No more self-imposed creative limitations.

am highly skilled when it comes to adapting to lengthy guilt trips. So skilled, in fact, that sometimes I actually forget how to get back home to Guilt-Free Land. Since I entered grad school (roughly X years ago), I haven’t really allowed myself much of a creative outlet. My thinking, especially as procrastination on my doctoral work grew stronger, was something along the lines of, “If I have the time to illuminate this initial, then I should be devoting that time to my dissertation.” Instead, I devoted that time to effectuating a stealth downward-spiral into self-doubt and severe depression. Go figure.

This blog, coupled with my second, more design-oriented blog, has been INVALUABLE with respect to me gradually allowing myself more and more creative liberties. Over the past year, I’ve produced more crafty and artistic projects than I had completed in the previous five years combined. No exaggeration. And it’s been such a boost, not only for my mood, but for my motivation, my pride in myself for being productive and producing work I’m happy with… and that confidence and productivity seep into the academic side of my life as well. So, now the key is to find the balance between the creative and the intellectual. Which seems slightly ridiculous, because the two are hardly mutually exclusive. Yet, for some reason, in my mind, I had categorized them as such. I went into my undergraduate career planning on majoring in Fine Arts. I dropped it before my freshman year came to a close, and I moved onto French and English literature. Once I made that switch, it was almost as though I tucked away all my art supplies, donned a beret and became “French girl.” Funny, huh? Considering France’s relationship to artistic revolutions.

Anyway.

So I’m now reacquainting myself with my artistic side. I’ve been doing a lot of paper repurposing, but I’ve also been drawing a lot in my sketchbook and re-honing my lettering and calligraphy skills. Fortunately, it’s been a lot like riding a bike. (Big sigh of relief there.) My fire lit instantly, and it glows brightly. And I plan to keep stoking it as much as I can. Note: as much as I “can” does not equal as much as I “want.” Have to remember the dissertation… May graduation… I think I can.

In the meantime, I’ve finally decided to get my butt on Etsy and attempt to make some money off of my fun little creations. Shameless plug, yes. Sorry sorry. But, please remember, I’m a poor grad student with overdue medical bills. Self-preservation, baby.

I’ve already featured some pics of my new Etsy shop over at Words & Eggs, but I know that I have some followers here that don’t follow W&E. So, here are a few images of my favorite items in my shop: paper packs, mixed paper Paper Clips Journals, custom lettering, and customized handmade family trees. Please take a look, and feel free to contact me or convo me with any questions! Thanks to all of you for your continued support, and for creating a lovely little inspirational community here for me…

The thing with creativity and inspiration is that you never know when it’s going to flood the gates… or when it’s going to completely dry up. For now, I’m taking full advantage and bathing in the flood waters. I’d love the financial opportunity to continue to do so. Please let me know if you’d like to work with me and/or brainstorm any projects. There are LOTS of options for family trees: Christmas advent calendar trees, anniversary trees, newborn baby trees featuring baby stats, friendship trees… the list goes on. They make great, unique birthday and holiday gifts!

OK, I’ll stop plugging myself now.

Thanks again,

LY

The task of the translator…

or my dissertation, I’m undertaking an English translation of a nineteenth-century drame romantique by Alfred de Vigny, which has resulted in lots of sifting through translation theory and methods.

Walter Benjamin, the great German critic, philosopher, and translator, has written extensively on the motivations and moves of a translation and the (often mind-numbingly humbling) “Task of the Translator,” which serves as the title for Benjamin’s 1923 introduction to his translation of Charles Baudelaire. It becomes a bit difficult to reconcile my feelings of paralyzing inadequacy when I realize that, essentially, I am attempting to give (an English) voice to a man who existed at another time, in another land… and who did, indeed, speak English. In fact, he translated works from English into French — works of Shakespeare, no less! So… who the h*ll am I??? (I just had the urge to shout, “Who am I? I’m Jean ValJean!” but I refrained). Unfortunately, Benjamin doesn’t exactly provide an answer. But he does provide some illuminations on the purpose and power of translation, which nicely enlighten on one hand:

. . . a translation comes later than the original, and since the important works of world literature never find their chosen translators at the time of their origin, their translation marks their stage of continued life.

and further terrify me on the other:

A real translation is transparent; it does not cover the original, does not block its light, but allows the pure language, as though reinforced by its own medium, to shine upon the original all the more fully.

Ugh. Pure language. “Pure” language? I fear I do not have the holy grail to language purity. (Does anyone?) Way to kick me while I’m down, Benji.

