Recently my co-author and I published a chapter regarding educating the working class in academia. Within that chapter, we discussed the ways the working class respond to authority figures. We (because we both come from a poor working class family — we’re siblings) noticed that we respond in a similar way (although neither of us has responded to Donald Trump in this way — but that goes to Lakoff’s later discussion regarding literal language). In general, the poor working class, and working class in general, respond to authority figures by following the rules. Because people in these demographics have rarely been in positions of authority, they (we) have become “yes” people. This manifests in many ways, but it is similar to what Lakoff is describing as the father figure focus. We believe what those in authority tell us, we follow their lead, and we don’t question that authority.

It is not surprising to me that much of the poor working class and the overall working class follow authoritative politicians or that those demographics shifted this past presidential election. We have been conditioned by our socio-economics to believe this is what is the right path and that to question means we could 1) lose a job; 2) lose any position we’ve gained; 3) lose the respect of those around us. In this case, Trump played on the concept of losing any position we’ve gained. Poor and middle working class whites were instructed to believe that the ways the economy are being run, the ways our borders are patrolled, and the ways education are structured are making us lose the positions we once had as the dominant culture. That can be a scary scenario for people who have struggled all of their lives to find some sort of space in which they don’t feel they are struggling to be economically viable every day. That’s not to say this is right or fair or just, only that there is a conditioning that has occurred through the ways we label, create hierarchy, and develop socially.

The ways language is used can dip into those deep reservoirs of conditioning to remind of us of our place within a socio-economic structure, and to remind us that we must follow the rules or be at some risk — which, in the current political climate could be the mislabeling of “bad” people (feminist, activist, illegal, immigrant, etc.).

Lakoff has some great ways to respond to this type of authoritarian language in the podcast.

If there is one thing I’d recommend above all others, it would be to treat the job search like a job. Don’t do it halfway. I was up every morning at 6:30am searching the job listings to see what had popped up (this includes listservs, the various higher ed job searches, the academic jobs wiki, and the MLA JIL (when I had access to it — but good news! MLA is making it available to everyone now with a non-member sign up!). I had prepared a job packet (cover letter, CV, 3 letters of recommendation, writing sample, sample syllabi, and evals), but I continuously refined all of these to make them specific to the job. I made sure that I was able to apply for the jobs (some jobs require access to different things like Interfolio and Academic Jobs Online). I made a spreadsheet to know what was due when, to whom, if I had received confirmation, and when interviews were scheduled (and what types — phone, video, campus, etc.). I also printed out the job listings so I could keep track offline with dates of entry, username/passwords, etc. for the various submissions. It is a process. Treat it with the same kind of care and respect you give to your other writing processes.

Save money. This is a biggie. As a grad student, you probably don’t have lots of spending money, but what you do have, you should save. First, you will be traveling to campuses — that may or may not reimburse you for that travel. You will have to decide if that job is the right one for you to spend the money on. Some will pay for your travel upfront, while others will reimburse you, while others will just not pay at all. In addition, job applications are not always done online. Some still require paper applications. Print on GOOD paper with laser printers. This will cost a lot of money, but it is worth it (especially for those who do visual research — my printing was often in the $100s because 4-color printing is EXPENSIVE, but looks great when done well).

Those expenses are nothing compared to what it costs to get through graduation (regalia), completion (different fees, printing of the diss, etc.), and moving. Not all schools can pay your moving costs. Some are restricted by state laws, while others don’t have moving allowances built into their budgets. You should plan for the possibility of having to pay for everything. Don’t just figure the moving truck into your moving expenses, but gas, tolls (this about killed me), food along the way, getting help moving, things you may need in the new home, etc.).

And then there is the possibility that your first paycheck from your new job won’t happen until a few weeks into the semester. That means you are paying rent (or mortgage if you’re lucky) before you even get paid. This doesn’t even include all of the new sign-up fees that gas, electric, Internet, etc. will charge you for moving into your new home.

