#Anyways I’m not a scholar I am not a student of Shakespeare I am not qualified to speak on anything related to this play.

[crow-in-springtime]

You ever think the reason Horatio was so loyal to Hamlet was because he felt like he was responsible since he showed him the ghost in the first place?

[spilledinkstories]

One Level Down

(writing prompt: you board an elevator of strangers and someone says “thank you all for coming”— I just kind of ran with this one, didn’t take it too seriously... :P )

“So I bet you are wondering why I’ve asked you here,” said the woman in the red overcoat.

I had been planning this specific trip to my university’s library for about two weeks now. I had placed a hold on a rare copy of a book you could only read in-house, and I had been notified of the date of my viewing. It was in a temperature-controlled basement room, and to be honest, I had been feeling pretty great about the whole experience. Like this made me a Real Scholar, or something. 

It was a book on the archeological findings at a famous site in China. I was writing a paper on how a report provided by women versus men often offered different focal points of the ideas of the ancient society, or different perspectives on that society all together. For example, you might get a bigger focus in a report on home life rather than warfare. That was the department’s hope, anyway. This was of course a research question posed by the department, and I had been wondering what on earth could be so different in two reports filed on the finding of a hairbrush, but anyway. The temperature-controlled room sounded cool, and I was all about that academic aesthetic. I kind of felt like it was part of some Indiana Jones movie, doing research of relics and ancient peoples, being involved in the ongoing discourse around history, the relationship between a person digging up some ancient artifact in a remote land, and then tourists paying pocket change to stare at it for five seconds. 

So, you can imagine my surprise when, crammed on an old elevator with several other people in various states of exhaustion, digging for gum in my overflowing backpack to eradicate the taste of crappy cafeteria coffee on my breath, the woman spoke. 

No one said anything for a couple seconds. 

“Really, no one is curious?” She pressed. 

“We got your memo, ma’am,” said one of the young men in a baggy sweatshirt. 

“Didn’t think to question it,” said another.

“Headquarters told me yesterday, I flew out immediately,” said a girl in a voice simply dripping with a thirst to prove herself. It’s worth mentioning that we were six Americans standing in an elevator in London, England.

“Good,” said the woman in the red coat. 

“Why a library,” whined the first boy. “I thought joining up meant a life of excitement, not…books.”

I had to hide my grin, not wanting to be caught. I don’t know if they knew I didn’t know what was happening, but I’ll tell you: I didn’t. I was intrigued though, and figured it wouldn’t hurt to pretend I was one of them for a little while.

“Well, I assume you all brought your paperwork with you, so we won’t waste any time getting started. I’ve booked the main room down here for one hour, so let’s be sharp, got it?” The woman in red spoke with an authority that was positively presidential. We fell in line like soldiers as the elevator doors creaked open, and she marched down a carpeted hall to what looked like a conference room. 

I was beginning to question my new plan, realizing I’d miss my viewing of the book if I stayed too long with these strangers, when someone spoke in my ear. “I haven’t seen you before, but it’s nice to have another girl on the team. Wanna sit next to me?”

“Okay,” I whispered back. 

“I’m Anna,” she said, smiling.

“Ivy,” I whispered back. 

“Sit,” said the woman in the red coat, as we entered the conference room. She stood at the front and fired up her laptop, and had it projecting onto the screen in a couple of seconds. Images of old manuscripts and letters filled the screen, all too faint to read properly. 

“So, I want you to go around the room really quickly, tell me your names, and your departments,” she commanded, turning quickly to the young man sitting to her left.

“Brandon, fact checking,” he said.

“Adam, restoration,” said the one who had whined that it was a library job. 

“Jake, archeology.” This one shocked me, since he was dressed like a stoner that thought pop music would be the death of culture but was secretly in love with Taylor Swift. Maybe they were all disguised look like students, to blend on campus or something…

I gulped. I was sweating now, the skin behind my knees prickling inside my tights. Clearly this was some official thing – the power suit the boss lady had been hiding under her red coat was proof of that enough. The skater skirt I had on was okay, and my baggy green knit sweater hid the Captain America t-shirt underneath, and my combat boots hid my Dr. Who socks…but I still felt massively out of place. The space buns hairstyle really was the cherry on top. The epitome of e-girl wannabe, nerdy art student, who’d invited herself to this meeting. I gulped again. “Ivy, sociology,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t shake. 

“Anna, state department,” the other girl said directly after I’d spoken. She looked polished too, like an intern at a high end tech company or something. Wait. Did she say state department?

“Great, and I’m Dr. Grayson, here on behalf of, well, a few people. Important people. Okay. Let’s get started. The short version is that the manuscripts you see on this screen are actually fakes, and we have to prove it. The long version is that they were  pulled from a recent dig at a site said to house artifacts from the Byzantine empire, and they are to be displayed at the British Museum next month. It’s a political scheme. In essence, the scientists pushing these documents want to present them to the public as proof that an archaic and brutal form of biochemical warfare was commonly used before, in order to try to naturalize it into the minds of civilians, in hopes that if it’s used later they won’t deem it a warcrime that came out of nowhere.” With that, Dr. Grayson began handing out papers around the table, giving us a moment to digest.

Um. 

What the hell had I walked into? I needed to go. I had to get out of there. But how was I supposed to leave without them knowing I didn’t belong? On the other hand, how was I supposed to sit here and listen to the rest of this and then try to walk away, having heard all their plans? Either way I felt like I was done for. I could feel the sweat prickling my armpits and the backs of my knees, and my toes felt slick inside my shoes. My stomach felt acidic, and I could feel it churning and roiling. I was sure Jake and Anna on either side of me could hear my heart palpitating and my breath coming in short, uneven rasps.

“Your handouts outline the task ahead of us. Of course the lawyers are already trying to handle the scientists putting this research forward as legitimate, so we’re not really going to focus on the publicity angle ourselves. Our focus is to prove that this document is a fake. We’re going to analyze it, and we’ll have to dig up some research on warfare of the time, but we’ll also be dispatching our own team to the dig site. We want to see what other artifacts or things they supposedly dug up there. Anything we can do to discredit this.”

“Right, so Brandon and I can team up, if you want,” Adam said.

“I’d hoped so. You two can work on trying to disprove the authenticity of these artifacts. They’re here actually, in the other room. Being cared for. The staff here put them in the maps room.” 

Holy crap…what had I walked into. I had known choosing to go to university in London would be exiting - I’d always loved British culture, but I thought I’d be reading Shakespeare and arguing essays from Ophelia’s perspective…stuff like that. Saying that Lady Macbeth could be construed as a hero, given women’s issues of the times. Not…this.

“So, that leaves Jake, Anna, and Ivy,” Dr. Grayson was saying, “perfect. We’ll get on the jet, and we should be at the dig in about three hours. You’ll be fitted with the proper tools, of course.”

Oh my god. Oh my god. Why had I followed them off that elevator?

An hour later I was seated between Jake and Anna on a very small airplane, taking off from Heathrow. 

“So, state department, huh? Couldn’t stand to let actual scientists get some work done without a babysitter?” Jake tossed this scornfully at Anna, ignoring me who was awkwardly slumped in my seat and wishing I didn’t exist.

“Unsupervised scientists are exactly what created this mess, dumbo.” 

“Wow, I can’t believe you called me that. Dumbo. Ouch. How am I going to be able to focus on my work, with a wound so deep?” 

“Ugh,” Anna rolled her eyes, and turned to look out her window. And by god, I wish she hadn’t, because Jake turned to me instead.

“Cute hair, by the way. You blended in really well. Sociology, you said? What’s your area?” I gulped, my throat feeling like it was made of carpet. I was an introvert to begin with, so honest conversation with strangers posed enough of a challenge. But this was another beast entirely.

“Im interested in women’s suffrage,” I squeaked.

“Of course you are. No, I didn’t mean your disguise,” he said with a laugh. He must have mistaken my anxiety for anger, because he followed with “I mean, we’re all into women’s rights. Don’t get me wrong. I just meant…like…what’s your speciality, like, why’d you get put on this specific case?” 

I wracked my brains so hard I wondered if it was possible to inflict a concussion that way.

“I was in the middle of conducting research on how different teams of anthropologists or archeologists can influence the public image of ancient societies, based on publication and subsequent publicity.” 

“Oh, so you’re from the office of public affairs, basically,” he said in a bored voice. 

“Have you ever been to a dig before?” Anna asked, sounding politely interested. I simply shook my head. 

“Okay, no worries, Jake and I can handle the grunt work, and you can focus on your write-up. I’m sure you’ve got a tight deadline for this.” I smiled appreciatively, blown away that my answer had satisfied them and terrified of making things worse. 

“Wait, I thought Grayson said we weren’t covering the publicity, that they had lawyers on it,” Jake said.

“It’s more academics,” I said vaguely, and they nodded as though this meant something significant. 

Thank the lord we spent the rest of the flight in relative silence, reading through the documents Grayson had handed out. They really just outlined procedures for the dig site, and our capacity there, but Anna had assured me I could just linger to a side with a laptop if I wanted.

We touched down in Genoa around three in the afternoon. 

At least if it was my last day as a free citizen on this earth, I could say I’d gone to Italy with a frankly quite attractive scientist boy. Not a bad last day, as these things go. With mountains on one side and the sea on the other, it was absolutely breathtaking. If I hadn’t been in the middle of an hours-long panic attack, I think it would have been the best day of my life. 

Off the plane, we got into an SUV right there on the tarmac, and as I watched the scenery slip from urban to rural I wondered what had inspired these fake scientists or whatever to even want to do this. What kind of biochemical warfare were they suggesting? Dr. Grayson hadn’t said, and none of the paperwork had said it either. I suppose the others back in London would decode it from the manuscripts, if that’s what they were doing, but…

“So you’re here to report on us, Anna tells me. I was wondering who you were,” Grayson spoke in a quiet voice from the front seat. I said nothing, feeling like my throat was going to swell shut in panic. Was I busted? Would they tie rocks to my feet and toss me out to sea?

“I don’t blame you for not wanting to speak up until we were on our way. The bureaucrats never want the researchers involved, but then they get mad when the researchers say something they don’t like, so what’s the point? You may as well be here and get the proper intel.” She swivelled in the front seat to face me. “Don’t make me regret it, got it?” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said in what I hoped was a winning voice. I saw a smirk tugging at the corners of Jake’s mouth, and tried to soothe the raging panic in my head and stomach. 

The dig site was honestly kind of disappointing. I had built it up in my head to look like a whole government facility built on a crater in the ground, with tents, scaffolding, desks, the works. But nope. This was just a crater in the ground, with a couple of ropes spanning the width of it here and there, I guess to mark the split between sections or something. That, and a couple of stools and ladders, and it was your run-of-the-mill pit.

“You’ll want this. Don’t forget the back of the neck,” Jake said, handing me a tube of sunscreen. 

“Oh, thanks,” I said, smirking as I took a bit and passed it on to Anna, who began vigorously rubbing some into her face and arms. 

“Tools are in the trunk,” Grayson said, “I’ll be in the car as I have to update the Upstairs. Private phone call, you get it. Get to work.” Anna sprung into action. It was like she was racing Jake to get the tools and pick a spot first, wanting to beat him at every turn. 

“You’re not even a real archeologist,” he grumbled, leaving my side to gather his equipment. 

“Tell that to the state department,” she called, and he looked pissed that she’d heard. 

“Which state, even?” He asked.

“Virginia.” 

“CIA then?” 

“Not necessarily.” 

