Negotiating the Paradox: Adjuncts & Writing

  • 07 Jun 2010 /  adjuncts, blogging, grading, publishing

    As we all try to make sense of the state of adjunct faculty, and try to write, it is easy to get caught up in the immediate: to focus on one’s own personal frustrations, or to step up no more than a single category and to consider adjuncts as such.

     

    That’s understandable, but it does not lead to a wider view of the issues. Today I’d like to touch on three attempts to put the situation into perspective.


    The first is a recent story in The Chronicle of Higher Education on outsourcing feedback on written assignments. Essays are sent electronically from colleges in the United States to “India, Singapore, and Malaysia” as well as to some graders elsewhere in the U.S.  These grading specialists provide written commentary on the essays; the company providing this “Virtual-TA” service bills per essay graded.

     

    This indicates that adjuncts are not just struggling for equality with the tenure track faculty at their employing institutions. They are workers in a global economy, and to the extent that services such as this catch on (and run smoothly), they will raise the pressure on adjunct writing teachers.  After all, there is a small step from virtual teaching assistant to virtual adjuncts.


    The second perspective comes to us courtesy of the Education Writers Association (EWA).  For more than half a century, EWA has labored as a professional organization to raise the level of writing about education. Their website makes a national survey on education reporting available for free here. While this dates from 2006, and is therefore a bit dated, it is worth reviewing because of the patterns shown in what gets written about. In 2005, over 60% of stories published “
    were about personnel/institutional issues, academics, and finance.” And what got written about least? “Grade inflation, class size, and faculty unionization,” the last two of which being topics directly impacting adjunct faculty. That leads to a second perspective: we’re not news. Our issues are not being addressed because they aren’t being written about. Therefore, if you want anyone to even know about them, you need to sit down and type. Let your next adjunct writing be a letter to the editor, the state legislature, a professional organization, or a local college.

     

    And the third perspective? A positive one.  The Hechinger Report is a recently announced news organization that will be covering education. They promise to report and blog regularly on community colleges, that pervasive but under-discussed element in the American college scene. I for one look forward to it, and will be commenting on their stories and post often.

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  • 10 May 2010 /  adjuncts, publishing, teaching, writing

    Last week we shared the first portion of an interview with Dr. Kirk Astle, Director of College Writing at Baker College Online. This week we conclude that interview.

     

    Adjunct Advocate: How much of the composition faculty at Baker is full-time?

     

    Dr. Astle: At Baker College Online I am the only full time Composition faculty member.

     

    Adjunct Advocate: What challenges do you encounter guiding faculty in an online program?

     

    Dr. Astle: The college is a dynamic place with several initiatives aimed at improving many aspects of its curriculum and mission so there are many compelling ideas affecting the teaching and learning of writing that I put before faculty for their consideration and input.  The challenge is collecting and accurately representing the faculty’s input to Baker initiatives and some of my questions.  For instance, on writing-related issues, I have solicited feedback  on how and why faculty provide the types of feedback on participation that they do to get a sense of what may be a wide array of teaching in the college’s main discursive venue, the Discussion Board.  I think this kind of writing is overlooked in formal assessments and may need more research and scrutiny.  The Discussion Board is a common discursive venue cutting across all disciplines at Online, and I feel that teaching students how to engage in that forum is paramount to learning to write effectively for various audiences and purposes while also serving students in future courses and their careers.  Guiding the faculty erupts out of student and faculty needs, and the challenge is accurately identifying or prioritizing what those needs are and then determining how best to address them.  I try to guide based on those needs rather than anything I devise or project in advance.

     

    Another challenge is my relative anonymity.  Faculty are beginning to get a sense that I’m here to help them in their jobs and profession.  Only now, after eight months, do some faculty seem comfortable emailing me questions.

     

    Adjunct Advocate: What challenges do you encounter guiding adjunct faculty?

     

    Dr. Astle: See above.

     

     

    Adjunct Advocate: Do your adjunct faculty members publish scholarly works?  

     

    Dr. Astle: Yes, but it is not required as a condition of employment.

     

    Adjunct Advocate: Non-scholarly works (such as fiction or poetry)?

     

    Dr. Astle: Yes, but it is not required as a condition of employment.