I know I’m harping on expenses, but that’s probably because that is what has been the most stressful for me. I know I picked the right job. I know I’m in the right place. But it is insanely stressful to be so far in debt as I wait for that first paycheck to come. And I think this is especially true for non-traditional students or those who do not have other financial means to help cover costs. Save your money.

Enjoy being a student while you can. You’re almost done. Nurture those relationships and build goodwill with your fellow students. You will all be colleagues for a very long time to come, and it bodes well to be able to visit with them at conferences. I know I’m looking forward to seeing my fellow grad students next year.

Finally, enter into the new job with an expectation that things will not be perfect. My job is nearly perfect for me, but there are a few things that come up. I don’t have a computer at my position yet (this was just a communication snafu). So knowing that I can use mine, and that it’s in fairly new shape, makes me less stressed about not having my set up yet. Be ready for things to not happen as you expected and roll with the punches. It will be better for you, your students, and your colleagues.

I’ve moved to Maryland, from Minnesota, where I had arrived at from Arizona five years ago. I’ve made my way across the country to live, for the first time since I was a toddler, in the eastern time zone. A new beginning. A new home. A new life.

And I’m starting a new job. I’m still teaching technical communication, but at a new school with new demographics and new ways of being. New students. New colleagues. New office.

I’ve decided to treat this new year as a reflective one. I want to experience, understand, and appreciate the changes that are happening in my life. I’ve made a commitment to be reflective on this blog. I will be reflecting on my teaching (but not on the students — their participation in my classes is for the classes, not public consumption), on my service, and on my professional development — except where it pertains to research. I have a separate area in which I am reflecting on my research because I’ve made a pact with others to build a research agenda this year and to keep to it — and one of the parts of that is a blog devoted specifically to research (which will be private until I choose to integrate it with this one some time in the future).

In my first attempt to get back to writing in public, I am reflecting on the day I had today. Classes haven’t started, but new faculty orientation occurred today. The more I’m *here* (really here, present, and engaged) in Frostburg and with the other people from FSU, I realize what a good move this was for me. I’m surrounded by smart, dedicated, giving people. I’ve been greeted (genuinely greeted) by people from many departments around the university, welcoming me and inviting me into their community. Today I sat with an English department (that’s so odd to write since I’m used to being in a Writing Studies department and explaining the differences between the two) colleague throughout the orientation. I was thankful he sat next to me. I had someone that I knew, even if only slightly, to chat with. It was comforting and helpful. I was a bit overwhelmed by all of the people there because I didn’t know anyone, and I’m not hugely comfortable around groups of people I don’t know (even if people say that I don’t act that way, I *feel* that way inside).

Anyway, it was interesting to hear a “state of the university” talk(s) given by the President, the Provost, and various others. It was enlightening to know where our university stands within the region, state, and culture, to understand the students and where they come from, to see how our expertises fit in within the community, and to know that community, here, includes the university and the surrounding cities.

I sat at lunch with other new faculty and the Provost. We talked about the weather (it does snow here — yay!), the 1998 tornado, the fire sirens that sound like tornado warnings to my midwestern-acclimated ears, and where others live within the community. It was a comfortable discussion with no pressure, but with interesting bits of information thrown in by the geography professor who teaches meteorology, the communications professor who talked about the cold winds in South Dakota, and the nursing professor who discussed public health informatics.

After all of this, I headed back to my office (!!!) to leave my orientation takeaways behind and I met up with some of my English department colleagues. As I was leaving, and was next to the elevator, still engaged in conversation, one of my colleagues made a joke about how they are all gathering around to talk to me. I won’t be new soon, but I hope we all still gather to talk. I like them, and they are interesting people who share some of the same passions I have.

I think I’m going to be happy here. I couldn’t have asked for a better place to land.

—

This project has been in development for nearly five years, and would not have been possible without the support, assistance, and input of many people. My advisor, Laura J. Gurak, provided steady support and insight throughout all of my years at the University of Minnesota, not only as an advisor, but also as a friend. Her enthusiasm encouraged me even when I had grown tired of the topic, helping me to see it through a fresh lens and become enamored of it once again.