I said nothing, letting them bicker. I went to the trunk and peered in, seeing a stack of coveralls. I picked on up to inspect it, thinking it might be nice to cover up my outfit that was feeling less and less professional by the second. 

“Good thinking,” Anna said, grabbing a pair herself. All suited up, she pulled a laptop out of a bag and passed it to me. 

“Here ya go, I guess you didn’t get a chance to bring yours.”

“Is there internet here?” I asked.

“Yep, car acts as a router. High tech,” she said. I took the computer from her silently.

The three of us trudged back to the pit, where the other two lost no time hopping in and surveying their turf. 

“So,” I said awkwardly, “we’re supposed to see if we can find any other manuscripts? Or anything suggesting biochemical warfare?”

“Partly, yeah. I’m also going to be inspecting the dig site itself to try to disprove that they found any paper substances. Particles left behind, impressions in the ground, you know.” Jake was bobbing his head, hands on his hip, looking like my dad about to mow the lawn on Sunday morning.

“You can do that?” I asked. He laughed, seeming to think I was being facetious. I wasn’t. I was just clueless, but I guess I’m glad he didn’t see it.

“I’ll just watch you both work for a while, and then I’ll start my write-up. I need to observe to figure out my angle.” I tried to muster as much authority in my voice as possible, as though I’d done this kind of thing before. 

“Yeah, okay,” Anna said absently. A couple of minutes later and some awkward waiting with my hands in my pockets, laptop waiting on a stool, the others had picked work spots and gotten to it. 

The silence was broken only by the sound of shifting dirt, and the occasional ruffle or grunt from one of them. Subtle glances back to the car suggested that Grayson may not be joining us in the pit at all, which was a relief. I watched as Jake poked and prodded at the ground, a look of deep concentration on his face, compared to Anna’s digging with all the fervour of a child told to find treasure in a sandbox. 

There was nothing for it. I went over to the stool, opened the laptop, and started typing. I wrote of the bureaucratic nature of science, as Grayson had put it in the car, and how publication could really be a business. How people had to fight to get their ideas heard. How certain things were deemed more or less important to the government for example, versus the public sphere. 

Basically, I sat in coveralls, on a stool in a pit in Genoa, Italy, and wrote my term paper. 

I tried to spin it so that the finding of a hairbrush, or a kitchen tool, would be treated very differently than the finding of a weapon, and whether or not it was a man or woman who discovered it really made no difference. Both men and women work in bureaucratic systems and in academics in today’s world, and both have access to controlling information. I wrote something like that, hoping if Grayson checked what I’d been working on, she’d see it as a government report on academia, since that was my only thread of legitimacy to work with where these strangers were concerned. After I finished I quickly emailed it to myself, hoping no-one would notice, and then I could just email my professor saying I couldn’t see the book I was supposed to but I’d written a paper for the deadline anyway.

By the time I’d finished my write up it was nearing six o’clock. Jake pulled up a stool next to me, and braced his forearms on his knees. 

“I can’t see any evidence of a real dig here. I don’t get it,” he said.

“What do you mean?” I said slowly, closing the laptop, having quadruple checked that I’d sent the work to my school email and saved it.

“I mean there wasn’t a dig here. This isn’t a real archeological site.” 

“So where did the fake manuscripts come from then?” I asked, wondering how on earth he could tell.

“I don’t know. I also don’t know why Grayson wouldn’t have known that before we got out here.” 

“Well, someone had to be the first to check,” I offered, blushing a little for fear this was a stupid comment. He looked at me, real suspicion entering his eyes for the first time.

“There are scientists in Italy. We didn’t need to fly out here to check it. Something’s up.” In the setting sun, the green flecks in his brown eyes caught the light, and I realized he was younger than I had originally thought. He couldn’t have been out of school that long.

“Maybe Grayson is in on it?” But before Jake could reply to this, Anna joined us in our little corner of the pit.

“Anyone have any water?” Jake passed her some, and she gulped it down before saying, “I’ve been digging for almost three hours and haven’t found a single thing.” 

I felt the familiar surges of panic making their way through my veins, making my ears ring and my head feel stuffy, and making the other two feel oddly distant. 

“Maybe the site has already been cleared out?” I offered, my voice squeaky. Anna passed me the water bottle, mistaking my rasp for thirst.

“How’s it going down here?” The three of us froze, staring at each other. Grayson had gotten out of the car, and hopped into the pit, the heels of her shoes sinking an inch or two in the loose dirt. She shuffled over to us, maintaining her look of authority. 

“Yeah, good,” Jake said, “I think I’ve seen all I need to for a first look.” 

“You’re only getting one look,” she drawled.

“I haven’t found any other artifacts,” Anna said, “I think whoever was here before cleared everything out.” 

“And where would they have put it?” Grayson demanded. Anna fell silent, taken aback. 

“I don’t think anyone really was here before. I think this is a fabricated dig site.” While I didn’t know Jake very well, there was no mistaking the challenge in his voice. Grayson’s eyes narrowed a little, and she took a couple steps closer to where Jake was seated beside me, so she could tower over him. 

“And what are you suggesting, exactly, Jake?” 

“When I’m working I go by Dr. Miller. I’m suggesting that they gave you a fake location to send you on a goose chase, or that perhaps those manuscripts don’t exist at all.”

“Then what would you suggest is in the maps room back in London?” She said dangerously. 

“I couldn’t tell you, seeing as I never saw them in person.” A grin flickered on Grayson’s face. I caught Anna’s eye from where she was standing behind Grayson, and read the worry as a pretty bad sign. 

“Who would want to send me on a wild goose chase?”

“You’re the government official, not me. Who exactly do you work for, Dr. Grayson? And what are you a doctor of, exactly?”

“Political science, it’s just a title. I work for the secretary of defence.” At this, Jake laughed in her face. 

“The U.S. government is worried about some old scroll they dug up in the mountains that suggests some ancient civilization knew how to…what? Poison each other? This is a joke, right?” Jake stood up and strolled away from the group, shaking his head.

“Not poison,” she said quietly.

“Then what?” I asked, immediately realizing I’d broken my vow to myself to keep my stupid gob shut.

“Classified,” she said with an arched brow.

“So again, why fake the site?” Anna asked. 

“The scientists who produced the documents could have said it was here to buy time until the exhibition,” I offered, since Grayson was still staring at me. She flicked an eyebrow up again, and finally broke her stare to turn her eyes on Jake.

“Are any of you wearing microphones?” She asked. 

“No,” we all said unanimously. She exhaled wearily, rubbing a hand over her tired eyes.

“Alright. What I’m about to tell you doesn’t leave this pit. The scrolls outline a way of spreading a virus that was apparently employed all the way back then. Given the recent pandemic all over the world, that’s not the kind of thing the public needs to be seeing. But these scientists are convinced it needs to go public. You can see how that would strike fear into the hearts of everyone. They’d all be convinced they were the recent victims of a large-scale government attack.” 

“Who are these scientists? Archeologists, whoever?” Anna said, disgust colouring her words.

“We’re wasting time here, we can talk about this on the jet back to London. I want to see those manuscripts,” Jake said, and he strode to the edge of the pit and hauled himself out. I was shocked that Grayson didn’t counter his authority, and instead followed him. 

I slept most of the plane ride back to London. I’d listened to them bicker and swap theories while we ate our way through a couple of pizzas that were waiting for us on the tarmac, but they’d mostly talked in circles. The more they talked, the less Grayson really seemed to know, and Jake kept saying he needed to see these artifacts.

With the time change back, it was about nine when we landed, and ten pm when we reached the university. I felt better, having slept a bit, but my head was still pounding with exhaustion from the events of the day.

We loaded ourselves back into the same elevator in the university library, and headed one level down. Instead of going to the conference room we headed down another hallway, where the map room was tucked away.

“They said they were still here,” Grayson said, leading us. She opened the door, and I would have been impressed by the collection of old maps had I not flown to the northern coast of Italy and back that afternoon.

“Where are they?” Jake asked harshly. 

“I don’t know,” Grayson admitted. 

“Dr. Grayson, have you worked with either Brandon or Adam previously?” Anna asked. 

“No, I haven’t. I haven’t worked with any of you before.” 

“Do you know who they work for?” Anna pressed. 

“No.”

“They just said fact checking and restoration. That could be government, a university,” Anna was trailing off. 

“A museum, even,” Jake offered. 

“I mean now that I think of it, you didn’t check any of our credentials,” Anna said, glaring at Grayson. 

“Hang on a minute, I knew five people were supposed to be joining me in the map room. I don’t appreciate your suggestion that I’m incompetent. They’re probably out grabbing coffee.”

“But how do we know they weren’t just two random guys on the elevator?” Anna said, wringing her hands. I was beginning to think she was scared that her own butt was on the line here, but mine was too so…relatable. 

“Oh, you’re back, perfect,” said a voice as the door opened, and Brandon and Adam walked in. The room was cramped with all of us standing in there. 

“From what we can tell, they’re real,” Adam said.

“They can’t be, the dig site seemed fake,” Jake said. “Let me see it.”

“I mean, obviously more rigorous testing has to be done than what we can do in a day, but it seems pretty authentic to me,” Brandon was saying as he led Jake over to where they’d been examining a very old, gross looking scroll of paper.

“Who do you two work for?” Grayson asked them, and they looked at her in shock. 

“I work for the British Museum, in the restoration department,” Adam said a little uncertainly. 

“I work for the university here, but I was hired as a consultant by the government,” Brandon said a little pompously. 

“And who do you work for?” Grayson said, turning on me. 

My throat burned. My eyes stung. I felt my head swimming, my palms prickling and my knees shaking. My limbs felt weirdly weightless. They were all staring at me now, and I knew there was nothing for it. 

“It’s like Anna said…I was just a stranger on the elevator. I followed you guys to the conference room earlier half as a joke, and then I got too scared to leave cause I thought I’d get in trouble,” it was all just tumbling out of me, and I didn’t care that tears were tracking down my face. “I should never have gotten on the plane, I should have never even followed you down the hall off of the elevator. I was on my way to look at an old book for a sociology paper I’m supposed to submit this weekend.”

To my absolute shock, Jake started to laugh. Not just a chuckle, he really laughed. Despite myself, I laughed a little too.

“I really was supposed to write a paper on different perspectives on the publications in the archeology and anthropology world, but this took it to a whole new level. I did a write up at the dig site and emailed it to myself to submit for class, but I can delete it if you want.” I looked at Grayson, fear spiking in my gut again. 

“I’ll read it first, but you clearly know nothing so I’m sure it’s harmless,” she said with an eye roll. why had I laughed? Surely ‘apologetic’ and terrified was what I should be going for, not acting like I was gloating.

“Are you gonna lock me up?” I squeaked, fresh hot tears running into my mouth and off my chin.

“What for? So you came to Italy, big deal. If Jake is right and the site is fake, you basically flew with us to see a random hole in the ground. We’ll draft up a non-disclosure agreement, track your phone for a few days, keep an eye on you…to be honest, with something like this, it doesn’t really matter that one little girl knows.” I was a bit offended at being called a little girl, but I took her point. Even if I posted about today all over my social medias, I would be discounted pretty quickly by the public, especially since I had no photos to back it up. Kinda like that history channel guy convinced aliens were responsible for historical landmarks.

“So…” I started, unsure what I was attempting to say. 

Adam pulled a wad of cafeteria napkins out of his pocket. “It’s okay, no one thinks you meant anything by it. You got swept up in it. No big deal.” 

“It still doesn’t answer my question though,” Jake insisted. “Where did these come from? If they are real, why do they surface now? Who found them? And if they’re fake, still who?”

“All I know is my boss gave me the assignment,” Grayson shrugged. 