    Adjunct Advocate: What does Baker do to support adjunct faculty scholarship?

     

    Dr. Astle: To my knowledge, Baker Online does not specifically support adjunct faculty scholarship but it does support continued advancement in pedagogy demonstrated by the College Writing Conference (CWC) and inviting faculty to participate in the annual Faculty Conference, which addresses discipline-specific issues and invites faculty to participate in the life of the institution.  The System president Jim Cummins and Vice President for Academics Denise Bannan both scored papers using the System-wide essay rubrics during the day long CWC.  Empathizing with the writing faculty’s immense grading task, Mr. Cummins commented on the extraordinary amount of work it took to effectively evaluate student essays using the rubrics and demonstrated his complete support for the faculty’s move to increase rigor in the English courses.

     

    The Baker System also offers funding for faculty projects, which “must enhance the faculty member’s knowledge and teaching or otherwise improve student learning at Baker College and be consistent with the College’s Mission and Purposes.”  In these terms, this funding addresses more needs than supporting faculty scholarship alone.  The funding comes from Baker’s Jewell Educational Fund, providing a total of $150,000 for faculty projects to be implemented during the 2010-2011 fiscal year.  (Faculty are defined in this offer as those “currently employed as a Baker College faculty member” and who “deliver per year courses totaling at least 24 credits.”).

     

    Baker also provides the Employee Scholarship that offers part-time faculty, after six-months of consecutive employment, the opportunity to take up to eight credit hours per academic quarter at no charge—but no more than 24 credit hours per academic year on “an available” basis.  I’ve included the link below.

     

    https://www.baker.edu/departments/hr/ininfo/hrform2.cfm?ee_info_cat=Forms

    2009-2010 Baker College Center Employee Scholarship- Undergraduate Courses

     

    Adjunct Advocate: From your perspective as Director of College Writing for Baker College Online, what would your ideal be for an online college writing faculty? (I’m asking everything from what contracts would be like to what training would be like—an open-ended invitation.) And can you say a few words about why this would be your ideal?

     

    Dr. Astle: One of the many pleasant and encouraging surprises of working at Baker College is that the college shares many of my professional ideals.  For instance, one ideal I have is to help increase the number of full-time professors in General Education and in English specifically and this would necessitate increasing the support staff necessary for the effective functioning of the institution. Another ideal I have is to support more effectively faculty and student writing by offering a fully functional, appropriately credentialed and trained staff for a seamlessly integrated Online Writing Center.  And since the question is a bit of a blank check, my ideal would also include ensuring that the faculty’s teaching experiences would be 100% effective, enjoyable, and rewarding in every sense of those words.  I think attaining this ideal can come only under the college’s continued commitment to including faculty of all statuses in its decision-making across the college’s many facets.  I think this makes perfect sense, since the faculty are the experts in their fields.  Additionally, I would like to see an undergraduate research initiative across all disciplines launched to help students become self-directed learners and contributors to their career fields as “co-workers in the kingdom of culture,” to borrow language from W. E. B. DuBois’ The Souls of Black Folk.  I’m taking DuBois’ words as partly synonymous with the notion that undergraduate research initiatives help students assume more accountability for their learning while developing them as leaders and supporting their contributions toward a better society.  I would like to see continued efforts to support faculty scholarship and creativity because they ground education and they have substantial impacts in the classroom as instructors transfer their energies to the students when they teach their scholarship.  In other words, one ideal I have is to advocate the aggressive support for the symbiotic relationship in higher education between scholarship, teaching, and service.

     

    Adjunct Advocate: As you know, this blog focuses on adjunct faculty and writing, and addresses all aspects of those topics (everything from tips for how to write better to reflections on adjuncts may teach differently from full time faculty). Consider this an open-ended invitation: do you have any thoughts on this matter?

     

    Dr. Astle: I regretfully have to defer because the open-ended nature gives me little to respond to and would generate my own meandering thoughts on largely personal and necessarily ill-defined topics.  Please accept my apologies.  However, as a member of the professional organization the Modern Language Association (MLA), as I am assuming you are as well, I do concur with the “MLA Statement on the Use of Part-Time and Full-Time Adjunct Faculty Members.”  Please find the link to that statement below:

     

    http://www.mla.org/statement_faculty

     

     

    Adjunct Advocate: Thank you very much for your reflective answers, Dr. Astle.

