Negotiating the Paradox: Adjuncts & Writing

  • 28 Oct 2009 /  teaching, writing

    This week Deborah Louis was kind enough to speak with us. Though she has since stepped down, Deborah was co-chair of the New Faculty Majority: The National Coalition for Adjunct Equity. Since the NFM engages numerous issues related to adjunct faculty and writing, and since Deborah has been, in her own words, “both a writer and an adjunct for almost 40 years,” I was happy to hear her perspective on these issues.

    AA: Why do you write?

    Deborah Louis (hereafter DL): Because I have to. It’s been my means of both intellectual and creative expression since I learned how.

    AA: How does your academic writing relate to your teaching?

    DL: Very little “academic” writing, as it is largely unpaid.  My nonfiction, however (as, social science) both prompts and supports my teaching.  For instance, I have designed courses around my history of the civil rights movement of the early 60s, and use pieces I have done for Feminist Collections in several women’s studies courses.

    AA: How about writing that doesn’t qualify as traditional scholarship, such as blogging?

    DL: Interesting that blogging is your association with other-than-traditional-scholarship–mine would be poetry, novels, and topical essays.  My only venture into cyber-writing has been some social commentary (both fiction and nonfiction) for an Asheville women’s website by request.

    AA: Actually, I’m a poet myself—I just threw blogging out since it is becoming common. Shifting gears a bit, how do you find time to write as an adjunct?

    DL: I don’t, and it’s one of the deepest sorrows of my life. I have many books in my head and even first drafts on the shelf, but no subsidized time to turn them into finished work—i.e. to get the rent etc paid for a long enough period of time to do that.  I even have a book of poetry a local bookstore wants to sell if I could desktop-publish it, and neither the time nor the money for supplies has been available.  A colleague thinks she has a publisher for a U.S. women’s political history I’ve gotten as far as an outline for, but needs one finished chapter I haven’t been able to furnish.  My fondest fantasy is a MacArthur Fellowship, which is even less likely than winning the lottery!

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

    DL: One has done everything possible to censor it.  The other invites papers and presentations to whatever extent I am able to produce them.

    AA: Censor it? Really? Ouch! I’m glad to hear that one institution has been supportive, though. I’d like to hear more about NFM, if I may. What role does the National Coalition for Adjunct Equity see for writing in relation to adjuncts.

    DL: Since an overwhelming proportion of adjuncts are English Composition instructors, I foresee some lively activities along  those lines!  Also legal support for adjuncts who are harassed, censored, or not rehired due to unpopular or institutional-critical writing.

    AA: Is National Coalition for Adjunct Equity doing anything to support publication by adjuncts?

    DL: Not as yet—it is still forming committees and drafting bylaws!  Programmatic activities will probably not be in place until spring at the earliest!  Much of this depends on funding, too, and no one knows at this point how that’s going to go.

    AA: Fair enough. Do you have any personal thoughts on the relationship between adjunct faculty labor and writing?

    DL: In terms of adjunct advocacy, writing (”scholarly” or otherwise) should be considered one of those “professional development” activities we are simply not afforded in most places, and, as low-wage workers, we can seldom support on our own.  For the most part, those who manage it either are adjuncting in addition to other, higher-paying employment, or have spouses with full-time, salaried jobs.  Economically stressed single moms are especially shortchanged in this environment (I know, I know, JK Rowling did ok—but she had the long-term stability of a welfare check and health coverage for her kids, which adjuncting moms are not entitled to)….

    In thinking over some of your questions, it occurs to me that you might want to pay some attention to how “scholarly writing” is usually associated with research, either presenting or critiquing findings.  One of the ways adjuncts are shortchanged in the academy is in their restricted access to research opportunities and funding, which literally cuts us off at the pass.

    It occurred to me some time ago that adjuncts should be encouraged to apply for research grants, which prompted me to develop a workshop (and book proposal) on “Grantwriting for Academics”—where institutions may not make research subsidies available to adjuncts, they will tend to support proposals where they serve as the channels for the funds, get a cut of the money and publicity/credit for the finished product.  It’s also a great way to augment departmental programs and budgets, which can help insure continuing rehire.  On top of that, serving as primary researcher or director of a grant-funded project is a tremendous asset in professional development and advancement in the academy. 

