Who am I?

 Here I am at the beginning of another blog reboot, this time returning to my roots. Sort of. It's hard, after all, to return to a mindset and sense of purpose (or a place where you didn't need a sense of purpose) after, oh... 14 years. I actually had to look that up--it feels much longer. But I am returning to my first blog. It feels appropriate, once again, to write under the label of "Words, Words" rather than trying to define myself more specifically. I may still branch off a little. I've picked up a bit of a romance novel habit that some of my blog friends may not be interested in--nay, may find distasteful. And "Booknotes from Literacy-chic," which I intend to keep up, doesn't quite feel like the right place, either. But I'll probably keep this as the hub. In the meantime, I rolled another blog that never really got off the ground, but had some interesting snapshots from a former workplace, into this one. I've decided that I was compartmentalizing a bit too much. It's not really who I am.

"Who am I?" indeed.

Identity is a strange question, isn't it? Much stranger than when I first started blogging in January 2007. I'm not really here to introduce myself, rather, I want to sort through the things that make up my life right now, in 2021.

Things that are the same (but different), in alphabetical order:

• Catholicism

I am still Catholic. Of course. But I am not the fresh convert that I once was, working to arrange my life according to Church teachings. Surprise! Do Church teachings still exercise influence in my life? Of course. Are these influences as powerful and compelling as they used to be? Sadly, no. This is perhaps for the better, since I don't argue and agonize about them as I once did. But my Catholic faith is still an important part of who I am. At least, I think so. These days I mainly concern myself with what parishes are not doing to prevent the spread of COVID-19, and our mass attendance is through YouTube.

• Family

Need it be said? Family is still one of the most important things to me. My oldest, now 24, is still at home, and we love this. He's completing his B.A. this year after a challenging educational journey that has more to do with finances than anything. He is also working alongside me at my workplace, but I don't expect to say much about that. My two daughters, 13 and 15, are in 8th and 11th grade, respectively. Last Spring (2020) they went online by mandate, and in 2020-2021, we found one of the best online schools in the country and decided to stick with it for 2021-2022. I have a husband with a solid academic career in libraries that I alternately support and resent, mostly at the same time. But I'm proud of him and I love him and I'm so happy that I have him. We're coming up to our 25th wedding anniversary next year. I still have a mother and brother who I worry about, and 4 other siblings with whom I have limited contact--in one case more, in another case, none at all.

• Reading

Books are still a large part of my life. What I read has shifted drastically as well as, shall we say, how I use books. There's a lot more escapist reading and a lot less literary snobbery in my life, although I am still particular, and selective. I still post to my Booknotes blog occasionally, when something strikes me, but less analytical posts may wind up here. I may also start a romance reading blog.

• Sewing

I still sew when the mood takes me. I made some masks. I make clothing sometimes with variable success. I started a blog long ago that I thought would be devoted to sewing, but working through frustrations with patterns publicly just didn't seem the best use of my time. I may post about sewing here sometimes. We'll see.

• Writing

This may also go without being said? I come back to writing at times. It never leaves me, though sometimes I leave it for a time. I was writing a dissertation when I started (except that I had to give up blogging for Lent in order to actually finish the dissertation). Now, I have a book project that I'm not working on. The more things change...

Things that are new:

• Academia

Academia is not a part of my life. This is new. I may still have some thoughts on it from time to time, but I am out, and besides the resentment that it had to be like this, I am fine with it. It is no longer a place where I feel I belong.

• Art

In short, I do more of it now! Not currently, but periodically. It started with Inktober, which I'm not linking to for reasons. I don't need controversy, and I don't actually care about other people's angst on the topic; it was a neat idea. I wound up rediscovering (in 2015, if memory serves) that I can draw fairly well, and I enjoy doing so. When I was out of work in 2018-19, I developed a comic. A small sampling of the comic and my most recent partial Inktober efforts can be found here. Well, that's embarrassing. It seems that the posts I had scheduled to roll out one by one did not. <<cue mass posting>>

• COVID-19

This is a part of who everyone is these days, isn't it? I don't know that I'll have a lot to say about it, but who knows? My girls are in an online school; our workplaces are operating as conservatively as possible. My son will have to attend classes in person, but he will be masked and is vaccinated, as we all are. We all still have our fears and anxieties, but we're coping so far.

•  Crochet

Crochet is my "lockdown skill." I had a grandmother and an aunt who did (very different) crochet, and last year, 2nd daughter and I taught ourselves. My house now has a lot more yarn.

• Exercise

Okay, one of my first ever blog posts was about yoga, and the blog I merged with this one had a post about exercise, but maybe it wasn't a huge part of my life and blog in the past. It is now. Mainly because it has to be. Which brings us to...

• Health

Oh, where to begin? Some of this was already surfacing with the "rolled in" blog. I need to be aware of blood pressure and cholesterol, the former is currently under control to good effect and after much trial and error. I'm wondering whether some things I'm experiencing signal perimenopause. I have some issues with my joints--outer hips, lower back, right ankle--and a lot of anxiety about health issues. My husband has issues with blood pressure (under control), cholesterol (not), and blood sugar (with type-2 diabetes in the family and a "get the numbers down" kind of ultimatum). The kids are fine, but could be more active, particularly being at home more.

• (No More) Babies 

My early blogging days were filled with pregnancy and breastfeeding and other concerns related to babies. These experiences are no longer part of my life. For a few brief weeks in January 2020, we thought there might be another baby. This was not to be. Given the events of the year and my anxiety about the whole thing, this is probably for the best. There's a brief reflection on the experience here. I may make reference to this happening some time. 

• Pens and Inks

While it is true that I have used fountain pens sporadically over the past 20 years or so, this is a hobby/practice that blossomed during the pandemic with my discovery of the wonders of shimmery ink! It is very possible that I may write about this in the future.

• Publishing

Publishing is part of my life because it's my job. I have a book contract, but I'm not currently working on the book. Maybe that part of publishing will resurface in my life. 

• Teaching Certification

This is something I'm seriously considering. So seriously that I've submitted an application to a post-baccalaureate certification program, which will have part of its tuition covered because of my employment with the university. I'm not sure teaching high school will be feasible or enjoyable. But it's an option, and options are important.

• Television

I usually don't include TV in my blogging. I don't watch what anyone else watches. But the shows I do watch, I've been really captivated by. They might pop up. They include:

• The Secret History of the British Garden with Monty Don
• Hidden Villages with Penelope Keith
• Penelope Keith's Village of the Year
• Wartime Farm
• Edwardian Farm
• Tudor Farm
• Victorian Farm
• Wainwright Walks

If I ever make it to England for a holiday, I will almost certainly not visit the urban centers.

• Work

Work has been a problem. It wasn't such a problem when I started, mainly because I was a graduate student who only had to worry about one class at a time--if that--in addition to whatever scholarship I was supposed to be working on. Kind of changes things to have to work full time, you know? But the blog that I recently merged with this one was a real attempt to come to terms with the kind of work I was doing (technology training) in relation to the kind of work I was trained to do (academic teaching and scholarship). The blog didn't last and neither did the career. What did last was the sense of dissatisfaction, and, at times, utter despair. Jealousy--that my husband has the more interesting job where he is respected, where he learns things and talks about intellectual things, and my knowledge that it can also be a complete pain and inconvenience for all of us: these are all included, too. My blog posts have never concealed my deficits. Usually, I reveal them in painful detail. And my relationship to my work and to his work is an area that is... fraught. 

• Word Limits?

I don't have one in mind, but I'm putting this out there. A few limitations might help me to actually post regularly, and might prevent people from being bored before the end.

So if not who I am, this is where I am. The earlier question is something I'm trying to work out all the time.

Cheers!

Lessons from the Staff Side: Faculty and Customer Service

Something I have been thinking more and more about since working in a cutomer-serving department, and in a training department that teaches--and requires--customer service--is the idea that faculty should consider what customer service actually means.  I do come from an academic background--a background to which I am still dearly attached, and I would love to bring it to the foreground if I could.  So I know how faculty bristle--how I used to bristle--at the suggestion that faculty are in any way providing customer service, or at the idea that students are in any way customers or consumers.

The first problem is that the "customer service" model is often misunderstood both by those promoting it for political reasons and those who are resisting it.  Students and their parents see a "customer service" model as meaning that education exists, and is provided to the student/customer, to serve the purpose designated by the student.  This is seriously misguided.  The customer, if customer they would be, must assess the service provider first to determine whether the service being offered meets his or her needs, and whether the service provider, in fact, is capable of delivering the product needed, particularly when there are other providers available.  The informed consumer does not go to a vegetarian restaurant and order steak, or to McDonald's and order Kobe beef or sushi.  If she shops for auto parts at Target or Kroger, she must be prepared to find their offerings severely limited.  If she goes to a hospital to get a pedicure, or to a salon to have an appendectomy, she will necessarily be disappointed.  The first step, then, is knowing what institutions of higher education claim to offer, and for what reason.  What are they, in fact, trying to do for the individual in general?  Individual professors support their own reserach missions and pedagogical theories, putting those in the service of the departmental mission, which in turn serves the overall mission of the institution, which might advance a statewide goal that is somehow tied to the legislature's goals for development of citizens in the case of a state university.  They are thus charged with delivering the product and service deemed appropriate by their institution, and they are given some freedom in how they interpret the delivery.  To drill down and say that a professor should not be burdoning students with nonultilitarian information because the student is a customer, and the professor should be giving the customer only what he needs is ludicrous.  Being a smart consumer means understanding what you are buying.