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  • 09 Mar 2010 /  publishing, tenure, writing

    Let me start with a few minor updates:

    On the plus side, I’ve got some interesting interviews coming up. On the negative/absent side, I still haven’t heard back from many of the folks I’ve contacted about projects related to this blog. On the confusing side, I just joined Facebook, and so will be likely be delving in to this fascinating phenomenon a bit more soon, to see how it might be related to adjuncts and writing.

    Now, on to the core idea, which is a thought experiment grounded in reality. Consider the following: any goal is, among other things, a constraint. Setting tenure as your goal binds you to doing things that will achieve tenure. At most schools, this means focusing your writing on areas you were hired for. At even more schools, this means doing work which is recognized as scholarly.

    If that’s the sort of work you want to do, so far, so good. I have known many scholars who seem born to devote their lives to X (American literature, Latin poetry, etc.), and others who seem at great ease tracking down every last reference on a topic. I have long envied the first their certainty, and the second their sense of appropriate process. Completeness is a good thing.

    However, what if this is not the sort of work you want to do? What if you are exploratory? What if your values lead you outside of established forms and topics? What if you simply change? In those cases, the pursuit of tenure becomes a kind of constraint. Again, I’m not railing against constraint per se—Jane Austen would have my head—but simply put, there are times when it is better to pursue the new path than walk the one that no longer calls you. At that point, the tenure path becomes too much of a constraint…and being an adjunct who writes may emerge as a form of freedom.

    This is not a freedom born of abandon. I’m not suggesting that if you don’t pursue tenure, you will do slipshod work. I’m suggesting that releasing that goal may allow one to explore new media. It may allow one’s writing to appear immediately online and begin a multiplying influence that will come slowly, if ever, to those publishing in academic venues. Writing on new topics may allow one to be first, simply because the new media democratizing publishing allows one to share freely without the ponderous process of peer review.

    And it isn’t that tenured faculty can’t do these things. They can…but they are anchored into an existing system. They’ve been rewarded for working known fields. They are invested, even as they are protected.

    In some ways, writing without tenure allows the return of the intrinsic reward. One no longer has to seek conference presentations or journal acceptance. One can simply write.

    The flip side of reward is freedom. (Now, we still have to pay the bills…but that’s another question. Academic writing was never going to pay the bills anyway.)

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  • 23 Feb 2010 /  adjuncts, publishing, writing

    A lot of us laboring in the academic salt mines of adjunctdom tend to just keep grinding on, either content with our lot or hoping things will improve on their own. The identity of teacher/professor can be almost hermetically sealed, or close enough that we forget there are options, even options that will allow us to a) stay intimately involved with higher education, b) write, and c) get paid better than we do now (and maybe even gain a bit more control).

    This week I’m talking with someone who has found one of those alternatives. John Soares was kind enough to answer a few questions for me on the topics of adjunct faculty and writing. John was an adjunct faculty member for several years, then left it for a career writing textbook supplements.

    GB: Do you still teach anywhere as an adjunct?

    John Soares: I last taught college in the summer of 1994—two sections of American government for Butte College in Chico, California.

    If not, may I ask why?

    There are many reasons. The two most important are freedom and money. Once I stopped teaching college and became a full-time freelancer, I had a lot more freedom to set my schedule and go where I wanted. Teaching tied me to Chico most of the time.

    I also make much more money on an hourly basis writing college textbook supplements (instructor’s manuals, study guides, test questions, lecture outlines, etc) than I did teaching, especially when you factor in all the lecture prep, grading, and traveling to and from the college that teaching requires.

    I also like having my livelihood directly under my own control and determined by my own efforts and talents. While I personally had relatively few problems getting the classes I wanted at Butte College (and Shasta College in Redding), I saw that many other adjuncts had difficulties. Also, when I began teaching at the college level, my goal was a full-time community college teaching position. But the longer I taught, the more I realized that was unlikely to happen.

    If not, do you miss it?

    I definitely miss it. I truly enjoyed being in the classroom and helping young people understand the world better and hone their critical thinking skills. To me, teaching is an intellectual challenge that also requires strong interpersonal skills, and I miss that mix, that interaction.