    However, there is a mindset among instructors (adjuncts and otherwise) that this isn’t their domain, that grantwriting is some mysterious specialization outside of their purview, comprehension, and capabilities, that the institutions have grantwriting staffs whose job that is, and so forth.  When I’ve done the workshop, the first thing is I have to say all of the above to prospective attendees, because it simply doesn’t register that “grantwriting” could be even remotely relevant to them.  Once they see it, the interest and enthusiasm is overwhelming!

    Anyway, I am quite sure this will be a pathway facilitated by NFM/The Coalition, especially as I have just accepted an invitation to serve on their Advisory Board and on their Finance Committee! 

    AA: I look forward to NFM’s leadership in this area, and it sounds exciting. (And on a personal note, I’d love to take that workshop.) Thank you very much for your time.

    Tags: , , , , ,

  • 21 Oct 2009 /  Uncategorized

    Whew! I’m exhausted.

    Ahem. Let me start again. Like many adjuncts, I teach for more than one school. These schools vary in their commitment to, and treatment of, their adjunct faculty, as well as to the quality of instruction they provide. Yesterday, one of those I got a chance to take part in efforts by one of those schools— Baker College— to raise the quality of its writing instruction. Since Baker uses mainly adjunct faculty, this meant the day was devoted to helping adjunct writing teachers teach better.

    Baker held its First Annual College Writing Conference yesterday. It was a one day event. For schools with a single campus, organizing such an event would be relatively simple: book the space, plan the day, and call it done. However, Baker has numerous campuses throughout Michigan, as well as a thriving online program, so just bringing everyone together meant a tremendous commitment. It meant some faculty members drove hours from Cadillac to Clinton Township—and that the online faculty flew in from California, Washington, and in one case, Australia. (Melissa travelled for something like 26 hours.)

    On Baker’s end, it meant providing hotel rooms for everyone, flights for those of us who flew in, and paying everyone for our time. Since they brought in around a hundred people, and paid hundreds of dollars, even without the catered food and the transportation, that’s tens of thousands of dollars in expenses.

    I call that commitment. What’s more, as the event’s title indicates, we’ll be having these each year. Other schools, take note: this is one way to improve the quality of your writing instruction, and one way to show your commitment to your adjuncts. (Well, three ways, actually: training + money + promises for the future.)

    Future conferences may focus on flashier content, and we’re promised big name speakers. This one, though, focused on two things in the context of a third. First, we graded papers using a new rubric Baker was establishing (mostly done—still tinkering with a bit) for use throughout its system. We graded them in groups.

    Second, we discussed our scores, which led to one of the primary goals of the day: raising and regularizing standards throughout the system. Students frequently complain one instructor asking them to write one way (and grading accordingly), then having to learn an entirely new way of writing for another instructor (and seeing their grades suffer until they do so). When we explained to one another why Instructor Smith gave this a 3 out of 4 for argument support while Instructor Jones gave it 0 points, we learned many things. Of course, we learned the reasoning for that specific evaluation, and for other evaluations of organization, style, etc. More importantly, though, we learned one another’s assumptions about what writing is, what good writing should be, and how we should teach. This led to useful (if meandering) broader discussions of pedagogy.

    We changed groups throughout the day, and so got a chance to work with a number of different peers. Along the way I made notes on how to teach specific elements of the essay, as well as general approaches I might take (or avoid) to writing in general. This was part of the general third function of the day: building a community, and specifically a community of practice devoted to writing.

    The day had specific and focused goals, and largely met them. It also, though, inevitably did and taught other things. I was reminded of how radically differently people can conceive of writing. At least as important, I was reminded of how the grind of daily practice can rigidify us in our writing pedagogy, until one valid way to teach writing becomes the only valid way to teach writing.

    Watching peers grade, I was reminded of the pressures on all of us who teach writing, but especially adjuncts, to falsely simplify the process of evaluating writing. I saw some of my peers doing this through becoming overly rigorous in a single area (one spelling error = a letter grade deduction, commas left out of the in-text citations in an APA-formatted paper that was otherwise perfectly presented = zero points in this area, etc.), so that they could move through swiftly and with the illusion of high standards. I some of my peers doing this through departing from the rubric provided through the lure of compassion (”The student clearly tried so hard!”). (I do not excuse myself from either of these flaws, alas.)