On the other hand, professors (used broadly here, because I think academics of all stripes, and lecturers, and faculty of universities and colleges alike take issue) balk at the idea that there is a "customer service model" of education.** And it is possible that I am not strictly speaking about a model of education, but an attitude.  So what does a faculty member hear when someone suggests that education should be seen in terms of customer service?  I would suggest, first, that they interpret the phrase in much the same way as the students, or else they recognize the students' and parents' assumptions and react against those.  Customer-service oriented education might seem inherently utilitarian, designed to prepare students in a very practical, focused way, for "real life," which usually translates into "getting a job."  Whatever the failings of educational curricula, putting education in the service of employment is not something I want to advocate--or even to address here.  The other implication is that "service" means slavish devotion to students.  Providing multiple opportunities to make the grade.  Extra extra credit.  Perhaps even certain types of lectures and exams.  As far as that goes, there are already huge initiatives to understand how students learn and to make efforts to design curricula, courses, assignments and even to restructure classrooms and redefine the teacher in order to maximize student learning.  This is everywhere.  Sometimes, it actually benefits the professor by removing the pressure for them to perform.  They become mediators and mentors--not at all a bad role, unless they become superfluous, replaced by monitors and mediators who are less expensive and require less maintenance.  There is some anxiety about this as tenure track disappears and adjuncts abound.  So in terms of methodology, "student centered" might as well mean "customer-service oriented."  The basic approach--taking the needs of those who are on the receiving end of the product or service into account--is the same.  Do students see this as customer service?  Not necessarily.  Will they make unreasonable demands in the name of customer service?  Absolutely.

I think that in terms of pedagogy, a customer-service orientation might mean focusing on the journey or process rather than the product.  In an age of measurable objectives, we focus on testing, testing, testing...  But those who train, or teach classes to blue-collar professions realize that not everyone tests well, and that sometimes the artificiality of a test is not the best indicator of skill, knowledge, or mastery.  There are ways to evaluate during the process of learning.  In a training environment, where there are no tests, and yet where we have to try to deliver courses that help people learn, we need to develop exercises that allow people to try out what they have learned in an environment where they can ask questions and receive feedback and instruction.  Some people come and do not want to learn, and since it is their time, I can't really do too much about that lack of motivation.  If they sit through my class, it goes on their transcript, and they might receive a higher yearly evaluation because of it.  I can't help that situation.  I'm not going to report to the boss that they were shopping for shoes for the entire 6 hours.  But when they return to their desks, unless they already had the skills I taught, they will not have those skills at their disposal in their daily life.  Because there is little real-world consequence, except perhaps if a doctor sleeps during Biology, education requires tests.

When I think about the process, though, I think about what leads up to the grades.  Where are the opportunities for professors to monitor the learning process to see what is happening with a student before the test or paper due date?  There are precious few in the models with which I am familiar, and all are student-intitiated.  The reason they are few and student-initiated is that 1) the professor doesn't necessarily have the time or tools to get to know the student(s), and 2) there is an underlying assumption that forcing someone to ask for help has something to do with growing up.  On a level, it does.  But being open and available is important as well, and paving the way for someone to ask for help.

Let me describe two situations.  One semseter when I was teaching Freshman composition, I had a student who came to class every day.  She was very quiet, but listened attentively.  She participated in daily activities.  However, she never submitted a paper.  I might have mentioned that to her casually in class once or twice, and she nodded.  So she knew that she was behind, and hadn't turned in the work. Clearly, the burden was on her shoulders.  It was easy to shrug it off--that meant one less paper to grade, however much I pitied her.

Consider another situation--a rigidly enforced departmental policy on word count.  The students are warned that if their papers do not meet that word count--even if they are lacking only 2 words--the paper will not be graded.  In the case of the final paper, it will not be read, though earlier papers--the finished, failed product--will receive feedback.  Having already failed, how many of us will want the feedback?  Even when I teach, if I feel that I have failed to deliver a class to my ability or my standards, I do not go looking for student feedback to tell me what I've done wrong.  I already have a sense of my own inadequacy, thank you very much.  So do students learn from that level of failure?  We are told that if they don't fail, success will not be meaningful.  But what is a meaningful failure?  How does a teacher make failure meaningful?  I'm not sure.  But I don't think being beaten down and then invited in for more beating is going to do it.  But when grading is as onorous as it is, and the students don't seem to care about our rules or our standards, it is easy to let the cynacism win.  Let's face it, too--not all students are really interested in learning or playing the game.  Motivations for being in school are much more complex than motivations for working.  Working has a tangible result--a paycheck--even if it produces nothing else for the individual.

In a customer-serving department, we measure contact hours--how many hours we spend teaching multiplied by how many students we teach.  It is important to have people value what we are doing, and they come to value our classes becuase they can see the progress they are making.  So we try to facilitate that progress.  They tell other people.  We maintain our contact hours or increase them.  We do operate on supply and demand, but so do academic departments.  Courses that no one takes are not offered frequently, if at all.  In the offices, advisors are interested in retaining majors--those numbers are good, too.  But advisors are staff, and they are customer-serving positions.  Faculty are different.  Who cares if a faculty member pisses off a student?  No one.  Who cares if a staff member does?  Everyone, including the faculty who happen to be involved with that student.  Faculty are definitely a protected class, though I know that this varies, and not all faculty strive to piss off or offend students--though there are some who definitely do.  They offend in order to make a point--I heard it from the Dean of Faculties recently, as he defended faculty methods to a group of staff members.  But that's methodological.  What about individual students?

Being in a staff position, or a customer-serving position, means that every time you are in contact with others, you are trying to facilitate matters to make certain that the customer feels good about the result.  This has to do with equity as well as attitude.  Most people who come to our department for training understand who we are and what our product is.  They don't have to personally pay, so perhaps some of it is gratitiude for the opportunity (or the ability to escape work, though not all WANT to escape work), but they understand that we have guidelines to follow, and by and large, they respect those guidelines.  There are certainly exceptions.

So when you want to actually maintain a relationship with your customers, you do things differently.  Students are disposable, and they are a renewable resource.  Different ones keep coming back, so there is no fear that faculty will become obsolete becaus students will choose not to come to classes.  If your purpose is to fill someone with your subject or shape them in your own image, you don't actually have to care about how the process goes--especially if you're not held accountable.  Where I am now, if someone is coming up to the time limit of a program, I can't just let them go and shrug.  Of course I could.  It is completely on their shoulders whether they finish a program or not.  But what does it do to our contact hours if I let someone slip through the cracks?  It's only one person.  And the people that they don't tell about our wonderful programs and customer service.  I'm working for word of mouth here.  So I email.  And I ask if they need any help or have any questions.  And while some still don't answer, others will tell me what's going on. Some--working adults, older than me--confess that they were afraid to speak up.  These are not children who need to be taught a lesson about growing up.  These are people who think they know the constraints of our program, and don't want to impose.  And I'm not nearly as intimidating as some professors I've had.  And not nearly as scary as some grad students I've known.  And Freshmen--let's face it--are 18.  And have radically different personalities.  They are people.  And sometimes, they can't cope.  Other times, they're just jerks.  But you know?  You can give them the benefit of the doubt, too.  I have to.  And customer service techniques teach you how to manage the jerks, too.  Just watch the next time you're a jerk--they try to manipulate you with the same techniques I've learned.  It's all rhetoric.

But the curious thing is that when you start considering the process, and how you can intervene and facilitate the success of a person or a situation, it becomes a habit, and requires much less effort.  Granted, I'm tied to an office for 40 hours, so I have to send these emails, but really, it doesn't take very long.  Thinking of a student as a customer simply in order to reorient you're thinking so that you make every reasonable effort to facilitate their success--THAT is what faculty customer service would look like.  It's not the same as spoon feeding them.  I'm not saying that you have to break the rules.  Just start by asking, after you tell them what they need to do, "How can I help with this process?"  Many times, they won't ask for anything.  But I think, with students, many times we try to avoid contact hours rather than seeking them out.  It's part of the institution.

**I forgot to mention that at the root of faculty resistance to customer service is that "service" sounds menial.  Ego and the relative importance of faculty to the university are definitely factors.

The Difficult Questions - Nonacademic to Academic Career Recovery

Against my better judgment, I emailed my former mentor.  I think he sees me as very needy, and so has been really reluctant to reach out at all since I graduated.  I think he just wants to move on--perhaps because he can't account for my failure.  I'm not sure.  But anyway, I sent him an email, and asked about the "shelf life" of a Ph.D., and about whether he might have any strategies for reintegration into academia.  In the past, he has helped his male students and former students with their careers when they didn't follow the usual straight-into-tenure-track path.  But maybe he's just tired now.  I can understand that.

