of water with a plastic cup.

My internal examiner started off apologising for not having arranged tea.  He said that the viva would not be very long, and that it was unusual for a candidate to be told this in advance.  I wasn’t to read anything into this, the fixed duration of the viva being set by the train and plane times arranged for my external examiner.  We had two hours, and we kept up a good pace throughout the exam, and as it was, I felt I could have discussed some topics for longer, though I must say that I didn’t feel rushed or that we missed anything.

First gear

 

I was still exceedingly nervous at this point, and the first thing I was asked, was to talk for 10 to 15 minutes about the background to how my research came about, the journey that I took, and the highlights along the way.  I can sometimes waffle.  Really waffle.  Sometimes when the handbrake on my mouth is released, and after several metaphorical miles of talking, I can discover to my horror that my brain has been humming away in neutral for the entire journey.  I’m also blessed/cursed with self-awareness, so I *know* I sometimes do this, and I *know* how awful it is to find myself doing it.  So I worry about doing it, and become absurdly vigilant, often stopping mid-sentence and saying things like “ok, I should shut up now”, or “…erm, that didn’t answer your question, did it?”.  Despite all this, and after a very cautious start, I soon got into the rhythm of it, started to trust that my brain was firing on all cylinders, and found myself weaving a fairly coherent and competent narrative around the six experiments that form my thesis.  About 8 minutes in, I finally started to relax.  I realised I *did* know my work very well, that there was an interesting story to be told, and that they story was mine to tell.  And I started to realise that I had an audience of two avid listeners, who were hanging on to everything I said with genuine interest.  This had not happened to me before.

I don’t want to paint an impossibly rosy picture, so know this: that first question was the easiest.  I did not fully relax at any point during the 2 hours I was in there – but I think that must be right.  It is an exam.  The culmination of five years of my life: 3 of active research, and 2 of (on and off) writing.  You cannot relax if you stimulated, excited, alert and interested, and I was all of these.  Also, I was painfully aware that my thesis was not as tied up as it should have been.  For reasons I won’t go into here, I had run up tight against the wire with submission times, and some sections were mere vignettes rather than critical analysis.  I was fairly confident that my experimental methods and results were sound.  But I knew that the introductions and conclusions they were wrapped in were less so, and in some cases almost insubstantial. I was fully expecting what we commonly call “major corrections”, and praying not be offered an MPhil or failed outright.

Full throttle

 

We progressed through my thesis, stopping here and there so my examiners could question me further.  This wasn’t the page-by-page slow death I had previously imagined, and the questions seemed to fall into three loose categories:

1. To explore in depth or recap something I had written about
2. To establish something I had not written about, and perhaps should have
3. To consider the what-ifs of my research (especially as my conclusions and discussions were not very strong)

This seemingly meandering route through my thesis took me by surprise – a lot of  the sections I had made notes on, and the majority of what I thought were glaring holes in my critiques, methods or research, were skated over or not touched on at all.  A couple of points that I had previously thought quite minor, we explored in great depth, and I found myself doing some proper hard thinking.  There was one particular section that I knew was very thin, and I had been prepared to be grilled on it quite hard.  In the end, I was asked a couple of minor questions, and it was left at that.  It’s only now, with the benefit of hindsight that I can see that I wasn’t pushed on that section because it wasn’t central to my argument.  And the sections I was stretched on, were very central to my argument.  Sounds obvious now, doesn’t it?

Throughout the viva, I felt I was being asked to look at my work from other viewpoints, and it wasn’t always easy.  Some of the questions I had to ask to be rephrased because I didn’t understand them, and a couple I started answering and had to be stopped because I had grasped the wrong end of the stick and proceeded to beat myself over the head with it. In one cringe-inducing instance, my internal examiner had to paraphrase my mangled answer for me, so that the external examiner could understand my response, whilst I sat nodding dumbly.

Most of the time though, it did feel like a discussion, with the questions being prompts.  My examiners posed some interesting ideas that I hadn’t thought of myself, and many of which will be very useful when revisiting my thesis.  Getting another’s perspective on your own research is useful, talking to two interested senior academics about your research is valuable, and having that dialogue with the person who is at least the UK, if not world expert in your field (the external examiner), is priceless.  Perhaps it is because I felt like this – I saw my viva as an opportunity, and not as a trial – that I feel so positive about the experience, and got so much from it.

Rear-view Mirror

 

I think It helped, too, that there had been a 5-month gap between my thesis submission, and my viva – something that frustrated me a bit at the time.  This isn’t an unusual length of time, but it was enough that I was able to let go of my thesis for a while, and it helped me get a more objective stance on it (though of course you can never be completely objective about an x-thousand-word thesis that took three years to research).  I went and reintegrated myself into other aspects of my life for a while, and when I returned, I certainly found myself being less precious about my research, more open to new ideas, and more accepting of constructive criticism.  Above all, I realised I was ready to “kill my darlings”.  I doubt I would have felt this way in the first three months after submission.  All things need time to mellow, and I’m glad I had the time and space to do so.

