Somehow, I have made it through another month.
Somehow, I have seen how things are changing.
Somehow, I have held things up even as I have seen
How provisional, how precarious, my current life is.
Somehow, I will make things work.
Somehow, I will find stability.
Somehow, I will press on even as I toil
To find work to do and seem to search in vain.
Somehow, I am going to write more.
Somehow, I am going to teach better.
Somehow, I am going to do all of the things
That need doing, and doing by me.
Somehow, I am going to keep up hope.
I have to; no other choice can be accepted.
My life is not my own and has not been for some time.
Those invested in it deserve a return.
Friday, February 28, 2014
Thursday, February 27, 2014
20140227.0952
I can happily report that the baby is doing well. She eats much, which is a helpful sign (and more for me than for her mother, which may or may not be), and she gives evidence of digesting things well, which is good, if less pleasant to handle. Her lungs, for which we had been concerned because of her early arrival, appear to be in fine form, and her color is much better--she had been fairly jaundiced, and now she is not. At root, then, her mother and I are happy that things are going as well with the baby as they are; may they continue to do so!
Writing the short report above puts me in mind of pronouns. (I teach English and deal with 1,500 years of the language at a crack as part of my research. Such things are often on my mind, and appropriately.) Those who have been reading will note that references to our daughter before the online announcement of her name are carefully gender-neutral; I have considered the issue of over-sharing about my child, and as part of my worry, I had made a point of restricting certain pieces of knowledge, including the child's physical gender. (I never went so far as Kathy Witterick and David Stocker, however.)
The task was made more difficult by one of the limitations of modern English: the lack of an animate third-person singular pronoun. The same phenomenon that drives the use of "they" and "their" and which I and many of my colleagues feel obliged to penalize in academic writing does make for a challenge in referring to persons whose gender is either unimportant (which, really, is true in all circumstances other than finding a sexual partner) or indeterminable. I have not participated extensively in the arguments about what to deploy instead of the commonly-understood-as-sexist-anymore "neutral" masculine* or the awkward-and-still-potentially-sexist he/she, she/he, or s/he constructions.** (This leaves aside the issue of how many genders there are, which is not nearly so clear as might be assumed.) I am aware of several ideas, and each has merit--but each has flaw, as well.
Not least of these is the mismatch between what might be called a more nuanced ethics and social expectations. Certainly, the demands of surrounding people should not be used as the sole (or perhaps even primary--ad populum, remember) determiner of "right" thinking or behavior, but identity is, to a significant extent, socially constructed; we know who we are (insofar as we know who we are) in no small part because other people tell us, tacitly and explicitly. My family and I must live in the world until we are called out of it, and that means that we will have to adjust our actions to the needs of others in certain ways--including what words we use. There is relatively little argument about the restriction of other words in certain contexts--we contest not much the censure (not censorship) of obscenity or of epithet. There is similarly relatively little complaint about the imposition of certain terms in certain other contexts--that fields use their jargons is expected, and deviation from them produces problems. That we then conform to prevailing standards of pronoun usage for ourselves and our daughter, then, should occasion no comment. But neither should we be bound to it as it seems we currently are and likely will continue to be.
*This is dumb, of course, since the biological default is feminine, as I tell my students. Else, gentlemen, why have you nipples and an X chromosome?
**Potentially sexist because they still privilege one gender; one still comes first.
Writing the short report above puts me in mind of pronouns. (I teach English and deal with 1,500 years of the language at a crack as part of my research. Such things are often on my mind, and appropriately.) Those who have been reading will note that references to our daughter before the online announcement of her name are carefully gender-neutral; I have considered the issue of over-sharing about my child, and as part of my worry, I had made a point of restricting certain pieces of knowledge, including the child's physical gender. (I never went so far as Kathy Witterick and David Stocker, however.)