“What does that mean? You’re blaming the American government for this?” Anna said acidly. 

I sat down in a chair tucked in the corner, glad I didn’t have to pretend I knew what was going on, or that I had any roll in this. 

“Can I go?” I asked, suddenly desperate for silence and solitude. I’d had enough.

“Yeah. We know where to find you,” Grayson said, exhaustion dripping from her own voice. 

I left the room. I walked back down the hallway, boarded the elevator and left the university library. I walked back to my dorm, in a complete daze, unable to process the day I’d just experienced. I’d snuck into some top secret government meeting and flown to Italy to attempt to disprove evidence of an ancient virus spreading technique. 

At least I’d still managed to write my paper, and I’d tried pizza in Italy, so that was pretty cool. 

A week later, with an A on my paper that I’d turned in, headlines broke that people suspected foul play with the pandemic we’d just survived the year prior. People began to suspect that it was brought on by some government or other, but then other outlets said that was just paranoia. Others still said it was old news, and what were we supposed to do about it anyway.

I bought a ticket to the British Museum, and saw the manuscript on display for everyone to see. A little blurb was posted beside it, saying how its authenticity was severely questioned, but it was no doubt real. 

No one seemed to care. I never did find out where those manuscripts really came from.

[liketonybutwithane]

Guys, I haven’t written anything in nine(ish) years. My will to write has been all but squashed out of me.  

But then Good Omens happened and I’m having all these little brain children that are probably some of the same ones the rest of the fandom are having, but if there’s something I have learned in life it’s “if you don’t write it down, you’re gonna forget it!”

So yeah, I wrote these down. 

HP!Good Omens

Aziraphale is a Syltherin pureboood with a distinct interest in muggle theology that he only indulges at Hogwarts

When he was young, his paternal aunt fell in love with, courted and married a Muslim muggleborn witch and she is the one who cultivated his interests. Having no one else to confide in, she told young Aziraphale about her love and how her family studied and followed the 'lord of the skies.' Aziraphale has copies of the Torah, the Qur'an, the Tripitaka, and both the King James Bible and Catholic Bible in his school trunk (the covers are transfigured to look like older spell book editions).

Aziraphale isn't technically allowed to communicate with his aunts, but he does it anyway. He's never understood with the big deal was. Aunt Ophelia basically raised him; why shouldn't he be allowed to speak with her whenever he wants?

He routinely writes to his Aunts Ophelia and Hafiza - they send him presents at Christmas and he always remembers to (with the help of Crowley) convert his wizard galleons into muggle money to send his Aunt Hafiza his donation for her mosque at Eid al-Fitr.

Crowley is a half-blood Hufflepuff. A bundle of sass and snark wrapped in a crispy coating with an ooey-gooey soft-hearted center and a loyalty streak that rivals the length of the Thames river.

Snake animagus Crowley, just imagine - Pseudechis porphyriacus, the red-bellied black snake. He's just so proud of his animagus form!

Raised by a partially-practicing Catholic muggle and pureblood witch, Anthony "Just Crowley!" Crowley knows his catechisms and (most of the important) saints but not much else. He still manages to impress Aziraphale with his St. Christopher (patron saint of travelers) and St. Albert the Great (patron saint of students) medals.

Crowley adores Herbology and Charms. He gets good marks on his Care of Magical Creatures O.W.Ls and of course, nearly gives his Professor a heart attack when he asks if he could raise a basilisk for extra credit?

He keeps to Aziraphale's side when he has rows with his parents. He tells his mum about the glassy hard stares the Slytherins give him when he walks to classes with Aziraphale and knows deep in his heart that Aziraphale is catching all kinds of hell for siding with "that loud-mouthed Hufflepuff who can't pick a side." 

I just have a lot of feelings about Hufflepuff!Crowley and Slytherin!Aziraphale.

NOTE: I know next-to-nothing about Islam or Catholicism and googled and wikipedia’d what is referenced here. If I am wrong or flubbed something, I beg of you, please correct me! Thank you!

~

Ballet&Ballroom!Good Omens

~ Crowley = a danseur working hard to keep his place in [Europe's equivalent to Julliard?] BUT also struggling in keeping himself alive and housed by working the only way he can think of and using his skills

He works as an under-the-table exotic dancer 5 nights a week

He is cheated more often than not by the shifty club owner but it's still more than he could make anywhere else so he keeps his mouth shut and takes the money

He dances as a female persona; his gorgeous lace-front wig (only one or two shades off from his natural hair color) and lace and silk lingerie are some of the most expensive and well cared-for things he owns (aside from his dancewear, obviously)

He only dances - no private shows, no client requests, nothing that could possibly compromise his identity and thus his place at school

~ Aziraphale = a fair-to-middling ballroom competition dancer from a wealthy family who accidentally trods on his partners toes once or twice but always apologizes profusely

Naturally, Aziraphale has no rhythm. (He knows the mechanics and kinesiology of the ballroom dances but can't make his limbs cooperate.) The only way he is as good as he is now is because he learned to keep time with iambic pentameter in his head. Mostly Shakespeare, but he hasn't told a soul - and he probably never will.

He enjoys dancing. He can keep time by retelling himself the great works of Shakespeare or Milton or Chaucer. It’s his dance partners who he finds lacking. They are haughty and pinch-faced. This should be fun! 

For some possibly (hysterical? ungodly? trippy?) reason [omg, Gabriel is totally shitfaced in the men’s room , Aziraphale ends up at Crowley’s club and that goes about as well as expected, what with the blushing, stammering and exaggerated averted gaze. That is until he first glimpses Crowley (as his dancer persona) and, as a student of kineisology and someone who has fought tooth and nail to control his own limbs, is floored by the mastery of control and discipline the dancer on stage displays over their body.

Aziraphale is mildly besotted, to say the very least...

~ 

High school!Good Omens

This is just me wanting to have Nanny Ashtoreth and Brother Francis play parents to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale is the only child to missionary-religious-scholars. They were less interested in raising the child and more in there efforts of spreading the ‘word,’ so Nanny and Brother Francis in essence raised him.

Mostly Aziraphale dealing with benign neglect from his biological parents and Crowley dealing with hardships and grief from either shitty foster homes or being some kind of scholarship student in a boarding school for old-money families. 

(I know, I always put Crowley in shitty situations! I’m sorry!)

~ 

I really wanted to write a fic where God chooses to inhabit a human to express Her approval of Aziraphale and Crowley.

At first, Aziraphale was a little cautious of the street performer taking up residence across from his shop. But she simply sings (quite well, mind you) and plays her instrument from roughly 10 to 5 every day then goes about her way.

The song I really wanted to focus on is Sinners by Lauren Aquilina. [x]

Like:

Aziraphale is sitting with Crowley in companionable silence and the lyrics drift over him. And he listens.

Then he feels the need to get up and look out the stop door. There, he sees it. Faintly, through the shine of sun beams and dust motes and drifting London smog, are wings. Multitudes of feathers and shining eyes and Aziraphale can't look away. His eyes slide to look the woman in the face and he can feel tears begin to creep from crease of his eyes to trickle down his face.

Her voice rumbles through him, as gentle and powerful and awe-inspiring as it had been at the wall, "Aziraphale." He can barely catch the breath he doesn’t even need.

And the woman glances up from her instrument and Aziraphale gasps. She smiles as though she heard him. The woman strums one last note on her instrument, inclines her head in a gracious nod and then is gone.

Crowley appears from somewhere behind Aziraphale, and asks what's gotten him so upset. Aziraphale splays a hand over his own chest, above his pounding heart, and sighs tearily. Then he half-turns and crushes Crowley in a tight hug. "Nothing. Nothing at all, my dear."

[davidjjohnston3]