    Taking part in the collective grading started the process it was intended to do: we all learned from one another. In the process, we sharpened our abilities to articulate what we wanted from students. We transformed some of the collective expertise that had gone nonverbal through the years of accrual and practice back into words, allowing us to construct shared models and, again, to practice sharing them with students.

    Other things happened as well, things related to writing and writing instruction, but more tangentially. As an online faculty member, I half expected to feel excluded or out of place. I realized that that some of the adjuncts teaching in the traditional classroom at the distant campuses were far more isolated than I. They may never see peers, never discuss teaching, etc. Politics roiled around the day, irrelevant to this post but shaping the context in which we all worked and taught and occasionally felt.

    The day, then, was valuable in itself, as a tool of community formation, and as a sign of the school’s commitment. It was useful for us as teachers, as writers, and as adjuncts. And you know what? If one school (in cash-strapped Michigan!) can do this for their adjuncts, so can others.

    Tags: , , ,

  • 14 Oct 2009 /  adjuncts, awards

    Whew! After last week’s despair fest, I figure my loyal readers deserve a reminder of how much adjunct writers contribute to their communities.

    Adjuncts at USC have won Pulitzers (William Inge, Paul Zindel, and A. Scott Berg) and Oscars (Harry Brown, Marc Norman, Edmund North, Robert Pirosh, and Frank Tarloff). They’ve won the National Medal of Arts (Ray Bradbury), and written books that have reshaped lives (Betty Friedan, among others).

    Lest you think that’s just a USC thang, Ben Quick, adjunct for the University of Arizona system, won a 2008 Pushcart Prize.

    Continuing across the country, let’s pause in Texas to celebrate Bob Lynch, adjunct faculty member for Lone Star College, who is lucky enough to teach for a system who describes adjuncts as “ An adjunct professor is a supplemental faculty member with unique experience and the desire to share it with the next generation of professionals. Within the faculty at Lone Star College-North Harris, any number of these outstanding individuals can be found — men and women with spectacular résumés who have the ability to add a new dimension to the college experience.”

    Go Lone Star! In fact, a virtual cruise around Lone Star College leaves me thinking good things are happening in that system. Consider, for example, Amanda Auchter. Also an adjunct in the Lone Star system, Ms. Auchter has won or been nominated for a host of literary awards, and is somehow made time to found and edit Pebble Lake Review.

    Skipping over to Boston, we see Ann Ross winning the Grub Street Poetry Revision Fellowship in 2005. What’s nice about an adjunct winning this award is that it is specifically aimed at helping the recipient polish a book manuscript for publication (hence providing a multiplier effect for future awards, publications, and jobs).

    Continuing on to the Big Apple, you’ll find Helen Phillips, an adjunct at Brooklyn College, winning the Rona Jaffe Award (fiction) in 2009. Here too we see this multiplier effect in action, as Phillips has said she’ll use the (rather substantial) prize to finish another book.

    Lest you think that it’s only the liberal arts where adjunct writers win awards, consider MIT, that bastion of left-brain thinking, where Marcia Bartusiak teaches science writing. Bartusiak has won the American Institute of Physics’ Andrew W. Gemant Award and the AIP Science Writing Award.

    Whew. I’m feeling better, and I hope you are too—and I’ve only scratched the surface. I think I’m going to keep generating this list, to revive my spirits on those difficult days. For now, I’ll just offer a few concluding thoughts.

    First, award-winning adjunct writers are everywhere.

    Second, as noted above (and as many have noted elsewhere), awards have a multiplier effect. Winning one makes you more likely to win others, to earn higher pay for work, etc. That’s the value of the award economically. Spiritually, they function as nourishment, helping the exhausted hyphenate (adjunct-writer) regenerate.

    Third, it is often nice to be reminded that some systems (like Lone Star and USC) recognize that there is a proper role for adjuncts. Ideally, adjuncts are individuals who don’t want to live purely academic lives, but who want to work in their fields and teach, and who bring superior expertise to the classroom as a result.

    Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

  • 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.

    Tags: , ,

Get Adobe Flash playerPlugin by wpburn.com wordpress themes