The task was made more difficult by one of the limitations of modern English: the lack of an animate third-person singular pronoun. The same phenomenon that drives the use of "they" and "their" and which I and many of my colleagues feel obliged to penalize in academic writing does make for a challenge in referring to persons whose gender is either unimportant (which, really, is true in all circumstances other than finding a sexual partner) or indeterminable. I have not participated extensively in the arguments about what to deploy instead of the commonly-understood-as-sexist-anymore "neutral" masculine* or the awkward-and-still-potentially-sexist he/she, she/he, or s/he constructions.** (This leaves aside the issue of how many genders there are, which is not nearly so clear as might be assumed.) I am aware of several ideas, and each has merit--but each has flaw, as well.
Not least of these is the mismatch between what might be called a more nuanced ethics and social expectations. Certainly, the demands of surrounding people should not be used as the sole (or perhaps even primary--ad populum, remember) determiner of "right" thinking or behavior, but identity is, to a significant extent, socially constructed; we know who we are (insofar as we know who we are) in no small part because other people tell us, tacitly and explicitly. My family and I must live in the world until we are called out of it, and that means that we will have to adjust our actions to the needs of others in certain ways--including what words we use. There is relatively little argument about the restriction of other words in certain contexts--we contest not much the censure (not censorship) of obscenity or of epithet. There is similarly relatively little complaint about the imposition of certain terms in certain other contexts--that fields use their jargons is expected, and deviation from them produces problems. That we then conform to prevailing standards of pronoun usage for ourselves and our daughter, then, should occasion no comment. But neither should we be bound to it as it seems we currently are and likely will continue to be.
*This is dumb, of course, since the biological default is feminine, as I tell my students. Else, gentlemen, why have you nipples and an X chromosome?
**Potentially sexist because they still privilege one gender; one still comes first.
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
20140226.0705
The South Central Writing Center Association conference is coming up, and I might breeze by it; my current institution is hosting it, and I have fond memories of the conference. It was, in fact, my first; in 2006, I presented two papers in collaboration with colleagues. One of the presentations allowed me to play with Duplo blocks (something I will doubtlessly be doing again in the next few years). Somewhere, I may still have the t-shirt from the other presentation--somewhere. And the outside activities that happened on that long-ago trip to Little Rock...I am glad to have done them, but I am equally glad not to have had photos. (Lord, I hope there are no pictures!)
Knowing that the conference is coming reminds me to think about my work as a writer and as a teacher of writing. (It does not take much prompting, admittedly.) It reminds me that the process of putting ideas into words and putting those words where others can see them and get some of the idea is not a solitary process--not if done well. It is inherently collaborative. The ideas themselves come from the interaction of the writer (insofar as the writer can be said to have an authentic "self" from which to write and act--a different discussion altogether) and world, and reading is necessarily an interaction between writer and reader through the medium of the written word. And it is usually more explicitly collaborative. Writers are well served to have editors and reviewers pore over what they put onto the page, engaging with their comments and returning to the text to improve upon it (with "improve upon" meaning "make correspond more closely with the initial idea"). Sometimes, the initial writing is itself collaborative, with writers working together to make the writing happen.
Too often, I operate as what I think is an independent agent when I write. I encourage my students to do the same--"Do your own work" or "This is not a collaborative exercise." And it is the case that the individual writer must contribute much to the writing. To belong with a group necessitates conformity to the prevailing group standards, and a group of writers must necessarily demand writing from each of its members therefore. Given the level of writing I usually teach, I am only mildly conflicted about demanding "solitary" work from my students (with "solitary" in scare quotes because I demand peer review of them and encourage them to attend the local writing center--those who do the latter tend to perform much better). They are still in development, still learning how to contribute their appropriate part to greater writing tasks.
Yet I must at the same time wonder if I am doing them a disservice in confining them, if the curriculum I am obliged to follow is stripping something from them in the mandate that their work be the kind of work that it is (at the one level; other writing classes I have taught oblige group work). My own experience as a writing student discouraged working with others; now, when I must, I do so only with difficulty. I do not know if I am doing the same thing to those under my tutelage.
