Have you ever wondered what happens to your research paper after you press ‘submit’? For many PhD students – and plenty of undergraduates dreaming of academia – the editorial process can feel almost mystical. You upload months (or years) of work into an online portal and then wait. Does an editor quickly skim it before whisking it away into the junk folder? Do some disagreeable reviewers gleefully sharpen their red pens? Is it quietly digested by an AI tool before any human lays eyes on it?

While I can’t promise that every journal works the same way, after speaking to Karl Ziemelis, Chief Physical Sciences Editor at Nature, one thing is clear: at top academic journals, the process is far more thoughtful – and more human – than many may assume.

After completing his undergraduate studies in physics at Cambridge, Karl dropped out of his PhD to join Nature’s editorial team. Thirty-four years later, he has seen thousands of papers pass across his desk. I was eager to understand not only how Nature decides what to publish, but also what life is actually like as an editor.

“At top academic journals, the process is far more thoughtful – and more human – than many may assume”

Every week, Karl receives around 10 new submissions. “If the job was just reading 10 papers a week, the job would be easy!” he jokes. In reality, that’s only the beginning. Editors must assess submissions, find and manage reviewers, read reviewers’ comments on papers, and ultimately judge whether a paper is worth publishing. All the while, they respond to queries and complaints about previously published work.

“It’s a lot to juggle – it needs good organisation and time management,” Karl admits. Nonetheless, Karl takes it all in stride and loves the job. Nature is highly selective. Around 20% of submissions are sent out for peer review, and only 7-8% are ultimately published. This means the majority of decisions happen before external reviewers even see the manuscript.

So what separates the 8% from the rest? “At the end of the day,” Karl explains, “the reason we’re turning a paper down is because, in our view – collectively as editors – it’s not interesting or important enough for Nature.”

“Around 20% of submissions are sent out for peer review, and only 7-8% are ultimately published”

That doesn’t mean the rejected work is flawed. Rather, Nature looks for research that represents a significant step forward in a field – work that addresses a major question or has broad disciplinary or societal impact. “We’re not saying it’s rubbish,” he clarifies. “We’re trying to figure out: would this look out of place in our pages? Is this a good contender?”

As we were talking, the age-old recruitment myth that employers spend mere seconds glancing at a CV came to mind. Is the same true for journal editors “For the first read, I would say on average it’s about 30 minutes to an hour,” Karl says.

If the paper falls squarely within his expertise, the assessment could be quicker. But often, evaluating a submission involves far more than reading the abstract. Karl may spend hours chasing up references, reading recent literature, and building a picture of the field to judge whether the paper genuinely offers something new and substantial. This stage is not about mastering every technical detail. Instead, the editor’s role is to assess whether the claims appear justified by the evidence presented, and whether the paper meets the journal’s editorial criteria. Technical depth is then scrutinised by specialist peer reviewers.

“For those who enjoy science broadly, editorial work can offer a panoramic view of discoveries across disciplines”

Of course, most submissions do not make it through. So what does rejection actually look like? “We’re not hidden behind a sort of mystery barrier,” Karl says. “A rejection is given directly from the editors, for the most part from our personal email accounts.” While rejection letters can feel formulaic – a consequence of sheer volume – they are crafted individually and typically include some explanation of the decision. “No one likes rejections,” Karl acknowledges. “And we’re always happy to look again – but we can’t guarantee a change in outcome.”

Another persistent rumour I hear: friends and famous scientists get special treatment. Karl is firm in dispelling this. “We do our damnedest to show no favouritism,” he insists. “If an editor feels conflicted because of their relationship with the person, they will pass it on to one of the other editors in the team.”

He is also keen to challenge the idea that Nature only values abstract, theoretical breakthroughs. “There’s a myth that Nature only cares about the fundamental understanding, and not improvements in practical capability or utility.” he says. “We care about developments across fields – from basic fundamentals to engineering and the social sciences.”

After more than three decades at Nature, Karl still finds the work invigorating “It provides plenty of intellectual stimulation!” he says, jovially. For those who enjoy science broadly – not just within one narrow specialism – editorial work can offer a panoramic view of discoveries across disciplines. But it also requires resilience and diplomacy: thick skin, people-skills, and the ability to coordinate between authors and reviewers. Karl encourages all researchers interested in a career in Nature to apply. “There’s recruitment happening all of the time,” Karl adds. “Keep an eye out on Nature’s careers page.”

So while the submission process may never lose its aura of mystery entirely, one thing is certain: behind every decision is not a faceless algorithm, but editors like Karl balancing judgement, fairness, and an extraordinary amount of science. For researchers frantically refreshing their inbox after submission, this might offer some small comfort.