I am feeling stale and unfulfilled.  Stale, because I have no connection to anything that relates to my degree.  And that's not a good place to be.  I understand why there is a shelf-life for Ph.D.s. While you're in a graduate program, you're caught up in the currents of what everyone is talking about.  There's something vital about that environment, even when you sort of hate the things that people are talking about--still, there's an intellectual energy.  And teaching!  Ideas come from teaching.  And there is also energy in helping someone to see something new, or to be able to figure something out for the first time.  There is an energy that comes with being around people who are young--who are becoming--who are not yet there, and not yet in a holding pattern (because I know working adults are not yet there, but they are where they have to be; like I am).  Teaching is helping someone to move forward.  Training is helping someone to make the most of where they are now--at least, the kind of training I do.  Professional development has more to do with moving forward, but even so--they're moving forward on a much more limited trajectory.  I want to be in the realm of open possibility, not of settling, or of stasis, or of closed doors and glass ceilings.

So I emailed.  And I got a very stock response--keep trying, spin your work experience as positive.  As I said, I think he is tired.  *sigh*  So am I.

So I emailed back, because I know that my first questions were nebulous.  And I asked three big questions:

1) Teaching - can you lose it?
2) Intellectual community - how do you find it?
3) Strategies I've considered - are they worth it?

The first two are crucial.  I am in such a different world.  In training, we don't ask probing questions.  Even in the "soft skills" classes, in which they seem to ask big questions about diversity, for example--they really don't.  The questions are designed to help people accept the answers that the strategists have already set forth.  I'm in technology training, which means the answers are always closed:  "How would you make use of this in your job?"  "Have you ever hit 'Enter' in Microsoft Word, only to have all of your formatting change?  Well, I can help you with that."  There's no creation or discovery; only demonstration and repetition.  So I worry that I am losing the ability to ask the probing questions--to make people think.

I'm also worried that I am losing the knowledge that I used to possess--that it's tucked so far back into my head that it's increasingly inaccessible.  I see my boxes of books that I haven't unpacked, and when I look in them, I see books that I love--that I used to love--with which I have no connection currently.  I could read them again, but why?  Some books are for me, and some books are for jumping into conversation, and inspiring others.  I'm not going to revisit the History of British Literature on my own behalf.  There's simply no point.  Or is there?  No... I really don't think there is.

And then, there's the fact that the current is leaving me behind.  I don't know how people on the inside are talking about things any more because I'm not there.  And reading it in a journal is simply not the same.  It's the teaching.  How are we presenting these authors?  What are we highlighting?  And even if I go against the grain, it's stimulating to be able to borrow from or work against what other people are doing.  Instead, I'm rereading Harry Potter.  And I'm pretty tired of it.  But I have to keep reading, because Voldemort isn't dead yet.  If I worked fairly hard, I could probably make that into a career metaphor.  But I won't just yet, because I'm feeling lazy.

So...  How do you find intellectual community?  Or intellectual validation?  I have a small community, for which I am very grateful.  If you are reading this--thank you.  You keep me going.  Literally.  But I have always hungered for more--for publication.  To have my ideas out there--influencing... someone.  And right now, I just have no idea how to get there.  My most recent abstract, which I thought was very good, was rejected, but part of me isn't surprised--every time I have an idea, the academically trained side of my brain can see what's laughable about it.  I was accepted to a conference that sounded fabulous, but a conference right now is no more than an expensive vacation, and I don't like to travel alone.  I have never found community at a conference--not really.  Once or twice I came close. Generally, I feel very alone--a complete wallflower.  So no community there.  But I need the community for stimulus, for support, and for resources.  What makes a good book?  Who might be interested in the half-baked ideas I do have?  And most of all, why should I write them down if there is no guarantee of an audience, of publication, or of a change in career?

These, my friends, are the questions I need to answer.

How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Banking Model (Sort of)

I read Paolo Friere as part of my graduate composition pedagogy course that taught me much more about research methodology and writing about pedagogy than it actually taught me about teaching.  The idea is that traditional models of education commodify knowledge (go figure) and create a system by which the teacher makes deposits into the student (who is an empty shell), and the students must then provide a return on what has been deposited.  There are any number of ways that this metaphor could be modified.  The idea is that this is bad because the student is a passive recipient and does not actually process the information (cash?) received (except that the student would have to do something with it in order to make a return, which implies interest, but that's not really the point).  Freire is used as one more theorist supporting the student-centered classroom, where the focus is on student engagement and involvement and not so much what the instructor has to offer by way of information.  Now, as the student who wanted to sit at the feet of someone wise and learn the ways of the world, the model proposed by my professor in grad school was not one that I would have found appealing as an undergraduate.  As someone who lacked confidence in my own persona as a teacher, however, it had a lot of currency (haha) because it shifted the burden from me to the students--I didn't have to give them the knowledge, they had to discover the knowledge, and all I had to do was to set up the right conditions!  And that, my friends, is much easier.  Ten years later, I'm quite adapt at orchestrating and arranging; I can really impress in a job demo (when everything goes as it should) and I can pedagogy with the best of them, and though I do sometimes give a lecture, they are not my forte by any means, especially in literature courses.  Because, in part, I teach required courses--at least for now.

Herein lies the problem.  I teach required courses.  Some students enter my courses with a real need of the skills in analysis and writing that I offer.  Most if not all have not thought of literary genres or rhetorical concepts in the ways in which I present them.  All have had some experience with literature and writing--for better or worse.  Some have all of the necessary writing and analytical skills, but still seek to learn something from the required course, because they will learn from all available situations.  Some have many to most of the necessary writing and analytical skills, and are completely unable to learn from the required course which is, as far as they can see, a waste of their time.  In the current model of university education, I can not simply take these students who see my efforts as a waste of their time by the scruff of the neck and shove them down some hallway to a person who is qualified to test or interview them to give them credit for what they already know.  I can not reprogram them to think that what I say and do has value--yes, even for them.  And while I can not teach them, I at least must put up with them.  If my syllabus is designed for maximum student initiative in the creation of knowledge--if their major grades are paper and presentation grades--they may in fact not need me in order to get the grades they desire.  Drawing only loosely on half-heard course concepts, they can finesse their major grades--even with a hardass grader like me--and get a "B" pretty easily.  Will they learn anything?  No.  They will merely pair their own preexisting notions with what knowledge they already possess and complete busywork.  My course will, quite literally, have been a waste of their time.  These students do not so much need to be taught the information; they need to be taught how to learn.

Every undergraduate course must have a bit of the banking model present.  Students must have some incentive to pay attention to concepts introduced, and the instructor and student must both acknowledge that the instructor does, indeed, have something to add that is valuable, otherwise, why do requirements exist?  Why are Ph.D.s granted and those who have them employed?  And why does higher education continue to exist in the age of Wikipedia and Google?  Those may be valuable questions in themselves, but I am not the one to answer them.  The banking model does have value, though students are not empty shells for the deposit.  Perhaps we can think in terms of the building and combination of assets.  The funds should be available for withdrawal at any time, but what counts should be the interest from the instructor's--and students'--investment of time, effort, and attention.

After the Fallout

Things are settling down here. The semester has ended. Grades are due soon, but I only have final papers to evaluate, which tends to be easier than the papers during the semester, both because the quality is often better and because I don't have to make the extensive comments that I make on earlier papers, since most of the final papers will never be seen or retrieved by students. The children's schools will be winding down also. My son is looking forward to an orchestra competition out-of-town at a festival next Monday, and has his end-of-the-year concert tonight, in which he performs the solo! He had to try out for it, so we are very proud. Doodle is also practicing for an end-of-the-year program, and we had our "Mother's Day Tea" at her school last Friday. It was so neat having her serve me tea just as my son had done for years while he was at the same school. I wish I could send all of them there, but the job search won't permit. We are still looking for housing for the fall--ideally cheaper housing than what we currently have. It's a challenge, but we have some viewings lined up for Saturday, so we'll see. . .