(Benjamin image from HERE; Initial “F” from dailydropcap.com)

My pathetic reality.

The truly pathetic part is that my graduate stipend doesn’t even meet the average amount listed below.

From the always entertaining/depressing PhDcomics.com.

Top 5 reasons why the semester needed to be over (and now, thankfully, is)

ast night marked the official end of the semester: final papers graded, catatonic state (barely) avoided, semester grades submitted, congratulatory bag of Reese’s Pieces consumed, alarm clock deactivated… I could have even slept in ⎯that is, if the Insomnia Plane didn’t have the annoying habit of touching down just as I was adapting to the rhythmic rumbles. But still. The point is that I could have slept in.

Yes, the semester’s end marks a very positive move for me.

1. Turns out that one of my students is a raging misogynist. Or at least likes to pretend he is when composing a graded, argumentative essay in response to Susan Sontag’s text, “Woman’s Beauty.” Fortunately, I did not discover this interesting/disturbing tidbit until the day after our last class meeting. I’m guessing I would have found it rather difficult to listen to his in-class commentary without seeing the phrase “abuse of feminine power” constantly flashing like a running film in front of my eyes. It’s a good thing the semester’s over.

2. A few weeks ago, I had to report two of my students to the Dean for plagiarism. One student immediately confessed to having copied/pasted an entire paragraph from an online book review. Best case of a bad-case scenario for a non-confrontational coward such as myself. The second student, however, insisted, for over an hour, that he had done nothing wrong. Let’s call him Jimmy. Jimmy is a Chinese ESL student and a first-year student at the university. Now, according to Jimmy, apparently, in China, the internet poses as a virtual free-for-all, where “borrowing” someone else’s words (or whole sentences, or whole paragraphs) amounts to the distribution of a veritable MVP Award: you reward the ingenious word-play of the creator by (sloppily) integrating word-for-word examples into your own essay! What an honor! Oh, and the kicker is that, the actual creator? you know, the one you’re paying homage to by stealing borrowing his/her stuff? Yeah, s/he remains completely anonymous and receives no credit whatsoever! Because, let’s face it: that would be embarrassing, all that complimentary behavior and free publicity… it can just get to be way too much. Yes, it’s much easier to let Jimmy pass your words off as his own. Oh, and by the way, it’s not thievery, silly! Because, see, Jimmy shares the ideas of the actual wordsmith. So he’s not stealing the ideas. Not at all. He’s sharing them. And rewarding the person who came up with the best method of relaying those ideas. Altruism at its finest, really. Jimmy’s such a do-gooder. Yes, it’s a d@mn good thing the semester’s over. 

(*Just for the record, I do not for one second believe that China’s rigorously controlled internet actually functions in this manner. I do, however, believe that my student is highly misled. But I did get through to him. Two hours and several — well cited – examples later.)

3. One day, mid-semester, one of my very gracious students raised his hand and gladly offered me the following commentary regarding a poem I had assigned: “I think it’s completely pointless.” A touching moment for any educator. In his defense, though, the poem was heavily layered… and written by Arthur Rimbaud, who’s sort of (in)famously obscure… but still. The many layers proves that there are many points. Not a lack of points. Surely not point-less. So… so there! Ugh. Thankfully, he won’t have to read Rimbaud anymore. The semester’s over.

4. I share an office with about 10 other graduate students, but I’m fortunate (and sufficiently “senior”) to maintain a desk that’s sort of tucked away behind a partition, adjacent to the desk of another graduate student. Let’s call her Betsy. Betsy and I rarely pop up in the office at the same time. This is a good thing. This is a very good thing, because when Betsy does pop up in the office, she emits a quick, barely-there “hello,” which becomes upstaged by the emergence of red smoke, devil horns, a pitchfork, and a smug-@ss mouth from which a ferocious litany of questions spews in my very specific direction. What Betsy lets loose is the equivalent of a verbal ambush of the doctoral variety: the intent is to severely batter and permanently scar my ego. And preferably my intelligence as well, which then manifests itself via a split-infinitive, like the one above. F*ck. Anyway, the verbal ambush generally goes a little something like this:

BETSY, SEEMINGLY POPPING OUT OF NOWHERE (“nowhere” being the eternal flames of Hell fire): Well, hell⎯How is your work? You’re defending soon, right? (cue sick, twisted devil smile) You have finished your dissertation, no? NO?! Well, how far are you? When will you be done? You’ve been here a long time… What do your advisors say? Are you in touch with them? Are they helping you? Are you working on your dissertation this summer? Do you have funding? When do you plan on graduating? …

ME (taking advantage of Betsy pausing to stick her pitchfork further up her @ss): I don’t know, Betsy, but how nice of you to be so concerned. OH, NO! Wow, would you look at the time… I’m supposed to be somewhere…

ONE OF MY STUDENTS (with an impeccably ill-timed entrance): Hi, Professor, I’m here for my scheduled meeting with you.