Rejoining the highway

 

Back to the viva… Afterwards, I was asked to leave the room while the examiners decide upon their recommendation to the exam board.  They came to get me shortly afterwards (15 mins or so?) and we returned to the exam room.  The examiners wanted me to know that I had viva’d well – that I had given considered answers, that I had shown a good understanding of the strengths and weaknesses of my research and thesis, and how it might fit into the overall field.  Then they worked through the first three outcome categories allowed for on the Sussex form shown here:

First 3 viva outcomes at Sussex

Category a) is rarely awarded.  Both examiners said that they disagreed with the way the outcomes are worded – they could no recommend outcome b) because the amendments permitted under this category are specific, and my thesis needed more revision than that.  But they didn’t agree with category c) either – they felt that there was too great a gap between b) and c), and they both objected  to the use of the word “fail” that applies to category 3.  (As it happens, I believe Sussex is in the process of reviewing the wording on these forms, but the wheels move excruciatingly slowly in HEIs).  So, the recommendation from my examiners was to be outcome 3, but they agreed that I need not sit another viva, and that my internal examiner could approve the corrections.  This all sounds a bit flat when written down, but it was actually very encouraging, and my external said that there was “at least one, if not two papers” to be had from my thesis – and to this point I had thought there was none!  I was also advised that I should take some time to immerse myself back into the literature before diving in to make corrections – and I shall be heeding that advice closely.

Aftermath

 

Afterwards I felt elated, excited about my work, energised and re-motivated.  I also felt a little intellectually knackered.  You know that feeling your body gets the day after a hard workout when you’re not used to it?  That’s how my brain felt.  Good stuff. :)

Questions I remember being asked (as I best remember them, not word-for-word):

 

• Could you talk us through the background of how your research came about, and the journey you took, including some of the highlights you encountered along the way?
• Your literature review on SSS[1] starts with Prof A’s 1981 paper, and work on humans.  I wondered if you’d considered going back to earlier work with animals, such as that of Prof B, as it may be central to some of your later work on learning?
• There seems to be an absence of dissenting voices in your review – have you come across the argument that SSS does not exist, that the measurements might be a reflection of the wanting / liking dichotomy?  For example from Prof C, or Prof D?
• The bulk of your research relies upon a single dependent variable.  What is your reasoning behind that, and how might it affect your conclusions?
• You refer here to phenomena Y, could you expand on this please?
• On page xx you outline two opposing theories of Z – could you explain a bit more about how the theories contrast?
• Could you tell me how Flavour-flavour learning works?  Why, for instance, would a novel flavour become more liked after exposure with a sweet taste such as sugar?  And how would that be attributed to flavour, and not to energy learning?
• You make the assertion of hypothesis H1 here, and it looks like you base that on a single published paper.  Is there any other reason you might expect X to be the case?
• All your experiments use a fixed portions of food.  What made you decide on this method?  Can you think of any limitations using fixed portions might have had on your results?
• All your data is collected from VAS (visual analogue scales).  Can you think of any other measures that might have been appropriate to take?
• Experiment 1 presented some unexpected group differences at baseline – have you any thoughts on why this might be?
• In Experiment 2, your results show a significant linear contrast, and would probably show a significance for a quadratic contrast too.  But this relies on the way you have ordered your categorical experimental conditions. How was this ordering decided, and was that before or after you collected the data?
• Experiment 3 is underpowered – could you talk us through how this came about, and why you decided not to use some of the data?
• The effect you found in Experiment 2 is absent from Experiments 3 and 4 – do you have any thoughts on why this might be the case?
• You did an additional ANCOVA (analysis of covariance) on the data for experiment 4.  Do you think that conducting a similar analysis on experiments 2 and 3 might reveal some more answers?
• Did you collect this sort of data from participants at different time points in the experiment?  So you could go back and look at that to see if those data provide more answers?
• It is interesting that you used materials and methods in experiment 6 that worked well for other researchers, but didn’t provide you with the same effects in your work here.  What are your ideas on reasons for that?
• How might expectancy effects have interfered with your results in the final two experiments?
  What could be done to improve the design of this experiment?
• If you were to go back to the beginning of your research, what would you do differently?

[1] phenomenon that is the focus of my research

We would like to thank Dr Sarah Robins-Hobden for letting us re-post her blog post.

Tips for Organising a Postgraduate Conference

Fellow academics often claim that organising a conference is fun, looks good on your CV, and offers an excellent networking opportunity. Well, it’s certainly all of those things – but it’s also jolly hard work. Of course, anything involving people and technology is bound to be tricky. I’ve helped out with the Victorian Popular Fiction Association’s annual conference since it first started back in 2009, and last year I was on the organising committee of Sights and Frights, a one-day interdisciplinary event at the University of Sussex. In this post I share with you some of the lessons learned and insights gained. I’m not going to cover how you choose a theme or draft a call for papers – I’m assuming you already have a good idea of what you want your conference to look like and now need to get started on the practicalities.

