Category Archives: writing

A Little Help from my Friends…

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I had a moment of panic the other day.

I had been summoned to participate in a departmental thing.  I’m really not sure who decided it was a good idea to schedule any departmental thing smack dab in the middle of finals time.  This, to me, seems like a sure-fire way to make at least one of your graduate students slit her wrists in hopelessness.

Any who know me will tell you that one of the things I am best at is time management.  I never leave anything to the last minute, I have a good sense of how much I can handle, I work until I’m done, and I know what is okay to sacrifice and what simply can’t be cut from any given day.  As such, my schedule books very far in advance.  Often, I have trouble squeezing in social engagements unless I’m made aware of them at least two weeks before they happen (at the busiest times of the year, this becomes more like a month).  As such, if I was having trouble departing from my desk to attend said departmental thing, it was not because I was having last-minute finals panic, it was because scheduling a departmental thing during finals is inhuman.

The departmental thing took longer than I had planned (but not longer than it had been scheduled, I simply misread the schedule and under-calculated my timing).  I got into my car and felt like my chest was clenched in an iron clamp.  I still had errands to run.  I still had all kinds of work to do.  And I still had one more appointment with my ever-wonderful Partner in Crime that I could not miss because of a long, convoluted series of events which amounted to him helping me clean my apartment (I think he realized by looking at me that even mundane tasks were well beyond my capabilities to handle and, left to my own devices, I was in very real danger of exploding… spontaneous human combustion: not just an urban legend).

During the drive home, the panic attack symptoms started setting in.  Increased heart rate, hopeless whirl of uncontrollable thoughts, and pressure behind the eyes that threatens to burst into uncontrollable weeping.

I got to my desk, sat down, and forced myself to breath.

For those who have ever experienced a panic attack, you will know: the only way to coach yourself through it is slowly and methodically.  You need to clear your mind, breathe deeply, and slow your heart-rate back something resembling normal.  Sometimes you need to cry for ten minutes just to get it out.  I don’t have them often, but my PhD has taught me all kinds of new and wonderful things that my body is capable of when pressed against the wall (some of these things are more useful than others).

This time, head in my hands, trying to calm myself down enough to look at the word documents I had left up on my machine, my gaze drifted to my desk ornaments.

I’ve spoken about them before.  Over the years, I’ve accumulated a seemingly random assortment of bits and bobs which have come to reside in happy harmony upon my desk.  What I didn’t realize until that moment is that all of the little guys directly under my monitor (and, in fact, most of the baubles as a whole) were given to me by various important someones in my life.  Shakes-cat: a gift from a dear old friend.  Baby-hatching-Gargoyle: a

a selection of my desk baubles.

a selection of my desk baubles.

present from my grandmother upon realizing that it looked just like the logo for the theatre company I ran out of New York.  Liberty-Duck: a random Monday offering from my Partner in Crime.  Long-Duck-Silver: from my mom when she came to visit me during my brief-tenure in a soul-sucking office position pre-Master’s (it came in a box of Band-Aids and helped to cheer my gloomy day).  Tribble Fluff the Yarn Monster: made for me by my wonderful penpal and sent in a box of comfort yarn around the holidays one year.  The list, believe it or not, continues to the point where I really can’t chronicle all the things on my desk attached to all the wonderful people in my life.

And, in that moment, it was like getting a hug from all of them simultaneously.  Like somehow they were all there (without even knowing that I needed them) to tell me to get my act together because I could totally handle this.

Over the past week or so, I’ve received an immense amount of support from my usual support network, but also some very unexpected places.  People who are around, but whom I don’t speak with frequently (perhaps the epitome of this being a random and unprompted text from an old friend with the news that he had procured a GIANT BAG full

some very old friends who are still in my life came to help me celebrate my birthday this weekend; they are amongst the awesome folks who helped me get through finals this semester.

some very old friends who are still in my life came to help me celebrate my birthday this weekend; they are amongst the awesome folks who helped me get through finals this semester.

of my favorite girly-scented lotions and things and was sending them to me imminently… thanks again, Brian, you seriously made my week).  People who would have little way of knowing the insane amounts of pressure and stress that I’m under right now who, from some twist of the universe, had me in their thoughts on a given day and thus found some way to send some extra love my way.

My point is this: no man is an island.  The PhD is the equivalent to academic boot camp.  It will strip you down to your most basic human elements, take those away, then re-build you (and I’m not even through the “easiest” part of the process yet).  But just because you’re stressed, just because you’re tired, just because you think your brain is going to melt out the side of your head, doesn’t mean that you should forget something: you are loved.  And if you can’t remember that, take a moment to find someone who will help you remember it.

So many thank-yous to all of my wonderful friends who, wittingly or not, have once more gone above and beyond to help me get through this difficult time of year.  If I seem ungrateful or passive in person, it’s just because I lack the brain cells to express how much you mean to me right now.

And on that note, it’s time to face the music.  Turning in my first final today.  Queue The Imperial March, La Marseillaise (it always sounds victorious to me), anything from Newsies, or One Day More and send some good thoughts to Dani-land.  Here we go.

Just Another Manic Monday

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I know that I’ve been doing a lot of lists lately, but finals land is inexorably vast this year… I don’t recall hell-time being this long last year… maybe I’m just wearing my rose-colored denial glasses.

Right now (as in I have actually put work into all of these projects at some point this evening), I am:

 -Doing final prep on my presentation for Thursday. What is life without powerpoint, I ask you?

-Finishing up the grades for one of the classes I’m TAing. Ethically, all I can say about this is that it happened. At some point I will find a way to talk about grading in general enough terms that I don’t feel like I’m betraying confidences. That day is not today. I look forward to that day as I know I have learned a lot from the experience of commenting upon and critiquing the students’ writing, and I feel as though these lessons are universally applicable. When I figure it out, I’ll let you know.

 -Working on the official twitter feed for the Comparative Drama Conference. This

The CDC conference hotel. I took this shot last year. Yea, that hotel is pretty sweet.

The CDC conference hotel. I took this shot last year. Yea, that hotel is pretty sweet.

is particularly exciting; by my calculations (if we get the feed up successfully, which is a small if right now but an if nonetheless) it will be the first official twitter feed for a national conference in the humanities. The digital age has officially hit academia, and I can’t be more proud to be one of its heralds. There’s nothing on the feed at this moment (and we’re looking at a few weeks before you see anything exciting happen), but nevertheless go check us out at https://twitter.com/compdramaconf. Give us a follow, keep an eye on us, let us know how we’re doing. Then, when we’re all in Baltimore, we can have a drink and talk about how great the internet is.

