Compressing a doctorate: The 3MT challenge (Amra Pajalić)

You don’t win a 3 Minute Thesis (3MT) competition by accident.

Yes, I “stumbled into it” at the start — I entered because it looked like solid academic credit and a good excuse to practice what I preach as a teacher: rehearsal, structure, timing, clarity. It asks one brutal question: can you explain what you’re doing — and why it matters — to people who don’t live inside your discipline?

I’m Amra Pajalić: writer, teacher, and PhD researcher of Bosnian heritage exploring representations of the Bosnian genocide in fiction. My research sits at the intersection of storytelling, historical analysis, cultural memory, and ethics. I’m also the author of Time Kneels Between Mountains, a historical novel that forms part of my PhD creative component, alongside an essay collection that interrogates how genocide is written about, framed, and remembered.

Last year I won first prize in La Trobe’s 3MT competition. The university final was fierce: ten exceptional candidates across wildly different fields — biomedicine, agriculture, education, creative writing, and more. I genuinely didn’t expect to win. I sat there listening to charismatic, polished presenters and thought, I’m just here for the experience and a line on my CV.

Then my name was called.

The moment I realised: “Oh, there are levels to this”

I’d entered 3MT at the department level. I practised. I refined. I performed. I won.

And then I discovered there was another round. And another. At La Trobe (like many universities), it moves from school/department heats to a university-level final, then onward to broader competitions. Each stage widens the audience and raises the stakes.

At the department level, people roughly understand your territory. They know the assumptions your field makes. They’re already “bought in” to your kind of research. The university final is different: you’re standing alongside projects that sound like they belong on another planet. If you can’t build a bridge fast, you lose the audience.

Coaching, craft, and the weirdly powerful art of “codes”

After the department win, I was connected with the Director of Graduate Research (DGR) for my area. That’s how I ended up in the one-on-one coaching that supports the 3MT competition.

We worked line by line through my speech. And because I’m a creative writer, the coaching looked different for me than for others. The coaching is different for everyone, it might be about cutting acronyms, clarifying processes, or even translating an entire method into everyday language. Some candidates needed the emotional heart of their work. Others needed basic clarity.

I needed precision.

In coaching, we focused on language that would carry meaning quickly — what I think of as narrative “codes.” For example, in my 3MT I describe a cross-class romance in my novel as a “Romeo and Juliet” story. That phrase is a shortcut: it instantly communicates doomed love, stakes, inevitability, and tragedy — without wasting time explaining the entire arc.

Those codes matter because three minutes is nothing. Every word has to earn its place.

The slide, the stage, and why a rehearsal can save you

A 3MT speech isn’t just words. It’s performance.

You get one static slide — no animation, no sequence, no safety net. That slide has to support your message without competing with it. In my case, because my topic deals with genocide, tone mattered. Even the running order mattered.

I remember saying: “Put me last. I bring the mood down.” That wasn’t melodrama; it was practical. If you follow a genocide talk with someone cracking jokes, the transition is jarring and unfair to both speakers. The team organising the event understood this — and it made the presentation work.

The university final was held in the Agora cinema space on campus, with live streaming, multiple cameras, photographers, and an audience. It felt like stepping into a small broadcast set. We did a full dress rehearsal — and thank God, because rehearsal isn’t just practice of content. It’s practice of the room: microphone placement, pacing, nerves, acoustics, and how it feels to speak into a space that large.

Cue cards: yes, I used them — and I still won

Here’s something people don’t say loudly enough: you’re allowed to use memory aids. The rules permit cue cards or a full script.

I could not memorise my speech to save my life.

As a writer, I’m attached to exact wording — cadence, emphasis, the order of ideas. I didn’t trust myself to “wing it,” especially with a topic that demands ethical care in the language. So I used cue cards — but I used them strategically.

I printed the text in large font, cut the pages into small cards, numbered them, and stapled them so nothing could fall out of order. I’d rote-learned most of it, but the cards gave me security. When I watched the footage later, I still maintained strong eye contact. The cards didn’t kill the performance — they protected it.

And when the speech moved on to the Asia-Pacific heat, I adapted again. I used an autocue app for recording. Same core message, refined language, improved delivery. Because here’s the truth: if you keep advancing, you can’t keep doing the same version. Everyone else is levelling up.

What 3MT did for my research (beyond the trophy)

Winning is wonderful. The prize money helps. The CV line matters.

But the real value for me was structural.

Writing the 3MT speech forced me to articulate my thesis argument so clearly that it exposed a weakness in one of my chapters. I realised I hadn’t addressed a part of the argument adequately — and the act of compressing the work revealed the gap. In that way, 3MT didn’t just help me communicate my research; it helped me see my research.

It also pulled me into university life more fully. As a part-time PhD candidate who works full-time, I’ve often been disconnected from the rhythms of campus. 3MT made me pay attention. It gave me connections, conversations, and visibility outside my supervision bubble.

And it gave me momentum.

Why this matters to me now: turning prize money into a bigger project

I’ve written a book of essays based on my research, and I’m working toward adapting that work into a podcast series — a historical narrative project that brings research to a public audience in a form people actually consume.

I plan to use the prize money as leverage: to apply for further funding, to build the project properly, and to strengthen future grant applications. Saying “this work was awarded and supported” makes a difference. It signals credibility — not because institutions define value, but because funding bodies like evidence that others have already invested.

And when someone inevitably asks, “Will the podcast make money?” my answer is simple: probably not — and that’s not the point. Researchers and writers make things because we want knowledge to move. We want ideas to circulate. We want stories told with care.

That’s what 3MT is training us to do: to take complex work and make it accessible without flattening it.

My blunt advice if you’re thinking of entering

Do it!

Not because you’ll win. (You probably won’t. Most people don’t.) But you’ll gain something either way:

• you’ll understand your project better,
• you’ll learn how to explain it to actual humans,
• you’ll meet other researchers and build community,
• you’ll practise a skill you will use forever,
• and you might get a confidence boost right when you need it most.

PhDs are solo work, but finishing them takes a village. 3MT is one of the rare opportunities that creates a moment of public recognition — a room full of people listening hard, clapping at the end, and reminding you: your work matters outside your supervisor’s office.

And sometimes, if you’re lucky — or prepared — you’ll walk away with a trophy too.

—–

Amra Pajalić is an award-winning author, educator, and PhD researcher of Bosnian heritage whose work explores how fiction represents the Bosnian genocide and winner of the 2025 La Trobe 3M competition. You can also listen to her podcast on 3MT with Dr Katherine Firth. Find out more: www.amrapajalic.com