My committee, Lee-Ann Kastman Breuch, Tom Reynolds, and Michael Hancher have given me encouragement and feedback throughout all of the stages of this work. The Department of Writing Studies staff has been invaluable and has provided support throughout my degree process. I especially thank Mary Wrobel for introducing me to the department, Nan Nelson and Elizabeth Cahill-Dunens for their untiring support during the job search and dissertation completion, and Barb Jensen and Shannon Klug for making my classes run smoothly. This would not have been possible without their assistance.

My colleagues have provided consistent support and encouragement, helping me see the value of my work from a variety of perspectives. Tad Patterson offered friendship and encouragement in all the ways I needed it. I also want to thank Merry Rendahl, Stephen Brasher, Joe Weinberg, Drew Virtue, Josh Welsh, Trent M. Kays, and Kira Dreher for inviting me out of my home in order to be amongst the living. Those lunches and dinners made doctoral work much less lonely.

Anne Wysocki and Dennis Lynch, along with Susan Hilligoss, Karen Gocsik, Candice Rai, Erin Anderson, Heather Brook Adams, Robin Oswald, Tracy Ferrell, Martha Cheng, Kate Ryan, Susan Hagan, and Kuhio Walters, at their 2011 RSA summer seminar on Composing Multimodal Rhetorics, provided integral insights into my research topic.

Krista Kennedy became not only a friend and confidante during my doctoral work, but a mentor. She provided a space for me to think out loud, to vent, to question, and to get feedback.

My family has been the foundation upon which this project is built. Their joy and excitement, interest and collusion made it all possible. I especially am indebted to my brother, Shadow W. J. Armfield, for his patience throughout my studies, my exams, and my writing. He was my rock throughout. I thank his wife, Jennifer, who has also been working on her degrees and supported my need to spend hours talking with my brother about education, teaching and learning, technology, and writing. My nieces and nephews are my reasons for pursuing this work. I want to be a better role model for them at all stages of life.

why did you let me through the doors in the first place
if you were just gonna turn around and force me out?

why did you let me in this ivory tower
filled with hippie feel-good activist academics
debating about feminist organizing in high theory discourse
while barely-paid migrant workers prepare lunches
for seminars, conferences, forums
and get deported the next day

an award winning tenured professor once told me
the only way i will succeed at graduate school
is if i read 300 pages of theory per week per class
and if i’m not capable
my writing must be of low quality
my intellect must be incredibly juvenile

nothing could be wrong with the way things are
because to change the rules would
undermine what it means to receive a graduate school education
and would leave me unprepared to
compete for future jobs and faculty positions

let me ask you
exactly which graduate student’s education are you concerned about
here?

not single mothers who need extra time to look after their families
not pregnant women who need a little more maternity leave

not low-income folks who need to take 2nd or 3rd jobs
to pay bills their funding doesn’t cover
not racialized international students who don’t have access to most
scholarships

not the people with disabilities
who don’t have access to comply with the way things are
made to feel something is wrong with them
instead of with the rules themselves

not those who survive sexual violence
and need extra time to grieve rage or deal

not anyone with familial, historical ties
to places and races always under siege
living under governments set on killing their people

who must spend free time at sit-ins or rallies
where emotions and exhaustions run too high
drumbeats and chants ring too loud
to read a detached article due for class the next day

not Indigenous students who are expected
to read speak and engage with
languages, theories, and knowledges
that erase appropriate and colonize
their lands, cultures, and selves
with the same ease as the colonizers

not people of colour subjected to
subtle and blatant racism
making it impossible to participate
the same way as their white peers

not anyone who needs to spend every moment of their leisure time
finding other ways of learning
through art, community activism, collective therapy
(or a mashup of all three)

your ideal graduate student is
someone who doesn’t have to experience community organizing
because you’ve already assigned them five chapters to read about it

your ideal graduate student is
someone who can’t talk about positionality or privilege
without referencing some article

your ideal graduate student is
rich enough
white enough
straight enough
able-bodied and -minded enough
to be given luxury of enjoying sitting in a corner reading 900 pages a
week
(with their fair trade starbucks coffee in hand and their lulu lemon track
pants on ass)

your ideal graduate student
IS NOT ME

so WHY did you let me through these doors in the first place
if you were just gonna turn around and shove me out?