 -Working on some dramaturgy bits and bobs for Measure. We’re bracing for impact as we wind up to wind down over the break. I’m headed to rehearsal on Thursday to have a listen to the text and then on Monday, December 10th the cast gives me a full run for my birthday (which, by the by, is December 11th… right smack during the middle of hell-time… I have reconciled myself to the fact that I will, for the rest of my life, be inordinately stressed out on my birthday).

 -Doing final dilly-dallying with outlines and research before I draft out paper number one. I was going to do this tonight, but a Sandy-granted extension gave me a little more wiggle-room on the timeline. I am also waiting on an e-mail from an archivist to see if I can’t do another archive dive to bolster this paper, but plan to forge forward tomorrow one way or another.

PiC and I on a boat this weekend past. It was his birthday, so we threw tea into Boston harbor. It seemed legit.

PiC and I on a boat this weekend past. It was his birthday, so we threw tea into Boston harbor. It seemed legit.

-Waiting on a call from my partner in crime to tell me that the first release of Offensive Shadows has gone live. We wrote the copy this afternoon and he’s uploading the sound as we speak, so by the time this is posted it may very well be up. If not, I’ll be updating the twitter feed and the facebook group when things are all green lights over there. Prepare for Shakespeare awesomeness!

-Finishing up some loose-ends classroom business for my own coursework (regular reading, message board posting, etc.). One of the great things about an academic schedule is how fast-paced it is; as soon as you get into a rhythm, or really feel like you know anything about anything, suddenly the world shifts on you. This semester has been great, but I can definitely say that I’m ready for some world-shifting. The projects I’m working on now, however, will definitely stay with me and I’m hoping that they will be extremely fruitful future endeavors. After all, “publication” ain’t just an eleven letter word.

-Setting up and administrating forums for my Shakespeare reading group. Because, like I said, the internet is a wonderful thing.

Alright, since I’ve clocked a solid fourteen hour day, I think I’m putting it down for the night. At least… as soon as the podcast goes live.

Catch you later!

Ode to a Reference Librarian

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I

O Noble Reference Librarian, thou keeper of ancient tomes,
Thou from whose ever-seeing eyes the musty dark
of ignorance runs; fleeting into caves it roams.

Knowledge’s power and its difference stark
stands tribute to the echoes of my heart
without your watchful guidance and wisdom to mark.

Though all alone my research I may start,
eventually I am lost without your aid,
read between the lines: you’re pretty darn smart.

When I feel my resolve begin to fade,
and madness overtake my lengthy notes,
one e-mail from you and my project is made. 

Wise sage, who art everywhere and nowhere;
preserver of my sanity; hear, O hear!

II

Thou with whom all knowledge of the archive’s content
rests, solely within the confines of your mind,
Thou may these hopeless finding aids augment!

When I a promising volume or folder find,
I cannot help but wistfully wonder
if by you this call number it has been assigned.

And when I am delivered my research’s plunder
if it contains not what I was expecting
I know it must be someone else’s blunder.

This fondness is not something I’m affecting.
You truly are my savior, through and through
when I, my primary sources, am selecting,

You always have an answer for me,
where should I look next? You tell me; O hear! 

III

Thou who didst calm me with thy helpful words,
your e-mails always packed with burning hope
and, within me, that hope to joy transferred.

When I am lost, you throw me strongest rope
with which to pull myself from doldrums’ grasp
(though afterwards I may feel like a dope).

 Sometimes I come to you with dieing gasp,
knowing my project may be at its end,
lack of sources killing it like venom of the asp. 

But then, my broken thought tracks you do mend,
and breathe into my research new life
when bibliographic entries you me send.

You always do more than I expect of you,
and bring me joy with your encouraging words; O hear!

IV

If I were forced to spend my days
in a world without you or your kin,
surely my research I would appraise

At much less worth than now it holds within.
And thou, O incomparable! If even
I were as in my career’s prime and had been

looking with my mind’s full potential heaving,
thou wouldst still my puny efforts shame
(thy power over the materials I fully believe in).

As thus, to thee with questions I came,
O! Help me in my research’s day of plight!
Without thee, my paper’s going to be lame! 

Help me to bring new knowledge to academy’s light!
And weave an argument from sources tight!

V

Lend me thy thoughts, even as I am merely
a Graduate students with small street cred,
I am most in need of your help clearly!

And (although I know by now I’ve said
this several times, it bears to be repeated)
Without you, all my evidence is fled! 

Sometimes I feel as though I may have cheated
by enlisting your skillful help in my fond chase,
but when my project’s finally completed 

I will ensure I’ve thanked you in the space
allotted for such words of grateful praise
(and also try to say it to your face). 

The knight of research’s call! O reference librarian,
If you forsake us, the academy you’ll raze.

(…an over-working reference librarian made my weekend today, so I decided to make his weekend.  Not even sure if he’ll ever read this.  If you’re slightly confused, you may want to google “Ode to the West Wind”….)

To Rewrite, or not to Rewrite?

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Today, dear readers, I write you from the brink of an age-old academic quandary.

I will be giving a paper at this year’s ASTR conference.  ASTR follows a work-group model rather than a conference-panel model, and this will be my first experience with such.  What this means is that every individual in a given work group has written a paper.  This paper is sent around to the other individuals in the work group.  Everyone in the work group reads all the papers.  Then, at the conference, we all sit down and talk about the guiding idea of the panel in hopes of coming to some kind of higher understanding of this idea.

On the whole, I think that this round-table style is much more productive than the

no matter which model a conference goes by, coffee is a necessity. This is a life truism though, rather than a conferencing factoid.

traditional read-and-listen model.  What it does mean, however, is that I need to send my paper to a group of academics who have never met me before to read, critique, and be ready to discuss my ideas.

This is an extremely daunting proposition.  Compound this with the fact that the work groups consist of a vast range of scholars – from graduate students to department heads.  My work group is particularly large and particularly vast in range of experience.  There will be people reading my paper who have been in the field much longer than I have and who know much better than I do what they are talking about.