I ask again that you not share the Tumblr with MVJ as he uses all knowledge of me against me or to imitate / try to be me rather than MVJ. I ask the same w/r/t MJ / Michael, as he resents me for various reasons to do with manipulation-leadership (such as telling him in '09 that I felt that I was going to be a doctor someday in order to hearten / give him morale when he was anguished over job-searching in the Great Recession).   I do things like this because of a film called "Late Spring" a masterpiece by the Japanese director who inspired the Taiwanese auteur about whom I wrote my RU senior thesis and met Rebecca Hu who inspired me to work hard, get that Singapore job, meet Kate again in '07 in NYC, promise her in '08 I would struggle / fight / work for 3 years to become someone deserving of her (hand in marriage if not just friendship), which is also part of why I made that '08-09 deal with Dad that culminated in me going to MTTP in Madison, meeting Chi Hye, falling in love with this gold light in her eyes, believing in angels and mountains and "They shall mount up as eagles and not stub their toe" (Isaiah), meeting Josephine Park at 7-Step and everyone else, getting promoted to Head Developer in 6 months, then quitting b/c of a falling out I had on that night I called you after 6 months' radio silence. IDK if you want to hear this but I wanted to marry Josephine / "LitGirl."  I thanked her for helping me.  IDK if you care about this she flirted with me partly by showing armpit-stubble in the summer of 2010 and I understood this because I understand "Korean American literature." She might be the most beautiful perfect ideal "jeongdakhan" (kind of 'suitable,,' or, 'spec') woman I ever met.  She went to Seoul National U. which is Korea's no.1 university and worked for an elite newspaper before taking some time off to write - she loves Emily Dickinson and, I believe, Park Wanseo, who wrote my favorite Korean short story "That Girl's House" about a promised couple in Japanese-occupied Korea who are separated by the girl's father's paranoia about Gop Dan's becoming a comfort woman and sold to be a farmer's bride in what becomes North Korea rather than marrying the "village prince" or aspiring scholar, who wants her to come away with him to Seoul... Josephine or "Jeongeun" (which kind of means perhaps "emotion-grace" or arguably "central grace" - Josephine means "love will increase" BTW and is the name of Jo from Little Women; the name she chose for herself) looks a bit like Lee Yowon the aspiring girl who gets plastic surgery in "Take Care of My Cat" and a bit like Seo Juhyun / Catherine Seo / Seohyun the youngest member of Girls Generation who was known for her probity, "Holy Seohyun" who was no. 2 in her HS before becoming the "maknae" or "final inner" / youngest and most beloved member of the nation's best-ever girl-group.  FWIW, I used to write to Seohyun on Twitter as well but she never replied.  On around the time of the sinking of the MV Sewol she wrote "we cried till our eyes dried" or so and used the word "huisaeng" to describe the victims which actually can mean "sacrifice."  I wrote to Seohyun using a quote from Dante Alighieri about beauty and pure thoughts or pure minds since I read "New Life / Vita Nuova" and "Heaven / Paradiso" in KR.  "Catherine" incidentally means "purity" as well. 2. On that night I first called you in 2011 I was out at a place with JEP and when I got back from our long phonecall she proceeded to get really drunk with foreigners I disliked from a hagwon I dislike throwing back soju and ultimately writing on the ladies' room floor throwing up.  Danny Shin asked me to go in to the BR to comfort / talk with her so I did.  I told her we should leave even before she got really drunk but she wouldn't obey me.  KJ Park arrived and said "ireona" (get up bitch) and she did.  I cursed in front of KJ Park since I felt I was being used as her crying-blankie and exploited to help her cope but never extricate from the situation.  I later had a slight heart-attack when I found out they were having an affair even as JE flirted with other men and used them I see now as "honey-trap" and to spy on all the employees.   I feel like this is the last time I will try to communicate open with you about why I am the way I am why I do what I do.  Back in 2008 you told me to use more kindness but where does that go?  It's good for little kids. Anyway before my heart-attack on that night - which impelled me to stop participating for a while in good faith with 7-Step's accelerated curriculum program working on Saturdays (which I had done happily before that) - I had been incredibly optimistic and at the same time "wise" in the "soi sage" sense reading Flaubert's last completed novel, which you might like one day, "L'Education Sentimentale" (accurately translated as "Emotional Education" since "Sentiment" sounds Victorian and sentimentality is an Anglo or Anglo-Korean category, saccharine in a way which French love and emotion are not).   I also later visited Cheonan her hometown which means "Heaven's Peace."  I walked around and years later wanted to write a novel called "Cheonan Sky" which is about the sinking of a ROKN frigate / destroyer / corvette called the ROKS Cheonan in 2010 but a North Korean suicide micro-submarine. The captain of the ROKS Cheonan never retired basically but became a military analyst for I believe either KJAD or 38North out of entailments or legacy-obligations to his men. The theme of "Cheonan Sky" is family killing family (the Korean War / civil war in general within a nation), terrorism, capital punishment by electrocution.  The ending is that the hero committed acts of 1st degree murder and terrorism and is dressed by his wife for execution after donating semen / sperm so she can have a child after his death. You might or might not be interested to know but "Cheonan" in Chinese characters is I believe "Tian'an'" like Tiananmen Square.   When I asked Josephine to teach me some Korean she said "Miryang" which means "secret sunshine" that is actually the name of a city as well a movie but known for the gang-rape of an elementary school girl.   3. This is kind of why I'm interested in terrorism, assassination, North Korean Studies, and also why I didn't know how to read people's sign about "covering love," concealing or forgiving crimes et cetera; covering sins.   I associate JEP for some reason with Russian blues and mother-of-pearl since I looked at a wedding ring which was mother-of-pearl and diamond in 2011.  In retrospect I have no idea whether she was interested in me or not or how willing she would have been to partner with me as opposed to KJ or Danny Shin or anyone else.  I won't say anything more because I don't oppose women being that way 100% although the Book of Proverbs does say not to prostitute your daughter and a British Victorian Evangelical PM used to walk the streets of London pleading with hookers to get honest if low-paying jobs (WE Gladstone who also said politics succeeds ultimately through "not love of power but power of love" a saying I associate these days with Mike Pompeo) I have come close to imprisonment and/or death lately from trying to be open w/ people in America so this is literally I ardently wish my last freebie w/r/t "teaching" people but the existence of people like Josephine also seems to bind me to SK or KR.  There is simply no way I can not go back someday.  When that ferry sank I saw an article about a foreigner graveyard in Incheon and felt what Shakespeare felt near the end of his life which was a desire beyond or parallel to after life to donate his bones to a certain plot of land.  I foolishly or heedlessly confessed this reality to Mi who became depressed and my words started to go over his head. IDK if you want to know this but I worked for a long time on a novel about the MV Sewol called "Flowers on Water" or "Flowers 1881" which is about the sovereignty of God in the deaths or waste of children as well as "It Is Well with My Soul," Chancellor / Pastor John Piper, the drowning of paedophiles in prison or others who abuse or exploit young people, and my own responsibility for failing as an HS teacher. IDK if you remember but the guy who owned the MV Sewol which sank due to unlawful loading of the hull with equipment was found decapitated with a backpack full of money in a field of maize, I believe.   There are those who believe including me that KR is not really a democracy but run by the KCIA or and/or through an organization called "One Company" or so that includes numerous military dictators, officers, many of whom used to be teachers though some were also associated with the terrorist-student radical organization (the ShiShi) that produced the Meiji Restoration and the Empire of Japan -> WW2 Pacific since the Japanese were determined not to let American "gunboat diplomacy" lead to cultural genocide or everlasting hegemony of the West over either JP or the total Far East. My last thing to you is just that there are those who believe the imperial family of JP who were restored to supremacy in gov't by the ShiShi after centuries of formalistic ritualitsic formalistic ceremonial "Chinese" rule are partly Korean in blood and Koreans themselves believe in "Minjung Theology" saying Koreans have a holy destiny worldwide which is something I believe as well. You can be 10,000% honest with me about your intentions from now on BTW.  IDK if I can get back to KR now, a year from now, or in a coffin.   It depends on money I guess.   As I reflected in my previous e-mail after my born again prayer in 2004 when I wished for unity (in the field across the street from Marshall School) I eventually got that unity around 2012 when Dad said he would work sacrificially to fix me up following my suicide-attempt and in 2013 when I told Jaeyoung that I wanted to be a principal I precipitated or incubated a process leading up to the Lead Teacher position I was offered a few months back as well as Concordia's interest in my application for their Educational Leadership doctorate.   If you want to read one more book by a Korean I urge "The Fourth Dimension" by Rev. Dr. David YongGi Cho, the pastor of a church called Yoido or Yeouido Full Gospel which claims some 500,000 members though Dr. Cho has been indicted for embezzlement and there are those who would doubt his belief in miracle faith-healing or in God's defending people from things like head-first suicide-attempts. As my student once said to me, "Thank you for everything" DJJ PS again if you like music I rec. "Marvel Not That Christ in Glory" - "Christ in p/POWER Resurrection / calling many sons to glory" - as well as a pop-song called "Please Remember Me" by a girl-group known as Year 7 Class 1 or 7-1. It is a slow ballad but the central refrain is "yaksokhae uri... kkok mannayo..." (Let us promise to meet again rapidly / immediately)...

[thepsychicclam]

Could you talk a little about what being a professor/getting your PhD has been like? Do you have to constantly do research and publish, is it hard to find jobs, do they pay enough to relieve the doctoral debt? I know you’ve moved at least once and I wasn’t sure if it was to follow a job, or if it was for personal reasons and then, was finding a new job hard? Did you start teaching while getting your PhD? I’m just fascinated by it and you seem like the best to ask!

Yes! I can share my experience. Everyone’s experience is different, and mine is unique for a few reasons I’ll discuss below. It may also vary from field to field. My PhD is in literature/English, and from what I’ve gathered, your concentration can influence a lot of stuff, too. So, under the cut, I’ll try to share my experience as much as I can! This is VERY LONG, so be warned, nonny! :D

Before I decided to get a PhD, I got a MAT - a master’s in secondary education with a focus on English literature. My BA is in creative writing/english lit. I taught high school for three years, and for a lot of reasons said FUCK THIS NOISE and quit. I lived with my parents and they told me they’d help support me. I ended up with a college teaching job (you can teach adjunct in the states with a masters) and they told me to get a PhD if I wanted to do it full time some day. I love teaching, and I’m good at it. I especially love teaching literature. So, I decided to go get my PhD.

Choosing my specialization was kinda interesting bc I decided to go for medieval literature, which I hadn’t really studied up until that point. I had always done Victorian and Shakespeare/Renaissance, with a bit of dabbling into Native American and postcolonial literature. But I taught Dante’s Inferno to my seniors my last yr at HS and fell in LOVE. So, I thought, “Hey, there aren’t a lot of medievalists. Everyone gets a PhD in Shakespeare/Victorian lit, so I’ll do that. Maybe it’ll make me more marketable.” I have always loved medieval lit, so I figured lets go for it.

My original plan was to do something with romances, so late medieval stuff. I ended up with two professors in the dept, one who focused on Anglo-Saxon/Old English and one who focused on Chaucer/later medieval. I took multiple classes in both, and my second or third semester, I took intro to Old English. I fell in LOVE WITH IT. It was a linguistics course where we learned the Old English language (which is completely different than modern or even middle english) and translated. I was GOOD at it and took to it unlike anyone else in the class. It just made sense. I think probably bc I had a background in Latin and German (I was a German studies minor in undergrad until I realized I couldn’t speak German to save my life :P) and I took like 3 or 4 yrs of Latin in hs. Anyway, I was hooked and switched to Old English. I took a lot of postcolonial literature courses, like Indian lit, lit of SE Asian, and Native American lit courses, and through this I met another professor who I adored. I ended up working with her to do my minor/secondary specialization, which is literature of the indigenous peoples of America (Native American, Chicano lit, etc - mostly Native American). I ALMOST wrote my dissertation with her bc I loved her so much and I love Native American literature so much. However, as a white woman, I didn’t feel that I would make a good postcolonial/Native American scholar, so I stuck with Anglo-Saxon lit.

I used my class papers to start working on my dissertation ideas. I got obsessed with monstrosity and the narrow definition in AS lit, and connected that to ideas of reason, which I also became obsessed with, and ended up writing all my papers about some type of monstrous transformation and how it connects to the reason of the punished. Thus, my dissertation topic was born, which currently has the working title of Transformative Bodies and their Punishments as Social Control in Anglo-Saxon Literature. It’s a terrible title, but right now, at least it states the overall topic lol

My comps, which are the comprehensive exams you have to take, took me a year to read for. Most people take one semester, I took 2. I took mine in the spring and just read for two semesters. Now, to put it into perspective, the English dept standard was 40 primary texts and 20 secondary texts, so 60 texts. Mine was WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY over that. I ended up with over 16,000 pgs of texts to read. Hint: I DID NOT READ THEM ALL. And remember, half of mine were in Middle English, so they took 3 times as long to read, and half were translated OE texts. But I read a lot, read the secondary stuff, and took my comps. Comps were supposed to be 2.5 hrs. The director of graduate studies handed me my comps and said, “You’re the medieval one, right?” And I was like, “...yes...” and he looked at me and said, “You get 4 hrs.” THAT’S HOW FUCKING LONG MY ADVISOR MADE MY COMPS. I HAD TO GET EXTRA TIME. So, 4 hrs I did nothing but type. There were questions on there that were not part of my 16k words, but I answered everything. I wrote 9 fucking thousand words in 4 hrs. I was PUMPED. Then, he gave me just a PASS not PASS PLUS. I’m a straight A student, valedictorian, graduated cum laude and magna cum laude, mortar board, scholarships, etcetc. I WAS PISSED :|||| I MEAN I HAD 4 HRS AND WRITE 9K ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?? It didn’t matter bc I still passed, but it was a pride thing lol

Okay, so that August I moved to Boston. My diss director was PISSED. I was ABD (all but dissertation, ie I had passed my comps), so I was going to work on my dissertation remotely. Many ppl do this. Well, he basically looked at me and said, “Yeah most ppl don’t finish who do this.” I cried for like 2 weeks. Then I got pissed and told myself I WILL FUCKING FINISH THIS IF IT KILLS ME. I regretted not doing the Native American diss with the professor I loved. My dissertation director is a dick. Hands down. I would be finished if I had a better director. I have had no support. Now, I did move to Boston, I procrastinated and took my time and had a lot of anxiety, but he didn’t help me at all. He made it worse. If you’ve followed me for awhile, you know I struggle with depression and anxiety, and at times it’s basically debilitating. So, it increased tenfold with the dissertation process. It took me a year to get my proposal submitted, finalized, and approved. 

I started working on my dissertation, which thankfully I had drafts of chapters from my class papers. As of right now, I have drafted 4 full chapters of average 40 pgs each and am revising. My director takes forever to get back from me, and my comments give me MAJOR anxiety. Part of the dissertation process is being told “yeah this needs work.” It’s like, hey, your ideas are great! You have a good point! But here are 100 ways you suck. Or that’s what it feels like. So, it became a major source of crippling anxiety for me. When I was in therapy, it was like all I talked about. I have to spend a week or two just pumping myself to check my fucking email. I have been trying to make an inface mtg with my advisor for a freaking yr. He blew me off to go to the bar with his friends at a conference we attended last yr (I only know this for a fact bc I SAW HIM AT THE BAR WITH THEM when he texted me and said he had “fallen asleep.”) So, needless to say, that has been a huge struggle and conflict. However, I don’t think that’s normal. lol I’m just cursed.

