I finished revisions on my essay for the edited collection last week, so half of my research/writing-related goals for the summer are accomplished. I feel really proud of this piece not only because it constitutes the first academic writing of mine to be published, but also because I began the project on my own. That is, it's been entirely self-driven rather than being directed by my advisor or other mentors. My interest was peaked, I saw an opening for exploring the subject, I did the research and the writing, and I completed the work before I ever sent it to my advisor for feedback. This, in itself, is an accomplishment for me, because I'm very insecure about my academic work. In fact, I was almost in tears with the editors read my final essay and responded that they thought it was "groundbreaking." Really?! "Groundbreaking." I almost wanted to ask if they were reading the right essay. Honestly, I don't think the essay is groundbreaking. Or, if it is, I certainly can't articulate why or how. But my reaction to their response is what's most telling.
Friends, I'm a Praise-Seeker. There, I said it.
I'm not a Praise-Seeker in the sense that I want everyone to tell me I'm wonderful and a genius and my work is brilliant. No, not that kind. Rather, I'm of the praise-seeking sort that, unless someone says something positive about my work, I will most likely think it's crap. I *need* someone else--preferably someone smarter, older, wiser, and much more senior--to tell me my work is good, worth doing, or contributing something original to the field in order to fell somewhat confident about the work I do. I'm quite certain that this is a horrible fault to have, especially in academia. My advisor explained clearly while I was dissertating that, if one seeks external reward or reinforcement to prove that one's work is worthy, then that person will most often be disappointed. I have tried my best to keep this in mind, primarily by making myself think about the value of my work to the field as I develop it. That is, constantly reminded myself to make it clear in my writing why X topic is worth studying, exploring, etc.
And now I move on to the next project, revising an article for publication in a good journal in my field. I chose not to follow the advice of my advisor, a committee member, and several other colleagues, each of whom recommended that I try for a top-tier journal and then work my way down if it didn't get accepted. Since I was on the job market last year, it was more important that I just get something accepted in a reputable, peer-reviewed journal. And, I did! Is it the Best Journal in the Field? No. Is it respectable, well-known, and credible? Absolutely! And the editor, who I got to meet at this year's ASECS, is very lovely, also well-known, and good friends with my advisor. So, there are connections formed that could turn out to be important in the future.
This second essay has also helped demonstrate to me (especially from the reader reports) that other scholars are interested in my book project. Generally speaking, they think the topic timely, the theoretical framework original, and the research solidly done. This bodes well for revising my dissertation into a book, and it just so happens that the publisher for the edited collection is also the same publisher for which I think my book would be a good "fit." I have a plan for the revisions, which I hope to complete over the next academic year, and I have an editor contact in the publishing company.
All good things on the work front...Now I just have to decide, between now and October, if I want to do a full run at the job market (full run meaning a national job search, as opposed to looking only in the New England area where we'll live). I fear that decision will be difficult to say the least.
Showing posts with label research and writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label research and writing. Show all posts
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Monday, November 15, 2010
The Ball, The Aftermath, and London
So, the day of the Ball came, and I was all prettified with a fabulous updo and the best make-up job ever! Truly, Debi at the MAC store did an amazing job, and it was worth every penny to feel beautiful, if only for the night (well, part of the night anyway). The dress fit like a glove, thanks to my diligence in watching what I ate in the days preceding the event. Hubby and I arrived, had a glass of wine, watched all the pomp and circumstance of the cake presentation, etc., and then settled in for the buffet dinner.
I have to pause here and remark upon how conflicting this was for me. On one hand, they played the Star Spangled Banner, something that is rarely heard where we live now and has taken on somewhat of a new meaning since we’ve been living overseas. On the other hand, I'm against both the war in Iraq and Afghanistan; in fact, I’d call myself a pacifist. I found it hard to balance the recognition of the sacrifice and loyalty of service of the Marines, while firmly believing that so many are still being senselessly injured and killed in what I consider one of the biggest foreign policy fuck-ups in US history. Nonetheless, there I stood, with my heart over my hand, proud of my former-Marine Hubby and those who’ve been willing to serve, no matter the cost.