The paper I’m presenting is a paper I wrote for a seminar this semester past.  I did a lot of research and put many man hours into this paper.  For that, it most certainly needs some work before it can be sent off to aforementioned group of scholars.  As I sit here, cradling its pages between my hands like the body of a newborn infant, I am faced with an important decision: To re-write, or to re-vise?  That is the question.

William Fualkner famously said of revising, “In writing, you must kill all your darlings” (though he was likely quoting Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch).  Stephen King later agreed with him (“Kill your darlings, kill your darlings, even when I breaks your egocentric little scribbler’s heart, kill your darlings” On Writing).

Yes, yes, I know I must be ruthless, but so often I feel like completely scrapping something is the cheater’s way out.  While it may seem less time-consuming in the long run, in reality to just burn what I’ve written is to invalidate all the work that I’ve already put into it.  So while, at this moment, dashing the brains out of this poor pile of pulp only to allow a bigger, stronger, faster model to emerge from the slurry seems like perhaps the most advisable solution, I have to remember something: I spent a lot of time on this.  I edited.  I slaved.  I wrote and re-wrote.  All that time and energy must have produced at least pieces of a finished product.

So, generally, when I’m feeling like just starting over would be best, I take a moment to recall the hellish process of editing.  I allow myself a moment of silence for the many many stacks of pages of drafts that were fed to my fireplace.  And then I realize that no, there must be something in here worth saving.

I start with my abstract.  I go through it and write myself a clear logic train.  A rhetoric map.  “Fact: X.  Fact: Y.  Following in this progress, you reach my inevitable conclusion which is Z.”

abstract outline on right, prep to red-pen on left

Then I proceed into a harsh red-penning of my previously-produced paper.  What do I absolutely need?  What can go?  Ignoring the length of the final paper, I cut and slash my way through the prose jungle until I’ve boiled things down to their essence.

Then I take those bits and I re-arrange them.  Sometimes I physically cut and move them around on a table until I have something that makes sense.

Then I reverse-outline what it is I’ve wound up with.  I boil things down to topic sentences; what am I saying?  When am I saying it?

I compare the reverse outline to my rhetoric map to discover where my holes are.  Do I need a bit more research on weird fact B?  Do I need to explain logic leap C a bit better?  What do I need to do to ensure that we all wind up smoothly at the station of my final destination?

Then I set to work.  Sometimes this involves more research; a trip to the library, some ILL articles.  Sometimes this just involves a few days in the bunker holed up with my previous research and a fully loaded French press.

Then, a few drafts later, I have something.  It’s very different from what I started with.

Then come the external eyes.  Always always vet your writing by an outside party if you can possibly manage it.  Work out paper-shares with folks in your department.  Find a friend willing to proofread in exchange for dinner.  The more outside eyes you can have on a piece, the stronger it will become.

After this step, I generally have to go back in for a draft or two and adjust a few things – generally not a complete overhaul at this stage since I’ve already spent so much time living with the paper.

And then I have something.  Is it finished?  Well, it will never be finished.  But at least it’s evolved.

So that’s what I’m facing down now.  The next step in the evolution of a paper.

Well, hey hey and away we go.

It’s the End of the World as we Know it (…I feel fine…)

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Yesterday, much to the chagrin of my friends and family who weren’t in the loop (though I’m not sure precisely why they weren’t because I DID post a warning before this actually occurred), I hijacked my personal facebook feed to participate in the sixth annual “Blog like It’s the End of the World”.

This event was started in 2007 by “My Elves are Different” and takes place every year on June 13th.  The idea is that bloggers, tweeters, facebookers, and overall denizens of the internet come together to create a faux-event (namely the onset of the global zombie holocaust) via their signal-boosting power.  All day, folks are encouraged to use their digital presence to create this event and stories surrounding it.

And when you think of things that way, it becomes perhaps one of the most awesome things to occur on the internet.  For so many people, the internet is a way to connect with an outside world which is very much part of their lives, but for whatever reason they can’t attend to it daily (be it distance, invalidity, or agoraphobia).  For example: my mother, who lives in New York, keeps up with my antics via my blog and facebook feed because I update those much more frequently than I call her (oh, come on, like YOU call your mother every day).  In essence, anything I put on those feeds becomes reality for people who, like my mother, don’t see or speak with me on a daily basis.

And collaboration lends legitimacy.  Since it wasn’t just me in on the adventure and my posts were supported by those around me, suddenly it turned into something.  Just one person blogging like it’s the end of the world is an extremist piece of fiction.  Many people talking about the zombie holocaust like it’s actually happening turns into some semblance of reality.  It’s a communal fantasy which, when engaged with communally, becomes real.

So here is the story of our grand zombie adventure which occurred yesterday, as told by the facebook feed of myself, my roommate Stephanie (if you haven’t checked it out already, you should totally go look at her piece of internet fiction astroarcane…), and a few friends we picked up along the way.  A note: I wound up at the theatre last night so you’ll notice that my posts die out towards the end of the evening.  Ah, the cost of real-life living during the digital zombie apocalypse.  Many thanks to those who played along with me.  Hopefully you’ll enjoy reading these as much as we enjoyed writing them!

Danielle: (9:30 AM) Getting ready to roll out this morning, but it’s unusually quiet on the streets. Weird. By this hour I generally hear the kids from the school making all kinds of noise…

Danielle: (10 AM) The rain has let up, and maybe that’s what kept people from the streets. At Least I see some bodies now, but mostly folks shambling like they’re hung over or something. Odd on a Wednesday.

Danielle: (10:30 AM) Weirdest thing; on the way to the gym some guy tried to bite me! The homeless are getting really pushy these days…

Danielle: (11:30 AM) They had the TVs on at the gym and there was a lot of static coming through. Some stations were even down. Lots of news on though, and it seems like all the roads leading out of major cities are completely gridlocked. What IS going on today?

Stephanie: (11:34 AM) On my way home. This is ridiculous. Dani, let’s hit the road- I’ll pick up a flat of water en route?

Danielle: (noon) Alright, getting really nervous. Packing some things and going to pick up Stephanie at work. We’ll head north to [Friend with Guns and wilderness knowledge], he’ll have guns and stuff.

[Friend in NY]; in reply: I’ll meet you guys on the coast of Maine with [girlfriend] and The Intrepid as our floating sea fortress.

[Friend with guns and wilderness knowledge]; in reply: I’m already locked and loaded. Raided the Hannaford for canned goods and the harbor for a boat.