Knowing that the conference is coming reminds me to think about my work as a writer and as a teacher of writing. (It does not take much prompting, admittedly.) It reminds me that the process of putting ideas into words and putting those words where others can see them and get some of the idea is not a solitary process--not if done well. It is inherently collaborative. The ideas themselves come from the interaction of the writer (insofar as the writer can be said to have an authentic "self" from which to write and act--a different discussion altogether) and world, and reading is necessarily an interaction between writer and reader through the medium of the written word. And it is usually more explicitly collaborative. Writers are well served to have editors and reviewers pore over what they put onto the page, engaging with their comments and returning to the text to improve upon it (with "improve upon" meaning "make correspond more closely with the initial idea"). Sometimes, the initial writing is itself collaborative, with writers working together to make the writing happen.
Too often, I operate as what I think is an independent agent when I write. I encourage my students to do the same--"Do your own work" or "This is not a collaborative exercise." And it is the case that the individual writer must contribute much to the writing. To belong with a group necessitates conformity to the prevailing group standards, and a group of writers must necessarily demand writing from each of its members therefore. Given the level of writing I usually teach, I am only mildly conflicted about demanding "solitary" work from my students (with "solitary" in scare quotes because I demand peer review of them and encourage them to attend the local writing center--those who do the latter tend to perform much better). They are still in development, still learning how to contribute their appropriate part to greater writing tasks.
Yet I must at the same time wonder if I am doing them a disservice in confining them, if the curriculum I am obliged to follow is stripping something from them in the mandate that their work be the kind of work that it is (at the one level; other writing classes I have taught oblige group work). My own experience as a writing student discouraged working with others; now, when I must, I do so only with difficulty. I do not know if I am doing the same thing to those under my tutelage.
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
20140225.1137
It is admittedly later in the day than I am accustomed to writing the little pieces I post in this webspace. The obvious reason for the delay is the correct one; my people are more important than my offhanded work.
To the discussion: While I was talking with my wife this morning, she made the (somewhat cliché) comment that "the squeaky wheel gets the oil." Because I disapprove of clichés generally and think about them often, both in my capacity as a teacher of students and in my capacity as a scholar of language, I decided to follow up on the idea the aphorism encapsulates, that the loudest complaint receives redress fastest.
One response that came to mind as I was talking with my wife was the (equally cliché, for which I apologize) note that "the nail that sticks out gets pounded first." That is to say, of course, that the prominent is singled out for reprisal. Another, similar response is that the squeaking wheel gets replaced rather than oiled, with yet another being that the squeaky wheel may well get the whole unit discarded and replaced. In each, the result of complaint is not so much that the complaint is redressed but that the complainer is removed. The one with a grievance is dismissed; the protestor is arrested and that which is protested remains in place. The problem endures.
It is, admittedly, not a happy line of thought. Yet it is one that is too frequently in accord with observable reality. While it does happen that loud complaints annoy those in power enough that some change is effected, it happens only rarely and only partially. Far more likely is it that those who call attention to problems are perceived as being the problem of causing the problem, and that their identifying what is wrong serves to identify them as being what is wrong, thus in need of excision from the body of whatever group has the problem. That there are such things as the Whistleblower Protection Programs bespeaks the prevalence of the behavior; there would not be a structure in place to prevent a thing if it were not seen as happening, and the structure would not be so large were the thing not itself extensive.
It is perhaps a thing I can bring to my students, the idea that informs this piece. I abjure clichés in student writing, pushing my students to find newer and better ways to put their ideas--and to find better ideas to try to put into words. One of the ways I do so is to point out the inaccuracies in many such phrasings. Another is to point out the likely unintended connotations (and denotations!) of the phrases, such as here. Frequently, the blithe use of clichés and their close companions among the trite, deployed in an attempt to "sound good," ends up making the writing mean something that the writer does not want to have it mean; there is always such a danger (the meanings of words change, among other things), but the inattention that typifies cliché usage increases that danger substantially--and needlessly.
To the discussion: While I was talking with my wife this morning, she made the (somewhat cliché) comment that "the squeaky wheel gets the oil." Because I disapprove of clichés generally and think about them often, both in my capacity as a teacher of students and in my capacity as a scholar of language, I decided to follow up on the idea the aphorism encapsulates, that the loudest complaint receives redress fastest.