ME (to myself): F*****************************CK…!

BETSY PROCEEDS TO BLOW RED SMOKE FROM HER FLARING NOSTRILS WHILE GIGGLING DIABOLICALLY AND STABBING ME IN THE CEREBELLUM WITH HER PITCHFORK BEFORE DISAPPEARING.

So, yeah. Jury’s out on whether or not I will retain my desk/office for the next academic year. It’s quite possible that my department will eject me since I am now teaching for a different department. I may become office-less. Very sad. Anyone have any leftover cardboard boxes I could use…? Oh well. At least I don’t have to think about that right now. The semester’s over.

5. In case Betsy or anyone else cares: I *am* working on my dissertation this summer. FULL-TIME, in fact. I figured I might as well take advantage of the Federal Student Loan program while I still can and, at the same time, FINALLY finish this thing that’s been almost a decade in the making. I deserve it. Right? Right. So, not to steal the thunder of Miss Cleo or Latoya Jackson or anything, but… I have a distinct feeling that the pogs of my not-so-distant future will include frequent (or at least semi-frequent) references to my life as a full-time dissertator. Which will probably involve a crushing need to vent frustrations, to seek humor in the not-so-humorousness (?) of the situation, to run ideas by anyone who cares to read, etc. etc.. Oh yeah, and I’ll probably just rip on myself a lot, too. But it’ll be good. I’ll be productive. I NEED TO BE PRODUCTIVE. I NEED TO WRITE MY DISSERTATION AND FINISH THIS D@MN DEGREE.

Thank goodness the semester’s over. Thank goodness it’s (academic) summer.

 

This list was prompted by the lovely Anna of abdpbt and her series of Listless Mondays. Check out her lists HERE.

(*Initial L found HERE)

Writer’s Block.

 

oday, I opened the mailbox and a little postcard came fluttering out. I bent over to pick it up and caught sight of the large bold letters creepily staring back at me:

STRUGGLING TO COMPLETE YOUR DISSERTATION?

My Pavlovian response to this question was, of course, to scream out “DUH!” and then immediately turn around to see if anyone caught me talking to a postcard/myself. Coast was clear. I proceeded inside my apartment, stripped myself of wool coat, overly stuffed teacher bag, and scuffed Danskos, and then I plopped on my couch and read the fine print of the creepy postcard that somehow predicted my internal disserterror:

Need practical, concrete & specific tips and techniques, along with creative, outside-the-box solutions that will help you finish your dissertation and maintain your sanity and self-esteem in graduate school?

The heavy use of coordinating conjunctions and odd choice of a random ampersand notwithstanding (why a bajillion “and”s but only one ampersand?! WTF?), I still felt as though Big Academic Brother had been peeking through my windows and decided that now was the perfect time to mock me via the US postal service.

So I immediately closed my drapes.

And then I turned the postcard over. And that’s when I discovered that there is apparently something called a “Dissertation Toolkit” that has been available to me this whole time, without my knowledge, thanks to the altruistic and not-at-all-capitalistic motives of Gina Hiatt, PhD. On the back of the postcard, Doc Gina lays out 10 bullet points that describe the “tools” she will generously make available to struggling dissertators (after having proceeded through website-led goose chase). Two “tools” with which I take issue, and which I reproduce verbatim here:

* How Academia Messes with your Mind (and what to do about it)

* Self Assessment: “Do You Deserve a Ph.D.?” Find out if you have Ph.D. Impostor Syndrome!

Gina Hiatt, Ph.D. (Clinical psychologist and gatekeeper of the tools)

OK, first of all, tool #1. If I have reached dissertator status, clearly I am already planted rather deeply in the academic soil. Therefore, I probably have already been “messed with” rather extensively, and I’ve probably played several rounds of trial-and-error with potentially (in)effective actions and reactions (or, more probably, I’ve chosen avoidance as my non-solution of choice). That being said, if I haven’t already been academically jaded, and if I did happen upon your questionable little “toolkit” only to find that I have been even more of a naïve moron than I had previously thought, well… I’d probably want to launch my Oxford French Unabridged (very blunt object) dictionary at my adviser’s very disheveled, Balzac-obsessed head. (notice I said that I’d “want to launch” the dictionary, not that I would launch the dictionary. I am as non-violent and non-confrontational as they come. See above comment re: avoidance.) Why would I want to read all about how my chosen career path is “messing with” me before I’ve even been legitimately accepted into that career path?! If I’m being messed with, I know it. So shut up, Doctor Gina.

