In which we engage in a rite of passage

For the first time ever, in the history of time, I cried in front of a professor. Two, in fact, during a three-hour meeting with two-thirds of my committee. Goddamn it.

In my defense, it was more minor leakage rather than a full-on jag, and it was prompted by Persnickety jabbing at a very sore spot. He suggested that what my chapters are lacking is a certain level of "professionalism." Ahem. This "professionalism," to judge by my training in this program, appears out of nowhere, or perhaps descends upon one, like grace or manna or bird droppings. It is not, so far as I can tell, an aspect that is taught as part of the curriculum for doctoral students. It is also not something that could have been mentioned at point earlier in the three years I've spent on the dissertation so far.

So, yeah. It was crying in lieu of stabbing someone with a pen.

Other than that, it was a useful meeting. I have a strategy now for establishing my argument in a way that satisfies Persnickety and is interesting enough to keep the newest member of my committee (we'll call him Don Music) engaged. I still need to run it by Cheerleader, but I'm sure she'll be on board.

There was also some weirdness around the question of my engagement with the critical and contemporary background for my primary texts that, the more I think about it, sounds like Persnickety may have been suggesting that I haven't done my research. Which, combined with my feeling that this whole denial-of-letters has the effect of accusing me of being a fraud, just ups my rage yet again. Because in the past half-dozen years I have felt anxious, doubtful, unsure, confused, and absolutely at sea at times, but I have never felt like a fraud. I know what I know, and these suggestions that I don't seem to be about the most counter-productive advising techniques I can think of.

Hm. It appears that I'm still angry. I wonder if that will go away at some point.

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"Wish I Were the Moon," Neko Case

Somehow that little counter/bar thingy over yonder hasn't budged. Hm. Perhaps because I have yet to put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) in pursuit of the Major Plays chapter. I know I'm a slow started, but this is a little silly.

I did, however, finally talk to Cheerleader Advisor last night, and she was just as gung-ho on my project as ever. She also gave me some good strategies for my meeting with Persnickety Advisor, where I hope to convince him once and for all about the feasibility and importance of the topic. It's just so frustrating to be two years into the writing portion and I still have to convince him anew with every meeting. The current attempt to fix this involves outlining an introduction that covers all the critical background I'm not directly addressing in order to free up space in the chapters for what I do care about. Persnickety is an excellent editor and thinker (which is why he's on my committee), but I'm just so tired of defending my work every single time I meet with him.

I was also able to let Cheerleader know how this decision on their part affects my personal life, reminding her that I'm part of a two-career partnership. She suggested I set a writing schedule that (best-case scenario) makes me hire-able come spring if things go well with C.'s search. Which, again, was my original schedule, so I'm even more committed to sticking to it now.

So that's that. In teaching, I'm in the middle of what should be an awesome week: we're doing two of my favorite texts (forgive the 133t-speak, but I can't figure out how to make Google ignore me), The W@ste L@nd and The W1nter's T@le. And I feel like today's classes were good--the first-years really got the fun and utility of close-reading, and the Shx class liked the play more than I had expected after the pain and suffering last week's Tr0ilus and Cress1d@ caused. But I'm so, so worn out and unmotivated. It's an effort to turn it on at the beginning of class, and I'm more wiped-out than usual afterward. I'm entirely ready for the Quarter of Crap to be over and done with.

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"Happiness Is a *Warm Gun," The Beatles

The very bad things that happened previously with my committee have transformed into catastrophic things. They withdrew their support for my job search this fall. Which is, clearly, a non-negotiable decision.

So, that happened.

I don't know if anyone's paying attention here other than my mom (hi, Mom! I'll call you tomorrow), but for my imaginary friends, I'm still processing, and I'm not sure if I'll be doing that here.

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"Weird on Me," Lloyd Cole

I managed to fix up the writing sample last night, and while I'm now plotting to substantially rework the opening so I have a properly snappy intro, it's currently good enough for the school with the Monday deadline. Yeah, fine, whatever.

As I was writing up yet another abstract, this one for the sample, I realized why I hate the form so, so, so much. Waaaay back in my formative years--fifth grade, maybe?--I had a teacher who gave us an assignment to write one-sentence book reviews. Oh, god, how I hated that assignment. As I recall arguing to Mrs. Tanner, whom I otherwise loved, if the book can be summed up in one stinkin' sentence, why did the author bother to write the whole thing?

I feel the same way about abstracts. If I can distill the whole of the sample/chapter/dissertation into three or four sentences, why the hell am I writing 20/50/300 pages? Yeah, yeah, I get the usefulness of the abstract, in that it articulates the main points of the argument without getting into the whole process, and a good abstract can prepare your reader to approach the material with the most favorable attitude toward it. But. Gah.

I'm just so very tired of writing about my writing. On the other hand, though, the more I look over the summary of the next chapter on the docket, the more excited I am to write it. As C. said when he read over that chapter summary, "I really want to read this one!" Encouraging, at least.