I am recovering from the stress of two weeks ago. I had the dreaded meeting with the advisor, but it was not so bad. Instead, what I think has happened is that he has realized that I do indeed need help with this whole process. I was told that he will work with me on the answers to some anticipated questions to help me to better survive interviews. I had started thinking of some of this anyway, but my preparation may have been off. The random nature of the interview process leaves me very insecure, and I don't take comfort from the fact that it's like this for everyone. I think of myself as someone who thinks well on her feet and can communicate effectively, but I feel like I can't be completely honest in answering or I will jeopardize my chances of getting hired. That is singularly uncomfortable for me. If I conceal my thoughts about something, I feel like I'm being hypocritical and dishonest. I probably come across as smug or judgmental, too (imagine that). Because really, I'm judging them as much as they are judging me--that's too much judging for someone like me. But maybe if I'm not in the kind of "fog" that I was in last time, I will be able to think of responses that work. *sigh*

I have come to realize the depth of my insecurity. I think it has been building during all of the years I was away from coursework. It perhaps had its seeds in coursework, as I realized how different, and in many ways, agenda-driven, most of the scholarship in my field was from what I had imagined myself doing, and tried to fit myself into it. I developed a defensiveness, realizing that I would be judged according to the fact that I was not doing what others were doing. But I have not ever seen literature as a vehicle for social change, and I did not use it to critique society or to lobby for a more enlightened existence. I wonder--had my undergraduate courses been more overwhelmingly political, would I be here now? But I had professors who were contentedly thematic or New Critical in their approaches. Or even subtly New Historicist. I can't think of any who were overtly feminist--and this includes the lesbian poet who once tried to teach me to dance in a bar in New Orleans. I realize that even those professors--one art historian comes to mind--who tried to adopt a feminist perspective failed miserably by most standards, and I was allowed to write a paper refuting the agenda of Eva Keuls' Reign of the Phallus (but not refuting its research, which I found fascinating) in my freshman honors seminar. In those days, I didn't even like literature that was overtly political--Animal Farm, for example--because that's not what I was looking for in literature. Now I adore dystopia, so that has changed drastically, but I'm all about the context of the work. Though I do admit that I see an enduring message in many of the dystopian works I teach! So I was not out of line with my undergraduate professors, who preferred to teach interpretation rather than theory, and who did not structure their courses thematically to promote certain ideologies or worldviews or whatever. Would it shock you to know that I never read "The Yellow Wallpaper" in an undergraduate course? I did read The Awakening in high school, and utterly rejected it. I believe I had to read it again in an American Lit course, but I probably did not repeat the task. And I didn't like Emily Dickenson.

In graduate school, things changed radically. The goal of papers was completely different, and left me rather befuddled as I tried to figure out what, if anything, I had that was worthy according to the different standards I was confronting. My papers were (predictably, perhaps) reactionary. I proposed "different" ways of looking at feminist issues, focused on areas that were less politically charged (to me), and rejected Marxism except in the rare cases when it seemed to fit the author's own agenda. But I became dismayed by it all. Some of the versions of Marxism I encountered in guest speakers, etc., impressed me by their absolute futility, and the selections of texts in my graduate seminars were often uninteresting to me. I have a very short list of courses that I enjoyed, and even fewer texts that inspired me. And then there was the teaching. When I taught literature, I had a considerable amount of freedom, except the limitations imposed by the Intro to Lit anthologies. (Would it surprise you to know that I have never taught "The Yellow Wallpaper"?) In an era when any designated "greatness" of literature is considered suspect, the question of how to introduce literature to non-majors becomes complicated. And as far as I can tell, it comes down to introducing ways of viewing the world, reshaping the way students view the world by introducing, celebrating, or promoting certain perspectives, or using literature to try to make sense of life experiences, which some anthologies do try to do even though this is kind of a universalizing impulse. My problem with both approaches is that presenting literature with such specific purposes imposes a way of reading on the text. This limits the potential for discovery of meaning. I do not believe that there are infinite ways to read a text, but I also do not believe that the critics always have it right. That's why my interpretations of texts in my dissertation are not linked in any way to the criticism of the authors whom I study. That's probably why one of my committee members wrote so many little X's in the margins, though he seemed to like the overall dissertation. I do believe that the greatest literature is universal in a sense, in that it taps into the things that are common to humanity. And I do not think that the idea that there are things common to humanity contradicts the singularity of individual experience. But I'm a very empathetic person, and a very empathetic reader, so perhaps this desire to get inside others' heads and understand them makes me see the question of universality a bit differently. I want to see how we as individuals connect while understanding the differences that we face as individuals or as members of different communities. If there is no universal connection, then literature is pretty much meaningless.

Which I guess brings me to another breaking point of sorts with my discipline. Because I believe in a some kind of universal human experience, albeit mediated by particular circumstances, I think that there is inherent value in reading to seek those connections, to find ourselves in others, to find others in ourselves, and by evaluating ourselves and our experiences through reading, to grow as fully realized individuals. This is very outdated. But I feel that in order to function in a community, which is where the emphasis is these days in teaching and studying literature, we have to know who we are, and that's a complex question. I can't teach this, and I don't try. But I also don't try to stress difference to the point that it annihilates the self. I don't want to change anyone's worldview, but I do want to help students to put their worldview in perspective, and I think literature has infinite potential to give individuals perspective, as long as they are open to it and recognize it for what it is, and in order to accomplish this, we need to be non-threatening, by which I don't mean subtly subverting their worldview while pretending to be sympathetic. Not at all.

So I didn't really come into this profession to introduce or promote certain ideas, though I have dabbled in and do enjoy ecocriticism and postcolonialism. I don't think that by teaching certain texts in certain ways, that I stand to improve anyone's social condition. And I'm not terribly invested in the idea that everyone needs to tolerate everyone else's beliefs and ideas to the suppression of one's own, because that doesn't lead to understanding of any kind. And frankly, there are a lot of things I'm not interested in talking about with students. And wouldn't you know? Every one of them is represented in the standard composition text. And typically, they are represented in such a way that it is clear what the authors of the book want the student to think. In teaching argument, the arguments presented make a case for a certain worldview. And the students sometimes accept it without opposition, because the claims are so persuasive. Or they get mad because their opinions differ and they don't know how to articulate them. Now, a lot depends on the student and how the materials is presented, but I'm just not interested in negotiating any of this. Perhaps the issue is that while I can find universal experience in art, I can not find any evidence of that same interconnectedness in the diatribes that litter composition texts. So there's no room for sympathy or empathy, and there's no art. Granted, there is some clever use of language, which I can appreciate, but that is not the same as art, because art has an element of beauty or at least awe. Art evokes rather than stating, which is why popular music is not art these days! So this is why teaching comp and resolving to find a job in comp represents such a defeat for me.

And really, friends, I have felt disillusioned for so long, and read so many bleak accounts of the "realities" of the academic job market, and the promotion and tenure process, that the sense of futility has been overwhelming at times. The fact that I did not quit one of the many times I considered doing so is a small miracle. So perhaps I have something to do here before it is all over? Perhaps. I don't know.

But I entered into this meditation because I have been told twice by professors recently--my advisor and then my direct supervisor in Writing Programs--that I needed to work on my self-confidence. Now, when I was in high school, people didn't think I was self-confident, because I had some self-doubt, and some social insecurity. But that didn't mean that I didn't think I was at least as good as the people around me, I just didn't think anyone else was likely to recognize it in any kind of meaningful way. I guess not much has changed. But I felt pretty confident in coursework, and I have always felt that I could at least accomplish whatever I put my mind to. I'm not so sure about that anymore, though I did write what one friend of mine calls "the big book report" (which mine was *not*). I wonder if that is because I don't have sufficient relish for the task before me? And I can't imagine what circumstances could help me regain that relish. So perhaps the problem is that I am unsure of whether I want to put my mind to the task before me. Is that the same as a lack of self confidence? I'm not so sure. But it doesn't matter if I relish the task before me or not. At this point, my options are severely limited, and feeling like I don't have a choice motivates me to inaction--a choice in itself, no?

Busy Days

I have been busier than usual lately in some ways. I have a project that I need to wrap up before the end of the month, and also my class to whip into shape before the end. This has been a terrible semester for me for teaching because of family illness, mostly, and also travel and other distractions of the job search & whatnot. But I am having my students meet with me during class time instead of having a class meeting. I find that the one-on-one interaction over a paper sometimes does more than any generalized instruction I can provide. These appointments mean that I don't have to prepare for class, but the sessions are intense. I am also thinking more about research, publishing, conferences and other professional activities. Some of this is in response to the campus visit--to show what can be done with literary scholarship so that one does not have to rely on teaching tired versions of feminism, and to connect research and teaching so I can answer those darned questions competently, and so I can get a sense for how long it will take me to turn a dissertation into a book, in case I'm asked, and so perhaps schools that are more suitable to me will find me suitable. But this is not the only reason I have been thinking more. After days of feeling so exhausted that I could barely motivate myself to leave the house, to get the necessary coffee, or to make a meal, my mother suggested that I take some iron. I felt as bad as when I was last pregnant, and I am always seriously anemic when I am pregnant, with the last, I believe, being the worst. I have not felt motivated since Chiclette was only a few months old--since shortly after I finished the dissertation. It has gotten worse rather than better. Except that since I have been taking iron every day, I suddenly seem able to think. I seem better able to accomplish the daily tasks I have and to work on longer term projects. And I have ideas again. So if the campus visit only benefited me by giving me an awareness of my health, that is perhaps enough.

This was intended as a preface to some conclusions about the campus visit experience, but alas! my new-found energy does not carry me much past midnight (waking before 8 on weekdays and before 9 on any given day!) and it is after 1 A.M. now. So I will be back when I can to share some reflections.

The Catholic College Dilemma, contd.

