Umberto Eco made the first hundred pages of his novel The Name of the Rose deliberately stately in pace, laden with tedious detail. His rationale? Visitors to a whole 'nother world should expect to pay some kind of penance as the price of admission.
The week began hopefully, as the Dodge Caliber I'd rented turned into a Grand Caravan for the same price. In the rush to pack, however, I'd forgotten my blood pressure medication. The first few days were bracketed by a constant low-grade headache and ringing ears. When I finally went to the doctor for an emergency refill, the fickle scales said I'd gained 10 pounds.
Consider me penanced.
This class, my last on campus, alas, was a seminar dealing with the heart of the scholar's task, getting published. Folks pursuing tenure are expected to average two published articles per year over the course of seven years. Since it can take more than a year to push an article through the hoops, the wise aspirante (that's Ukrainian for grad student) tries to keep a number of articles in process at a time.
After several years in the program, we've become aware of the difference between a student and a scholar. A student seeks to generate papers of the required length, each designed to please the professor and cite the textbooks. The "see what a good boy am I" motive prevails. The scholar gets excited about some corner of God's universe, eagerly studies it, and seeks to present it to thoughtful peers in the form of a well-written, well-reasoned, well-supported publication.
After several days dealing with the mechanics of creating professional material, we reviewed on another's papers. This was a painful, but encouraging process. My content is good, it seems, but my presentation is too casual, flippant, lightweight.
Bottom line? I'm finally a grownup, and my reflections deserve to be taken seriously. First of all, by me.
No comments:
Post a Comment