to fill some quota for affirmative action?
to appear like a progressive program without putting in the effort
of actually being one?

don’t pretend you’re not secretly wishing you could
impersonate my lawyer to kidnap me
and deport me in a heartbeat
if i did so much as look at you funny
talk back
write an angry poem
and undermine your authority

by rolling my eyes at your hypocrisy

feminism in academia – OWN UP TO YOURSELF
do not pretend to be the godsend intellectually paving the revolution

recognize that the ones let through these doors by some strategic mis-
take
are the ones making you look good
while we burn out and burn up by your hands

what is it about your knowledge and education
that prevents you from imagining
all the different reasons someone may be in graduate school
or feel the need to study gender, race, sexuality, and class?

some of us are not here to one day
soullessly recite the entire cannon of queer theory development
with our hearts and minds closed

some of us do not wish to compete to be the
newest biggest baddest radical faculty-hire

some of us need to engage with feminist theory
so we can ground it in our community activist work
our creative works
our personal relationships
for our families, communities and histories
for our own fucking deserved peace of minds

maybe we need to know how to make sense of oppression
because we’re so heartbroken

we don’t want to end up being locked away in psychiatric institutions
or in a hospital overdosed on pills, getting our stomachs pumped
because we don’t know WHY all this shit is constantly driving us CRAZY

what i want to know is why the fuck YOU were let through these doors
and made to think you could decide all the rules FOR US?

you tell me my intellect is lacking

i’m not worthy of being here
if i’m not capable of doing exactly what you say
exactly your way

but i choose to follow the kind of wisdom your 300 pages per week per
class
could never teach you

it’s gotten me this fucking far

Its glint off sheets of ice tells the story
of Death’s brightness, her bitter cold.

We can make do with so little, just the hint
of warmth, the slanted light.

The way we stand there, soaking in it,
mittened fingers reaching.

And how carefully we gather what we can
to offer later, in darkness, one body to another.

by molly fisk

via Mitch on fb

My life feels like it has been one long trajectory along The Breakfast Club plot line — except that I’m outside of the outsiders, beyond the recluse. High school was definitely like this. Even my undergraduate life was like this. I was never a traditional student. I worked full-time while attending school and had to often quit classes when work required me to be more focused on it than school. It took me a lot longer to get my undergraduate degree than most people because of this, making me even more different than those I went to school with.

During my Master’s degree, I again worked full-time, but I was working at a University. My supervisors, wonderful people that they are, allowed me to take time off to go to classes when the classes weren’t offered online. But I didn’t teach, as many other grad students did, and I didn’t engage with the students outside of class. I was much too busy to do that.

My doctoral degree has been different. For the first time in my life, education has been the main focus. It came first. I was being paid to make it come first. I got to teach classes. I got to be a part of a department. But maybe because of my past, I never quite fit in. There are definite cliques in the program of which I’m not a part. I rarely see anyone from my department, nor do I socialize much at all. I see photos of them getting together, the connections they’ve all made, and the ways they’ve become integral parts of one another’s lives. I’ve heard that one of the most important parts of getting your doctorate is the relationships you make while doing it — because those people have persevered with you throughout, that they will be lifelong friends. I didn’t or haven’t made those kinds of connections. I doubt many of the people I’ve gone to school with here will have much to do with me after I leave (they don’t now, so it’s safe to assume they won’t after).

I’m not a lonely person – just the opposite. I’m quite happy being alone. And I have a hard time being comfortable around others, so I tend to turn to my family because they are safe and will forgive my foibles. But every once in a while, especially when I see photos posted on Facebook or Twitter, I wonder what I’ve missed out on and if, when I go into the next stage of my life, it will be any different.