I have been doing a lot more thinking about what it means to teach at a Catholic college, investigation into the particular Catholic college, reading about the faculty, and consulting with friends. All in all, my reactions are mixed. I think that the academic opportunities at this particular school are wonderful. It seems likely to me that my husband, with two M.A.s, would be more likely to find a tenure track position at this school than most others, which is not a consideration to be taken lightly. The city is more than I could hope for in terms of size, safety, affordability, and education. Everything points in the direction of my going there. Plus, they seem to like me so far. All good. So I have wondered, if everything is so nicely lined up, does this perhaps signal that this is a good place for me? That perhaps, just in being a practicing Catholic faculty member, I might be doing some good? I definitely made reference to my faith in my letter, so they know. The phrase I used was "faithful, practicing Catholic," which is certainly what I try to be. It is possible that they are actively looking to recruit Catholic faculty members, as John Paul II recommends in Ex Corde Ecclesia. The school is in the process of a massive academic restructuring, and some of their recent administrative changes suggest a move to a more conservative vision of Catholicism--one that does not, for example, engage students with questions of whether humans are unique in creation, whether God can be conceived of as female, or whether homosexual acts are, indeed morally wrong, without stating that the courses stress a Roman Catholic perspective. Such courses, in the nature of their questioning, seem designed to undermine faith in the Church's moral teaching and ultimately to encourage questioning of the Church's authority.

That there is an atmosphere of change seems positive to me. That the school that an upper administrator left is now commended by the Newman society seems positive to me. The Newman society is a little wacky, but they do stand for orthodoxy. As for myself, in thinking about all of this I have decided that a multiplicity of voices can and should be represented in the curriculum of a Catholic college or university--as with any college or university--but should not be presented in a way that deliberately undermines Catholic Church teaching. Inquiry and orthodoxy can go hand in hand. Indeed, one of my initial attractions to Catholicism was that it does emphasize learning and inquiry, questioning and pursuit of answers. But to be Catholic is to acknowledge that there is such a thing as Truth, and to trust that the Church has the authority to guide the faithful toward that Truth. We may question, we may struggle, but if we don't ultimately acknowledge that authority, we are not Catholic, but dissenters. There is a considerable amount of misunderstanding on this topic, and about what makes a Catholic Catholic. If one disagrees on fundamental matters, then one is not in communion with the Church. If you don't want central authority, you don't become Catholic.

So I have some good feelings about the position.

But there's the overall atmosphere of the university, which I had partially reconciled, or put on hold for further evaluation, and then there's the climate of the department. A very, very small department. At least two are activists. Possibly three. Different issues; some I can rationalize better than others. Any English department I enter will contain some people with whom I am at odds politically. But that's life, and not really a problem. I don't really have a cause--unless you consider orthodoxy at Catholic colleges a cause. I've got some thoughts on genetically modified foods and vaccines. And parents rights in their children's education. And I tend to be outspoken about promoting a culture of life. But I'm not an activist, by any definition, though I do use my writing to support my perspectives about these issues. Similarly, one of the faculty members at the college uses her writing to promote her perspectives. Specifically, she uses her fiction to portray, dramatize, and promote (casually, I might add) lifestyle choices that are in direct opposition to Church teaching. She was raised Roman Catholic, but clearly rejects Church teaching, at least on a matter or two. It is entirely possible that we will get along just fine. At another university, it would be a non-issue. But I wonder--how would it be for me to consider joining a department, being her colleague, saying, yes, I will uphold the school's Catholic identity, and take an office down the hall from someone whose novels oppose Catholic sexual morality? How would I, as a new faculty member, be implicated, if at all, by joining a department at a Catholic college that awards tenure to members whose creative output contradicts Church teaching? Does it matter that it is a social question rather than a theological question? Does it matter to me at all, since I did not hire her? It might. Or it might not. It might simply be a question of the climate of the university, and who knows how that might change with new hires in the next 5 years? To clarify, this is not about the person, but about her choice to set up shop at a Catholic college. It is also about the department's decision to hire her given her own social agenda. I think this kind of thing would be a non-issue to the religious order that founded the college. Their priorities are social justice and feminism--including increasing women's roles within the Church. One of their number wrote a book that recommends praying to God in a female persona. But she doesn't teach in the college. Not sure where in the U.S. she is.

So no conclusions--not yet. Just more questions.

A Job Search Chronicle

I've been remiss in my updates, I know. Because I have been remiss in my updates, I have spared everyone my angst, my pondering, my self-doubt, and all of the other mood variations that have accompanied this process!

I have been worried about the job search for years now. Entering the M.A./Ph.D. with the idea that finishing the terminal degree was the difficult part, I gradually became aware of the "gloom and doom" discourse surrounding the job search process. The rhetoric was rhetoric of "settling"--settling for a lesser university than the one we attend, settling for a non-tenure-track position, although that is not what we envisioned when we started, settling for a position teaching something we do not particularly want to be teaching (either permanently or with an eye to "moving on"). There is also some discussion of what it takes to get the job, and I have not been incredibly proactive. I have a lot of teaching experience, and some administrative experience. Both could theoretically help me, but I don't really want a job in administration, I have come to realize, so I won't be using that experience as fully as I might. I have one publication, and a reprint of that publication that I discovered recently, and a smattering of very minor, kind of quirky conferences. I have a couple of research awards to my credit and a couple of teaching awards from long, long ago--awards that I'm not sure I live up to, but no one has to know that!

Early in the process, I was advised that my best chances to get a job were in the field of composition rather than literature. Because my impression of the job market was so bleak, I reluctantly accepted this advice, and resolved myself to apply for mostly comp positions. I lost this resolve, however, at the beginning of the semester, both while perusing the job ads and while considering some of the things I dislike about teaching comp--namely, the emphasis on current political events. After having worked for several years to earn a doctorate in English, I did not want to engage students in the classroom with current events. So although I did apply for some comp jobs, most of the jobs I applied for were lit jobs. Truthfully, I don't really consider myself qualified to teach "rhetoric," and that's where serious rhet/comp jobs tend.

I only applied for 16 jobs, of which one has been cancelled and one postponed until the budget is reevaluated in April. This is a small number, comparatively speaking. I admit to being selective. I did not apply to any positions with an eye to "moving on"--I can't do that. I have too many family obligations. I did not apply to places where I did not reasonably think we might like to live, or to places that would have excessive cost of living. I had other criteria, too. Basically, I am looking for someplace conducive to family life where we can settle at least until my son graduates from high school. I'm not sure I had that actual event as a conscious goal, but it sounds about right. I have come to realize that I had less well-articulated expectations, too, but those were not part of my motivation as I was choosing places where I would apply.

I have written before about the large national convention. The way I see it, it has its benefits. The school and the applicant only have to pay for one trip to interview (at least the preliminary interview). Because everyone comes to a single location, applicants come from across the country rather than looking in a single geographical area for ease of travel to interviews. More applicants at the convention means more to choose from, perhaps being surprised by an unlikely candidate that is a "risk." Basically, there is a bit more cross-pollination of the discipline. This, for me, does not make up for some of its more grievous drawbacks. First, there is the cost. The convention is always held in very, very expensive cities, in the most expensive hotels. Candidates are not reimbursed by their expenses the way they would be if they were presenting papers at the convention. An applicant must make plans to attend the convention far in advance, but the hiring departments can wait literally until the week--or a few days--before the convention because they are assured that the serious job seeker will certainly plan to be in attendance. It dehumanizes the process a bit, to my mind. I object to feeling that my attendance or non-attendance is a reflection of how badly I want a job--life is more complicated than that, you know? Also, the schools may choose to interview more candidates than they are considering seriously, meaning on the one hand that an ostensibly "less attractive" candidate may be given a fair shot, but also meaning that the hiring departments have the option of stringing along many more candidates than they might otherwise, causing expense, inconvenience and nervous anxiety to a greater number of individuals. I'm a real half-empty sort. My cynicism comes out at times like this.

Now, I hate traveling alone. I resent the expense and inconvenience of career-related travel, at least at this stage, because it is very difficult and I never have enough money to make it an enjoyable experience. If I could take the family and have enough money that the expense would not be a huge source of stress, it wouldn't be so bad. But I REALLY hate traveling alone. I have significant anxiety when traveling alone. So this preference certainly comes into play.

Both the rational objections and irrational reactions play into my decision not to attend the convention. My other fear is that I would pay for the ticket, registration, hotel, etc., and not have any interviews at all. As it turns out, I would have had two!!

So I was in the uncomfortable position of having to turn down two interviews. Both, however, expressed continued interest. One I have not heard back from. One will interview me by phone in January, after the convention. It has been impressed upon me how fortunate I am, how grateful and gracious I should be, and (before I got the phone interview) how rare this is and how I shouldn't really expect it. Much of this, I believe, was said in the name of trying to get me to change my mind--which I resent on several levels, and won't go into right now.