    How long did it take you to build your career as a writer of college textbook supplements?

    In 1992 I got my first supplement assignment, a 1600-question test bank for a new American government textbook that paid $4000. (By comparison, I was getting $1500 to teach a three-unit poli-sci course.) I was already making some money from the first hiking guide I wrote, and also from some outdoors and travel pieces for magazines and newspapers.

    By 1994 I felt I could make more money if I focused all my energy on writing. I did make more money for the first couple of years, but I hit a couple of slow patches in the latter part of the 1990s after I moved to Kauai in Hawaii. Initially I only worked on political science projects, primarily American government, but also some international relations and comparative politics. Given the nature of college textbook publishing cycles, there are definitely times when there is little or no work.

    By 1997 I expanded into new academic disciplines, including history and geography and the sciences. I also improved my marketing and communication skills, which, along with the expansion of disciplines, brought me to a middle-class income by 1999.

    I know you do other writing, especially on hiking and outdoor activities. How does that fit with the supplement writing?

    Although I do some blogging and marketing to keep the modest royalties coming from my two hiking guides (and to keep them in print), my main focus now is creating information products. My first was the e-book Writing College Textbook Supplements: The Definitive Guide to Winning High-Paying Assignments in the College Textbook Publishing Market. And I just completed my second information product: Maximum Productivity for Freelance Writers: Manage Your Time, Make More Money, and Get More Enjoyment from Life. I’m currently working on an audio book for Maximum Productivity for Freelance Writers, and in the spring I’ll begin teaching workshops on the same topic. I also have several other information products I’ll be creating in the coming months, most centered around the launch of what will become my flagship website:

    I still do some textbook supplement projects. I’m currently working on test questions for study materials created by a nonprofit with a government grant, and I continue to do projects for Prentice Hall/Pearson Education and Cengage Learning.

    Any advice for adjuncts about writing?

    Freelance writing can be a very good way for an adjunct to pay the bills. As we all know, adjuncts typically don’t make much money, at least compared to what full-time instructors make.

    Writing textbook supplements and ancillaries is the easiest field for most adjuncts to enter since they already have the background knowledge for the work. The pay, however, can vary substantially. With one exception, I haven’t made less than $50 per hour since 2000, and I often make in the $100 per-hour range. However, I’m a fast and experienced writer, and I’m good at negotiating pay rates. Some textbook supplement projects will pay far less than that.

    Whether you write textbook supplements or enter another field, you must specialize if you want to be paid well. Look for companies or industries that need specific types of writing and approach them with your services.

    Some generalists do make decent money, but most don’t.

    John Soares has written over 200 college textbook supplements since 1992. He is the author of Writing College Textbook Supplements: The Definitive Guide to Winning High-Paying Assignments in the College Textbook Publishing Market and Intelligent Productivity for Freelance Writers: Manage Your Time, Make More Money, and Get More Enjoyment from Life. He also writes the “Writing College Textbook Supplements” blog and the “Intelligent Productivity For Freelance Writers” blog.

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  • 19 Jan 2010 /  publishing, time management, writing

    If you’re an adjunct, scrambling to make ends meet, how do you find time to write? Well, if you look Jill Carroll’s advice on time management for adjuncts in The Chronicle from 2001 , you’ll see all kinds of solid tips…and no mention of writing. Well, that’s not quite true: the word “writing” shows up in the biographical note on Carroll at the bottom. Since Carroll is an adjunct who manages to publish, this suggests that time management tips may free up time to write.

    This is no surprise. In fact, that’s old news…to writers, anyway. Anyone who wants to freelance, or to write creatively, must either let the grass go uncut, get good at time management, or both, in order to find time. For many of us, though, the time isn’t enough. Unlike, say, someone working in an office or with a set schedule, adjuncts find their schedules shifting around. I know one of my biggest frustrations is with the X factors in grading. I’m thinking in particular here of the student or project that blows up: plagiarism, combined with grade appeals, pleas over X (visas, illness, etc.), that leads to more time spent on one problem student than the entire rest of the class. It’s easy enough to plan what to do, but some institutions have requirements that fight time management. As one easy example, the institutions for which I teach require that all student emails be answered within 24 hours. One student sent 96 lengthy emails over grades, plagiarism, and emotional distress. I could group some of my answers, but that’s still quite a number, and hard to schedule.

