Hand me that fake beard

I'm not planning to join the CIA, but I am considering new identities. I moved home from Cambridge a year ago, which was a year after I graduated. Am I still an academic? The answer is: sort of. I've kept presenting at Victorianist conferences; heck, in November, I participated in a hilarious staged reading of a melodrama of Jane Eyre, in which I played Mr. Rochester! I spend some hours at the library each week, theoretically working on a variety of articles and the aforementioned conference papers. I also spend more hours on my paying editing jobs.

I knew the state of academia before I started my PhD, and I've never felt that being a professor was the only thing I could possibly enjoy. Nevertheless, trying to figure out what alternate career would be intellectually stimulating enough to keep me engaged day after day is proving a challenge. I apply selectively to jobs that seem to fit the bill, and generally get no interest -- even when I'm extremely (over?) qualified. The silence is maddening, in no small part because you don't know where you stand.

So it has gone for much of the last year. Recently, though, I got some nibbles of interest -- some from academic quarters, and some from the techie world where I've been learning the ropes. That has re-energized me enormously. My dual life continues for now; I even made double-sided business cards: one side representing my work as an "independent scholar," and one as an editor. No fake beards required as yet!

A jaunty jaunt and an overwhelming autumn

I went back to the UK! (Temporarily.) Since I sang with the chapel choir for two-thirds of last academic year, I got in on one more tour to France, though in the end it was extremely light on singing music. We began in Ste Anne d'Auray, where we have ongoing friendly relations with the Academy of Sacred Music. Having practiced with their teenage choristers, we took a long bus ride to Paris, where we did our best to survive an epic heat wave. There we performed our one and only concert: singing Fauré's Requiem in the church where Fauré was the organist, La Madeleine. Back in Ste Anne, we sang mass at the cathedral and took a trip to the seaside. The weather was gray and drizzly, but I think we were happy to finally be cool again. And my carpool car stopped to check out one of the many sets of standing stones outside the town of Carnac.

When the choir trip was done, I had another week to spend in Cambridge. I tinkered with emails and such in the mornings, then headed to the University Library for lunch and the afternoon hours. It was nice to make focused progress on my latest research project, and of course to see old friends.

Since coming back, I have been overwhelmed with all of the tasks I have going at once. The spinning plates are beginning to wobble, honestly. It's a combination of paid work (from several sources), a conference paper to research and write, a book chapter that's way overdue for revising (I hate revising), the long-gestating book proposal, and job applications. Whew! If I make it through the first week of November, things should calm down a bit. Then I can look back and be a little proud of how many things I managed to accomplish, albeit while missing every single deadline.

Reading and rowing

I have a PhD in English literature. It follows that I rather like reading. But when you make something your job, it's no longer about pure pleasure. One major feature of being (mostly) a non-academic again has been that most of my reading is just stuff I've been wanting to read. People give me books, and many have sat on shelves for years (the books, not the people). Now... at long last... I'm reading them.

The Help was very good, even having seen the movie on one of my many international flights. I delved into the universe of Dune, with its Tolkien-esque depth of mythology that is constantly alluded to with minimal explanation. I just finished The Name of the Rose, and I have to say, I do not understand how that beast ever became a bestseller. It's largely made up of Umberto Eco showing off how much he has researched medieval monks and theological debates that I couldn't possibly care less about. Next, I'm going to try for a book that doesn't annoy me with an author who seems to be daring his reader to wade through all his scholarship (real or invented). I wonder if my tastes have been affected by living so long in older layers of the literary canon.

Meanwhile, I also took part in my first rowing regatta in the U.S. We did very badly, which gave me pause about how long I'll stay at this rowing club. I love the people, but I spent most of my time in Cambridge losing in rowing competitions, and I've had enough of that for this lifetime. But we had a fun day out, and I have found my Trinity Hall pull-string backpack (a graduation gift from the college) to be very useful.

Speaking of Cambridge, I'll be going back for a visit at the end of this month, and I'm quite excited. When I pause and immerse myself in the full-body memory of living there, I'm filled with happiness and gratitude for the time I had there. Thank goodness I didn't get into any PhD programs in America; I would still be mid-degree and not nearly so happy. Whereas now I get to go back for one last choir tour and sing with a very special group of people who brought balance to my most advanced academic endeavor.

Several times in the past few weeks, a trick of light or sound when I first wake up has made me think that it's raining outside, but of course it doesn't rain in the Bay Area in the summer. Ever. Dare I say I miss the English moodiness a bit? Sure, I can drink tea here (and I do), but it's just not quite the same as an underlying social bond. So I'm looking forward to revisiting the good and letting the bad slip out of sight in my rose-colored glasses. I just have to choose what book to bring along.

"We all are changed by still degrees"

It's always a treat for me to stumble upon an apt quotation. The other day, I was editing one of my former dissertation chapters (more on that later), and I found Tennyson reflecting that it's only right that

                changes should control
Our being, lest we rust in ease.
We all are changed by still degrees[.]

There's no doubt at all that I changed by "still degrees" during the PhD, but my life is also in the process of changing slowly. For now, I have a balance that works for my multiple desires, but it feels very just-for-now, which keeps me itchily looking for what's next. Even though I'm not at all ready to commit to only one direction. Here's the latest:

Work

It may sound petty, but I am so ready to be earning money again. My tech editing gig has been bumped up to 20 hours a week, which is a huge surge in income compared to my student days. The trick is getting myself to do those full 20 hours in a job that doesn't require me to physically turn up very often. Part of me drools over how much I would be earning if I worked full-time, but a) it's not clear whether I'd like the job if I had to do it all the time, b) I really, really value my flexible schedule, and c) I need time in my schedule to do:

Research

This one feels like it has dropped off a lot since I got back from Cambridge, but I wonder whether that's actually the case. Even in that extra year that I spent in England after graduating, with supposedly nothing to do but research, I didn't accomplish an impressive amount. In my current life, I usually spend one afternoon (four hours) a week in the Stanford library, compiling a massive list of William Morris's off-rhymes. I'll write about that project in depth in another post, but I think it will be really cool in the end -- if I don't get bogged down in trying to be comprehensive about minutiae. (Ha!)