One response that came to mind as I was talking with my wife was the (equally cliché, for which I apologize) note that "the nail that sticks out gets pounded first." That is to say, of course, that the prominent is singled out for reprisal. Another, similar response is that the squeaking wheel gets replaced rather than oiled, with yet another being that the squeaky wheel may well get the whole unit discarded and replaced. In each, the result of complaint is not so much that the complaint is redressed but that the complainer is removed. The one with a grievance is dismissed; the protestor is arrested and that which is protested remains in place. The problem endures.
It is, admittedly, not a happy line of thought. Yet it is one that is too frequently in accord with observable reality. While it does happen that loud complaints annoy those in power enough that some change is effected, it happens only rarely and only partially. Far more likely is it that those who call attention to problems are perceived as being the problem of causing the problem, and that their identifying what is wrong serves to identify them as being what is wrong, thus in need of excision from the body of whatever group has the problem. That there are such things as the Whistleblower Protection Programs bespeaks the prevalence of the behavior; there would not be a structure in place to prevent a thing if it were not seen as happening, and the structure would not be so large were the thing not itself extensive.
It is perhaps a thing I can bring to my students, the idea that informs this piece. I abjure clichés in student writing, pushing my students to find newer and better ways to put their ideas--and to find better ideas to try to put into words. One of the ways I do so is to point out the inaccuracies in many such phrasings. Another is to point out the likely unintended connotations (and denotations!) of the phrases, such as here. Frequently, the blithe use of clichés and their close companions among the trite, deployed in an attempt to "sound good," ends up making the writing mean something that the writer does not want to have it mean; there is always such a danger (the meanings of words change, among other things), but the inattention that typifies cliché usage increases that danger substantially--and needlessly.
Monday, February 24, 2014
20140224.0619
Strains of Stevie Wonder have echoed in my head
One of his Songs in the Key of Life
These past few days
I often think on the music of the 1970s
It is the music my mother played and sang
And I still turn to it for comfort
I have not the skills of that blind Motown man
My voice will not raise seraphic
My fingers work on different keyboards entirely
Still, it would be good to sing
Instead of shouting from the rooftops
As I have it to do
It would be good to sing
For the events of recent days have been as worth song
As any bard-craft's matter
Instead, I write
Inking onto the pages such records of events
As I have seen and can scribble down
I do not assume my words will have such force
To stay in the mind as the blind man's songs
But they need writing, regardless
One of his Songs in the Key of Life
These past few days
I often think on the music of the 1970s
It is the music my mother played and sang
And I still turn to it for comfort
I have not the skills of that blind Motown man
My voice will not raise seraphic
My fingers work on different keyboards entirely
Still, it would be good to sing
Instead of shouting from the rooftops
As I have it to do
It would be good to sing
For the events of recent days have been as worth song
As any bard-craft's matter
Instead, I write
Inking onto the pages such records of events
As I have seen and can scribble down
I do not assume my words will have such force
To stay in the mind as the blind man's songs
But they need writing, regardless
Sunday, February 23, 2014
20140223.0722
Now that the girl is home and things can actually begin to take on some semblance of normalcy,* I can actually take a few minutes to sit and write, if not so many as might be hoped. I have wanted to do so over the past few days--I feel something of the Good Doctor's dictum about reasons for writing--but the frenetic pace since Wednesday has prevented me from doing more than a very little. And not only in the sharp limits on the amount of time that I may spend in writing amid feeding and changing the kid have I felt it; my mind has been, appropriately, otherwise occupied. (How much better now do I understand Woolf's discussion of one's own room! I had intellectually engaged with the idea before, but the taste of things I have had in the past few days...the visceral experience matters.)
One thing that the past few days have shown me is just how delicately balanced daily life is, how contingent upon things being just as they are and "ought to be." Being away from things for the few days I was left much undone or done badly because done in extreme haste--and the things normally done by others, such as my wife (not because of any demands I place upon her in my own person, but because she decides that they are what she wants to do for me and for us, as I do such things for her and for us), were in similar state. Realignment from them and returns to smooth operations, adjusted for the presence in the household of another (and it is strange and terrifying to find myself a parent), will take some time.
