Don’t you hate it when you’re talking to people and they either have something very large stuck in their teeth or they have a little something hanging out of their nose? What about when you don’t know that person very well? Or that person is a boss/professor/colleague/new romance…it’s so uncomfortable, isn’t it? And when that person with the large object all jacked up in his/her teeth/nose is you, the rest of us tend to say, “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me I had blah blah…” and the other responds, “Oh, I didn’t even see it!” We all know we saw it, don’t we? Or at least those of us who are extremely observant of the person with whom we’re speaking. We know. We just feel too uncomfortable to say anything. And there it is: that moment when someone does tell you that you do, in fact, have something hanging or stuck…then it’s just an uncomfortable moment—a split second of humility. Or when you’re walking and you trip over nothing, then look around to see if anyone saw you…or just keep walking with a little side step so it looked like you meant to perform that totally ungraceful move—as if it was purposeful to look like a jackass. Or the people who trip, look around, see that you have noticed their graceless-ness, and then say something like, “Oh my gosh, I totally just tripped.” Like you might not have seen them so they feel the need to tell you even though you’ll never see them again. Or, “Oh my gosh, I totally didn’t see that.” And you smile politely like you don’t know what that person is talking about, as if you didn’t see him or her stumble over a non-existent crack in the ground and perform the absolutely absurd actions that follow.
There are other scenarios in life that I find to be quite analogous to the booger/black spice/jackass-trip situations. And those scenarios are when I happen to be that slight piece of booger, or the black spice leftover in your front tooth, or your right foot that suddenly seems as if it has grown a gigantic clown shoe for a millisecond. I can happily say it’s all about humility for me. The universe constantly reminds me that I am a human being and that I will make mistakes; and if I practice acknowledging those mistakes, then I can continue to learn and grow.(Sound reflective enough for ya?)
During the recently chilly month of May in
And so the I-am-the-spice-caught-in-tooth/I-become-the-booger-story unfolds.
For our “non-traditional” PhD class, we had to meet at
The first night of our “community of writers meeting,” I noticed a certain atmosphere that puzzled me. You see, you can take this class as many times as you’d like, but it’s on a first-come, first-serve basis, so it depends on if you sign up in time. This year there were a few returning doctoral students I decided to name the Tribal Elders, and there were the neophytes—the rest of us. The Tribal Elders were a motley crew, all residing over in a department called “Leisure and Recreation Studies.” Yes, that is correct. There is a whole department where people can acquire a doctor of philosophy (as well as an undergraduate degree and a master’s degree) in Leisure and Recreation. What does this entail, you ask? You know, the usual: hangin’ out at someone’s pad, channel surfin’, chillin’ at the bar, smokin’ some weed…whatever dude…Ok, not really. Leisure and Rec. is actually a really interesting department where future park rangers, hotel service industry people, and some other kinds of people I’m sure go to get their degrees in wonderfulness. So the Tribal Elders consisted of four Leisure and Rec. PhD students who were all nearing finished with their dissertations and natives of the writing class, raising their status considerably in many areas of PhDness. And like I said earlier, the rest of us were just…new.
During “community of writers meeting” (notice how I’ve put this in quotations twice now? There is a reason for this that will soon be revealed), we were required to share something with the group that we had been working on that day or that week. Because this was the first meeting, most seemed to be shying away from sharing their progress, so a few of the Elders read their stuff. All of them received multiple kudos from the professors and the neophyte crowd like, “Oh, wow, that’s amazing writing you have there. Your dissertation is just incredible. You’re an awesome writer. I loved how you…..That one line on page six, paragraph three really moved me….” Yadda, yadda, yadda. And after they were finished there was silence. So much silence, in fact, that our professor said, “I’m really good at wait time. Just watch how good I am with wait time.” So you know who piped up! Couldn’t help myself. Saw an entry point and took it. Let me back up here and say that when one shares during “community of writers meeting,” she is supposed to give some background to the writing—some context, if you will. People might say, “My study is about blah, blah, blah, and this is where I am with it.” And you’re also supposed to say if you want a “bless, a press, an address,” or one more rhyming word that is all writer-ee and community-oriented. Bless just means “gimme positive feedback and don’t rip on my shit;” Press means, “give me some feedback and tell me where I can make it better;” Address means, well, I can’t remember because no one did that. And the last one was obviously very important because that word doesn’t even fit into the rhyme scheme in my head any longer. So during my sharing time, I did none of this. Didn’t give background, didn’t give context, and didn’t ask for specifics. Booger/stuck-in-teeth/trip-on-the-pavement-girl just said, “This is a piece of fiction I am writing to begin my book chapter on adolescent girls, body image, and sexuality. It’s the first time I’ve tried my hand at writing fiction, so I’m excited to see what you all think.” That’s it. No more, no less. Unfortunately for me.