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"White Girl," X

So, hi. There was a very bad weekend, followed by a rather bad week. There were tears, and general freaking-out, mediated by an emergency meeting with Sympathetic Job Committee Chair, where she talked me down and helped me sort out what needed to be done with the materials. And then I spent the whole weekend rewriting the letter, abstract, and c.v., as well as line-editing the two drafted chapters and slapping the Monster Chapter into draft status. Nearly kilt me, I tell ya. But! I was able to send an entirely new and complete batch of materials off to my committee on Sunday night.

Which meant I was able to show my face at My Field Event on Monday evening. I suspect that my chipper presence did as much to persuade as the materials themselves did. At least, I'm telling myself that, as I've heard not a peep since then from any of my referrers. Hm.

And then! Then, I crashed. Thank goodness this was midterm week for one class, because there was no way I could have done any more prep than I managed on the (very early) bus to campus.

There are now two application packets resting quietly in my desk at St. Happy, waiting to be sent out on Monday, along with one electronic application to be submitted the same day. But I still need to line-edit my writing sample and write up something that looks at least a little like a teaching philosophy for deadlines later this week.

Aaaaaannnnnndddd...I don't want to. I'm feeling sulky and recalcitrant. This is the nasty flip side to my short bursts of intense productivity. They wipe me out for, like, a week, and I have a miserable time re-motivating myself. Which is bad, because there's a heck of a lot to be done this weekend, in addition to the job stuff. I have midterms to grade, along with two piles of essays, plus reading for class, reading for another My Field Event on Monday, and reading for a Superstar Guest meeting on Wednesday. Who sucks at time management? I do!

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"This Is What I Do," Rhett Miller

I am finding myself in a very bad place. I sent off my job materials to the committee (late, I know) and immediately received a message from Cheerleader Advisor, in which she noted that my letter was riddled with typos and grammatical problems. And that my c.v. used the wrong format for degree titles. And that all versions of my abstract suck.

Now, my abstract probably does need work, which is why I'm sending it to you, damn it. And the vita thing, whatever, it's what my reference book said, but easy to change. But for the life of me, I cannot find the typos in the letter. And it's not like I'm bad at proofreading; I used to do it for a living. And when you tell me you need a "clean copy" of the long abstract, the copy editor in my rises up to cut a bitch for suggesting that I'm responsible for dirty copy.

So, ok, I fixed some things up and tried to clarify what she specified she was having problems with. And then I looked up some recent Chaos dissertations, purportedly to check citation style (MLA or Chicago?) but really to see what's been coming out. And, the abstracts for these completed dissertations? On par with my abstract for a still-partly-imaginary project. Or, excuse my snobbishness, worse. Obfuscatory language? Yep. Jargon for its own sake? Yep. A distinct sense of so what? Yep.

Possible explanations:

• [all redacted now, because I'm indulging a spot of paranoia]
  

Luckily, I have versions of all this stuff off to the rest of the committee, the job-search chairs, and our department secretary (a former academic editor). Unluckily, I have not heard back from any of them yet. I do hope some of their feedback balances this out.

N.B., This post may or may not disappear, in whole or in part, at some point in the future. Not that anyone's reading, but whatever. Safe>sorry, and all that.


Eta: You know what? I'm line-editing my first chapter, and it's freaking awesome. It's been at least a month since I've messed with it, and I forgot half the stuff I said, so it's like reading a brand-new piece. Repent and die, bastards. I'm good at some of this.

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"Think About It, Think, Think About It," Flight of the Conchords

I have been warned in the past that there will come a point where I am so heartily sick of my dissertation topic that I will want to finish just to get it out of my head. I thought this was going to happen because I would spend so much time thinking and writing about it.

I was half right.

I have written three different versions of a dissertation abstract, because apparently one needs different wording for the letter, the CV, and the official abstract. I now hate my project, at least in the abstract. I have four key terms, and I don't know how many more configurations I can wrestle them into before I descend into some wacked version of Shakespearean Mad Libs.

Also, my letter is exactly two pages, but I forgot to account for the letterhead crap, so now I have to do some more trimming there. My CV is pretty, though, except for the part where I don't have any publications.

Aaaaaaaand... the chapter isn't done. I'm going to send the job materials off to my committee tonight, but they're just going to have to wait on the chapter draft. Gah.

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"Four Leaf Clover," Old 97's

Accomplished:

• One job letter
• Two paragraphs of a teaching philosophy (including a clever metaphor)
• Appointment with Fancy Scholar in my sub-field, who is visiting Chaos this month
• A reminder that Terrifying Chapter (which is next on the draft docket) will be awesome when I finally write it.

[Seriously, reading over my proposal chapter summary for that one, I was like, "Damn, I want to read that chapter!"]