Right now, I’m trying to learn how to push myself as an academic writer and researcher to the next level. Something I need him to teach me, but still trying to meet face to face! I’ve gotten to the point in my drafts that I need to improve the arguments and research in a few places, but I’m not sure how to break through my wall. I need guidance, you know? Bc I don’t live around the campus, I’m doing this alone. I don’t have a writers group or any friends in the program. I’m pretty alone and isolated, which sucks. It’s also not the norm either, I don’t think. So, I have to push myself and keep myself going and write in a vacuum. I’m the only medievalist in the Eng dept getting a PhD, so there’s not even someone else writing their dissertation in Anglo-Saxon lit or even Middle English. The medieval dept is small.

So, that is my PhD schooling experience. Let’s talk about work and loans. I worked at a different college as an adjunct while doing my classes. I did not do a graduate research or teaching assistant job at the university, which means I paid for my schooling out of pocket/loans. I had someone tell me once, “If you’re paying for your own PhD, you shouldn’t be getting one. If you’re not being paid to get it, you’re not worth anything.” Pretty much, I feel like I was told the entire way I was doing everything wrong. I couldn’t get a GRA/GTA while teaching at the other school. I was an adjunct with a 3 class load, so I made decent, though not much. I lived at home w my folks, so I was okay with money. I was extremely lucky bc of that bc most ppl live on their own and have to work multiple jobs. When I moved to Boston, that’s when I got the 239847239 jobs. (also why I used to write a lot of fic and now I don’t write as much lol real life, man). When I moved to Boston, I taught adjunct, 3 classes. I also did freelance writing and worked at a farm, mainly bc rent was$2000/mth and I didn’t get paid during the summer. When I moved to SC, I also ended up with a 3 class adjunct job, but continued with the freelance writing. I have always been incredibly lucky with getting jobs. I think it’s bc I have a lot of teaching experience (this is my 10th yr teaching) and I have a background in English literature instead of education. I also wasn’t picky where I taught. I wasn’t teaching at Harvard, Boston College, or even something like the University of South Carolina. I taught at a small state school to start with, a community college in Boston, and now another small state school. But all experience is good experience. One thing that will make you marketable is your teaching experience. Everyone I’ve every talked to who hired me was interested in my teaching experience. 

For my career, right now I do a lot of conferences. I am doing 5 this semester, and I have done a ton of them. Graduate conferences, medieval conferences, lit conferences, pedagogy conferences, even library conferences. I give presentations/papers at each of them, bc I don’t see the point of going to a conference if you aren’t going to give a paper. I haven’t done any publishing yet. I have a few ideas for articles, but I’m terrified. It’s very hard to get published, so I haven’t tried yet :/ it is an expectation of all professors/phds to get published. At my current job, where I just got hired full time as an Visiting Assistant Professor, if I get a tenure track position, I have to have at least 1 publication within 5 years. That is a peer reviewed journal article or book. Getting published in English is SO MUCH HARDER than the sciences. I have a friend who works in Atlanta as a research assistant/lab technician/scientist (I’m not sure the title tbh) and she has like 3 publications bc she helped with these studies that they publish online that get published within like a month. My sister has a chapter in an art history essay collection, and it took 2 years to get published!! Academic publishing is the WORST. I’m hoping at least one dissertation chapter gets accepted as an article. I also did a project in my 102 class last semester that I have given multiple conference presentations and teaching workshops about, and I’m starting to work on turning it into an article. I want to be a teaching professor, not a research professor, so I’m trying to focus on the teaching aspect of my career. I just got a Brit Lit class for next semester instead of a sea of composition, so I’m trying to come up with a unique topical angle that I can use on my CV to show my teaching skills. So, part of my job is trying to find ways to increase my CV. Like, I run a panel at a regional literature conference (I kinda lucked into it bc my mentor used to run it, and now I do lol), so that looks good on my CV, too. So, it’s not constant publishing, but you are expected to do SOMETHING, conferences, publication, things like that.

Is it hard to find jobs? I’d say yes. Like I said, I have been incredibly lucky to always have a job. My dissertation director told me last yr after I got my job in SC, “Well, I guess you’re doing something right. I mean, you always seem to find a job.” (thanks asshole for that BACKHANDED COMPLIMENT) I am not picky. Experience is experience, and you’re not going to find your dream job immediately. That sense of entitlement limits you and keeps you from finding a job to start. Right now, I teach 5 fucking composition 101 classes. I was bitching to my sister today about how I was teaching fucking TOPIC SENTENCES and my students don’t get it!!! It sucks!! But, it pays a full time salary, and it gives me experience. Do I want to teach how to write a FUCKING TOPIC SENTENCE?? NO!! I can translate Old English and have studied medieval and early British literature for almost a decade. THAT’S WHAT I WANT TO FOCUS ON. But, I’m not an entitled asshole and realize I have to work my way up. When I finish my PhD, will get the perfect medieval/early British job? NO. I hope to get a job as an early British person somewhere (not my current school, who has no need for a medievalist really), but I know it will take one to two jobs before my dream job. Everyone I know has done 1-3 jobs before their perfect tenure job. Of course, there are always people who have the magic CV or whatever who will get that perfect job right out of grad school. I have no delusions. That’s not gonna be me. I’m an okay researcher and scholar and a damn good teacher. The first part means more than the last part for colleges. I just hope to eventually find somewhere I can teach Medieval lit to undergrads, and maybe do a course on monsters in pop culture.

Money wise, professors make okay but not mega bucks. I make pretty good for my area. But, I grew up poor, so having a full time job is like WHOO. I’ve learned how to live a great life on a lower salary. If money is what you want, this is not the career for you unless you’re teaching business or accounting at an MBA program. However, I go to work at 10 am, I leave some days at 1 and others at 3, I get from May-August and all of December off, and I make a full time yearly salary. So...I chose my profession for the time off. lol That’s exactly why I became a teacher XD I’m in a lot of student debt, but I worked out a payment plan with the student loan ppl and pay my loans every month. I’ll be dead before they’re paid off, but oh well :P 

What other questions did you ask...yes, I worked the entire time teaching while getting my degree. At one point I was working 5 jobs lol but not while taking class, during comps/dissertation stuff. If you have any other questions, please feel free to ask! Like I said, I have a unique circumstance, with a dick dissertation advisor, moving between 3 states and teaching at 3 different places, though I finally have landed a full time college teaching position lol When I finish my dissertation, I will be very happy with my career path. Right now, with it looming over  my head and making me feel like the fucking biggest idiot and stupidest person on the planet, I regret my life decisions XD But really, I don’t bc, you know, I work like 20 hrs a week XDDDDDD

[corrahdarling]

Summer - Ch. 7 - Apologies

             The rest of the day seemed to creep by for Summer. The thought of running to the University and falling at Tom’s feet to beg for forgiveness, crossed her mind more times than she could count. She knew that was a bad idea, and to be perfectly honest, she didn’t even know if he’d want to see her.         She tried to keep her mind off of the situation with Jake, because every time he crossed her mind, she wanted to be sick. The anxiety was eating away at her… what if he told the Dean that he had caught his teacher in bed with a student? Tom would be out of a job… probably ruined for life, and she would be expelled from College at the most important time in her career. It was her dumb luck, that the only person she wanted to run to was miles away, teaching a class on Shakespearean Language… and it would be too risky to run to him anyway. She was mad at herself for getting into this situation. If her jealousy hadn’t gotten the best of her, she wouldn’t have dragged Jake to Azzurro’s, and he would have never found out about their relationship. Good job, Summer.

              She figured that keeping her Tuesday night meeting with Tom was a bad idea… plus, barricading herself in her room for the rest of the day sounded better. She had homework to get done for his class, anyway, which took her the better part of her afternoon. It was something that should have only taken her thirty minutes, only her mind kept wandering to the night before. She sighed, closed her eyes, and laid her forehead on the cool wooden desk. She would have been convinced that she had been dreaming when Tom let the ‘l-word’ slip, if he hadn’t reminded her this morning. Love. This brilliant, amazing, handsome man had told her he loved her, but she couldn’t repeat it. There was no way she was ready for that.

            Chloe poked her head through the door. “Hey, are you gonna stay in here all day?”

            “I thought about it.”

            “Come on, Juliet, forget about Romeo for a while. Let’s watch a movie… I just ordered a pizza. Come o-on, I’ve already got Magic Mike loaded in the blu-ray player. We’re gonna stuff our faces and stare at Channing Tatum’s ass.”

           Summer laughed as Chloe grabbed her wrist and started pulling. “Okay, okay, I’m coming.”

           “Good… Mike and Big Dick Richie aren’t going to wait around forever…” 

           After the pizza was gone, and the movie was over, the girls sat on the couch, cuddled underneath a fleece blanket. 

           “Chloe, what am I going to do if I get kicked out of school? I have no back up plan, this is the only thing I want to do.”

           Chloe grabbed her friends hand and squeezed. “You are not getting kicked out of school… You know Jake would never tell on you two.”

           “I don’t know… I’ve never seen him that angry.”

           “Well, Summer… Jake loves you. He has for a while. I’m sure it hurt him to see what he saw this morning. Give him time to cool down, and talk to him. You’ve told him before that you just don’t like him like that, right?”

          “Yes… more than once.”

          Chloe nodded. “Maybe you can talk to him after class in the morning…”

          “That’s a bad idea… not with Tom there. I’ve got to smooth things over with him too, and the last thing I need is for him to see Jake and I talking.” She let out a frustrated groan. “I can’t believe I hurt two men in less than five minutes.”

           “You are pretty hot, Summer. That’s what happens.”

           “Sure, Chloe. I’ve got to get to bed. Got class bright and early… can’t wait!”

          “Ooh, I detect sarcasm in your voice…”

           “Ya think? Goodnight…”

           “Night! Love you!”

          “You too.” Summer smiled and traipsed into her bedroom, collapsing on her bed. She was beyond mentally exhausted, and was ready to get the next day over with. She turned to her stomach and huffed, before turning to her side… and finally her back. Every way she turned, all she could smell was Tom on her rose-colored sheets… almost like tobacco and oak moss… seductive, charming and masculine. Just like him. She tossed and turned for what seemed like hours, just imagining that he was there beside her, only realizing after opening her eyes that he wasn’t. Her eyes closed one last time that night, before drifting into a fitful, nervous sleep. 

          Four hours later, Summer awoke and immediately there was a pit in her stomach. She knew what that day could possibly hold… losing a friend in Jake… and a lover in Tom. Slowly, she rolled over and looked at her alarm clock.

           “Shit!” It was 8:15, and she had class at 9. She could hear rain splattering on her window, which made her morning even better. Being from the South, she wasn’t used to much rain, so all of the precipitation here in Seattle was something that still threw her for a loop. She jumped into the shower, giving herself a quick scrub, before wrapping her towel haphazardly around her. She threw her trusty red stain on her lips and cheeks, and a layer of mascara on her lashes. Her hair went up into a topknot, still smelling of Tom and sex… she didn’t have a choice, there was no time to wash it. 

           Sliding into a pair of cropped, dark denim pants, and a fitted, light plum t-shirt, she decided to throw on an oatmeal colored, three-quarter sleeve wool cardigan… since it looked chilly outside. She slipped her handy navy Converses on her feet before grabbing her bags and darting out the door. She couldn’t be late, giving Tom one more reason to be mad at her.