We sat at a table with two other lovely couples. The first are the parents of one of H’s schoolmates, and the second couple has an Education City connection, so we were able to talk shop a bit. The food wasn’t great, and I started getting chatty very early because apparently that’s what I do when I’m drinking red wine on a deadline. You see, we’d already booked the driver to pick us up at 10:30, so when dinner was over at 8:00 (and I’d barely eaten anything all day), my thought was, “I need to make sure I drink plenty of wine before we have to leave!” Clearly, I’m a moron, who equates obnoxious drunkenness with fun. It was a clear reminder of why I usually *don't* do the drinking thing. Technically, I didn’t drink *that* much….Okay, 5 glasses of wine (I think), in about 2 ½ hours. The real kicker came when a co-worker caught me at the bar and said, “Hey, you have to drink a shot of tequila....we all did it!!” Mind you, I haven’t taken a shot of tequila in YEARS. Needless to say, that put me over the edge, and the drive home wasn’t a pretty one. I must mention, however, that Hubby was a devoted, relentless caretaker, and I love him dearly for taking the bazillion bobby pins out of my hair for me.
Fast-forward to London. Despite a raging hangover, I survived the 7-hour flight and tried to re-hydrate myself. It was a loooonnnng journey from Heathrow to my hotel near the British Library, and I was exhausted and starving by the time I finally made it. I was also utterly displeased to find that my room was on the 3rd floor(!!), which can only be reached by several deathly flights of steep and narrow stairs. I’m entirely convinced I’ll meet my death carrying my luggage down those stairs on Thursday morning.
I had a great dinner at a local fish and chips shop that a friend recommended to me, and then I crashed. Sunday, the Library was closed, so I checked out the Tate Britain and the National Portrait Gallery. I was disappointed in both for different reasons. The TB had the rooms I was most interested in (Historical Britain) closed for some reason. And at the NPG, I was overwhelmingly struck at the sheer lacking of female portraiture in the early modern period. Aside from Charles II being surrounded by only a few of his lovely ladies, so many women’s faces are literally missing, and it’s not because they didn’t have their portraits made. It’s because nobody has thought of them as important enough to hang on the damn walls of the Gallery!! But I digress….
Monday (today) brought work. A bit delayed thanks to my forgotten reader’s pass, but back on track and in the manuscripts reading room for a good portion of the day. Then back to the hotel to work on the writing, which is currently not. moving. forward. easily. I don’t know what the deal was today, but I’m fairly certain it’s because I was working from the bed in my room instead of at a table or desk. So, in the hopes of being more page-productive tomorrow, I’m invading the dining room after breakfast to work. I have to make use of this time because when I get back to Doha, I’ll be swamped with catching up on grading, planning the last weeks of the semester, and preparing for my Thanksgiving dinner party next weekend.
For now, it’s past 10:00, and I can’t sleep…
1. I keep thinking about this essay, and how little progress I made on the actually writing today;
2. I miss my babies at home;
3. I’m lonely;
4. I’m worried about the job market and again feeling like, while I could take another year in Doha (if I HAD to), I can’t take another year in our compound;
5. The hotel is made of paper-thin walls, and I’m stuck next to a family who come in late and wake early (seriously, they are my alarm clock). For the proximity to the British Library, you can’t beat the place. But honestly, it’s my least favorite of the three places I’ve stayed when in London. The others (all comparable in price) were quieter, more amenable to my preferences, and one even had a real closet!
I’m hoping tomorrow is a better day.
I have to pause here and remark upon how conflicting this was for me. On one hand, they played the Star Spangled Banner, something that is rarely heard where we live now and has taken on somewhat of a new meaning since we’ve been living overseas. On the other hand, I'm against both the war in Iraq and Afghanistan; in fact, I’d call myself a pacifist. I found it hard to balance the recognition of the sacrifice and loyalty of service of the Marines, while firmly believing that so many are still being senselessly injured and killed in what I consider one of the biggest foreign policy fuck-ups in US history. Nonetheless, there I stood, with my heart over my hand, proud of my former-Marine Hubby and those who’ve been willing to serve, no matter the cost.
