While I Was Sleeping . . .

No, not the usual Cinderella story (wait, that's Sleeping Beauty, right?). The sad truth is that while the blogosphere never stops, the blogger sometimes does. Right now, many many things are happening in the world of academic labor issues. And I need to get down to business.

First, I promised a second blog when the opening at my college was filled. It has been, so I will be talking to those of you who are job seekers to help you hone your presentations.

In the meantime, however   . . .

Ladies and Gentlemen, Meet My Brother.

That’s my brother the mansplainer (with me at his son's wedding - yes, we are all crazy). He read my last blog and decided, in spite of admitting at the end of his response that he knows nothing about the academic job market, that he had to explain exactly why I, and in fact, the entire academic world, [am, are, is] wrong.




Read his blog here: https://hmstewartjr.wordpress.com/2015/03/

Unfortunately, he is wrong on several points. The first was assuming that the job I talked about, like mine, is in composition. In fact, the situation is exactly the opposite of what he assumed: instead of the department chair wanting to keep the Shakespeare seminar, we are seeking a Shakespearean. And we have no freshman lecture classes to offload – all of our English classes are capped at 26. So the first error in job seeking, or sister critiquing, is not researching the position and the institution.

But that’s not the worst of it. He claims that there are no measurables in teaching composition. It might surprise him to know that I’ve spent a great deal of my career studying writing assessment and developing systems that assess both student learning within the classroom and the effectiveness of composition programs in meeting their objectives and learning outcomes. Can I say I’ve improved writing by 25% a quarter like a sales professional? No, but I can show, both quantitatively and qualitatively, if my classes are working, and if a program is working.

His next error is actually kind of sad: connections just don’t mean that much in academic hiring. Job descriptions are very specific, and if you don’t meet them (for example, if you are not first and foremost a Shakespearean in this case), who you know won’t help you. If you are a Shakespearean with connections, that’s nice, but if the unconnected candidate has better qualifications – more publications, more national presentations, better recommendations – your connection won’t help you. When I was on the market, I felt it was a paradox: I worked hard to network, knowing it would probably never help me get a job. But it has helped me be better at my job, so it’s worth doing. Assuming you get the job.

And actually, we care very much what your research interests are. That’s part of the job: have research interests in the field where you are teaching.

And “hiring authorities goals may not be tied to  . . . outcomes?” And business folks claim that education is too jargony to deal with? The “hiring authorities” are a committee of faculty, and ideally that committee includes staff and students. And yes, we want to hire faculty whose goals are in line with those of our institution, and who care about the learning outcomes.

And, even though we are sad to lose a colleague, our committee is not in pain. We’re excited about finding a new member of a very collegial department.

And ultimately, I have to reject his proposal. A non-academic job seeker group might offer moral support, but if, like my brother, that group is totally focused on business, they have nothing practical to offer an academic candidate. Groups like that have told me things like, limit your resume to two pages (my current CV is now 12 – and that represents how short my academic career has been). I agree that candidates should seek out help from their universities, but God forbid that that help should come from “real business people.” I can’t even write what I think about that, because the businessification of education has become its downfall, but no brother of mine will ever see that.

McKee’s blog was distant and impersonal, but the intent was clear: as a business man, as a man, he knows better. In spite of his limited time in the academy in the worst of circumstances, he has to apply the business model. In this case, his advice would torpedo a good candidate. I’m taking him on personally because it’s more honest, and because it’s time we all admitted: we are good at what we do. We know our fields. I have never suggested I know better how trucking or jewelry companies should be run. He’s good at what he does. But so am I.

So academic candidates: take advice from inside. And don’t let anyone mansplain why that’s wrong.

In other words, don't job-hunt (or drive) like my brother (whom, incidentally, I love dearly).

A New View from the Tenure Track Side

I'm on my second search committee since I started my tenure track job in 2012. The part of me that is still tired from seven years of adjuncting (three institutions, five locations, six to seven courses a term - that's a large part of me that is still tired) wants to cry, Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled adjuncts yearning to breathe free (or just to breathe, for that matter) - we have jobs for all!

We don't, of course. And even if we did, we wouldn't hire all applicants.

We're mid-search, so I don't want to say too much. I don't want to discourage those who have already applied, or scare off those who may still intend to apply.

But as of now, we have around 100 applications. 100. For one job with a four-four teaching load in a very rural location that has natural beauty among its charm. (I love it here, but I'm the first to admit it's not for everyone.)

When the search is finished, I'll talk about how the applicants could do a better job of presenting themselves. I know I could have done a much better job - and when I see excellent, professionally presented applications, I learn how I might do better in the future.

But for now, I'd like to address the graduate programs that are sending newly minted PhDs out into the world like lambs to the slaughter.

Please. Offer help to your lambs. Let them toughen into mutton before you let them out into the fragrant meadow that is not the academic job market.

When I see several applications from a prestigious PhD program, either shiny and new or a few years old, and the CVs are so poorly formatted as to be illegible, the cover letters are written to confuse even the most expert of experts in the candidate's specialty, and the font would be charming in a children's picture book, I blame not the candidates so much as the program. And when I see applications that have no relevance to the job description, I blame not the candidates so much as the job market that creates the kind of desperation that causes a zombie-like scatter shot approach to the application process.

Granted, it's not the university's job to spoon feed this information to their graduates, but is a seminar or a writing center workshop too much to ask? We all know the university system is churning out too many PhDs who have little hope of getting good jobs, but couldn't we at least help them? What good is a degree from a top-notch university if they send you out in your sweats and sneakers to seek professional employment?

And, while I'm on the subject, please be thoughtful about the wording of your recommendation letters. Very thoughtful. I read one during the last search in which the committee chair said condescending and sexist things in recommending a female graduate - in total oblivion, I'm sure. Since it was submitted though a confidential portfolio service, the poor woman had no idea she was spreading about a cutesified description of her work and her pedagogy. Our mothers taught us the first rule of writing references - if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all.

So, Dear Academy, I understand it's a tough world, and there's no reason to believe it's going to get easier in the near future. But please don't add to my disillusionment - help your graduates present the image that your high ratings suggest.