Danielle: (12:30 PM) I can hear some of those weirdos pounding on the garage door as I pack up the car. REALLY glad we had it replaced this year, sounds like they’re super strong.

Stephanie; in reply: Our landlord is a lifesaver, amirite? Did you have any trouble chasing [household pet] into the carrier?

Danielle; in reply: are you kidding me? Cats were the first thing to go. They’ve already been eaten by the horde.

Danielle: (1 PM) Stephanie retrieved successfully, though the cricket bat came in handy. Roads clear for now, but I’m anticipating a backup on the highway. Good thing I’m in an SUV.

Stephanie: (1:15 PM) Yeah, I’m really glad we’re in an SUV. Pile-up everywhere, and I think I just saw someone on fire. Yes. SomeONE. Danielle and I are still fine, thanks.

 [Local friend]; in reply: If there are any stragglers left, I’m going to try to grab [husband] and head up to the [family] Compound in VT. Shaw’s is a Meat Market right now (heh), so I may have to try to grab more supplies on the way. [Gay best friend], [Gay best friend’s law school fiancé] are you guys alright?

[Gay best friend’s law school fiancé]; in reply: Umm… I’m under a rock in bar exam prep-land…. what’s going on?

[Local friend]; in reply: stay under your rock if you can, until this craziness passes. Are you actually underground? That would be best. If you see shambling corpses, or someone tries to bite you, grab the heaviest Law Tome you can find and beat them with it. Then run. Quickly.

 [Gay best friend’s law school fiancé]; in reply: Ok. Constitutional Law is at the ready… If anything comes at me, they’re getting around 8 pounds of Federalism and the Fourteenth Amendment to the face.

[Gay best friend]; in reply: I’m good. Currently holed up with [other local friend]…I was wondering why the T was so empty. That would explain the random screams I heard in the way over.

Stephanie: (3PM) Danielle and I have made it into New Hampshire. Had to smash a barricade and plow over about ten shamblers. And some NH @@#*&(*^@ yokel took a potshot at our car with a SHOTGUN. [Friend with guns and wilderness knowledge], [Friend in NY], we’re almost to you… hope you’re still alive.

Danielle: (3PM) …man, good thing I’m a crazy New Yorker. Definitely had to pull some Dukes of Hazard tricks out of my hat to get us out of some major issues on the highway. Don’t worry, though, Stephanie and I are nearly to the rendez vous point…. we did, however, pass many abandoned vehicles, and loads of carnage on the way. Pondering a stop at the first shop we see that’s likely to have firearms.

Stephanie: (3:15 PM) If this day gets any worse… friggin roadsitters blew out our tire! Keeping watch with axe in hand while Danielle pops on the donut… I don’t see any shamblers right now, but you never know… wish us luck, people.

Stephanie: (3:20 PM) It spit at me! Giant frog thing spit at me!!!! Auuuggghhh!!!! Tell me this

Myself and Stephanie being cool and not looking at the explosion… because cool gals don’t look at explosions….

isn’t infectious… Danielle finished swapping the tire and we’re out of here, but covered in giant zombie frog spit. Great.  I did chop off one of its legs though. Last spotted it hopping in circles. HAH.

[NY Friend with Guns]; in reply: travel safe but be careful as it seems Concord NH is being overrun. Also Cabelas is in Scarborough, ME. Tons of guns, ammo, food, camping supplies.

Stephanie; in reply: we aren’t going through Concord thank god. Scarborough though isn’t too far out of our way. [Friend with guns and wilderness knowledge], [Friend in NY], you still waiting for us?

[Connecticut Friend]; in reply: Forget that, stop at the Kittery Trading Post – though a lot of people will probably be heading there.

[Housemate]; in reply: Be there soon! Keep your brains safe!

Stephanie; in reply: Oh hell no [housemate]! We’re already in Maine!

[Housemate]; in reply: Aw man, that’s so far away! It’s ok, I’ll just walk all night; I’ve been walking for a few hours ago and I don’t feel very tired, just hungry.

Danielle: (4PM) Okay we have decide to brave one last supply stop found a little mom and pop place that looks real quiet. Steph Is gonna stay behind the wheel and cover me/prepare to gun it in the event that things get not so quiet. Super glad I upped my cardio over the past few months!

Stephanie; in reply: nervous nervous nervous. Everything quiet out here…

[NY friend with guns]; in reply: Hope Danielle is still safe….

Stephanie; in reply: Roomie, why aren’t you out here yet?! Another car just pulled up…

Danielle; in reply: HOLY CHRIST ON A CRACKER WTF IS THAT!? ROOMIE, SKIDDING IN! GUN IT! GUN IT!

Stephanie; in reply: brb high speed car chase can’t update status… …okay, that was not the best way to “install” a sunroof into Danielle’s car. But we’re alive. we’ll be at the rendezvous in 30 and we have ammo.

[local friend]; in reply: ‎…there are crows perched everywhere on the rooftops. Just silent, and staring. Not sure if they are alive or dead, and don’t really want to go outside to find out. I have no firearms, just hairspray and a lighter….

Danielle: (4:15 PM): Alright, out unscathed and even scored some canned goods. Was a close call though. Apparently they have learned to drive. Let’s hope they haven’t figured out swimming yet.

Danielle; in reply: Well… By “unscathed” I mean “unbitten”. Gashed my leg pretty good on my over-the-hood slide as I got back in the car. Lots of blood, but it looks clean.

[NY friend with guns]; in reply: Not good

 Stephanie; in reply: We still have med supplies, she’s managed to get it pretty cleaned up.

Danielle; in reply: looks like a good clean cut. Big, but not deep. I’m relaxing with my leg up as Stephanie takes the wheel for the rest of the drive to the rendez vous

[NY friend with guns] in reply: Good luck ladies

Danielle; in reply: Hope you’re safe, [NY friend with guns]!

[NY friend with guns]; in reply: I should be fine…One of my customers just stopped by and hes a pilot so we are going to make for the airport

Stephanie: (4:30 PM): Ugh, another roadblock. Trying to offroad it gently, Danielle has her leg up and wrapped and I don’t want to jostle. We should be meeting up with [Friend with guns and wilderness knowledge] in about 15, and then we’ll be out to sea… can’t wait to be out of this.

Danielle; in reply: it’s alright, roomie. I assume that [Friend with guns and wilderness knowledge] knows someone who has the basic medical capacity to stitch me up. If not, it can’t be much different than sewing a hem, right?