Oh, and while you’re at it, you might want to expand your “toolkit” to contain a guide that explains proper capitalization for document titles. Seriously.

Next, tool #2: the “Ph.D. Impostor Syndrome”?!? Do I “deserve” my Ph.D.?!? My initial, very academic, doctoral response to this “tool” is an intensely guttural F*CK YOU. (what were you saying about people messing with me?) But, beyond the expletive, I guess I’d just like to state that, seriously, if ANYONE proves masochistic enough to put themselves through years and years of self-doubt, constant scrutiny and judgment from those who will decide your fate at the eventual defense, fatally dwindling self-confidence, loss of nights and weekends that do not involve reading/grading/writing/planning, living off of pizza and caffeine, massive guilt complex if we choose to read any non-dissertation-related material (“pleasure” reading? what’s that?), draining of all self-worth and self-esteem and self-assurance and SELF, development of multiple personalities that alternate between student/teacher/child/adult/inadequate/in control/powerless/powerful, etc.etc…. TRUST ME: THAT PERSON DESERVES IT. And if ANYONE, let alone some pseudo-doctor equipped with a so-called dissertation tool belt, tries to tell a dissertator that s/he doesn’t deserve the Ph.D. for which s/he has sacrificed all of the above? Well, once again: F*CK YOU.

And, newsflash: we ALL feel like impostors. We’ve felt like impostors and like we’ve been “playing school” from day one. A much more appropriate “tool” would be one that explains why we ARE deserving and why we are NOT frauds. Where’s THAT tool, huh?

Which brings me back to: F*CK YOU.

P.S.) Curiosity got the better of me and led me to Doc Gina’s website: www.TheDissertationToolkit.com. My first attempt, I got an error. Which then led me to believe my computer got a virus. And then I got scared. But then I tried again (see above re: masochism), and it connected. There are several PDFs (free access, go figure). I will spend time checking out the “Ph.D. Impostor” PDF and let you know what I find. I looked at it briefly, and it appears as though there is some type of suspiciously crafted Impostor Test. If I fail, sh*t will hit the proverbial fan. In any case, Doc Gina has also created the Academic Ladder Writing Club to foster a community among dissertators and relay methods to motivate and enhance dissertation writing. Does her altruism know no bounds? The Writing Club and all of Doc Gina’s dissertating tools are available to all… for either $70, $230, or $610, depending on your commitment. And if you’re deserving.

P.S.S.) If, by some chance, one of you readers has joined the Academic Ladder Writing Club, I would LOVE to hear your insights and how it’s helping you.  Please comment or e-mail me!

In which I kind of ramble and blame it on insomnia

ave any of you seen Revolutionary Road yet? I saw it last night and, I must say, it was absolutely everything I had anticipated it would be –the rather excruciating level of sadness that was evoked (which I sickly thrive on), but particularly the brilliance of Kate Winslet, who can pretty much do no wrong in my eyes. Watching this film, watching her character’s downward spiral (don’t worry, I’m not giving anything away), I couldn’t help but see Sylvia Plath… over and over… and over. Which then made me think of the 2003 movie Sylvia, which was disappointingly painful, primarily due to Gwyneth’s flimsy portrayal of Plath. I kept wanting to knock her off her bicycle, and was pretty sure I could, right through the screen. It infuriated me. Why couldn’t Kate Winslet have played Sylvia? Probably because the script was less than stellar, too. But still… Kate would have been a brilliant Sylvia.

Anyway… 

Michael Shannon rules.

Revolutionary Road was certainly not without its faults, but I could easily overlook those flaws when considering the insanely beautiful acting (two words: Michael freakin’ Shannon. I’m a believer.) and the unique emphasis on the links between communication, emotion, and the limits of sanity. I still have some issues with Leonardo Dicaprio, though. I’m not even sure I can articulate what those issues are, because I do generally think he does really great work and has chosen impressively interesting and complex roles. But… I don’t know… sometimes he still just makes me cringe. And he finally is starting to look his age, which was reassuring (I was worried Kate would outperform him — she’s a presence to be reckoned with, and sometimes Leo’s baby face proves a bit difficult to be taken seriously.). Close up, Leo looked every wrinkle of his thirty odd years. But still, from a distance, he maintained the posture, build, and swagger of a tween, and I couldn’t help but constantly see the foul-mouthed, boy genius Rimbaud.