Even so, it is happening. With the help of a great many people, we are getting adjusted to this new way of living, and I am well aware that we will be doing so for the rest of our lives.
*I know that there are going to be...adjustments made with the newborn at home. But it is far better to have to deal with those adjustments here than to try to do them running between Sherwood Cottage and the hospital. That we need not do so is what I mean by the semblance of normalcy.
One thing that the past few days have shown me is just how delicately balanced daily life is, how contingent upon things being just as they are and "ought to be." Being away from things for the few days I was left much undone or done badly because done in extreme haste--and the things normally done by others, such as my wife (not because of any demands I place upon her in my own person, but because she decides that they are what she wants to do for me and for us, as I do such things for her and for us), were in similar state. Realignment from them and returns to smooth operations, adjusted for the presence in the household of another (and it is strange and terrifying to find myself a parent), will take some time.
Even so, it is happening. With the help of a great many people, we are getting adjusted to this new way of living, and I am well aware that we will be doing so for the rest of our lives.
*I know that there are going to be...adjustments made with the newborn at home. But it is far better to have to deal with those adjustments here than to try to do them running between Sherwood Cottage and the hospital. That we need not do so is what I mean by the semblance of normalcy.
Saturday, February 22, 2014
20140222.1728
There is only one note that needs to be made: my wife and I brought our daughter, Octavia Priscilla Elliott, home from the hospital today. Mother and child are well, which is very much appreciated.
More will follow later; for now, I have much that I must do. Tavvy needs supporting somehow...
More will follow later; for now, I have much that I must do. Tavvy needs supporting somehow...
Friday, February 21, 2014
20140221.0635
First, my thanks go to all those who have wished the expanded family well, as well as to those who have offered their help and who have come (or are coming) to help . Kind thoughts are greatly appreciated, as are kind deeds.
Second, about the new little one: the child was taken off of oxygen support yesterday and has been with my wife in her hospital room since yesterday afternoon. (I am at Sherwood Cottage to be better prepared for work today; I will be sleeping at the hospital tonight.) The baby has eaten and has already given her father a chance to practice diaper-changing a couple of times. (I imagine the novelty will wear off soon.) We look forward to having the kid home this weekend; I am the wrong kind of doctor to know on my own whether or not we can do so, so I will be listening to the physicians about the matter.
My lovely Mrs. is recovering well from her own surgery; as noted, the baby was early, and given events, came into the world by an imperial path, and that takes its toll on the mother. She is looking forward to being home as much as I am looking forward to having her and the kid home.
Given the current upheaval, I will not be as able to write as I might otherwise prefer; I will post again as I can...
Second, about the new little one: the child was taken off of oxygen support yesterday and has been with my wife in her hospital room since yesterday afternoon. (I am at Sherwood Cottage to be better prepared for work today; I will be sleeping at the hospital tonight.) The baby has eaten and has already given her father a chance to practice diaper-changing a couple of times. (I imagine the novelty will wear off soon.) We look forward to having the kid home this weekend; I am the wrong kind of doctor to know on my own whether or not we can do so, so I will be listening to the physicians about the matter.
My lovely Mrs. is recovering well from her own surgery; as noted, the baby was early, and given events, came into the world by an imperial path, and that takes its toll on the mother. She is looking forward to being home as much as I am looking forward to having her and the kid home.
Given the current upheaval, I will not be as able to write as I might otherwise prefer; I will post again as I can...
Thursday, February 20, 2014
20140220.0640
Some will already know. Others will want to know. Thus, briefly:
My wife and I are now proud parents; our child was delivered yesterday. The kid is a bit earlier than expected (due date was 26 March), but baby and we are well.
Now the fun begins.
My wife and I are now proud parents; our child was delivered yesterday. The kid is a bit earlier than expected (due date was 26 March), but baby and we are well.
Now the fun begins.