    Again, this too is no surprise, either in academia or outside of it. In Born Digital, their recent study of the recent generation who grew up online, John Palfrey and Urs Gasser note that one of the defining characteristics of our age is “information overload.” They argue that previous generations suffered from an information deficit, and were continually seeking more information to enable them to make better decisions. We, on the other hand, need new skills: we must learn to sort, or even triage, the flood of data washing over us every day. This is producing new techniques for time management. David Allen touts his Getting Things Done system as designed for these new challenges.

    Some people are generating alternatives. I’ve tried workshops by life coaches (with limited success), and others are now doing online writing coaching specifically for academics. What’s striking about this pitch for the Academic Writing Club is how it blends the tone of an infomercial with extreme rationalization: The cost per day is spelled out.

    If hiring someone to keep you writing and help you get the tools you need to do so seems too strange, consider the tactics suggested by Palfrey and Gasser—use filters, as often as possible—or by Dan Poynter, an longtime freelance writing teacher: use a clock or timer. Break your project into component parts, estimate how long each will take, set the clock and force yourself to work. Other freelance writers I know take more severe versions of these steps, such as blocking themselves from addictive websites until a writing project is done.

    Though the focus was different, this discussion reminds me of a book by one of my professors when I was an undergraduate, Evan Watkins’ Work Time. I’m also struck again by how much things have changed related to writing, even in my brief time in academia. Throughout graduate school, the message was strongly communicated that taking one’s time on writing was a good thing—acceptable, even desirable. There was a sense that good scholarship took time.

    Now, I not only find myself pressing in the opposite direction—what can I get done as fast as possible—but also continually calculate the expense of an action. In that I am no different from the folks at the Academic Writing Club (I sound like I’m about to say, in the best infomercial fashion, “I’m not only the president, I’m also a client!”). In that I must state the obvious: being an adjunct has taken all the liberal arts out of being an English teacher. It’s made it rational, goal oriented, and time bound. The core idea there—that liberal arts are freeing—seems to have been reversed. As an adjunct, time is my master, and my writing its…victim? Monster?

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  • 12 Jan 2010 /  publishing, time management, writing

    Recently I had two experiences that made me realize how much I’d changed, and how much things have changed. (Stay with me—this really is about adjuncts and writing.)

    Both of these experiences came when interacting with one of the schools for whom I’m an adjunct.

    Experience #1 came when working on a course design for the school, which provides standardized course materials for its online courses. I agreed to revise a literature course for them, only to learn that I had to work with their newly established Course Development Process, which included required two hour “teleconferences” (phone calls).

    I was baffled as to exactly what these conferences were for. It turned out to be a multi-person reviewing process, in which everyone had to follow along as the person running the meeting reviewed my course materials, made a few minor comments, and then signed off on them. Let me be clear: a few small areas of the course were improved. Let me be clearer still: that was not the primary purpose of the call, which was CYA, as everyone ritually agreed to the work. And let me clearest yet: we had different agendas. All of the other people on the call were on salary, and so if the phone call took an hour (which it did, thankfully), or two, they were paid the same. As an adjunct, though, and a freelancer, an extra hour spent farting around in a meeting was an hour I wasn’t getting paid for work somewhere else.

    When I first started writing academic works, I did so to learn, and for the joy of it. Now, after so long as an adjunct and freelancer, those seem…insufficient. As does that word.

    Experience #2 came from the same school. I was invited to write articles on my area of expertise that would be shared with the whole school. These articles were intended both to build community and to help raise the level of professional discourse. I did such things when I was first working as an adjunct. I wrote up handouts, contributed to lists, etc. Now, though, I felt vaguely like I was being scammed.

    I don’t think that traditional academics in tenured positions feel this, though I’ve known any number who felt too busy, or like it wasn’t the best use of their time. However, it wasn’t the unpaid nature of the writing they objected to, it was the specific focus: they thought their time was better spent writing formal articles in their discipline than articles for the general community.