Some background for you on this piece of excerpted fiction I read to them. I’m trying to push against what people think is “normal” for adolescent girls to be talking/thinking about in this chapter, so I used this opening piece of fiction to lay the groundwork for a little shock value, I suppose. My professor had said earlier not to lay much foreground for the piece and see what kind of reaction I’d get after reading it. He of course probably meant give them lots of background/context on the premise of the chapter and not on the fiction piece itself, but he should have clarified. To give you a sample of what I was reading to them, I’ve chosen to include a few lines for you below. Please make sure not to replicate these lines as they have not yet been published...plagiarizers…
His lips were warm and moist as they brushed against her cheek and then slowly
found their way to her own mouth. And his breath—oh, his breath. His sweet hot breath reminded her of the Grande mocha latte she picked up from Starbucks each morning on her way to school, as it lingered on her neck before filling her mouth with his tongue. But that was him. Her experience last night with this…amateur… jerked her out of that blissful Oh-my-god-state that she couldn’t really explain but loved reaching whenever she could.
OK, so there are a few lines. The rest is a little more sensual if you can imagine…but you probably can’t, so don’t try—I’ll just expect you to read it when it comes out. Remember the feedback I was mentioning that the Elders received after reading their brilliant work? “Soooo wonderful; you’re so incredible” blah, blah, blah…well, erase that from your memory. I finish reading. Silence. Crickets weren’t even present to welcome the harshness in the air. I look up and around the circle of “friends” to see faces of awe and astonishment. What seemed to feel like three days to me was probably about two minutes of absolute shock and horror. And then finally I say, “Ok, well, that was it. So what’d y’all think?” with a huge cheesy grin on my face. (BTW, if you ever read anything out loud to a group of people who are supposed to be a “community of writers,” who are there to support you and give you inspiration to continue on with your plight of writing, and there are stone-ass-cold faces staring back at you, don’t ASK what they thought of it. Just a little piece of advice from a now seasoned veteran.)
Just a few of the retorts:
“Are you quoting directly from your students? If not, you need to write a whole introduction about how you’re making all this up.”
What race are these girls?”
“Maybe you could get into their culture a little bit. Watch what they watch—what TV shows do they watch? What music do they listen to? That might help you write this a little better in relation to adolescent girls.”
“I mean, ‘erotica’? C’mon! What adolescent girl would think about things having to do with something like that?”
“Maybe you should try hanging out with some adolescents to learn more about them. Because they would never talk about that!”
And my all-time favorite comment—the topper from one of the Tribal Elders—to me…the thirty-four-year-old woman who has only been reading teen books for the past eight years (minus the twenty books a week for her PhD); the reader who for the two weeks prior to our writing class and up to that very day who was reading the Twilight series, which she actually plagiarized (just a lil’ bit) for her fiction piece that she read to the “community of writers” that evening (Twilight series is an adolescent series), the BEST comment of all:
“I’d like to invite you to read some adolescent literature. I think that will help you a lot with what they’re reading and what they think and talk about. Have you ever even read any books for adolescents?” I smiled. I looked around the room again. I chuckled to myself. I dropped the F-bomb a few times in my failed attempt to explain what I was trying to accomplish. And slowly but surely, I became the slender discolored piece of booger that hung in all of their noses, the chive-wedge lodged in their front teeth, the invisible but distinct crack in the sidewalk that they all tripped over at some point in their lives. A good moment of humility, wouldn’t you say?
To end this wonderful recalling of a “community of writers” who were so supportive, my professor whom I had worked with that day finally said, “Well, you obviously got the reaction you were looking for in this first piece of writing, Hilary. Clearly, none of us can say anything about your writing because it is absolutely fabulous if we’re all sitting here with this much emotion in response to it. So let’s move on and hear the next person’s writing, shall we?” Thanks, professor, for being the toothpick/Kleenex that I needed in that moment.
Needless to say the rest of the week when we all came together to “support and love one another” in our very safe—at least for me—“community of writers,” I felt that look (yes, I’m sure it was all me being insecure and suspicious) but it was the feeling of the look, all the same. The, oooh, she has something caught in her teeth but I shouldn’t tell her; the oooh, did you just see that girl trip and almost bust her ass? Let’s wait till she keeps walking and then we’ll make fun of her. I was the girl who had written about fourteen-year-olds talking and thinking about sexuality as well as their insecurities with their bodies. I had named the thing that most of the people sitting in that room—just like many people in education—thought if they didn’t acknowledge was happening or denied to be true, it indeed would not be true. It was a perfect experience for me to go through (drenched in mass waves of humility) so I could discover my dissertation topic for these next three years. Yes everyone, my booger soon became my baby.
I wish I could go on and tell you about finishing my book chapter during those four days and feeling as if it was some of the best writing I had ever done, and then going on to lose my work do to a faulty jump-drive and some stupid-ness on my part, but that would take too long. Just know that I lost most of my work and had to re-write most of it on the last day. But I had loads of support from the Tribal Elders and my writing community, so I was just fine. Oh, and that was just May. Summer number two in PhDness has many more tales attached to its name, so don’t you worry, folks!
Cheers! HEH