We sat at a table with two other lovely couples. The first are the parents of one of H’s schoolmates, and the second couple has an Education City connection, so we were able to talk shop a bit. The food wasn’t great, and I started getting chatty very early because apparently that’s what I do when I’m drinking red wine on a deadline. You see, we’d already booked the driver to pick us up at 10:30, so when dinner was over at 8:00 (and I’d barely eaten anything all day), my thought was, “I need to make sure I drink plenty of wine before we have to leave!” Clearly, I’m a moron, who equates obnoxious drunkenness with fun. It was a clear reminder of why I usually *don't* do the drinking thing. Technically, I didn’t drink *that* much….Okay, 5 glasses of wine (I think), in about 2 ½ hours. The real kicker came when a co-worker caught me at the bar and said, “Hey, you have to drink a shot of tequila....we all did it!!” Mind you, I haven’t taken a shot of tequila in YEARS. Needless to say, that put me over the edge, and the drive home wasn’t a pretty one. I must mention, however, that Hubby was a devoted, relentless caretaker, and I love him dearly for taking the bazillion bobby pins out of my hair for me.
Fast-forward to London. Despite a raging hangover, I survived the 7-hour flight and tried to re-hydrate myself. It was a loooonnnng journey from Heathrow to my hotel near the British Library, and I was exhausted and starving by the time I finally made it. I was also utterly displeased to find that my room was on the 3rd floor(!!), which can only be reached by several deathly flights of steep and narrow stairs. I’m entirely convinced I’ll meet my death carrying my luggage down those stairs on Thursday morning.
I had a great dinner at a local fish and chips shop that a friend recommended to me, and then I crashed. Sunday, the Library was closed, so I checked out the Tate Britain and the National Portrait Gallery. I was disappointed in both for different reasons. The TB had the rooms I was most interested in (Historical Britain) closed for some reason. And at the NPG, I was overwhelmingly struck at the sheer lacking of female portraiture in the early modern period. Aside from Charles II being surrounded by only a few of his lovely ladies, so many women’s faces are literally missing, and it’s not because they didn’t have their portraits made. It’s because nobody has thought of them as important enough to hang on the damn walls of the Gallery!! But I digress….
Monday (today) brought work. A bit delayed thanks to my forgotten reader’s pass, but back on track and in the manuscripts reading room for a good portion of the day. Then back to the hotel to work on the writing, which is currently not. moving. forward. easily. I don’t know what the deal was today, but I’m fairly certain it’s because I was working from the bed in my room instead of at a table or desk. So, in the hopes of being more page-productive tomorrow, I’m invading the dining room after breakfast to work. I have to make use of this time because when I get back to Doha, I’ll be swamped with catching up on grading, planning the last weeks of the semester, and preparing for my Thanksgiving dinner party next weekend.
For now, it’s past 10:00, and I can’t sleep…
1. I keep thinking about this essay, and how little progress I made on the actually writing today;
2. I miss my babies at home;
3. I’m lonely;
4. I’m worried about the job market and again feeling like, while I could take another year in Doha (if I HAD to), I can’t take another year in our compound;
5. The hotel is made of paper-thin walls, and I’m stuck next to a family who come in late and wake early (seriously, they are my alarm clock). For the proximity to the British Library, you can’t beat the place. But honestly, it’s my least favorite of the three places I’ve stayed when in London. The others (all comparable in price) were quieter, more amenable to my preferences, and one even had a real closet!
I’m hoping tomorrow is a better day.
Friday, July 09, 2010
Academic Self-Loathing
I don't know if this is an "official" diagnosis or not, but that's what I'm calling my mood these days. Once upon a time, before the defense of my dissertation in April, I used to think I was a decent writer, thinker, and student. Now, not so much. I keep thinking that I'm over it [the defense] and that I've shaken the feelings of embarrassment and inadequacy that it left me with, but clearly that's not the case.
