first efforts

Methods by any other name

Some months ago (in a sabbatical far, far away) I wrote here about the question of whether grad students in rhetoric need a "methods" section in their dissertations. The full argument is here, along with alternative but convincing points of view in the comments. Fast-forward to this semester, and I'm now teaching a grad seminar called Advanced Critical and Historical Methods. There's that word again...

We had our first class meeting yesterday. While doing all the introductiony, what-this-course-is-about stuff I heard myself say, "This is a methods course where I don't want to talk about methods." I hope the students saw that I was being a bit hyperbolic, but I also meant what I said. I'm trying something of an experiment this semester and focusing more on strategies for working with different kinds of critical objects: single texts or artifacts; groups of texts or artifacts; controversies; etc. After some initial readings in the history of debates about criticism and some preliminary work on description, contextual analysis, and historical research (including some concrete talk about archives), this focus on critical objects will constitute the meat of the semester. I think the focus on critical objects will be really useful for students, particularly in helping them identify good models for their own projects. Privileging critical objects may come with particular drawbacks, though. I admit that right now I don't have a sense of what those might be (I have thoroughly persuaded myself regarding the merits of this approach), but I'm sure I'll uncover them as we move through semester.

I have other colleagues who are thinking about similar approaches; Jim Jasinski's thoughts, both in print and in our many conversations about teaching criticism, have been particularly helpful as I sorted out my plans for this syllabus. I'd love to hear more about what others are doing on the criticism front.

In the meantime, stay tuned for occasional updates on how things are going. And any students who may be reading this? Don't worry. I won't name names here. What happens in seminar stays in seminar.

Holy cow!

Even when you know, theoretically, that the tree guy *might* have time to come and take your dead tree this week, it's still a little odd to come home after a ten-hour day at the office and discover this going on in your driveway:

Cuz he did say he would call first...

Summer's end

Things strangers ask you when you work with your door open on a Friday afternoon in Lincoln Hall

Where is the James Scholars' meeting?

Is this Gregory Hall?

Do you have a Band-Aid?

Pay yourself first

I'll admit it, I have been rather AWOL from this blog recently. Partly because of start-of-the-semester stuff, including upwards of 24 hours of orientation activities over the past week. But I have also been trying to pay myself first, like my mother taught me. She meant money, of course; the idea that you should save at least a little something each month before you pay the rest of your bills. But I'm talking about writing. In the midst of everything else going on in this first busy week of the semester, I have made a concerted effort to privilege writing time. For me this means carving out time in the mornings even when there are piles of things on deck at the office and dozens of administrative e-mails to answer. So far, so good. I am making slow but steady progress on the book chapter I have been working on.

My grad seminar on critical and historical methods meets for the first time next week. One of the readings for the first day of class is a short essay by Joan Bolker called "Getting Started Writing." Bolker echoes the "pay yourself first" principle when she recounts a key piece of advice she received from a beloved writing teacher: "Write first." Bolker explains, "By this she meant, make writing the highest priority in your life. But she also meant those words literally; that is, write before you do anything else in your day."

And then there's this bit of advice from my hero Brenda Ueland, who says it best of all:

We have come to think that duty should come first. Duty should be a byproduct. WRITING, the creative effort, should come first -- at least for some part of every day of your life. It is a wonderful blessing if you will use it. You will become happier, more enlightened, alive, impassioned, light-hearted and generous to everybody else. Even your health will improve.

Discovery

This cryptic little message is scrawled in chalk on the inside of a window shade in 388 Lincoln Hall. In the midst of disorientation activities these past several days I have enjoyed pondering it.

Disorientation

It's orientation week around these parts, or what I like to refer to as "disorientation" week. And I don't just mean the new people. We're all disoriented -- wandering around campus, bumping into things, fumbling with new course prep and syllabi. We are also hot and sweaty and just a little bit stupid. Or maybe that's just me.

My substantive contribution to disorientation week is to spearhead the 3-day extravaganza known as "SPCM 111-112 orientation." As course director I oversee a staff of fabulous folks who help me train new teaching assistants to teach this hybrid composition/public speaking course for first-year students. We run them through their paces with workshops on managing a class, working with students on writing, working with students on speaking, handling the challenges of the first-year student population, and grading and evaluation. By the end of it we are all so exhausted we can't see straight. But somehow, through sheer fortitude I think, these new teachers always show up, dive into their classrooms, and do amazing things. In spite of all the disorientation.

Clouds, 7:30 a.m.

The first efforts index, Saturday edition

Number of cubic feet of mulch it took to cover my front yard landscaping: 24

Number of blue foods I bought at the farmer's market: 2

Number of blue foods I bought at the farmer's market that will turn green when cooked: 1

Number of people in line ahead of me at the bakery who could have bought the last blueberry scone out from under me: 4

Number of people who did: 0

Yours truly, yesindeedleedoodlee!

Upload a photo of yourself and you, too, can be Simpson-ized.