            Luckily, traffic was moving pretty quickly that morning, so she made it to the University in record time, nearly skidding into a parking spot near the door. She still had five minutes. Clutching her bags tightly, she wiped her feet on the doormat and made her way down the hall. Her stomach was absolutely turning, and as she passed Tom’s office, she noticed his door was closed and the lights were off. He must already be in class. So much for talking to him now…  

       She ducked into the lecture hall, and as she caught sight of Tom, her breath hitched in her throat. He was dressed a little more casually today in lovely, tight, dark denim trousers, a white dress shirt, and a baby blue lightweight sweater on top. His hair styled haphazardly, but perfectly, and the slight stubble on his face made her mind wander to a place it shouldn’t be… like back to her bed… with him.

       Sweet Baby Jesus, take me now.

      She cleared her throat, and passed him, ultimately drawing his attention to her.  

      “Summer.” He greeted her.

      “Morning, Dr. Hiddleston.”

      “Running late, are we?”

      “A little. Sorry…” 

      She slid into her desk, and took her notebook and textbook out of her bag, as he began to speak. 

       “Good morning, students. Please pass up your homework from Monday.” Summer’s hand went into her bag, retrieving the paper, and peeked over at Jake from the corner of her eye. She handed her homework to the girl in front of her as she finally looked over at him. She might as well breach the subject now.

      “Morning, Jake.”

      “Hey, Summer… I was beginning to think you weren’t coming to class.”

      “Yeah, I overslept… Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

      “Have company?” He asked sarcastically.

      “No, Jake. I was up all night thinking. I need to apologize to you. I’m very sorry about everything, and the way it all happened. I shouldn’t have used you the way I did, and I’m sorry you walked in on…” Suddenly she remembered where she was. “…my company and me.”

      He nodded slowly. “You aren’t going to see him anymore, then? Right?”

      “Jake… I…” 

      “Summer, you can’t see him anymore. You know it’s not right. I know you don’t want to be with me… I understand that now… But you can’t be with him. He’s not right for you.”

       She had hoped he would have found some compassion in the last day, and would tell her that he understood that she wanted to be with Tom… and all would be good. Apparently, that hadn’t happened.  

       “Please… Jake, I really think that is my personal business.”

      He shook his head. “Let me tell you something. I care about you, but if you don’t stop seeing him, I will go to the Dean.”

      “Summer, would you and Jake like to share your conversation with the rest of the class?”

      She gasped, as she felt hot tears began to sting her eyes. “No, Dr. Hiddleston, I’m sorry.”

     He gave her a curt nod, as he went on with his lecture. 

     She turned away from Jake, even though he was still watching her. She couldn’t believe he had given her that ultimatum. She didn’t want to give Tom up, and she didn’t want to give up her career… but, it seemed like Jake was going to make her decide. One or the other... She couldn't have both. She silently wiped a couple of tears from her eyes, as she trained them on Tom. He could see that she was upset, and so could several other people in the class. She wasn’t normally emotional, especially in public, but this was an altogether different emotion. It was like she almost knew that her relationship with Tom was over, and now it was time to mourn.

       “Many different scholars have used public records from Shakespeare’s hometown Stratford-upon-Avon, to understand the sexual behavior of Shakespeare and his contemporaries. It was a much different time then, guys. Sexual misconduct was not blatant under the eye of Queen Elizabeth, who was often referred to as the Virgin Queen, and the church or the state did not tolerate adultery, incontinence or pre-marital sex. In other words, if you cheated on your spouse, couldn’t maintain an erection, or had sex before marriage, you’d be punished under the Queen’s rule. In fact, Stratford records give record of prosecution for fornication, and in spite of the danger of punishment, evidence shows that Shakespeare himself engaged in pre-marital sex, as his wife Anne Hathaway was already pregnant at the time of their marriage. It seems as though he escaped prosecution for this and escaped “scot-free.” Shakespeare’s personal sexual experiences are reflected in his writing. In Shakespeare’s “As You Like It,” Rosalind discusses pre-marital sex, and in his Sonnet 151, Shakespeare gives an “extraordinary description of an erection, detailing the rising and the falling of the penis.” The class giggled as Tom returned back to the lectern. “Next time, come prepared for me to lecture for a complete hour about how scandalous Elizabethan theatre was.”

        The class mumbled. 

        “Oh, come now. It won't be that bad.” He grinned. “Now, turn to page 24 in your textbook, answer the four essay questions listed about A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and turn it in. After that you may go for the day.”

        Everyone groaned and reached into their bags for paper, and flipped to the page in their textbooks. Maybe if Summer took a while to do this, she would be able to talk to Tom before leaving. The more people that got up, the better she felt. Only, there was one person that didn’t get up even though he was finished… Jake. He was going to sit there until she got up… He was going to watch her like a hawk from here on out.

         She huffed as she added her name to the top of her paper, and underneath it, in tiny letters, she wrote the words. “I’m sorry.” She stood and began to walk to the front of the room, and heard Jake’s boots on the wooden floor behind her, matching her step for step. Approaching the lectern, she slipped her paper onto the wooden surface. 

         “Thank you, Summer.” Tom said as he looked into her eyes. She wished she knew what he was thinking at that moment as he looked at her… she couldn’t tell if his mind was filled with love… or hate… forgiveness… or contempt… and that broke her heart.

         Jake cleared his throat and stepped beside her, sliding his paper on top of hers.  

        “Thank you, Jake.” 

        Jake didn’t reply, prompting Summer to look up at him,  but he just stared at Tom, narrowing his eyes at the Professor. Tom didn’t back down, reciprocating the hateful glare, and Summer saw his jaw clench and release beneath the skin of his beautiful face.

       “Let’s go, Summer.” Jake ordered as he finally looked down to her, nodding his head toward the door.

       She gave Tom one last pleading look, before turning and exiting the room, feeling Jake so close behind her that she could hear his deep breaths. 

       “Summer.” He tried to stop her as she sped up and bustled toward her car. His long legs quickly caught up with her as he reached out and wrapped his hand around her arm. “Summer!”

       “Let go of me, Jake.” She spoke quietly, not wanting to draw attention to them. Squirming, she tried to wrench herself out of his grip, but it was impossible… he was much too strong.  

      “You know, I care about you, and I’m just trying to protect you.”

      She looked from his hand squeezing her arm to his eyes. “By hurting me?”

      “Stay away from him, Summer. That’s the last warning I am going to give you.”  

      Her mouth dropped open at his words and forcefulness. Jake had never been aggressive toward her until now, and it should have scared her… but, really, it just pissed her off.

       “How dare you? We’ve been through so much... you are one of my best friends… and you treat me like this?”

       “What’s going on out here?” Tom trotted over to the pair, rage filling his eyes. “Jake, let go of Summer, now.”  

       “This is none of your business, Dr. Hiddleston.”

       Tom stepped closer and whispered. “Summer is my fucking business. If you have a problem, you can take it up with me. Now, let her go home.”  

       Jake released her arm, but not before giving her a tiny shove. Both men looked at her expectantly as she turned and bustled to her car. Her trusty Toyota couldn’t get her out of there fast enough as she watched Tom and Jake standing there watching her. Was every day going to be like this from now on? She wouldn’t be able to handle it if they were. By the time she arrived back at her apartment, she was in hysterics. Chloe met her at the door and wrapped her arms around her friend. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s sit on the couch. Tell me what happened.”

___________________________         Summer laid on her bed later that day. It had actually turned into a lovely afternoon, so she raised her window, and let the cool breeze flow into her room. She tried to think of a way out of her situation, but every scenario was a dead end. None of them ended with a happy Summer… she either had her career, or the man she wanted. None of the possibilities left her with both. Suddenly, her phone buzzed beside her. Before swiping her finger across the screen, she saw it was a text from a number she didn’t know.

               3:46 P.M.           Are you okay?

              3:47 P.M.             Who is this?                   -S

                       3:49 P.M. You know who this is, my darling.

             3:51 P.M.  No, I’m not fine. I miss you.                -S

             3:53 P.M. I miss you too, darling. I promise that I will let nothing get in our way… or no one. Do you believe that? Will you tough this out with me?

             3:55 P.M.                 Yes.                  -S

             3:57 P.M.  That’s what I wanted to hear.          I’ll see you soon.

         She read back over the texts more times than she could count, and each time it made her feel a little better. Now, they would just have to be extra secretive. Not only keeping their relationship hidden from the world… but an over protective Jake, as well. That might prove to be a challenge… but she was up for it. She loved Tom. She could finally admit it to herself… now, admitting it to him might be a little harder. To learn to love, she would need a really good teacher…                                     … and she knew just the man for the job.

[is-god-real-blog]

Can you logically prove that God doesn’t exist, Bill Cravens

Bill Cravens, BSMME, Univ. of Mich. 1978, MSMME, Illinois Institute of Tech, 1997

I am a former atheist (admittedly in my youth) and am now a Christian. I will answer the question by posing another question... one that I feel is not given nearly as much consideration today as it properly was in the past.

"What is proof?"

Technically, it is a philosophic and mathematical term. "Proofs" are evidence, arguments, and analysis, etc. that are held to lead any objective and rational mind from a condition of doubt or skepticism to acknowledgement of the thing that is alleged to be "proven". Obviously, once one leaves the realm of mathematics, geometry, and pure logical analysis, this word becomes a very "tall order"!

History provides excellent examples. "Prove" to me that the Roman Empire ever existed. I see some ruins in today's Rome, and elsewhere around the Mediterranean, etc. I see some written records (mostly copies of copies of copies), professing to have recorded them. I see Shakespeare's "Julius Caesar" (which, so I am told, was supposedly a dramatization from Plutarch's records.

Likewise for Ancient Egypt... Babylon... Old Testament Israel... Alexander... the Christian Church, the entire Medieval Period. All of it is "inferred", by taking written testimony and then trying to build a "collage" of sorts. A "reasonably accurate picture" of how "scholars think the history of our world unfolded up to the present day. Clearly, there is much that is subjective. Historical "proofs" are not at all "rigorous" like those of the Mathematicians.

In Science, on the other hand, we are often told that "science proves" this or that. But let's keep clear what "that kind of science" means. It is an attempt to ascertain "how Nature normally works". To determine "Natural Laws" that are the same at all points in time and space. Physics, Chemistry, Electromagnetics, Gravity... the study of "universal forces" and how they function. Time and again, scientists will state that, if we ever do encounter intelligent aliens from elsewhere in the Universe, they will at least have this in common with us... that they understand the same natural laws.

But this is built on a very strong assumption that "Science" is purely the study of universal Natural Law. Many things other than that get called "science" today, simply because their study uses scientific devices and refers to natural laws. History, Archaeology, Paleontology, Evolution, Psychology and Sociology etc. all claim to be "science", even though (as of yet) none of them can reproduce their primary effects in a test tube. They simply "assume" the existence of their subjects, or infer them from indirect observations, and then use "nature language" to put a "scientific decoration" on their fields. But Culture, "The Past", the Soul, and Society... these are "constructs", not rocks on a table to be weighed and chemically analysed.

Now then..."Proof of God"? First, although I am a Christian, one must note that it is somewhat unfair to ask that an atheist "prove" that Something "does not exist". Proofs of negatives are not "absolutely impossible". Mathematicians and students of Geometry are quite familiar with them. But get outside of the purely analytical realm and they become extremely difficult to come up with, very quickly. For "contingent" items and events, such as History deals with, one must start from the assumption that the thing or event COULD HAVE happened, but did not HAVE TO HAPPEN. Hence, "contingency". Under those circumstances, one can imagine an awful lot of things being "possible" or "conceivable", which by no means makes them "certain". It would be very hard to PROVE that Abraham Lincoln lived and did and said what is recorded of him, if one did not start out simply assuming that the records of him are "reasonably accurate" up front. Not really "proof" at all. (Or, for that matter, "disproof".)