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
20140219.0604
Given the social onus under which those who teach in the United States operate, particularly those who teach in the "useless" fields of the humanities, the question might well be asked as to why any of us do it. One answer to it, of which I was recently reminded, is that teaching allows us to re-experience the initial rush of engagement with what is being taught; we get to see things anew again, and with each new viewing, more of what we love is revealed to us. Being reminded of that love and being able to deepen it do much to make teaching worthwhile.
My literature class offered me such an experience last week. While I was lecturing on some piece of Middle English literature or other, I did as I often do and stopped to ask for questions. One came quickly, and the class turned to discuss it. (I was glad of it; student learning works better when students drive it.) As it happens, the question centered on a single line of text, one that had escaped my notice as I had read leading up to the lecture. (I am certain I saw it before, but not this time.) I commended the student on catching the note, albeit with a bit of a sheepish aspect to me (the repeated lesson of humility...), and class moved on with all of us having a better understanding of the text being read. That, I certainly appreciate.
Admittedly, it is not a flawless method. For one, new realizations necessarily mean that the old are insufficient--and they can be exposed...interestingly, as I note above. For another, students are not always so willing to go along with things or to run ahead. Sometimes, they are instead stubbornly opposed to opening up to new ideas and understandings, or they have by abusive educational policies at lower levels come to expect that "teaching" follows Friere's banking model, with the instructor depositing knowledge into them so that they may withdraw it at the appropriate time (and the accounts are not interest-bearing). I caution them against the desire to have me take such an info-dump on them, for I know it will be flushed away (and the metaphor of student and toilet that model promotes is not lost on all of them).
That the method has problems is not a reason to discard it, however. I have been told that much the same thing is true of parenting (although I have some weeks left before I get to experience it myself); the new child allows the parents to experience the world anew and to see the development of understanding take place, although at the cost of sleepless nights and splatters of various excrescences. Nor is the child always willing to open up to new ideas and understandings (problems of feeding come to mind, as does my own not-infrequently-belligerent resistance to experiences my parents offered me--for which I expect kharmic retribution in the not-too-distant future). Yet parenting is often viewed as a good and worthy thing; perhaps the issue is one of scale, since I do not place my teaching work on a level with my upcoming parenting work. But maybe it has given me a bit of practice I can use therein.
My literature class offered me such an experience last week. While I was lecturing on some piece of Middle English literature or other, I did as I often do and stopped to ask for questions. One came quickly, and the class turned to discuss it. (I was glad of it; student learning works better when students drive it.) As it happens, the question centered on a single line of text, one that had escaped my notice as I had read leading up to the lecture. (I am certain I saw it before, but not this time.) I commended the student on catching the note, albeit with a bit of a sheepish aspect to me (the repeated lesson of humility...), and class moved on with all of us having a better understanding of the text being read. That, I certainly appreciate.
Admittedly, it is not a flawless method. For one, new realizations necessarily mean that the old are insufficient--and they can be exposed...interestingly, as I note above. For another, students are not always so willing to go along with things or to run ahead. Sometimes, they are instead stubbornly opposed to opening up to new ideas and understandings, or they have by abusive educational policies at lower levels come to expect that "teaching" follows Friere's banking model, with the instructor depositing knowledge into them so that they may withdraw it at the appropriate time (and the accounts are not interest-bearing). I caution them against the desire to have me take such an info-dump on them, for I know it will be flushed away (and the metaphor of student and toilet that model promotes is not lost on all of them).
That the method has problems is not a reason to discard it, however. I have been told that much the same thing is true of parenting (although I have some weeks left before I get to experience it myself); the new child allows the parents to experience the world anew and to see the development of understanding take place, although at the cost of sleepless nights and splatters of various excrescences. Nor is the child always willing to open up to new ideas and understandings (problems of feeding come to mind, as does my own not-infrequently-belligerent resistance to experiences my parents offered me--for which I expect kharmic retribution in the not-too-distant future). Yet parenting is often viewed as a good and worthy thing; perhaps the issue is one of scale, since I do not place my teaching work on a level with my upcoming parenting work. But maybe it has given me a bit of practice I can use therein.
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