    I did not set out to change my attitude toward writing and the academic community. I set out to pay the rent. But change happened, all the same…

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  • 07 Dec 2009 /  publishing, research, writing

    Perhaps I should better call this, how not to write productively. I’m about to air my own dirty laundry, in the service of learning, blogging, and honesty. I’ll be sending this post in two days late, and the reason why is largely because of my adjunct work situation…or at least, how I dealt with it this week.

    You see, I teach for more than one school. One of the schools I teach for has been offering fewer sections for me to teach, and so I have been applying to new schools in hopes of, um, paying the mortgage. One of the schools I applied to hired me, and I’ve been going through their training to teach online this week. The problem? They gave very specific deadlines by which the training must be completed, and then their server crashed and slowed and sloooowed and…yeah. I spent the time I usually spend writing this waiting to move from page to page within a training website (more than a minute per click) and the sheer frustration drove the blog out of my head. Mea culpa.

    Now, about the question of if adjunct working conditions ever affect scholarly production…ahem. Suffice it to say that I admit it: the personal productivity gurus are correct. I could have overcome this. I didn’t. However, I would have had to overcome it if my schedule weren’t popping like popcorn.

    Turning back to the question of how to write productively (as an adjunct), I thought I’d draw a little inspiration from a few writing heroes.

    Take a glance here and here for lists of extremely productive literary writers. Immediately you’ll see that in terms of general productivity, you can take a lesson from the industrial age (and your savvy lazy students): write the same thing over and over, or the same sort of thing. This is done in genre fiction; it can be done in scholarship. Phrased more acceptably, you might think of it as capitalizing on your existing knowledge base, or as finding a rich vein you can explore in depth. In either case, working in what Kuhn called normal science would make it easier to be productive: work within an established framework, working out the implications of paradigms already established, rather than insisting on seeking groundbreaking discoveries.

    To write productively, you might also consult existing literature to see what research says about productive writers. A recent article in the Journal of Education for Business studied the characteristics of the most productive academic writers working in the field of accounting. It found that the most productive writers (in that field) collaborated with others, and tended to produce longer articles when they did so. Ambitious adjuncts might therefore seek out writing partners; this would also address the lack of connection many adjuncts feel.

    Another step that would generate connection and productivity but that might be difficult for adjuncts is hiring researchers to work for you. It’s a common tool of academic superstars. Lack the funds for that? Yeah, me too. (Remember where we started…)

    One set of tools that might work for anyone regardless of financial status is to use tools of academic productivity. In general, this means getting rid of excuses, writing on a schedule, holding yourself to deadlines and quotas, and setting up a writing/scholarship support group, so you aren’t in this alone.

    There are other suggestions, and I’ll be sharing those as well in future weeks. Promise.

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  • 17 Nov 2009 /  publishing, time management, writing

    This week I thought I’d shift gears a bit. Assuming that the folks who read this blog write, or want to write, I thought I’d share a bit on writing productively…and what it means for an adjunct.

    Assume that you have established a solid mastery of your field, and that you want to contribute to the body of knowledge making up that field. Take these as a given, and further, take as a given that you’re not blocked: ideas are flowing, you see debates you want to enter and questions you want to explore. For a professional scholar, the task then is not just to have these thoughts, or even just to share them with your students, essential though these two steps are. A professional scholar must share them with their field and may wish to make a name for him or herself by doing so regularly. This means writing productively: writing regularly, and bringing works to completion. What do you need to do?

    In her article “Becoming a Productive Academic Writer” Susan Johnson suggests recreating the sort of environment one might find on a plane: minimize distractions, gather tools to you, keep refreshments handy, etc. She also suggests writing regularly, rather than engaging in “binge” writing, tracking your output, and making writing only a moderate priority. This last was striking, given writing’s centrality in academia, but Johnson sketches in her reasoning, which draws on attempts to reach goals in other areas: raising the priority of something too high tends to lead to perfectionism, which in turn leads to people not completing their desired actions.

    Johnson also includes a sidebar summarizing the work of Robert Boice, a psychologist who focuses on how academics work productively. Boice has given special attention to beginning faculty, looking at those who start quickly up the academic ladder vs. those who don’t.