Registration

If you want to attract delegates, which I assume you do, make the registration process as simple as possible. A basic online form is ideal, and you can set one up for free with a WordPress site or Google Forms. Don’t expect people to send paperwork through the post to you. None of us is that patient these days, and it’s a real pain for overseas delegates. Your university probably has a PayPal account you can use, and this is the most convenient method for everyone. If your budget is tight, then receiving payment upfront gives you a much better idea of the finances and you don’t have to menace people for money on the day. Make it clear on the registration form that delegates who cancel at the last minute won’t receive a refund.

On the registration form, be sure to ask delegates to specify whether they have any specific dietary or access requirements.

Catering

Most academics won’t have high expectations of university catering, but they’ll be grumpy if there’s not enough food. You might need to advise the caterers of numbers a few weeks in advance of the event, so keep a careful eye on late registrations and advise them accordingly. Also remember that some people will just turn up on the day, but still expect to be catered for.  There is likely to be a least a handful of delegates with allergies, so make sure their needs are noted. If a special meal is prepared for them, mark it with their name – sometimes unthinking souls will wolf down someone else’s vegan lunch just to see what it’s like. You might have to pay a premium for additional dietary requirements, so ask for a clear breakdown of what everything costs. It could be cheaper to pop to the local supermarket and buy some soya milk and gluten-free biscuits for the coffee break.

Oh, and keep an eye on your catering once it’s arrived. I once attended a conference where the host institution’s staff sneaked in and cleared all the platters while we were patiently waiting for the last paper to finish.

Timekeeping & scheduling

Who’s ever attended a conference that didn’t overrun? Not me. To prevent it from getting out of hand, make sure the panel chairs enforce the time limits. The most effective method I’ve used is to provide them with a laminated card – on one side it reads “5 minutes” left, on the other “Stop talking now!” It’s not very subtle, admittedly, but a few academics will just ramble on incontinently until somebody wrestles them to the ground.

Starting on time is also key. Appoint a committee member or friendly faculty member as MC (preferably one with the lungs of Ethel Merman) to summon everyone together for the opening remarks and keynote address. If this starts late, you’ve got absolutely no chance of recovering the time. And squeezing the coffee breaks is always an unpopular move. If you are overrunning, keep closing remarks to an absolute minimum – the audience will be worrying about catching planes and trains, and won’t give a stuff about your thoughts on interdisciplinarity.

Technology

Computers are designed to confound and it’s important to assume they will go wrong. If your conference is taking place at the weekend, remember that your university’s IT helpdesk might not be available. Ensure you have a resident geek who can quickly resolve any minor issues. If possible, encourage speakers to send their slides in advance – that way they won’t be thwarted by failed wi-fi connections, temperamental laptops, or forgetful memory sticks. Also ask them to specify any non-standard equipment required, such as microphones or speakers.

Arrive at the venue early and give yourself time to switch on all the computers and screens that’ll be in use during the day.

Delegates

Dealing with a large number of people in a confined space is challenging. It’s a good idea to recruit some volunteers to help you on the day, particularly with the registration desk. As a member of the organising committee, you’ll probably be busy dealing with speakers and possible emergencies (see below). Ensure that everyone knows their role and how to carry it out. Keep a list of useful contact numbers on the desk.

Delegates tend to arrive in one enormous clump around 15 minutes before the conference starts. Have a system in place to deal with them efficiently and also station some people there to deal with complicated enquiries. There’ll almost certainly be a few people who haven’t registered or did so just after midnight. Have blank name badges available, and make extra copies of the delegate packs.

Put signs around the building to guide delegates to the panel locations and toilets, and ensure room numbers are clearly marked on the conference programme.

Emergencies

It’s horrible when your carefully laid plans go awry. Unfortunately, speakers do pull out at the last moment – even keynotes – and there’s nothing that can be done. Sometimes they even have the temerity to explain they received a better offer. Anyway, don’t panic. If this happens, don’t be tempted to wheel in another speaker at the last minute. It’s much easier to simply extend the social breaks or finish earlier (remember that you’ll probably be overrunning, in any case). If a keynote is travelling a long distance, he or she could easily be delayed. In that case, do a quick rejig of the schedule – it’s not going to ruin anyone’s day if the conference doesn’t run in exactly the advertised order.

Hopefully I haven’t put you off. Organising a conference is an immensely rewarding experience and it helps develop many skills – not least of which is patience. Inevitably, things will go wrong, but it’s very unlikely that anything truly disastrous will happen. Let go of minor glitches and enjoy your day.

Catherine Pope gained her PhD from the University of Sussex last year. She is now a digital skills trainer and the author of books on Zotero, Evernote, and Scrivener. Find out more at The Digital Researcher (www.theDigitalResearcher.com).