Both schools are the south, small regional branches of a state schools--a nice change from where I am now, but one that would entail much more teaching. The one that will interview me seems to have a smallish, eclectic department--the personalities come through on the web page (especially that of the head of the search committee), and they seem like people I would like to work with. The department seems literature-centered, which is just wonderful. I can teach theory if required--I even like to teach some theory, but when the theory becomes the motivation for teaching the literature, I become frustrated. It seems as though this may be a department of like-minded people. On the other hand, they seem to have hired a good number of assistant professors lately, recent Ph.D.s, suggesting that they are looking to "grow" the department, which is also good. The research requirement seems fairly lax, which would give me the opportunity to get my footing (this is a difference from the other department that contacted me--they seem to expect higher publication rates). And it is a literature position! There is a composition teaching requirement, but it is a lit position. All in all, exactly what I could wish for. But of course, there has to be a drawback. And really, it's a doozy. . .

The town is very, very small. Painfully small. Small population; only a single Catholic church in the county (!). No shopping to speak of as far as I can tell. The town itself only has one of each "level" of school--elementary, middle, high--and they don't have orchestra. :( I'm not sure if there would be a montessori preschool. Their is a neighboring town that is a bit bigger, but still very, very small. About an hour away, there's a town with TWO Wal-Marts! *sigh* I always imagined myself moving on to a larger town, not smaller. I worry about choice in medical care, schools, any number of things. Besides housing. Now housing is very, very cheap, which means a smaller cost of living. If it comes down to it, then, it will be a difficult decision, but I will have to consider my family first. I do not want my son's education or my daughters' care to suffer so that I can take a position my first year out. Of course, it may not come to this at all, as phone interviews do put one at a disadvantage, so no use counting chickens. . . On the other hand, it is good to know what the factors are in the decision.

The other town is closer geographically to where I am now, and is certainly larger. There is also a larger Catholic population, which means Catholic schools are a possibility! There is even a zoo and museum in the town, which would be nice. The state is poorer as a whole, and is suffering cuts to the university system as we speak (as are many states). Actually, I think this goes for both states, but one seems better off than the other. And I don't think I'm likely to hear back from school #2. I am happy to have heard from them in the first place, though. I'm not sure these two interviews would have justified the expense and inconvenience and neuroses of attending the convention, however. Had I heard from another one or two, I might regret my decision--or maybe not.

What I have gained from this years' job search so far (and it's not over by any means!) is a significant confidence boost. It no longer feels as though I lack the professional activities necessary to get the job. I also do not feel that it is far-fetched for me to get the kind of position--namely, in Brit Lit--that I really want to get--the kind that I envisioned when I started grad school. That is a relief, and an incredible realization. I have been feeling so negative for so long--almost to the point of feeling that I had wasted my time getting the Ph.D., though I'm not sure what I would have done otherwise. Now, I at least know that there are universities out there who are looking for someone like me, who will be interested in my application. I also know that I can get a position doing what I want to do--teaching what I want to teach. I do wish that the teaching loads were a bit lower, though.

Now I need to apply for some more positions--whenever they happen to show up!

Commitments

Taking a few short minutes to post. October promises to be a brutal month. I have deadlines to meet, papers due, papers returned, a test to write and give, and I've really settled in to the drudgery of the semester. I need to finish preparing my application materials and actually print them to mail them. I need to set up a dossier with the career center. I need to revise a dissertation chapter before the "revise and resubmit" becomes a "who were you again?" I don't even have the time to do the things that I need to do, much less the things I want to do. I'm sure I've forgotten something.

I have mixed feelings about going to the national convention where all interviews are held. I have resented from the beginning the "meat market" approach to job hunting, though that's not the whole story. There is a "meat market" quality, but my understanding is that the people who want to play the self-promotion game with no scheduled interviews are the ones who flit from booth to booth handing out their vitas. That is soooo not me! Although I don't see myself participating in that procedure, I also resent the intimidation and pressure of the centralized interviews, the depersonalization, the prospect of interviewing as one of many, many candidates. I also resent the expense of it all. This conference is generally held one of several cities that rank among the most expensive in the country. The scale of the conference is intimidating; the travel is intimidating; the expense is intimidating. I tend to perform well under pressure, but that doesn't mean I can't resent it beforehand!! The conference also takes place at a time that is inconvenient for me--midsemester break, between a prominent Christian holiday and a prominent secular holiday. A time traditionally associated with family, if one goes for that kind of thing. I don't like to leave my family at the most mundane of times. I feel rather like an essential part of my family dynamic right now, and the thought of leaving makes me apprehensive. And I just plain don't like traveling by myself--I've never done it much, really.

So I go back and forth in my mind about the convention--do I go? Do I not go? Theoretically, attendance at the convention should not determine one's consideration for the position--theoretically. Do I go alone? Do I take the family (and drive)? But that's only part of it, really. . .

Graduating has been good for me, in a way. I have more of a feeling of wanting to be involved in the academic community than I have in a while. I have had more interest in developing my own work recently. What I lack is TIME. I'm heading towards becoming burned out all over again, and I'm not even teaching what would be considered a "full load"--I'm only teaching 2 courses this semester and one course (of who knows what, but I've been almost guaranteed that it won't be the one thing I want to teach--a Brit Lit survey) next semester because of my "administrative duties" which have expanded in new and time-consuming directions. Now, the unexpected part is actually the most fun and rewarding, but that doesn't change the fact that it's an incredible demand on my time. The funny thing is, it's probably classified more under "service" (and I don't have a "service" requirement) than with my normal job duties. *sigh* I am trying to wrap up a funded project that is a whole lot of fun, and really excites me, but has been slow going because of constraints on my time and the hours of the archives. My 5-day a week schedule, while good for child care, has made me feel like I'm meeting myself "coming and going," as the expression goes--every time I wrap up one class, it's time to prepare for the next. At times, I feel very competent, with a real sense of accomplishment. Other times I feel swamped, frustrated, or simply--tired. And I'm only teaching 2 classes. Standard load for a job search is 3+ courses each semester. And I tend to get sick of the course I'm teaching halfway through. I sometimes think I would do better in a trimester system, but I can't imagine that that would make me feel less swamped. So while I'm enjoying having--rather than pursuing--the Ph.D., the newfound ambition is overwhelmed by an increase in job duties. I feel like to get the job materials out will mean putting my classes on hold in a significant way. Funny thing is, the materials are already ready! It's a matter of tweaking things for specific jobs and printing!

I don't really feel ready to be on the market. That's where this post has been tending. I think I need this year to do other things. . . Publish, for example. Catch up on some bills. Spend time with my girls while they're still little and need me. Make cupcakes for Doodle's first birthday at school (which was Monday, and which I did!). Make the girls some fall-to-winter outfits. Oh! and get used to a higher teaching load--gradually, if at all possible. There's time for tenure-track when Chiclette is old enough for pre-preschool (a 2-year-old or 3-year-old class). And yet, I don't really want to be stuck doing what I'm doing for too much longer. Non-academic alternatives strike me as 1) boring, 2) more time-consuming. So I'm stuck for now. Anything else would require my husband to change jobs. And really, that's not practical. So I'll go edit a teaching philosophy now (not the thing to do after a crummy morning class. . .)

Sometimes I Get the Feeling. . .

That by choosing to study and pursue what I love, I have lost the opportunity to enjoy what I love(d). To have a mundane job, and to read for pleasure. . . It seems a bit of a luxury.

Working is like Exercise for Me

I came to this conclusion yesterday, at the end of the long weekend, after an unexpected holiday on Friday for the hurricane that went away east. Because for 3 weeks I've been pretty well into the swing of things, managing to get the course prep done, grading a reasonable number of things, and enjoying the classroom dynamic. Admittedly, I'm getting worn down a bit from always being on the go. I have classes to teach 5 days a week, just like in the summer, except that in the summer I gave them Fridays off, and it was only 1 class, not 2. Having 2 classes makes it easy in a way--I don't have to come up with material for one class to fill 5 days' worth of discussion/lectures/activities. On the other hand, when I'm finished with teaching one course, it's time to turn around and work on the next one for the next day. This would be more of a pain if I was less familiar with the material. Although I am teaching from a new syllabus for composition, I have taught composition a hundred times. So I have activities ready-made that I can slip in as necessary. Also, there is a set of ready-made lesson plans to go along with the standard syllabus, though I have problems with some of the examples used, which introduce bias into the discussion in a way that has potential to be used well or poorly. Teaching children's lit similarly requires less prep than it did over the summer, though the classroom dynamic--35 students instead of 10--is vastly different and does not lend itself to the same kinds of activities. Many of my students come from education, and have a very different way of thinking about children's literature, so I have to steer them almost constantly away from the, "This is a good book because it can work well in a classroom in this way. . ." and try to induce them to think about it as literature, not as a prop for teaching. Also, spending the same number of class periods on a topic, but having those class periods spread over 2-3 weeks instead of concentrated in a single week gives everyone the feeling of going nowhere fast. And it's getting depressing. So I'm looking forward to moving on to poetry. But I'm feeling a little discouraged all the same.