But God? God Himself?? I'm thinking of the Cabby in the Emerald City in 'The Wizard of Oz'. "We want to see the Wizard!" "The Wizard?? Well, I uh... er, um, uh... well... !" Pray tell, just what kind of "Proof" (or "Anti-Proof") would you have in mind?? God is held (by most Monotheists today, and for the last 2000+ years) to be not a "material being" that you might come upon at a particular location in Time and Space. He is held to be "Self-Existent" and Eternal. The "First Cause"... the "Unmoved Mover"... the "Uncaused Cause of All Things". As such, it seems (to monotheistic philosophers) intrinsically unreasonable to ask to "see God, directly". What Light would you shine on the Father of Light? With what eyes would you look on Him Who made your eyes? And if, somehow, you could "see God"... what is it that you suppose you would see?

For this reason, we (who believe in the biblical God) believe that it is not relevant to the subject, when atheists demand "proof" that God "exists", and justify their platform on the grounds that we cannot give them that. The expectation of "physical proof of God's existence" is simply and inherently unreasonable. There are "arguments" for God's existence, but not evidences of the sort that, say, persuaded scientists that there were planets beyond Saturn, or that might eventually convince them that there is life on Mars. We are not speaking of biological life, or of Mars, but of Him Who made both.

Ironically, this leads me to come to their defense if someone should demand that atheists "prove" that God "does not exist". Just how, exactly, would one have them do that? God is, by His Nature... Well, one must balk at speaking of God's "nature". Perhaps we should say by the "unavoidable status of the relationship between God and His created things. In any event, He is invisible. One does not "ask God for His credentials", to quote Dr. McCoy from what is without a doubt the worst of the various Star Trek movies. Or, if you did decide to ask for them, He might smile and respond by saying "What credentials would you have?"

That, truly, is the problem. One must, in some sense "already know what one is looking for"... what would constitute "proof"... before one can even begin to look, yes? Otherwise, it's sort of like Barbossa said of the "Isle de la Muerta" in 'Pirates of the Caribbean". "Can only be found by them as already know where to look for it." Well.... that certainly tells me a lot, doesn't it??

My own "argument"... admittedly limited... is this. The Bible does indeed give us at least some limited philosophical "ground" on which to stand. In Genesis, God says "Let Us make Man in Our Image". What this "means", of course, has been debated for millenia. But the general consensus is that God did not simply "make humans", but rather intends that we (somehow, at least) "reflect His own Internal Views and Conditions. Again, it is very hard to know exactly how that "works" in detail. But humans regard themselves as having:

1) Valid conscious awareness. We see the observable world as being "outside" our minds. Thus, though we usually don't look at it this way, we are in fact reserving for our conscious minds an "external status" that claims to be "objective" about the observed Universe. This is in direct refutation of Reductionism... the belief (prevalent among many scientists and neurologists today) that the "mind" is simply "what the brain does"... the result of complex electro-chemical reactions inside it. This is what "science" today mostly says (there are some outspoken exceptions) but, if it were taken seriously, it would undermine just about everything we do with or in our minds. Including Science, by the way.

2) Free Will. Richard Dawkins, Jerry Coyne, and a host of angry Materialists and Atheists can grumble all they wish. But the vast majority of humans are steadfastly dedicated to the idea that humans really do possess the "Supernatural Power" of making uncoerced and unpredictable choices between equally-possible and mutually-exclusive alternatives, and then imposing said choices on our physical surroundings. In fact, we can "make the Future become something that it otherwise would not have become". We are NOT (so most of us hold) merely 'acting out' chemical reactions that were initiated long ago by naturalistic forces beyond our control. Again, this is something that rigorous Materialism absolutely denies. True Free Will (not just the illusion of it, but real free will) simply does not fit into a Materialist viewpoint. If we are "Sons of God", then perhaps we possess this Great Power. If we are just "complex collections of carbon-based molecules, subject to Natural Law, then we do not, and cannot. Myself, I believe in Free Will.

3) Rational Thought. Some excellent works on "What Rational Thought really must be, if it is to be rational", and what this means for Materialism versus the transcendent view of human nature that Religion supports. See C. S. Lewis's "Argument from Reason" in his essay titled 'Miracles'. Also current philosopher Victor Reppert has very effectively taken up Lewis's mantle and pushed the philosophical basis for the argument much farther. Basically, all reasoning requires that we attribute to our thought processes certain basic characteristics that a purely chemical and mechanical system governed by deterministic laws cannot actually provide. Chemistry and Evolution might be able to produce the "illusion" of Free Will and Rational Thought, but they cannot at all produce the Reality of them. With Free Will, perhaps Dawkins and others could just "blow it off". But with Rationality, they dare not. Their whole platform rests on their claim to Reason (as opposed to "Faith"). If they must admit that all Reason (including theirs) is just the pre-ordained outputs of a chemical mechanistic process, then their own thinking goes into the trash along with everyone elses.

4) Finally, Moral Perception. We all (most of us, anyway) believe that we know "Right from Wrong". Even the most hide-bound Materialist, claiming to accept Machiavelli's 'Prince' as his guide, declaring Darwin's Evolution to be the foundation, having no problem with Nietzsche and his "Will to Power"... perfectly happy with the "Realpolitik" of today's world... will, the moment his guard is down, turn around and express outrage and indignation at some immorality. We do often disagree with each other about which principles are more important. And about what methods to apply to achieve them. But all of this misses the point that, without God and His Authority, THERE IS NOTHING TO DISAGREE ABOUT. We all believe that there is a "moral direction to the Universe". We all believe passionately that there is in fact a "Right Way that Things Ought To Be", even if we disagree horribly with each other about what that "Way" is. This Moral Sense is one of those primordial things that points back to God, and to His creating us "in His Image". As C. S. Lewis put it so well, "If there were no visible light in the Universe, and therefore, no creatures with eyes, there would be no sense in saying that it was dark. 'Dark' would be without meaning." If the Cosmos itself is utterly indifferent to Morality... if our moral sense simply developed over time as an evolutionary 'survival tool'... fine, well and good. But then we can no longer take it at face value. No longer look to it as a source of Authority. It's real purpose is to help those in whom it is stronger to survive longer and bear more offspring. It is NOT a "real insight into the way things really OUGHT to be". There are no "oughts", "shoulds" or other "valid moral perceptions". Again, as with perception and reasoning, we have become so accustomed to making moral judgements that we no longer seem to realize what we are saying when we do it. If our thoughts and actions are "caused" by physical processes, how to physical processes come to be "true" or "false"? How do they come to be "evil" or "good"? There are no "good atoms" or "evil stars". Why do I care so much, when it is manifest that the Cosmos does not?

All of these things do not, of course, "prove that God exists" in the rigorous fashion that I described at first. But we all do them, every day, and they strongly point back to the idea that we are "more than meets the eye". Even more than meets our own eyes. This is a powerful, if indirect, basis for believing that we may indeed be "made in the Image of God". At the very least, I would insist that atheists consider what their position amounts to, as regards reductionism. I see a lot of statements to the effect that "we do not see any reason for believing in God", and "can you prove that God exists". I also see statements of the sort that "we atheists can be moral people too!".

My problem with that is that such logic seems to believe that one can just blithely "remove God from the shelves of your thinking", as though He were a particular concept, like "unicorns, dragons, Santa Claus, etc.", and decide "we don't believe in Him any more". "Not believing in God" requires also scrubbing away all of the things that depended on Him for their reality. This, I think, is MUCH harder to do, sincerely and completely, than most atheists realize.

Nonetheless, I will agree that, Whoever and Whatever God is (again, assuming He exists), He has certainly chosen to be Invisible. It is not "self-evident" that He is present in our daily lives. Apparently, if He is watching, He values a certain discretion in His dealings with us. Perhaps this is something He does want us to decide for ourselves. What will we "choose to believe"?

[nabateann]

2AM (1k)

Cho Chang, 20 years after DH

requests open

If Cho had any sense, she wouldn’t be here. She would be at home, cooking dinner and smiling vacantly at Harry as he smiled vacantly back, both of their ears tuned in sharply to the radio as Lee Jordan announced another goal for the Harpies, because wow, Ginny Weasley was on fire today, wasn’t she. If Cho had any sense, she would be staring at the wall over her fiancee’s shoulder as Ginny Weasley came in, breathless, laughing, to the radio interview talking about her wife’s contributions to journalism and how they were planning a vacation when the season was over. If Cho had any sense, she wouldn’t have gotten into this damn situation in the first place, wouldn’t have felt the need to run, to keep running, because all she could see was Marietta’s face, frozen in one final look of shock as green light engulfed her, because all she could see was Lavender Brown, with her stupid Dumbledore’s Army patch on the breast of her student robes–oh god, they had been students, hadn’t they, young and carefree, not carefree, never carefree, but young and stupid and tiny, trying so hard to understand something incomprehensible, a war too big for their small universe minds.

If Cho had any sense, she would not have walked up to the altar that day, looking blankly at Harry Potter as he said his empty vows, as she said her empty vows, as they exchanged rings like shackles. She would have never gotten married to someone she couldn’t love, would never have had a child with him, would not have subjected her daughter to the loveless household that she had always been so afraid of replicating.

If Cho had any sense, she would have either run or stayed, not this crazy, in-between thing that terrified her. She wondered if Marietta, either of them, had ever wanted to run like she had, ever wanted to scream and break and rip through the skin over their backs as their sorrow sliced through bone and muscle like tissue paper. Did her daughter ever feel lonely, even though she had not grown up with war pounding through her veins instead of blood? Her friend had, but they had been together, until they weren’t. No, Cho decided, neither Marietta would ever know her crushing loneliness, here in Muggle London, 19 years after a war that should not have happened yet did.

Cho had no sense, she knew, as she slid into the booth of an old, crusty diner that had been last cleaned before the battle of Hogwarts. Harry wouldn’t question her absence, she knew, he never did, and she took a brief moment to hate him for that, hate him for the cracks in their marriage that had come from forcing two loveless people together to play house, the flint that came from banging themselves together so hard to create the imagination that they were happy.

Her grip was loose on her wand as the clock ticked, slow and steady, counting down the minutes until her companions arrived, as staggered as ever. Her coffee sat in front of her, the muggle waitress coming to top it off whenever she so much as took a sip, never getting below half-full. Cho glared at it, before giving up. There was nothing she could do about that turn of events, like so much else in her life.

The first to come was Oliver, sliding into the chair across from her. He smiled gently, pulling up the menu and saying nothing. She appreciated his lack of need to fill the space with meaningless small talk like so much of her life was filled, instead studying the menu with the single-mindedness that he was so good at. Marcus followed him not soon after, entering the diner with a clang before making his way to their table.

Katie, Alicia, and Angelina came in together, followed by George and Cormac, and suddenly the trickle was a tide, and everyone was there, everyone was talking and laughing and it was so different than her house, with it’s bland smiles and empty sentiments, these adults that had survived against all the odds, who had fought the war rushing through their bodies and won, who had looked at the darkness following them and had whispered, “not today.”

Not today. Never today. Tomorrow, they could lose, but not today.

If Cho had any sense, she would go back to change it all. Use one of those time turners, go back to herself at eleven and look herself in the eye and whisper, “you will be beautiful and terrible and nothing to everyone and no one. you will be a genius and a scholar and a vagrant. you will cry and you will laugh, but it will be your choice, in the end. choose well.” She would have made a choice, instead of spending years on the periphery, looking and cataloguing and wondering when she would finally know enough to do something.