Or will I still be watching from outside the library as the brain, the beauty, the jock, the rebel, and the recluse find ways to connect and integrate themselves with one another?

So this is aging: the bare sun, skinned,
palely bucking the dark wind,
slides through the glass, crawls on the carpet,
climbs the footboard, lies crosswise on the blanket,
a spoiled dog waiting to be fed.

Not now, dear warmth. The kindling’s in the shed,
too far to fetch. Those two great logs that close
together to make fire, repose
apart, an old couple reminiscing
on conflagrations they’re now missing:
how every sunny Saturday afternoon,
Hey, diddle-diddle, the dish ran away with the spoon.

Not yet, dear spoon. Some hotter day, dear dish.
No tidbits now. Instead, let’s make a wish,
and boil fresh water for the small teapot
to keep it piping hot.

— John M. Ridland

(via my friend, Jean Albus)

And I know so many colleagues and professors (both local and national whom I respect greatly) have written about this on blogs and talked about it in person. I know everyone gets it and has been there to some extent at some point in their academic careers. But when you’re in the middle of that whirling vortex of self-doubt, it can be the loneliest place in the world.

I don’t feel smart. I don’t feel intelligent. I don’t feel like I belong. I don’t feel like anything I’m doing really matters.

That’s when it’s bad.

Lately, I’ve been worried about not being an expert, not being well-versed enough in my study to be a person someone may want to engage with to discuss this. And all of this points to who I have been thinking of as my audience.

Was it my colleagues, fellow doctoral students and candidates who are working on amazing projects of their own? No.

Was it my family, who supports me and often tells me that even they, who, for the most part, are not academics, are interested in reading my dissertation because they think the topic is interesting? No.

Was it my committee, who wants to see me succeed and develop into a productive, mentoring professor in my own right? No.

Who was that audience I’ve been thinking about?

Anonymous.

No, no. Not ANONYMOUS. I’m not sure many of them would be interested in my research.

It’s that faceless, voiceless, apparition that I’ve built in my head. It’s an audience that is all-seeing, all-knowing. And that audience is the one that is going to rise up and strike me down the moment I utter, or type, a single word. It is that audience that is going to tell me that I’m a failure, that I’m stupid, that I’m not fit. It’s that audience that is going to call me out and shame me for trying to break out of the bonds that have held me for far too long.

That’s a dark place to dwell because it’s all in my head, all in the nooks and crannies of my cranium that have, for a lifetime, said “You’re not good enough.”

Then, when I think that I can’t go on because NOTHING is still happening and I’m beating myself up far worse than anyone has or could, along comes a wise person to help me out of my hole that I’ve dug for myself. The sage doesn’t have to do anything. This person will just say the right thing at the right time, and the clouds clear, and I can see the road again.

And I can write.

One. word. at. a. time.

A few hours later, I was on the phone with my brother discussing what I had written today. “I worked on my case narrative. But,” I said, “I realize that I’m not curing cancer so I’m starting to wonder why this is all important.”

Then he reminded me of something. This week is National Suicide Prevention Week in the U.S. And, he reminded me, people who send in postcards to PostSecret are often looking for someone to hear them — to understand their pain — so that they don’t commit suicide. And if I’m looking at those postcards (and I was looking at them today, all 251 of my data set), I see how many of them are about suicide. What does that say about how we communicate secrets and fears and hopes and love and anguish and pain and joy? And, he asked me, isn’t this what you do look at?

I study the human condition, I said. It’s a rhetorical perspective of it, but that’s what I do. And, he reminded me, we can do a lot of damage to our bodies with our minds, so even if you’re not curing cancer, you are giving us an insight into how and why we make the kinds of choices we do — and those are every bit as important as curing cancer.

While I won’t ever cure cancer, nor will I ever administer professional assistance to those who harbor suicidal thoughts, maybe my work is important. Even if it’s in some small way, it can be important. It can shed light on choices we make — even if it’s the language and imagery that is chosen to convey a message. Maybe. Just maybe, it can be important.