Still to be done:

• Reading student discussion responses for tomorrow's class
• Reading essay for same class
• Prepping same class
• Prepping other class
• Answering e-mail from Third Reader, who wants to make an appointment to talk about my drafts at exactly the times I can't possibly meet
• Finishing Nightmare Chapter

What I want to do:

• Watch baseball
• Watch Heroes
• Eat dinner
• Read about Britney's baby drama on the internets

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"Sister Sonny," Holly Golightly

Shockingly, perusing The Goddamned List and trying to work on The Godddamned Chapter simultaneously is decidedly unproductive on both fronts.

Edit: I split the difference by spending a while searching the list and setting up my job spreadsheet, so I could feel productive and organized. Then I turned to the chapter, and have managed a measly 3 pages (and one of those is mostly a 25-line block quote). Why is this chapter being so recalcitrant? I have 23 pages of straight-up close readings; you'd think it would be easy enough to build a frame around those, right?

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"Eye of Fatima (Pt. 1)," Camper Van Beethoven

I've maintained for years that this is one of the best songs ever written, but today I discovered I'd been hearing one line wrong since forever. It's "No one ever conquered Wyoming, from the left or from the right." Which makes more sense than what I'd been hearing all this time ("called from Wyoming"), if only incrementally.

Today was a meeting at Chaos about Ambitious Intro Class that starts in two weeks. Somehow, hearing that everyone else is feeling anxious and confused about it made me feel less anxious and confused. I still need to look over some articles to fill out the syllabus, but I feel ok about getting to that next week.

Big Willie is continuing to make me scattered and time-management-impaired. I really need to scale back the information I'm throwing at them, but it already seems that every other sentence out of my mouth is "But we'll get to that next [class/week/text/etc.]." Tomorrow's their first quiz, next week the first writing assignment, so I'll start to see what they're taking in and what I need to focus on.

In dissertation news, I seem to be reading myself into paralysis again. Which means I need to get back to writing. I have Friday blocked out to just sit and produce words, after which I can go out and drink with a friend from out of town.

And just to round out this portmanteau post, today I enjoyed two delightful consumer goods: First, a fantastic clippy pressboard binder thing I liberated from the supply closet at Chaos. Second, these

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"I Love to Hate You," Erasure

I'm pretty sure I danced to this at Neo last week. Ah, the Roaring Nineties.

I'm actually writing right now--one whole paragraph written. I feel guilty when I don't write, I feel guilty when I don't write enough, but at least making a stab at it for a couple of hours helps take the edge off my bad-feeling.

And then I get to make an apple pie. That's the carrot at the end of today's stick.

EtA: Two and a half pages, one scene. Maybe I should look into one of those page-counter widget things. Also, my space bar is sticky, so half ofwhatIwrote looks like that, like I'm writing in classical Latin orsomething.

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"It's Magic," Pilot

That's the song I woke up with in my head this morning. I had assumed it was ELO, but Google tells me it's a one-hit-wonder by a band called Pilot. Hm.

Yesterday was... not so good. My left eye leaked all day due to sinus stuff, making me unfit for anything other than shopping for shoes online and watching baseball. Will attempt again today.

And I think I'm really done with the hithering and yon-ing and have settled down here. Wordpress is lovely, but that's also where I'm keeping my reading-notes blog, and I couldn't figure out how to isolate that from the main frivolousness, so back to Blogger for me.

EtA: The goal was close-readings of two scenes (the series of close-readings makes up the middle of the chapter, where I'm talking about how a concept is being structured and manipulated). I managed two-thirds of one scene, but it's the knottiest scene I'm dealing with in this chapter, so I'll call that a minor success. Four pages, which is... ok, I guess. There's something more to be said about the closing of the scene, but I don't know what it is quite yet.

In which I make no small plans

Hey! Guess what I'm doing today? Writing! No, really! I have at least half a paragraph of totally brand-new stuff! And about a page of copy-pasted stuff that totally counts!

Argh. I've been entirely off my game lately, with absolutely no progress being made on either the under-revision chapter or the new one that I want to have done by the end of the month. Part of the problem is that up to this point, I've basically be re-working previous material, which is not fun, but not terrible either. And now I have to make the turn into working from scratch on the rest of the dissertation. And I haven't started from scratch in a long, long time. I think I've forgotten how to start.

If I were smart, I'd take my own advice to my students: start writing somewhere in the middle and worry about the beginning later. But I just can't. So I'm cobbling together a provisional beginning (which will actually turn up in the middle of this two-play chapter) and hating every letter of it. Bah.

But my point here wasn't so much to complain (ok, maybe a little), but to plan. I want to churn out at least three pages every non-teaching day, and get some reading done on teaching days. Weekends will be negotiable, as I suspect once I hit stride I can (and will have to) do far more than three pages at a stretch. I need a reasonable version of this material ready for public consumption by the 29th, so we'll see if the threat of a deadline will help. And then I have two conferences back to back, presenting material that's in decent shape already. Wish me luck.