Stephanie; in reply: I’m actually current on my first aid / cpr certs!

Danielle; in reply: no current, but know some things myself. This is a little beyond first responder stuff though. But hey, we’ll have fire and I brought a sewing kit. Maybe [doctor friend] will meet us there. Did we think to invite her?

Stephanie; in reply: well, that would have been SMART…

 [NY friend with guns]: (4:30 PM) Going to try to get to the airport and fly up to meet Danielle and Stephanie. This island is so overrun its crazy.

Stephanie; in reply: Careful in the skies. We spotted some fliers earlier.

[NY friend with guns]; in reply: Yeah, he flies an old WWII fighter and he thinks theres so ammo at the army base near by. Ill keep an eye out for swimmers…Zombie fish would not be good.

Danielle; in reply: We’ll wave a red flag emblazoned with a black stag. That’s how you’ll find us.

Stephanie: (4:45 PM) That was close.  Danielle and I are loading up our supplies onto [Friend with guns and wilderness knowledge]’s boat. I can’t wait to be safely out to sea away from these THINGS. Hope someone has a can opener…

[Connecticut Friend]; in reply: You can open any food can with a soup spoon. You’ll be fine. PS – giant frog things likely swim. Just a head’s up.

Stephanie; in reply: Are you and the fam OK?

[Connecticut Friend]; in reply: We’ve got food for a week and water for three weeks (if we don’t flush or shower), I’ve barricaded all doors and first floor windows, and I’ve stocked weapons. Infirmary is downstairs. I have access to the kitchen (with a generator if the power goes), the chemistry closet (as long as the internet stays up), and the maintenance barn (for more weapons if needed). I may take a run out for firearms, but we’re good for now.

Danielle; in reply: let us know if you need backup. We can organize a rendez vous point provided I survive this jungle surgery….

Stephanie; in reply: Yeah, but it can’t be Bridgeport – Long Island Sound is crawling with frog-things, I just heard.

[Connecticut Friend]; in reply: We should be good, but feel free to head this way. Rural area, large campus, lots of food and water sources. Also, I have a copy of The Colony on DVD…..

Danielle: (5PM): that was close. Managed to make the rendez vous point and caught [Friend with guns and wilderness knowledge] and [his girlfriend] via boat. Stephanie had a heroic gun-fight with some damn smart shamblers while we loaded the supplies. We’re going to swing down South to pick up [NY friend], [his girlfriend], and [NY friend with guns]. Wish us luck!

[Friend with guns and wilderness knowledge]; in reply: I hope your leg wound isn’t a bite. I will toss your overboard for the greater good

Stephanie; in reply: I can back her up that it was a scrape from the hood of the car, I saw it happen. And I think she’d want it that way,

Danielle; in reply: Yes, if I start to change, shoot me in the head. But really, it’s too clean to be a bite.

 [Gay best fried]; in reply: If you can buzz by the harbor in Boston, can I jump on. Just made my way to downtown Boston, been clobbering things…but my arm is getting tired…Faneuil Hall is a mess, I almost slipped an fell in blood. Good thing I wore my boots.

Stephanie; in reply: are the ferries still running? If you can get out to one of the Harbor Islands, that’ll be a safer pickup than the Harbor proper. Not to say we won’t do it for you…

[Gay best friend]; in reply: I’ve located a kayak, and am en route to one of the said islands. Thankfully the waterfront is quieter here, most of the shamblers have moved inward toward the city proper. That and the smell of fish is covering my scent, I think.

Danielle: (5PM) Now that we’re safe on the boat, going to attend to that leg wound of mine. Fire is nature’s sterilizer, right? You know, I didn’t wake up this morning thinking that I’d be living an action flick by dinner, but I guess there’s no time like the present to get over your fear of needles and stitch yourself up.

Stephanie; in reply: I got you, roomie. We got this.

[Connecticut friend]; in reply: Don’t cauterize! Use alcohol!

Danielle; in reply: oh, I meant for the needle. Here we go…

[NY bartender friend]: (5PM) Still waiting for [NY friend with guns] to swing by and pick me up. Those bastards have been clawing at my door for hours now! Only bringing the essentials. Guns, ammo, hair gel and a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue. If I find out he went for those two floozies Stephanie and Danielle first, i’ll kill him.

 Stephanie; in reply: Nice priorities, bro.

[NY friend with guns]; in reply: Ladies, should I pick him up?

Stephanie; in reply: Only if it’s not too out of your way. I do like Johnnie Blue.

[NY friend with guns]; in reply: OK on my way now, [NY bartender friend].

Stephanie; in reply: could really use a PLANE shooting BULLETS at these ZOMBIES DRESSED LIKE PIRATES anytime now… actually hold that I think we just cleared the last of them

 [NY bartender friend]; in reply: Don’t bother [NY friend with guns]. I’m waiting for my cruise to arrive….I guess you could wait with me.

Stephanie: (5:30 PM) This is almost relaxing. Haven’t spotted any zombies in nearly half an hour. Danielle is dozing a little – she deserves it, didn’t scream at all when we stitched her up. All is quiet, [Friend with guns and wilderness knowledge] at the helm of the boat…

Stephanie: (7 PM) Weird… just spotted 3-5 boats coming up on us fast. Not sure if friendly or not… better wake up Danielle and see what [Friend with guns and wilderness knowledge] thinks. It might be [NY friend] and [his girlfriend], so I don’t want to overreact…

 Stephanie; in reply: definitely not friends. brb, high speed boat chase scene

[NY bartender friend]; in reply: Well shit, if you already have a boat, swing around down to the island. I’ll meet you at Captree. I don’t know how much longer I can wait on [NY friend with guns].

Stephanie; in reply: Captree should be doable – that’s on the south side of the Island right? Avoid the Sound – crawling with the giant frog zombie things. They spit! Brb hail of bullets…

[NY bartender friend]; in reply: Yes. Follow Fire Island and turn in between Robert Moses and Gilgo State Park. I’ll be upstairs in the Captree Cove restaurant. I’ll let you know if anything changes

Stephanie; in reply: will do after picking up [Gay best friend] – a few hours – argh crap brb

[Connecticut friend]; in reply: If you put in around New London, you can make it up here – just a few hours of driving. You can probably pick up a vehicle from the casino valet parking…. We just had an influx of guns and supplies from a local colleague. We’re going to start barricading the dining hall – it’s got a generator, and can fit roughly 200 people upstairs.