So how is working like exercise? Well, when I'm in the middle of it, in the "swing of things," so to speak, I feel pretty excited & good about what I'm doing. It energizes me. After a good class, I'm on a kind of "high." I talk about the class for hours. My husband gets sick of hearing about it! ;) But when I'm away from it, even for a long weekend, especially if I have unexpectedly "gotten out of" teaching for one day, it feels impossible to get back into it. The same thing happens to me with exercise. The same thing happens to me with research and writing. It's why the dissertation seemed to drag--I spent more time dreading the work than actually working on it. Even blogging is like this for me--if I've missed checking on blogs for a number of days, it feels like a huge task to get back into them, even though I know I enjoy it!!

I know this is not the case with exercise, though it can be time consuming, but one of the things that research, teaching, and blogging share is a huge commitment of mental energy. Answering emails is the same. I know, quite often, that if I let myself get started with a blog or an email, I will keep going until it's done, expending a great deal of mental energy and becoming engrossed for hours at a time sometimes. So sometimes, I prefer not to start. Research and writing are similar--the mental effort is considerable, the time commitment is significant, and there doesn't ever seem to be an ideal time to start. Truthfully, sewing is the same for me. When I start a project, I want to know that I can finish the project in a reasonable amount of time--a few days, usually. And that means from cutting out the fabric to pressing the finished item. If I leave something just slightly unfinished, I hate to go back to it. Doodle has a jumper without loops to hold the loose ends of the shoulder straps, and a dress that needs a hook-and-eye above the zipper to look "finished"--minor details, and not very time consuming, but if I haven't gotten the details finished with the rest of the garment, I don't want to go back. I would rather start something new. And if I put a project aside earlier--watch out!! I have to force myself, trick myself, reward myself with the prospect of starting the thing I really want to work on--or it never gets done.

Looking over this, it seems like I have a strange combination of procrastination, obsessive-compulsive tendencies, and perfectionism--the kind of crippling perfectionism that leads one to avoid starting the project for fear of being engrossed in details. I never completed an incomplete because I couldn't find the "perfect" topic to write about. I had set pretty high standards with another paper for the same professor, and didn't want to fall short. So I couldn't do it. The mental block was huge. I think I stopped writing poetry because I stopped thinking that my ideas were poem-worthy--I rather got out of that way of seeing the world.

I got over this to a degree with the dissertation. Remember Dori from Finding Nemo? She sang, "Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, just keep swimming, swimming, swimming. . ." Eventually, I just had to force myself to keep writing, reminding myself that my mediocre writing was usually sufficient for the job I was trying to get done. Teaching has its built-in motivation, thank goodness. The students will keep coming, the semester continues to progress. I can't just stop and dread what needs to be done. Then there will be good days, and I will think, "How is it that I dreaded this so much?" I will go the library to do my archival research and return home excited by all of the ideas that I have had while reading and try to hold on to that enthusiasm until the next week. It's about rhythm, really. It's about routine. Like exercise. But I never can stick with it, somehow. . .

Teaching The Little Mermaid by Hans Christian Andersen, and other things. . .

If you haven't read the original, you can read it here. I assigned an essay on "The Moral Simplification of Disney's 'The Little Mermaid,'" and had them read the original text. I don't think any of them had read it before.

My first surprise was when it was argued that the Disney version was better by virtue of its simplicity because without the immortality of the soul as a subtext, it would be more accessible to those who were atheist or agnostic, and so did not wish for their children to be exposed to difficult questions that would then require explanation. Also, the replay value of a text with such an unhappy ending--one that instructed rather than amusing--was called into question. This rather put a damper on the prospect of discussing Andersen's text on its own terms, but then, with such a popular version as a comparison, I guess the original was at a disadvantage. The essay argued that the happy ending does rather a disservice to the reader, creating expectations that wishes will always be fulfilled, and attributing misfortune to the will of a single malevolent force. We wound up discussing the issue of representation of parental authority, and why parents feel threatened when fictional characters disobey (and get away with it)--not an issue in the original. Another point was that it contains more relevant topics--like not to talk to strangers--than the immortality of the soul. I tried to compare the complexity of the two issues. Even if you're not interested in the immortality of the soul, you can still concede that the question is more complex, no? The issue of why the mermaid could not achieve both a soul and true love was raised--the dichotomy was seen as a false one.

I admit that I felt a bit at a disadvantage because the Andersen text was being charged with not being politically or socially relevant. Maybe that's why it was excluded from the anthology!! But then, I think it's a problem when the expectation is that the world should be fair, and fiction is expected either to create a safehaven where the world looks fair, or becomes more fair (just), or acknowledges its unfairness in a way that places blame or suggests a remedy. I never had a problem with the notion that toils and suffering could be fruitless, even as a child--except that her toils were not fruitless, as she was granted the opportunity to gain for herself an immortal soul. But if that consideration is alien to your worldview, it's rather difficult to entertain that as a concrete gain. So how to discuss texts with a Christian subtext in a secular university context?

I was particularly interested in the nature of love and the representation of marriage. Observe this passage:

“So I shall die,” said the little mermaid, “and as the foam of the sea I shall be driven about never again to hear the music of the waves, or to see the pretty flowers nor the red sun. Is there anything I can do to win an immortal soul?”

“No,” said the old woman, “unless a man were to love you so much that you were more to him than his father or mother; and if all his thoughts and all his love were fixed upon you, and the priest placed his right hand in yours, and he promised to be true to you here and hereafter, then his soul would glide into your body and you would obtain a share in the future happiness of mankind. He would give a soul to you and retain his own as well; but this can never happen. Your fish’s tail, which amongst us is considered so beautiful, is thought on earth to be quite ugly; they do not know any better, and they think it necessary to have two stout props, which they call legs, in order to be handsome.”

In this characterization of marriage, we approximate the Catholic concept of a Sacramental Marriage, I think. At least, that would be a productive way to discuss a marriage that is so bound in the Judeo-Christian notion of the soul. The Biblical imagery--or analogy--is obvious: as Adam leant his rib to make Eve, so the husband of the mermaid (who is not human, and so is not the same as a human wife would be) lends part of his soul so that she might partake with him of Eternity. Pretty profound, actually. I managed to tease out the Adam & Eve reference, but had to quickly abandon the topic (which I did not introduce in the terms described above, though I would have liked to be teaching in a context that would have allowed for that kind of discussion). Now, even wanting to talk about the story in this way is new for me, much less having the context to do so, so I did not embark on an attempt to have the students define Sacramental Marriage through the story or evoke Catholic teaching. No waaaaay I'm THAT naïve! But still, I couldn't help wondering where that kind of discussion would lead. I planted the Adam & Eve seed, though. I didn't ask why there were all of those priests & incense & ritual in this Protestant, Danish text, but I wondered to myself. . .

In order to have something to discuss, I did ask what a feminist perspective might be, but that was too easy, really. She is dehumanized--being non-human in the first place doesn't really matter, or rather, it does because the female protagonist is alienated from the patriarchal world from the very nature of her being (or non-being)--and depends on finding a husband for her very soul. Her identity depends on him. Now, the Disney version does not really vary from this--rather, it validates that Ariel's existence depends on the prince. We learn that that's O.K. I'm not happy with seeing the Andersen version as negative in this way, and I don't think Disney's rebellion theme redeems their dependence on the handsome prince to justify Ariel's transformation. I presented this poem by Judith Viorst as an alternate "take" on the story; I liked this one in high school, but (point being taken--don't change who you are, yadda yadda), it doesn't exactly satisfy me in its interpretation of the story:

A Mermaid's Tail (Tale)

I left the castle of my mer-king father,
Where seaweed gardens sway in pearly sand.
I left behind sweet sisters and kind waters
To seek a prince's love upon the land.

My tongue was payment for the witch's potion,
And never would I sing sea songs again;
My tail became two human legs to dance on,
But I would always dance with shards of pain.

I risked more than my life to make him love me.
The prince preferred another for his bride.
I always hate the ending to this story:
They lived together happily; I cried.

But I have some advice for modern mermaids
Who wish to save great sorrow and travail:
Don't give up who you are for love of princes.
He might have liked me better with my tail.

For all the validating of identity for girls, it is an oversimplification--likely by design. So how to avoid that kind of oversimplification in classroom discussion? We discussed (briefly) ecofeminism, which is so over the top that it's really about use of language rather than perceived oppression, and so is fun for me. Briefly, briefly we discussed Matthew Arnold's "The Forsaken Merman." I think that comparison could have been fruitful on the religious front, with the contrast between nature/paganism and humanity/religion, and all of the various associations. But we wasted too much time talking about Disney. :P

My previous post about politics, perspectives, worldviews in the classroom was kind of poking (admittedly smug) fun at myself, though it did culminate in a very real frustration with what I see as the limitations and expectations of my teaching in my discipline. I worry about including texts that I don't like or with which I don't feel familiar enough to teach simply in order to represent a diversity of voices. I worry that when I include multi-ethnic selections or female authors as an afterthought, that I'm being a phony--or that I will come across that way. And that's a lot of baggage to add to the already considerable pressures of teaching.