My previous impressions about my academic abilities were based on good grades, positive feedback, etc, etc. Of course, once one gets to graduate school, everyone has good grades and positive feedback. Everyone is smart, even though a few rise to the top of the pile and get awards, accolades, etc. As I wrote my dissertation, I received the kind of feedback from my advisor that lent me to think that my writing was good and my ideas were, at least, interesting. I never thought of my project as groundbreaking or spectacular, but I knew (and still know) there's a space for it in my field. There's definitely a niche for my work, and I can only hope and pray that one day I'll get to fill it with a published version of my dissertation.
After the defense, however, I was left feeling pretty much like shit about my writing (BTW: my advisor said nothing that contributed to this feeling). Some of the errors that made it onto the copies my committee members read had already been corrected by the time I defended. There were three weeks in between the time I submitted it to them and the time I defended. I got the impression that it was more important to give them that reading time than it was to keep looking for/correcting typos, grammatical errors, etc., so I turned it over to them while I kept proofreading. And, I faced the consequences of that in my defense. At one point, I just looked down at my watch and prayed that it would be over.
The good news (according to my advisor, who could see that I needed some moral support) was that everyone "bought" the argument. The problems were issues of style, tone, organization, and development. That's a lot of problems folks. So now, I'm doubting everything. I'm trying to move on to a new project, and I'm thinking to myself, "This idea isn't good enough. Surely someone's already said that. This isn't going to go anywhere" and so forth.... Maybe part of it is due to the fact that the new project is really new. That is, I've spent the last 5 years working on English women's comedy between 1670 and 1722, and now I'm working on the memoirs of a woman who was born in Italy, educated in France, and spent a great deal of time in the English court of Charles II. I'm looking at a text that's both memoir and travel narrative and attending to issues related to the material culture of authorship. Yeah, not exactly comfortable territory for me these days...
I feel so completely uncertain about my initial thoughts that I'm even hesitant to pass them along to my advisor. I really don't know what to do here...I'm wondering if some of this is normal, but something tells me that this is *not* something everyone goes through.
My previous impressions about my academic abilities were based on good grades, positive feedback, etc, etc. Of course, once one gets to graduate school, everyone has good grades and positive feedback. Everyone is smart, even though a few rise to the top of the pile and get awards, accolades, etc. As I wrote my dissertation, I received the kind of feedback from my advisor that lent me to think that my writing was good and my ideas were, at least, interesting. I never thought of my project as groundbreaking or spectacular, but I knew (and still know) there's a space for it in my field. There's definitely a niche for my work, and I can only hope and pray that one day I'll get to fill it with a published version of my dissertation.
After the defense, however, I was left feeling pretty much like shit about my writing (BTW: my advisor said nothing that contributed to this feeling). Some of the errors that made it onto the copies my committee members read had already been corrected by the time I defended. There were three weeks in between the time I submitted it to them and the time I defended. I got the impression that it was more important to give them that reading time than it was to keep looking for/correcting typos, grammatical errors, etc., so I turned it over to them while I kept proofreading. And, I faced the consequences of that in my defense. At one point, I just looked down at my watch and prayed that it would be over.
The good news (according to my advisor, who could see that I needed some moral support) was that everyone "bought" the argument. The problems were issues of style, tone, organization, and development. That's a lot of problems folks. So now, I'm doubting everything. I'm trying to move on to a new project, and I'm thinking to myself, "This idea isn't good enough. Surely someone's already said that. This isn't going to go anywhere" and so forth.... Maybe part of it is due to the fact that the new project is really new. That is, I've spent the last 5 years working on English women's comedy between 1670 and 1722, and now I'm working on the memoirs of a woman who was born in Italy, educated in France, and spent a great deal of time in the English court of Charles II. I'm looking at a text that's both memoir and travel narrative and attending to issues related to the material culture of authorship. Yeah, not exactly comfortable territory for me these days...
I feel so completely uncertain about my initial thoughts that I'm even hesitant to pass them along to my advisor. I really don't know what to do here...I'm wondering if some of this is normal, but something tells me that this is *not* something everyone goes through.
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