[NY bartender friend]; in reply: Sure thing [Connecticut friend], right after she swings by to get me. Noooooo problem.

[Connecticut friend]; in reply: Hey, just trying to help – frankly, you’re more mouths to feed….

Stephanie: (8PM) Holy cripes… I think [Friend with guns and wilderness knowledge], Danielle, and I just finished off the last of these zombies (dressed like pirates, of all things). Boat still good for gas; time to swing by the Harbor Islands and pick up [Gay best friend], Then on to [NY bartender friend]…

Stephanie: (8:30 PM) Have acquired [Gay best friend] and are on way to [NY bartender friend]. All quiet for now. Keep feeling like this only means it’ll get worse once the sun sets…

Stephanie: (9:30 PM) Fuel starting to get low. Trading some rounds for gas; this boat man is really wary. Think he’d be starting something if we weren’t so well armed… Almost to [NY bartender friend] and [NY friend with Guns].

Stephanie: (11 PM) Pulling up on where [NY bartender friend] is holed up. It’s dark. I think I see zomfrogs hopping… Ugh. Time for plan B for blow em away?

[NY Bartender friend]; in reply: No frogs near the docks. Make sure they don’t hitch a ride in with you or else we are in trouble. Just took out a walker that looked like the Gordens fisherman.

[Gay Best Friend]; in reply: If we go back to back we should be OK. Just don’t let any goo in your mouth.

[“Good Idea” friend]; in reply: did you get any fuel , diesel , tapioca ,and fertilizer … if so find a couple of jars or empty the blue out , put a cup of diesel in , cup of tapioca pelts , stir fill rest to about with rocks to about two thirds, strip out a cloth , fill rest with fert. turn upside down fast a couple of times hold side ways light and toss at the bastards… losing light going in forty jars made … plenty of ammo nice pc of hickory … right beside the beds. getem gang wish i could be there . have you figured a way to get the batteries charged out here .

Danielle: (midnight) Okay folks, after a successful Frog-o-cide courtesy of [“Good Idea” friend]’s special cocktail, I’m happy to report that we are all Safe afloat the good ship Pinafore. Hopefully this will all have blown over by tomorrow.

News from the Front…

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A few brief updates to make one large update…

First: I wrote a guest blog for gradshare.com, you should go check it out!  While you’re there, poke around gradshare a little bit.  It’s a great project; basically a wiki for graduate students by the graduate community where folks can ask questions/post advice either anonymously or semi-anonymously.  That ability makes it a wonderful forum for those awkward questions that we are so bad at asking each other (you know, the ones that uttering could kill your career if someone overheard them).  I’m a firm believer in transparency within the academy and truly hope that projects like this can help move towards a profession no longer run behind closed doors.

We’re all in this together.  Really, we’re future colleagues.  We’re going to be peer reviewing each others’ work.  We’re going to be compiling volumes of each others’ papers for publication.  We’re going to be listening to/speaking with each other on conference panels.  Why shouldn’t we talk about the uncomfortable bits of the profession?  Why shouldn’t we support each other in this incredibly stressful career we’ve chosen to enter?

Through the years, I truly hope to see more forums like gradshare.

Second: I just finished reading this book (Surviving your Stupid, Stupid Decision to Go to Grad School by Adam Ruben PhD).

A confession; there were parts of the book which struck me as laugh-out-loud funny.  I definitely sat in the coffee shop chortling my way through the middle of the volume while desperately trying not to laugh too horribly loudly.

However, that being said, the rest of the gook left me with a very bad taste in my mouth.  Dr. Ruben has a PhD in molecular biology and, as his outlet through his PhD, he performed stand-up comedy.  Much like this blog is my way to express my discontent, discernment, and discombobulating, it seems that Dr. Ruben worked through his via his act which then produced this book.

I will be the first to admit that I write a lot of negative things on here.  However, for every realistically negative and hyperbolic hypercompensative remark I make, I’d like to think that I also say something positive.  I truly believe that I blog the highs and lows of academia, no matter how high and how low those get.

Well… Dr. Ruben got the lows part, but he failed to mention the highs.  Reading this book was like bashing the skull of the academy into the ground repeatedly while screaming “TAKE THAT, JERK!” at the top of one’s lungs when academia was already having a particularly bad day anyway.  I’m not saying that Dr. Ruben’s observations aren’t based in truth, but he takes that truth to such an alarmist extreme that it often moves past the realm of “funny” or “sad” and into “bullying”.  If the academy was a person, I’d call Dr. Ruben’s book slander and be tempted to sue him for libel of character.

In the words of the immortal Edmund Kean (well, attestation of the quote is debatable, but someone else has done the legwork on that): “Dying is easy, Comedy is hard”.

I worked the New York stand-up circuit for a while.  Trust me, I know how difficult it is to be funny.  But humor isn’t always just taking something to its ridiculous and negative extreme (though, granted, sometimes it is).  After reading Dr. Ruben’s book, I wasn’t left wondering about my own life choices.  Instead, I was left wondering about his.  If he truly had such a hideous, horrible, no-good, very-bad time in graduate school, then why did he do it?

Sure, plenty of people get into the PhD having no idea what they’re in for (I would argue that this is anyone and everyone who goes for a PhD, I certainly fell into this category), but nobody says that you have to continue if you’re truly that miserable.  Depending on your field, the rate of attrition is approximately 20% – 30% (higher for mathematics and physical sciences, lower in the humanities).  Plenty of people enter into doctorate living, decide it’s not for them, and leave.

The most important thing for a graduate student to remember while doing her PhD is that THIS IS YOUR LIFE.  It’s not a piece of your life, it’s not something you can just do then do something else afterward, you are training for the rest of your life.  While you are doing so, you are incurring a great deal of debt, stress, and personal strife.  Why would you sacrifice so much for something if you weren’t absolutely in love with it?

Now, I will grant you, I have my bad days.  I, in fact, have my awful days.  But never, since I started, have I ever once thought that I would be better off doing something else.  The

problems I have, while large problems and really tough to deal with, are problems that I would rather have than any other problems in the world.

So, if you must, read Dr. Ruben’s book… but do so with the understanding that a) he’s not a stellar writer, b) he’s not a stellar comedian, and c) if his life were truly that miserable, he should have done something about it other than complain.