So, the film set my mind reeling. In both positive and negative ways. The film was not the only reason for my insomnia last night, but it didn’t ease the pain. Especially the fact that Vinnie from my much beloved Doogie Howser, M.D., played a colleague of Leo’s, which only resuscitated my love for all things Doogie and my old-school yearning to be the keyboard that his fingers so intimately graced on a nightly basis. 

OK, I’m totally exaggerating my Doogie fascination, but for real, how am I supposed to take Leo seriously when Vinnie Delpino’s boozing it up at the other side of the table? I half expected Wanda to come strutting up as a slutty waitress or something.

Anyway, I was up all night. Literally, not a wink of sleep. So, to pass my time, I decided to filter through job listings for potential full-time teaching positions next year (next academic year, that is, starting August or September 2009. In case you don’t know, when you’re an academic, you define time by semesters and breaks and academic years. December 31st may technically be New Year’s Eve, but for us academics, the new year generally begins in September and ends in May.). 

So, those of you who have been reading me for a while know that this year has marked my first time teaching a (primarily freshmen first-year-student) Writing Seminar at my university (I’d spent the last seven years teaching various levels of undergraduate French language/composition/literature). It’s been an adjustment, to say the least… but a lovely, inspiring adjustment that has proven challenging in the best of ways. I’ve really loved it. So, I applied for a renewal of my Writing Fellowship (what’s allowing/paying me to teach the seminar) for next year since my French Teaching Fellowship expired as of last May. Why did it expire as of last May, you ask? Oh, because I’m having a bit of a rough time completing my dissertation, have I not mentioned that? Yeah. You could say I’m a little behind. But, as long as I can find funding, I’m OK (and by “OK,” I mean “receiving some type of income to support me while I struggle through the Big D”). And, from the outset, the Writing Program People (you down with WPP? - yeah, you know me!) made it sound kind of like a no-brainer: as long as you weren’t a total delinquent instructor with evaluations that related you to Bernie Madoff or something, all indicators pointed to a pretty seamless transition from first-year Graduate Writing Fellow to second-year Graduate Writing Fellow.

It seemed like a no-brainer, that is, until the WP Director sent all applicants an e-mail stating that the “selection process” would take longer than expected due to a variety of criteria that the selection committee was considering. Umm… sh*t? So now I’m scared cr@pless that I’ll have zero income secured for next year and I’m going to have to sell everything I own — which, granted, isn’t that much, but still, it’s MINE — and go live on the streets or on the beach or in the basement of the Harvard Library or something (notice I didn’t say “live with a family member — that’s just too scary). So… that’s why I started applying for jobs in my insomniac state last night/this morning. I applied to four, all of which were full-time faculty positions (mostly non-tenure track, which is OK by me) for English Writing/Literature instructors. This is interesting to me for a variety of reasons… not the least of which is: umm, I’m getting my Ph.D. in French Literature. But… I’ve always done the comparative thing… and this year has taught me that teaching French in English translation can be very satisfying as well (except poetry… too much lost in translation for the majority of verse I’ve come across). So… anyway. 

A pair of insanely cute Robeez baby booties

The disastrous state of my financial affairs (no thanks to my stupid-head health insurance company mentioned in my previous pog) sort of begs me to say “screw you 2009/2010 Writing Fellowship,” and then miraculously receive some fabulous income doing some fabulous teaching of some fabulous subject with fabulous colleagues at a fabulous university (preferably on the sea or in the mountains, but I’m not picky), and life would be fabulous and I could finally get a doggy and pay off bills and actually be able to afford to get car washes and buy meat and buy my new baby niece and nephew Robeez and stuff. Wouldn’t that be fun?

It would be fun. But only if someone actually thinks that one year of experience teaching Writing/Reading/Composition/Literature in English qualifies me for a faculty position. But I can teach French, too! I’m a double threat, people! COME ON, SMALL LIBERAL ARTS COLLEGES!!!!! WORK WITH ME HERE!!!!!!!!!!

Ugh.

Anyway. Wish me luck that I have some type of income next year, please.

Though I suppose living on a beach somewhere couldn’t be all bad. I mean, hey, if you’re gonna be an impoverished, homeless, pseudo-intellectual, at least be a tan impoverished, homeless, pseudo-intellectual, right?

(***Academia-related images borrowed from the always entertaining PhDcomics.com***)

Grad student life isn’t so bad sometimes (like now)

I WIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!