    Boice has found that the few faculty (5=9%) who are “quick starters” share certain characteristics: they write 3+ hours per week, limit course prep time (and link teaching to research), left time in classes for student involvement, and ask peer help on both teaching and research. By contrast, most faculty over prepare for classes, teach “defensively,” and experience academia as isolating. (Those interested in Boice might view this reader’s guideas an introduction.)

    My first conclusions seem obvious: adjuncts are pushed by the structure of the system to share characteristics of the majority, rather than the “quick starters.” We are isolated. We are more vulnerable to student complaints, since we may not get rehired, and that very real increased vulnerability may well lead to defensiveness.

    My next conclusions are somewhat less obvious: 3 hours a week seems like nothing, so it would be relatively easy for a focused adjunct to become a productive academic writer. While there is certainly no guarantee that doing so would help one make the leap to the tenure track, 3 hours equates to 36 minutes, Monday through Friday (or 26 minutes seven days a week). Most of us waste that much time and more.

    What’s more, while the isolation of the adjunct is real (and again, fostered by the system), it does not have to be permanent. Online forums exist, office hours can be shared, labor organizations can be joined, and so on.

    My final conclusions for the day are emotional. I want to push back against Johnson’s advice, and maybe shout a little. How the heck can I control my time when I spend too much of it grading? How can I control my space when sharing office cubicles? Hey, there’s a little anger left to snip at Boice. Yeah, I feel isolated—I am isolated.

    Whew. I feel better. No, life isn’t fair, and life as adjunct has special stresses. However, at the risk of sounding all pop psychology-ish, there’s a lot I can do to make things better, and to become more productive.

    And I’ll share more of those tips in weeks ahead. 

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  • This week I had the opportunity to talk with one of the stars of science writing, Marcia Bartusiak. When she won the AIP Science Writing Award in 1982, she was the first woman to ever do so. Since that time, she’s won that award again (in 2001, for Einstein’s Unfinished Symphony , and, in 2006, won the Andrew W. Gement Award from the American Institute of Physics

    Ms. Bartusiak is also an adjunct faculty member at MIT (though she was careful to explain how that differs from most adjunct positions, as you’ll see below). She was also kind enough to share her experience with me.

    AA: Why do you write?

    Marcia Bartusiak (hereafter MB):In the classic 1952 movie musicalSingin’ in the Rain, Gene Kelly has a number called “Gotta Dance,” which provides one way to frame it.  I often have that feeling, but in my case responding, “Gotta Write, Gotta Write.”  And, for me, it’s always been linked to a love for science and the mysteries it uncovers. Science (particularly astronomy and physics) was a fascination to me from an early age.  But I was perplexed as a child that few of my friends shared this passion.  I usually found I could get their attention if I explained some fact or idea in an entertaining way.  This desire (obviously) never left me. I find joy in the search, trying for the perfect metaphor or analogy that can make someone at least get the “feel” of a scientific concept.  I want them to realize they don’t have to solve a mathematical equation to be fascinated and intrigued by nature’s laws. 

    AA: How does your academic writing relate to your teaching? How about writing that doesn’t qualify as traditional scholarship?

    MB: Everything I do as a writer is related to my teaching, given the position I have as an adjunct professor in MIT’s Graduate Program in Science Writing.  My very job is to take the expertise I have built up over my thirty years as a science writer and pass it along to my students: how to interview, craft a snappy news note (important when they first start out), extend their writerly skills into longer features, and even start them thinking about tackling book-length topics. 

    AA: How do you find time to write as an adjunct?

    MB: I have been teaching at MIT over the last six years in a half-time position.  (Previous to that I was a fulltime freelance writer.)  So, while I have time to write, my adjustment has been to the reduced schedule.  Where in the past I could devote fulltime to, say, a book project, I now have to squeeze it in and around my classes, along with strategically using the summer months.  I just had a book come out last April, which I spent about two-and-half years researching and writing.  For the first nine months, I conducted my library research when not in class and scheduled two months of travel around the country for archival research during the summer months.  Upon returning, I wrote up my manuscript, again, whenever I had the time outside of classroom responsibilities.  There were lots of weekends lost to the project as well. 

    AA: How have the institutions who employ you responded to your writing? (Do they support it? Ignore it? Even know about it?)