…though his commentary on dealing with undergraduate students is dead-on.

A good old-fashioned purging

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Over the weekend I cleaned off my desk.

We’re not talking about a superficial re-piling like I’ve been doing over the course of the semester; we’re talking full-fledged move everything, wipe down under it, file all papers, put things in their proper places sort of clean.  The kind of clean that leaves one with that warm, squeaky, shiny feeling.  The kind of clean that lets you know that one series of projects has been completed and another is due to start.  The kind of clean that’s well and truly food for the academic soul.

There was a great amount of catharsis which went with this cleaning.  Certainly on a superficial level my papers had been piling up since September and really needed to be moved off of my little rack thing and into some more permanent storage solution.  But along with those papers went the deeper feeling of satisfaction.  Yes, I made it.  And more than that, I can wrap up all the loose ends and have a desk that’s fresh and ready for something new.

I sorted, I vacuumed, I recycled.  I tidied, I stacked, I neatened.  And, by the end of it, I was feeling less cluttered in the mind and more ready to take on what was next (a polish of the paper I gave at CDC for submission to their publication Text & Presentation and an abstract for submission to ASTR’s Shakespeare in Performance workgroup).

I also realized that I have a whole lot of desk toys and maybe I should consider cutting

the pertinent portion of my desk

back on the random things that I put in my work area to remind myself of sundry other things.  But every time I consider curbing my collection of desk doo-mah-hickeys, I inevitably get wrapped in the sentimentality which caused me to hang onto them in the first place.  How could I move my favorite childhood toy horse, or my jumbo-the-stress-elephant?  How could I banish my littlest pet shop creatures which saw me through my six-month-stint in a cube farm?  How could I even think of moving desk-thulu, or shakes-cat, or jojo the fluffy tribble?  And don’t even mention the possibility of culling my rubber ducks.  Every single one on my desk was given to me by a close friend, and thereby has deep emotional significance.

The bottom line is, my desk is my home base.  This is where I come to work, this is where I (basically) live.  The state of my desk is indicative of my mental state; is it tidy?  Is it a wreck?  Are there fifteen million things on it?  How are those things stacked; neatly or haphazardly?  Are there documents waiting for me in my printer tray?  When I feel like my desk is out of control, I feel like my life is out of control.  My desk is the first and last line of defense against mental breaks and it’s something very real, very tangible, and very large.  I visit it every day.  It’s my altar of academia.  It’s my corner of the Ivory Tower.  Perhaps most importantly, it’s an extension into the physical realm of everything that goes on in my head.  The things upon it, whether they be permanent desk ornaments or temporary passing-through papers, are the things within my mind.  My desk is a physical manifestation of the crazy, wild, tempestuous happenings of the inner monologue and must be treated as such.

…and god help you if you touch my rubber duckies.

Still Finding the Energy

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I’m nearly there.  So close.  Last one goes down on Sunday, and that (my friends) will be the “thud” heard round the world (…or at least the “ding” heard round the world since it’s being submitted via e-mail).  After that, I wish I could say I get a real break, but instead I’ve got two weeks to polish a paper for a publication deadline (say that ten times fast) and churn out an abstract for ASTR (which I am determined to make this year because it’s in Nashville and thereby will give me an excuse to wear my fantastic cowboy boots to my panel).  I also only have a week and a half between last final submission and German classes starting up so… yea.  Breaks are for the weak.

In an effort to maintain my sanity, today I’m making you Another Random Finals List because I really don’t have the brain space to leak anything else out.

1)    I’m a grown woman and My Little Ponies (Friendship is Magic) still makes me smile.  I

Pony with a library!!!

have no shame about this.  You should try watching it; especially if you’re an over-worked academic who would love to find more time to be with her friends because (I kid you not) the lead pony is ALSO an over-worked academic whose friends insist on her making time for them.  Yes, I am Twilight Sparkle.  Deal with it, academy.

2)    The Muppets also make me smile.  As an archetype of everything I love about theatre, watching the Muppets is a sure-fire way to make me remember why I chose this profession.

3)    So is watching “The Shakespeare Code”.

4)    I’m not sure how to feel about the fact that I now have a designated study/paper-writing blanket.  It is both warm and fuzzy.  And I haven’t managed to get red ink on it yet (though I await the day… it already has a war-wound from a crafting project gone awry).  This blanket may be the most comforting thing I own and I’m truly hoping that A) I don’t begin to associate it with the emotional trauma of finals time and B) I don’t turn into Linus because that would just be sad.

5)    Saw a pretty decent production of The Importance of Being Earnest this past weekend by Theatre to Go.  For community theatre, it was solid.  Those long Victorian scenes can be really difficult to make read to a modern audience (lots of antiquated wit flying about), but I thought it was fairly well done.  I took my favorite companion (who had never before seen nor read any of Wilde’s work) and he had a good time, which is probably a better gauge of the production than my snobbery.  I do wish there had been some dramaturgical gloss in the program, however, since so much of this wit is out-dated double-entendre (…dramaturgical gloss for those not in the know: “Earnest” is, debatably, a nineteenth-century euphemism for “homosexual” and if you’re not also reading that in the term “bunburying” you’re additionally missing the joke… I could go into a long explanation about the close proximity of the play’s London premiere to Wilde’s trial, but I’ll save that for a time when my brain functions a bit better).  Also, I am of the personal opinion that Lady

Brian Bedford as Lady B in the 2009 Broadway Revival

Bracknell is a role best played by a man of at least six feet in stature and barrel-chested.  TTG’s actress (Kate Beattie) definitely had the fire, and did a great job, but there’s nothing like cross-dressing to really get wild with your Wilde.

6)    Speaking of theatre, I will be hitting 28 Seeds again on Friday.  The show closes this weekend, so if you haven’t seen it yet, get your butt over to BCA and fix that!  Well worth the cost of admission.  I’m also hitting Bad Habit Productions’ Much Ado About Nothing tomorrow which should, at the very least, prove interesting.  The entire show is done with five actors.  This will either be a hurricane, or a train wreck.  Stay tuned.

7)    …I feel like that phrase (“hurricane or a train wreck”) could pretty much describe my life in general.  With great risk comes great reward… or great laughing at yourself when you fall on your face.

8)    I’m going to the gym now.  Exercise gives you endorphins.  Endorphins make you happy.  Happy people don’t just shoot their husbands.