And what about Catholicism? If to teach is my vocation (or part of my vocation), and I'm supposed to live my Faith, how do those things work together? As far as I can tell, it doesn't mean that I have to be nicey-nicey in the classroom (or on the blog, for that matter). I certainly DO have to engage with these questions, and this is a good format for me to do so. But what about subject matter of research and teaching? Surely I shouldn't shy away from the Christianity, though I can't really pursue the themes in more than superficial terms in my current position. And I have a problem with texts being taught simply for their Christian elements (usually in a simplified form)--like is done with the Chronicles of Narnia, which are typically embraced or rejected by scholars or teachers for their Christian elements. That is a bit simplistic on both sides.

With research, it is easier than teaching, I think. If we are selective in our research, well, that's part of being specialized. And I'm not sure how we can live the Faith through academic publishing, unless it means not publishing that thing I wrote about S & M in the films of a certain Spanish director. Yeah, that topic has been shelved permanently for a few years now.

It's a funny thing about my last post. . .

They don't really have me pegged. At least, they don't think twice about any of what I mentioned in my previous post. I rather knew that. I'm speaking to my own recognition that I'm ideologically at odds with my discipline--and my own discomfort about representing perspectives that I'm supposed to believe (on a level), but don't. I had this interesting conversation with a student (yes, the same one) after class in which she admitted that she has difficulty getting outside of her own contemporary perspective when she reads about women, and love, and mer-people lacking souls. Then we continued to discuss representations of female complexity as a historical literary development. Go figure.

They Have My Number. . .

I didn't do anything to announce my personal views. I try to avoid the kinds of discussions that reveal how at odds I am with the presumed politics of my discipline--the kind that my students expect from English profs and (especially) grad students. But they know--perhaps because of my avoidance. I can talk the talk, I assure you. I took ALL of those graduate classes & played along. Truthfully, I used to be better at the playing along than I am now. I find myself giving lip service to the theories, while my attitude is subtly dismissive. I can't teach Herland anymore because there's too much that I find disturbing. I can't say, theoretically, "Well, under what circumstances MIGHT it be good for the babies to be raised by someone other than their mothers?" without betraying that I can't really entertain this as a valid possibility except in the most extreme of cases, which is not what Charlotte Perkins Gilman had in mind.

So the other day, one student told me about a news story in which a child was suspended from school for playing cowboys & Indians, or cops & robbers, or some equally politically incorrect game and making a handgun motion with his hand. I incredulously asked where this occurred, and she replied that it was in Texas. Then she asked, "You would have felt better if I had said California, wouldn't you?" Yes, yes I would. How did she know? Not that I think Texas wins any kind of prize for just discipline of children, or leads the nation in healthy attitudes toward violence, but I would have been comforted to know that the incident was further removed from where I am now. Of course, a harsh backlash is usually the strategy to correct something that's seen as an extreme problem, and some administrator probably meant to nip "Texas gun culture" in the bud. But that's not the point. How did she have me pegged??

I gave admirable lip service to the notion that the canon should be deconstructed. I mean, I put in some good words for the traditional canon. But for the most part, I think I gave a pretty convincing account of why the canon (or the notion of a canon) should be questioned, and I talked about representing a multiplicity of voices to more accurately represent who was, indeed, writing. I don't think they believed me. Truthfully, I like models that acknowledge the influence of certain writers on others, though this is admittedly uneven representation. I do not believe in including mediocre works just to add diversity, or because they represent marginal opinions. I am all for diversity when it is appropriate, and I do see value in exploring cross-cultural perspectives, but not simply for the sake of doing so. There are times when we are all talking about the same things, albeit from different perspectives, and it's good to compare, as long as you acknowledge a basis for comparison--typically, Western Culture, since that's the tradition our discipline grows out of. I don't see why ANYONE should have to read Gloria Anzaldua. Or Kate Chopin, for that matter.

I brought in very inclusive picture books! But only the best examples. Okay, some of the environmentalist titles were bad. Really bad. But I've published in ecocriticism and children's lit, so I'm entitled.

Today, we were talking about fairy tales. I encouraged them to retell a story with emphasis on some "-ism." I guess this was inviting mockery. So one group took a proto-feminist tale with some ambiguities and complexities and suggested removing the complexities to make it a more blatantly feminist text. The female character was more self-sufficient, did the accounting for her father, opened her own business after being rejected in marriage. When she admired her beloved, she noted that he had a nice butt. Nice. So I blurted out, "You're objectifying him!" Well, one of my group members, English major, the same one who made the California crack (above), BURST out laughing--and was joined by the rest of the class. Including myself.

I can't help thinking that I'm actively working against what others in my department--er, discipline--are trying to accomplish. Not sure what that is or how I'm undermining it, but you know. . .

Earlier in the class, I argued with a student that to use "proletariat" to mean "peasantry" or "lower class" or "working class" was inappropriate because it invoked a specific theoretical perspective or methodology. You can't talk like Marx without invoking Marx in my class, especially when discussing "Beauty and the Beast" (the 18th Century version). Umm, yeah. So he argued that he just thought that Marx was pretty accurately representing history (see Literacy-chic's head explode), at which point I corrected him and said that Marx was using the term to describe his perception of history, but when you say "proletariat" it is not a neutral term, and does not merely invoke Marx but all who come after Marx.

They have so totally got me pegged. I don't know how I'll ever find an academic job in my field.

No, really. . . Stanley Fish is my hero!

Check out his own words, here and here. I understand his position perfectly.

A couple of things, though. . .

First, I just love that the inventor of Reader Response Theory has this to say:

Bob reports that he was not able “to obtain a grade above a ‘C’ until I changed my political views when interpreting, say, a Robert Frost poem.” But why should your political views have anything to do with the interpretation of a Robert Frost poem? You’re trying to figure out where Frost stands, politically or otherwise; where you stand is simply not to the point.

First thing--DEATH OF THE AUTHOR. We might try to figure out what discourses Frost's poem is tapping into, or historicize it according to issues of his day. We are absolutely NOT "trying to figure out where Frost stands" (anymore). You should know that, Mr. Fish! Second thing--Aren't the students' political views part of what they "bring to the table" in the act of interpretation in which the reader and the author collaborate through the written text in the creation of a separate but more valid text that is the result of the reading process (since how can a text exist unless it is read)? Or was all that kind of thing just an exercise in theoretical loop-de-loops?

Then, there's this piece of loveliness:

It would be no more difficult for a neo-Nazi or a Klu Kluxer to set aside his or her views and concentrate on the pedagogical task than it would be for a devout Catholic or a militant atheist.

I object to "devout Catholic" being named alongside a "a neo-Nazi or a Klu Kluxer" (admittedly, not terms supplied by Fish himself, merely repeated from comments), since the latter terms are anti-social, hate-filled ideologies and extremist positions. If one should object that "devout Catholic" was being equated, rather, with a "militant atheist," the objection doesn't improve matters. Observe the term, "militant." Is "devout" even analogous? Only if one assumes that both positions are equally invalid, and even so, devotion does not imply domination of others through belief. Or if one thinks that religious belief itself, or perhaps the beliefs of certain religions (not Islam, for example) is inherently extremist. (Anastasia has some interesting thoughts on extremism. . .)

This choice of comparisons also introduces something that Fish does not address, namely, whether the "leave personal beliefs out of the classroom" admonition applies equally to all types of colleges/universities, since religious belief is clearly included. The implementing of curricula at Catholic colleges, hence, the organization of syllabi and selection of texts may be (but isn't always, I understand) done according to a Catholic perspective. What then? I guess if you accept that a university may explicitly contextualize itself within a certain worldview (or intellectual tradition), the goal of the educational experience might shift a bit, being framed within a religious context, so one might expect to find Joyce taught a bit differently, for example. I would still consider teaching Joyce within a context appropriate to the specific intellectual tradition or worldview represented by the university focusing on the task at hand, but the task is defined somewhat differently.

Which brings me to the conclusion of this piece:

Sarah touches on what is perhaps the most urgent question one could put to the enterprise of liberal education. What, after all, justifies it? The demand for justification, as I have said in other places, always come from those outside the enterprise. Those inside the enterprise should resist it, because to justify something is to diminish it by implying that its value lies elsewhere. If the question What justifies what you do? won’t go away, the best answer to give is “nothing.”

I like this, really. I've said before that I believe that reading and analyzing text is inherently valuable, in spite of the fact that it does not directly impact the "real world"--whatever that is. And a contemplative life (which I do not claim to live) may be valuable for the individual and those he/she touches, if intangibly so. I think that some colleges and universities are able to more openly acknowledge that not only "useful" subjects are "useful." And I think that some colleges and universities are able to couch this inherent worth by framing the learning process within the context of religious belief--at least, that's how I would imagine it would work. Does that mean that I would feel confident saying in the classroom that I find Obama morally repugnant? Not a bit of it. Does this mean I would feel comfortable comparing aspects of the worldview in Tolkien's Lord of the Rings to a papal encyclical? Yup.