Rowing!

Remember that thing I used to spend a lot of my time doing? I researched local rowing clubs, and there aren't a lot of them. Both of the ones I contacted were slow to respond, but eventually I had a practice outing with each. I think I'm going to join the one that trains on a reservoir up in the hills. Among other things, it really does make a difference to be out in the fresh air someplace pretty. It's invigorating for the spirit as well as the body. But it does involve getting up at 4:00am, so I'm a bit wary of committing to doing it multiple times a week.

So that's where we stand, ladies and gents. Each week slides by with me trying to do as much as I can of work and research. I also browse job postings, trying to imagine what I might like doing as a full-time working adult. I vacillate between confidence that I'm a highly skilled, intelligent person and the depressing feeling that I'd have trouble convincing others of my value to their company. But since I'm not ready to throw in the towel with regards to research, I shall carry on with the current structure for the moment.

Life in transition

Well, I'm back. The England adventure is over, and it feels very strange to say that.

Right now, I'm taking my new life one day at a time, and I'm focusing my thoughts on reorganizing my bedroom. It's something I've felt needed doing every time I came home for visits, but I never had the time. Now there is both time and necessity: I've returned with three suitcases of clothing, and boxes of books and miscellaneous items will be headed my way soon. I have to find a place to put everything, and possibly get rid of some things I haven't missed while I was away.

I'm no psychiatrist, but I'm self-aware enough to realize that part of my enthusiasm for this project is that it gives me something to do that I can control. I'm literally bringing order to chaos as I shop around for a bookcase that will fit what little wall space I have left and research the options for creating more closet shelving. It also helps that my old roommate (whom I liked very much!) has moved out, and she had a lot of stuff in the common spaces. Although I miss her cheerful presence, I can make more use of the living room now that her furniture is gone. My professional future may be murky, but by the time I'm done, my apartment will have a place for everything, and everything will be in its place. Even me.

My new IKEA bookcase,
plus a newly framed photo of PhD graduation

When not sorting, shifting, or assembling, I continue the part-time editing work I've been doing for about a year and a half. The company has been very patient and flexible with me as I traveled the world, and I want to repay that generosity with some fixed dedication now that my life is a bit more stable. It will take time to work out my new routine, including extracurriculars, so I focus on the satisfaction of getting a little bit more off the floor each day. And it is very satisfying indeed.

The final stretch

Greetings and a happy new year to all!

My six weeks in the U.S. were full of travel. I'd found cheap airfare from London to L.A., so I started with a week there, including visiting Disneyland with a friend who knows all the trivia about it. After a week in Palo Alto, I swung through Seattle to visit my grandma on the way to my brother's family in Boise. That's where I celebrated Christmas, along with my parents. And almost immediately afterward, I was off to Los Angeles again, joining the Stanford Band for a third trip to the Rose Bowl.

In mid-January, I returned to England for the last couple months of the visa I received under the Doctorate Extension Scheme. I have said several times that I was going home, and yet I kept putting it off. The nominal reason was that I'll probably never again have the chance to live here for months at a time, just doing research, singing, and rowing. Why throw that away? But as you might guess, it was also emotionally difficult to pull the plug on this entire other life I've built up. I love my life in California, so returning there is not a punishment by any means. But some part of me is worried that it will be like Cambridge never happened.

It was only this weekend that the emotional part really struck me, though. Until now, when people asked how I felt about leaving, I told them honestly that I was at peace with it because I simply had no choice. I don't have to pick one of my lives; my time here has come to its natural conclusion. But suddenly yesterday I really realized that I will have no place here anymore. Even the idea of taking my books off the shelf and watching my room drain of my personality is depressing, whereas before I was focused on the logistics of how I would do it all.

I know it will all work out, but every now and then we have to give ourselves grieving space. I've just been reminded that I'll be needing that.

"A dissertation is not a book"

If you search the internet for advice on turning your dissertation into a book, that is the sentence you will see most often. Advice columns repeat it a lot, certain that you don't believe them. I believe them, I really do! But when it comes to the specifics, I'm at a loss for how to proceed. Things they say:

• Cut down your overabundance of citations: Okay, I can do that.

• Remove your methodology and lit review sections: I barely had these. Basically, I should cut most of my (short) introduction.

• Write more engagingly for a non-specialist audience: I've done that all along. I know this, because my supervisor called me out on it a lot.

• Rearrange everything to a) say the most interesting stuff first, and b) make your argument emerge.

The last one is what I'm struggling with. Unlike American PhDs, I didn't have hermetically-sealed chapters that each handled separate authors. I had themes that bled into each other. I spent the last few months before submission moving things around between different chapters. I simply don't know where I would move things again, having spent a lot of time finding the right place for them.

So am I deluded? Did I actually manage to write a dissertation that doesn't require total reorganization? These are the decisions I weigh as I prepare a book proposal. I moved onto that project after I finally sent off an article I'd been working on for ages (including two trips to Lincoln). What a relief that was! I dearly hope it gets accepted.

In the meantime, end-of-term festivities kicked off with the choir's annual advent carol service and wine-soaked dinner yesterday. I have the rest of the week to pack up for winter break and consult any books that might inform said book proposal. The weather has turned windy, gray and miserable, guaranteeing that the annual Fairbairns race will be the usual uncomfortable experience. On we muddle...