One Draft at a Time

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Did you hear that?

That, my friends, was the sound of this over-worked, over-stressed, over-tired, and way under-paid (and often under-appreciated) girl making her writing goals for the week.

Yes, in the face almost-astronomic odds, I managed to produce the nine drafts which I expected from myself in four days (that’s 2.25 drafts a day, folks).  If I manage to produce two drafts over the weekend (so work slightly slower than the break-neck pace I set for myself at the onset), I will be in tip-top shape at the beginning of next week and, by the end of the week, ready to turn everything in on time and close the book on this semester.

Phew.

Perhaps more importantly than the statistics, I’ve managed to write myself over the great mid-draft slump.

You see, I’m a very very slow writer.  I take many many drafts to produce something turn-in-able.  I’ve totally been over this before.  At some point between preliminary vomit draft and pristine turn-it-in paper, I hit what I like to call the “mid-draft slump”.  It’s that point in the paper-writing process where you look at the mess you’ve made, you look at the work you’ve done, and it hits you: this is completely inane.  You haven’t produced anything of value; you’ve barely produced anything.  In fact, all this research you just did is pretty much garbage because it hasn’t led you anywhere.  You’re not saying anything original; you’re not saying anything at all.

It’s a horrible place, an awful place, a place of desperation and darkness.  It’s a place where you simply can’t see your way out, and you just want to bury your face in all of this pulp you’ve produced and cry your little heart dry as your tears intermingle with the ink on the page and create great literary rorschachs.  It’s a place that just makes you want to give up; hang up your red pen and go be illiterate for the rest of your life.

And the only way to get through this place is to write more.  If you find yourself here, it means that you’re still hammering.  It’s inevitable; there’s got to be a place between A and Z.  The process of paper writing is the process of idea formation, and idea formation starts with research.  Getting from a ton of research to your own thought is a process; an action; it’s not a single moment.  You are never going to produce perfection in one draft.  Not no way, not no how.

What makes me nervous is that this go-round, the mid-draft slump was extremely quick.  Nerve-wrackingly quick.  I mean, in the past I’ve been stuck in the mid-draft slump for three or four drafts sometimes.  This time, it took a single draft to work my way somewhere with the bright light of hope shining down upon me.  I guess that this should make me happy (the mid-draft slump isn’t, after all, a very nice place to be), but really it just makes me anxious.  Have I picked something entirely too obvious to argue?  Am I just putting forth an assertion of the facts without adding anything new to the conversation?  Am I repeating myself?  Are these drafts just sixty pages of Graduate-level macaroni pictures?

Maybe for the sake of my own mental health, I have chosen to view this as a good thing.  I’ve come too far this semester to look back now, and I won’t let the accomplishment of my goals (even in record time) make me too apprehensive to savor that fruit.

So take that, mid-draft slump!  Return to the darkness and stay there until the end of next semester!  I have, once again, conquered you with the strength of my mind, the might of my pen, and the force of my sheer stubbornness!

Yea, I simply walked into Mordor.  And I walked out too.  Didn’t need a flying eagle rescue

Thank you, Google Maps.

or anything.

….I’m going to go collapse on my couch and return to my re-read of The Hunger Games now.  That won’t take any brain power and it’ll still make me feel intellectually superior to those who watch TV in their spare time.  I’ll return to being smart tomorrow.  Tonight is all about resting the gray matter.

Finals Land

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Good friends and readers,

Hello from finals land.

This is a place slightly different from “finals panic” (which I was experiencing a few weeks ago).  This is a place where everything is mapped out, everything is drafted out, and all I have to do is continue working at a good clip to slide into the finish.

My last final is due May 13th.  And man, I cannot wait to plonk that baby down and close the book on what has been a phenomenal, engrossing, enormous, scary year.

The thing about finals land is that it is extremely draining.  The writing process, for me, is a slow one and one that requires meticulous drafting and re-drafting.  As I have previously mentioned, it takes between 6 and 8 drafts for me to produce something that I feel comfortable turning in.  I like to work on one draft a day but, as I am currently simultaneously grappling with three large papers, that means I’m required to produce approximately 21 drafts to feel good about my product.  I have 13 days to do it.  This means that I’m going to have to average 1.6 drafts a day (provided I take zero days off between now and due dates).  Which, realistically, means that I’m going to have to be churning out two drafts a day to give myself room for a breath sometime this weekend.

What this really and truly means is that my brain feels like a wrung-out sponge.  I feel like I’ve given everything I have to this semester and I simply have nothing left to give.

Unfortunately, I’ve not got the option to stop now.  There’s this last little bit of mountain to climb to get to the top of what’s been an arduous (but entirely rewarding) year.

There’s this saying in clown training; “find the energy”.  There are two zones in clowning; “the red” which is where you are when you are in-nose and thereby in-character, and “the black” which is somewhere below that, not quite fully to the point of true clown yet.  You get tired really quickly in clowning, it takes a lot to keep yourself going.  When you’re training to do it, you are constantly told to “find the energy”.  ImageDo whatever you need to do to keep yourself in the red.  Dance, throw stuff, run around, keep going, dip into the deep part of yourself where you store the bits that you don’t generally access and use those to fuel whatever it is you are doing until it’s done.

And really, these days, that’s all I’ve got.  I’ve got to find the energy to keep going, no matter where that energy comes from (at the moment, it’s coming from some lovely earl gray I’ve been drinking like it’s my job, though I may switch to something a little less caffeinated soon… also, girl scout cookies never hurt…).

In a few short weeks, I will be able to collapse and have a break (and trust me, in the two weeks between finals and my summer German class I intend to take full advantage of break time… if my past experience with graduate school has been at all indicative of my future experience with graduate school, I will be laid out on the couch unable to move for a solid three days before I regain the capacity to speak much less function in the real world).  In a few short weeks, I can pick up a book that I want to read and read it for no other reason than “I want to”.  In a few short weeks, I can hit all those extra random deadlines that have been lurking on the side of my whiteboard all but ignored because I simply did not have the time to devote attention to them.

…at least nature cooperated today.  It was a gray, dreary day here in Boston – the kind of day that really does make me want to curl up on my office futon with a blankie, a French press full of tea, and my writing to red-pen.  So that’s exactly what I did.

And I hit my writing goals.  Here’s hoping that mother nature continues to cooperate and doesn’t insist on too many beautiful days between now and the 13th.