Not a lead balloon, but not helium filled, either

I'm on the fence about today's session of the Fiction Writing class. It wasn't bad, but toward the end, the students were starting to tune out: they'd had enough. So there was definitely a leaden atmosphere--and as a class, a collection of young people, they haven't caught fire, no reactive chemistry going on. Next time they seem to be fading out, however, I'll let them go instead of trying to come up with something productive to do; they'd actually done fine work, and most of them had good contributions to make. A few are very skilled at analysis, so my job was to allow the analysis but then bring the conversation back to authorial choices, methods, techniques. I'll be very interested to read their notes: some are doing way more than is needed, some not as much as I'd like--but the main thing is, what are they noticing?

One of the things I liked is that they're starting to use each other's names: "It's like Soandso said," instead of "It's like she said." Good. It will get even better when they get used to talking to each other instead of always through me--but that will take some time.

We'll see how it goes through the first workshop week. After that, I'll check in with them, see how they feel about the process, if they think there's something else that we could do or add, or a different approach, that might be more helpful to them--or if they're OK with what we're doing.

The other thing I liked fell into my head right at the end of class: I asked them, "OK, what will you take away from this story that could be useful to you in your own writing?" It seems so obvious to ask, but it honestly hadn't occurred to me until that moment. A few volunteered good ideas; the others, I'm sure, are going to think about the question. Of course, I mentioned that to Paul, and he riffed on the pedagogy of starting every class (any class) with a review of what has been covered so far, then ending with a review of what was covered in that day's session. "Have them write it down," he said. I see the value to that--and I'll suggest to them that they add it to their notes. I don't need to see what they decide to keep, but it's helpful for them to remember that there will always be something to learn from the models I've provided--and to have it written down.

There is one student I worry about. Well, no, I take that back. I don't worry about him. I'm virtually certain he's not going to make it. He couldn't understand the story (which is not at all difficult--Le Guin's "Malheur County") and his notes consisted of about 15 words total. I asked him about his difficulty with the reading, and he said, "Honestly?" Yes. He confessed that he doesn't like to read and has a short attention span. Clearly he hasn't developed any tools to overcome those problems, so I suggested he meet with me. I told him I can give him some ideas how to bring his attention back to the reading, and I can, but I'm pretty sure it's a lost cause. If he hasn't learned how to keep his attention on reading by now, I don't think he's going to--because I don't think he really believes that he needs to, that it's important. OK, Son, if you feel that way--and good luck with that if you want a real job in the real world.

The time in Advisement today was fine. There was just enough of a steady stream of students that I wasn't tapping my toes, wondering if the next five minutes would ever pass, but it wasn't frantic. Most of the students were there because, having been to a class once, they've decided either they don't like the days and times or they don't like the professor--or the class is more demanding than they think they can handle. Over and over I said, "Well, a lot of it depends on where you can find a seat: most classes are closed at this point." The worst was the one student who came in and hadn't registered for anything because he wanted to see an adviser before he registered. I didn't say, "And where have you been since January? Because we've been here...." I just showed him what he still needed to graduate and told him good luck.

I only got impatient with one student who was very difficult to hear and understand (soft voice, slight speech impediment, foreign accent: triple threat)--and who also didn't seem to know how to prioritize. What's most important, to find classes that financial aid will cover--since now the only courses that apply to the program you're in are the liberal arts courses you don't want to take--or to find classes that fit the program you want to transfer into, but that financial aid won't cover, because they're not part of the program you are currently in? The answer to that seemed to be "yes." Yes what? "Both options." (She didn't say that: I'm providing the subtext.) I'd offer her suggestions for option A; she'd reject those so I'd offer suggestions for option B: no, she didn't want that either. Darlin', there is no option C. I finally sent her off to figure it out for herself. I think she's going with option A, even though she doesn't like it. That's OK: it will do her good, rather like a dose of castor oil. (It ain't just a remedy for constipation: it's good for almost anything that ails you. Like a liberal arts education. Which has no effect on constipation, except constipation of the mind, perhaps. But I digress.)

Most of the students, however, were very understanding of their limited options--and willing to go off and look for what they could find on Banner while they can still add courses (that period ends tomorrow at midnight). I'd suggest they haunt Banner, looking for seats to open up--and in fact, one of my own students just benefited from that. A young woman wrote to me last week (I think) to ask if she could get into Fiction Writing, which was, at that point, full. Today, I found out that one student dropped--so I e-mailed the interested student to let her know that a seat was available, if she wanted to jump on it. She did. Now it's just a matter of her getting the materials and getting caught up with the rest of us. The main thing is that she really wanted to take the class, and I think she's thrilled that I alerted her to the possibility. Happy to do it, for a motivated student.

I'm about to pack it in for tonight. There seems to be a problem with my connection to our printer (fuck), so I'll see if I can get that sorted out without too much trauma. If it gets too hairy, I'll contact our computer wizard and ask her to fix it tomorrow (if possible). Tomorrow's P&B meeting has been canceled--because there is an emergency meeting of the department chairs that Bruce has to attend--so I should have oodles of time to come in and get prepped for classes as well as do, well, who knows what else.

Oh, yeah: and the adjunct union is out on strike. It's illegal for them to strike (Taylor Law forbids public employees from striking), but they're doing it anyway. They did it before, when their last contract wasn't approved (back in 2007, I think it was). Last time, those of us in the union for full-time faculty went through a lot of bruhaha about whether to honor the picket lines (doing so can get us in trouble with the Taylor Law) or whether to go on about our business. Much as I want to show solidarity with them--we're all on the same side in this cultural war--I'm going to go about teaching my classes like always. I do worry about the students in classes taught by adjuncts, though. And not terribly surprisingly, we've been informed by the administration that we are not to discuss the strike with students, parents, the community, or the media. (Freedom of speech has apparently been suspended for the duration.) If the students ask me, I'll tell them what I know, which is damned little. But more to my own selfish interests, this may be a sign of what our union is up against. The adjunct faculty has been without a contract for three years, and now they're on strike. Is this sort of like the way the Golden Globes suggest possible outcomes for the Oscars? Not that anyone is getting a golden statuette--or any reason to give a "thank you" speech. Politics. Christ I hate it.