    MB: The Graduate Program in Science Writing is part of MIT’s Program in Writing and Humanistic Studies, which by its very nature is very supportive of my writing (and certainly encourages its continuation).  Recently upon being named a Fellow of the American Association for the Advancement of Science for my science-writing contributions over the years, the department paid for my travel to receive the award.

    AA: You’d mentioned that being an adjunct at MIT is different than working as an adjunct elsewhere. Let’s address that issue directly. What does “adjunct” mean at MIT?

    MB: This can be confusing outside of the MIT community, as it is different from what adjunct has come to mean in academic institutions across the nation.  In the mid-1990s, I was an adjunct at Boston University for two years, where I came in to teach one course during the spring semester.  I was paid a flat fee ($3000 at the time) to teach a graduate-level course in science writing.  I had no other benefits or links to the larger university community.  At MIT, on the other hand, adjunct really means “professor part-time.”  In fact, I was vetted in almost the same way as if I were coming up for tenure at a university.  It was a year-long process that involved a complete assessment of my work over the years and letters of recommendation from scientists and writers.  Upon acceptance, I received a five-year contract, which is renewable upon review.  My salary is commensurate with fulltime professors in my department, adjusted for my halftime hours. MIT also includes me in their pension plan, matches my 401K contributions, and provides full health-care benefits.  Here is how MIT’s Policies and Procedures describes it: “Adjunct Professors are equivalent and made only to practitioners who have developed a high level of expertise in fields of particular importance to the MIT academic program and who also demonstrate a deep commitment to teaching and research. Responsibilities include, but are not limited to, teaching and conducting and supervising research. Each appointee should teach at least the major part of one subject per academic year, may be the instructor in charge of subjects of instruction, may supervise theses with departmental permission, and may be principal investigator on research projects.”  I am a non-voting member of the Faculty and am encouraged to participate in university matters. 

    AA: Wow. That’s both impressive in itself, and great for the MIT adjuncts. I am officially jealous. One more MIT-related question to close, if I may. What writing-related challenges and/or opportunities do you see MIT offering?

    MB: Having the connection to MIT has already opened many doors for me.  Since I have been on staff, I have had many more invitations to serve on conference panels and give lectures at other universities.

    AA: Thank you!

     

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  • 07 Oct 2009 /  publishing, research, teaching

    When I was in graduate school I was pulled towards two different realities.

    On one hand, the faculty encouraged scholarship. More than once I was essentially told that to be a real academic, I had to publish. In some cases, I was told this quite explicitly and literally. In other cases, it was communicated through advice cloaked in various degrees of politeness and helpfulness. Such comments ranged from “You probably won’t want to teach in that program; you’ll want to choose something that will require less energy from you, so you can focus on your own dissertation” to the more straightforward “So, what are you working on?”

    In a few dozen repetitions, even a first year graduate student un-socialized in academic culture (me, in other words) can learn to answer with discussions of papers underway, not teaching projects.

    On the other hand, while I did well in my coursework, I found myself at sea emotionally with most of my studies. The level of abstraction and the theoretical assumptions seemed divorced from life…but teaching did not. Teaching—even teaching a bunch of hung over, resistant freshmen at 8 AM—was real. Dragging them from stasis and fear to understanding carried an excitement with it. I spent hours plotting class sequences and even dedicated time trying to figure out how to reach each student.

    These two gravitational fields pulled me back and forth. At times I achieved synthesis: insight from my own research and writing flowed into my teaching. Most of the time, though, the two didn’t seem to connect and I was simply torn.

    As an adjunct, I am too often free of both tensions. That is to say, there are no tenure reviews keeping me on the publishing track. My employers don’t ask about my writing—and most don’t seem interested. In more than one case, there’s no regular form or time to report it. I find myself feeling like a scholastic ghost: there’s no real scholar here.

    I should be free to focus on my teaching. It’s true that my time is spent teaching, but too much time is spent there. I have to take the advice I got in graduate school on repeating assignments, just to survive, but that means the creativity, connection, and reality are squeezed from my teaching. I’m infinitely more experienced as a teacher than I was as a graduate student…but I don’t feel real.

    What makes an adjunct real? It isn’t writing. Maybe it is fatigue.

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