She will never know enough. She knew that, finally, just like she knew that these people around her, their motley crew of not-quite-friends, with Adrian Pucey glaring across the table down at the other end, Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet leaning into each other, George Weasley looking at Lee Jordan like he hung the sun, Oliver Wood trying to strangle Marcus Flint, would be with her no matter what, even if she never spoke a word to them in her life.

Angelina Johnson leaned over to her from where she was arm wrestling Roger Davies, smiling. “Tell him I’m right, Cho, you know I am.”

Cho had no idea what they were talking about, but she turned a strict look on Davies, anyway. “She’s right.”

He gasped dramatically, flinging a hand over his eyes, “I have been wronged–horribly wronged!” He then brightened, leaning over to Montague on his left to start a discussion, presumably about some Shakespeare play or other.

Angelina smiled at her, and if Cho had any sense, she would leave now, would go home to overcooked beans and a husband in love with another woman. If Cho had any sense, she would stop this and turn away and say no. She would think of her daughter and her job and all the other important, insignificant details of her life.

Cho has never claimed to have any sense.

[ryankamiyamazaki-blog]

Appropriate Classroom Conduct: Academic Analysis of Koushun Takami’s Battle Royale

Often considered the novel that Suzanne Collins plagiarized when writing The Hunger Games, the novel Battle Royale by Koushun Takami sets the readers in a dystopian future ruled by a dictator and ravaged by rebellious teens. From an academic standpoint, if the Hunger Games is acceptable by the common core standards then why not allow students to read the original? It can be argued that the novel is an English translation of a Japanese novel, therefore it cannot be accepted by the common core, but novels such as Crime and Punishment by Dostoyevsky and Don Quixote by Cervantez are considered academically proper, so why not? Battle Royale at its core it is an alternate rendition of Lord of the Flies (also part of the common core) with a focus on ethics, trust, human experience, and struggle, as well as a grotesque view in to the unrestrained human psyche. I am not attempting to draw the similarities between the aforementioned novels and Battle Royale. What I am stating is that the novel contains educational elements similar to the aforementioned novels, thus, it has educational relevance and should have a home in the academic world.

The novel, Battle Royale, focuses primarily on the authoritarian universe in which teenage rebellion is the norm. Over population is destroying the country and there is no choice but to have a militaristic authoritarian nation to keep things under control. The chaotic state of the country led to the passing of the Battle Royale act. The act regulates rebellion and over population by forcing students battle to the death on an island. The reward for the single winner is their life, the battle to the death forces students to appreciate their lives. Students are led to believe that they are attending a school field trip but soon awaken (after being drugged) in a classroom on a deserted island, where they are given a militaristic/academic briefing on their assignment. Their assignment is to kill or be killed in a span of three days, where inattentiveness will result in an explosion of their Orwellian-esque wiretapped collar. This dystopian universe is the world Takemi invites the reader to. With that said, an agreeable description of what makes a “good” novel can be defined by variety, since there are multiple mini stories and sub plots of every character. This allows for an option to focus on an individual character in context to the story. With variety, the term “good” becomes subjective and personalized, in a sense that an individual characters experience can be favorable over another. Though it is subjective, one cannot argue that many people (after reading every characters story) will claim that they have read “a good book,” regardless of preference. This is when Kant’s notion of taste, or agreeable sensation would be applicable as he states, “all private sensation can only decide for the observer himself and his satisfaction” (Kant 257). Clearly there are fully fleshed out characters and characters who survive for only one chapter, yet those dedicated chapters alone provides an opportunity for close reading.

If one is displeased with a single interpretation of the text, all one must do is detach themselves from the main character, Shuya Nanahara, and focus on a different perspective of a different student. This will please those in favor of taking a Kantian approach that refutes the notion of bias and enforces experience. With that said, it is safe to say that a good novel can be defined as a dense piece of literature with an established foundation of how the universe functions. This technique gives the reader an option to choose an experience within the novel most suitable (or unsuitable) for their private sensation. The fleshed out characters within the novel allows for multiple readings and experiences.

With over twenty students and one deranged principal, it is impossible for a single interpretation for any section within the novel. I find this to be an important factor for the constraints of an academic read. What I am alluding to is the diversity of subplots with rich subject matters within the novel. There is a sense of struggle throughout the novel as paranoid students begin to confess their concerns that raise the existential question, “what am I doing here?” In this scene a couple discuss their current situation and agrees to commit suicide before their collars explodes or before another student finds them, “You're so kind, Kazuhiko. That's what I like about you." I like you, too. I love you so much." (to Sakura, his girlfriend) If he weren't so inarticulate, Kazuhiko could have said so much more. How much her expression, her gentle manner, her pure untainted soul meant to him. How important, in short, her existence was to him. But he wasn't able to put into words. He was only a third-year student in junior high, and worst yet, composition was one of his worst subjects. (Takami 138) What she wanted was to leave this world quietly before they got sucked into this horrible massacre… Had he been more eloquent he might have described his feelings as something like, "I'm going to die for her honor." (Takami 140) Irony does not even begin to define this scene. These are teenagers, practically children, who are forced into life or death situation, devoid of proper eloquence to articulate their feelings. This particular scene can be read as an anticlimactic homage to wordy Shakespearian monologues. Their passion for one another has been condensed and satirized in a grotesque yet humorous manner. Not only does this unfortunate scene dismiss the classic lovesick confession portrayed in many epics, it forces the reader to empathize with the agon (Nietzsche’s notion of the struggle) of the students lack eloquence. There is also an important messaged enmeshed in the short-lived lives of Kazuhiko and his partner.  A reminder that language/education does not equate to human progress; that the concept of life and death is beyond eloquence and rhetoric (Nietzsche quote on honesty). Examples of close reading such as these suggest that the novel can be complimentary to many course-required texts (such as Shakespeare) as a parallel or a foil. Every student experiences a moment of existential crisis as Kazuhiko did and many students struggle with this concept. Each character has a different plan or motive upon being deployed and forced to participate in the program. Takami takes the reader on a journey through each one of their thought processes.

Every student participating on the island is provided with a weapon given at random upon deployment. Takami captures the sensation of the student’s existential uncertainty by giving every student a voice. By giving every student a voice Takami masterfully evokes the fragility of the human (in this case teenage) psyche. Authors studied by scholars such as Edgar Allan Poe evokes these notions in The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket with lines like “words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality” (Poe) spoken by the narrator. This line alone credits the novel Battle Royale as a worthy academic read since the horror of reality is presented in the exposition of every character. Authors outside of the academic realm such as Chuck Palahnuik attributes similar sentiments by stating, “Write about the issues that really upset you. Those are the only things worth writing about” (Palaniuck 1999). Takemi hits home and harkens back to primal fears a student or teacher would experience at a regular school setting. By using the characters as vehicles for transporting the fears in to the mind of the reader, Takemi’s novel has the capacity to impress the readers mind with existential questions of their own. Since Takemi wrote from an uncomfortable and upsetting part of the human psyche, the novel can be dissected in a way Jaques Derrida would appreciate; in a deconstructive approach of critical analysis. Derrida would state that the enigmatic idea of fear is the centralized structure of Battle Royale. Though there are a few characters who live outside of this structure such as Shogo, a transfer student who is unfamiliar with other students, Kazuo, a sociopathic and mentally unstable student, Shinji, the basketball team captain with his scholarship, Sakamochi, the principal and the protagonists Shuya and Noriko, whom creates the foundation of the novel. Focusing now on the transfer student Shogo, he understands the Battle Royale Survival Program as a man made structure and deconstructs it by describing the foundation of the structure itself:

“Even if I happen to succeed I'm going to die anyway. You wear nice clothes, you seek respect, you make a lot of money, but what's the point? It's all pointless. Of course, this kind of meaninglessness might suit this crappy nation. But...but, you see, we still have emotions like joy and happiness, right? They may not amount to much. But they fill up our emptiness. That's the only explanation I have. So...these emotions are probably missing from Kazuo. He's got no foundation for values. So he merely chooses. He doesn't have a solid foundation. He just chooses as he goes... Like for this game he might just as well have chosen not to participate. But he decided to. That's my little theory” (Takemi 268).

Shogo is hinting at some Marxist theories, existential theories, as well as theories of morality and ethics (like Kant). Shogo is enduring his captivity on the island with a pragmatic perspective. He is defining the situation and raising the same questions evoked by philosophers and authors alike. In an academic setting, this will be a very useful section.

Regardless of a cult following in the underground literary world, Battle Royale ups the ante in many respects. In comparison to other literary works, this novel encapsulates key aspects of philosophy, as well as the unanswered questions evoked throughout history. This novel was originally written in Japanese but it pays homage to Western literary canon. Though it is far from an epic poem and is the complete opposite of any Shakespearian tragicomedy, Battle Royale carries an unmistakable essence of reality by presenting the burden created by the human psyche. The subject matter itself, if done tactfully, is immensely relatable to students in an academic setting. If incorporated into a lesson plan the first fear an educator might have is an uproar from angry parents or fearless junior revolutionaries trying “to stick it to the man.” I understand these possibilities. There are many talks of controversy behind this literary work, but I also feel that novels such as these are essential for developing minds. Students have questions that go unanswered by their educators, but Battle Royale acts as the pathos, a multifaceted view of the world through the perspective of different students. As presented, the novel Battle Royale can be utilized wisely as an educational work. It provides a taste of comfort for educators by introducing concepts such as deconstructivism/decentralization by Derrida, questions of existential trauma presented by thinkers such as Nietzche and Kierkegaard, inner workings of neurosis and fear relating to Freud, Rank, and Jung, all while throwing easily digesting these concepts for the student to analyze from a safe distance. Students desire relatability, what better way than raising the question, “what if?”

Works Cited

Poe, Edgar Allan The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2149

Palahnuik, Chuck “Thirteen Writing Tips” http://chuckpalahniuk.net/workshop/essays/chuck-palahniuk

Richter, David The Critical Tradition: Classic Texts and Contemporary Trends. Bedford/St. Martin , 2007

Takami, Koushun Battle Royale Ohta Shuppan, Japan, 1997

[vileart]

The Dramaturgy behind the Crone: Alison Skilbeck @ Edfringe 2017

Jacqui Garbett for Hint of LIME Productions Presents THE POWER BEHIND THE CRONEA play celebrating Shakespeare's older women written & performed by Alison Skilbeck ASSEMBLY GEORGE SQUARE 3 – 28 August 12pm (60mins) " One of the inequities of Shakespeare is once you get to my age there are few great women's roles,"Dame Helen Mirren 1983

Professor Artemis Turret thinks otherwise. The enthusiastic Shakespearean scholar is on a mission to correct the assumption that women of a certain age are not served well by The Bard. As she embarks on her final illustrated lecture to Enfield U3A, the professor hopes against hope that her old chum national treasure Dame Bunti Smart will make her entrance to perform the characters and help her prove her point.

What was the inspiration for this performance?I think Helen Mirren said 'there are no good parts in Shakespeare for older women', and I thought I'd see if I could refute that. I know that suddenly women, quite rightly, are taking the men's roles - the wonderful all-female company led by Harriet Walter, Glenda J doing Lear, Tamsin Greig, 'Malvolia', Gillian Bevan, Cymbeline - but I wanted to look at the actual older female roles.  Which of course were played by men! Is performance still a good space for the public discussion of ideas? Well yes; but I think there's a distinction to be made between more openly polemical theatre and theatre where ideas creep in; you might suddenly realise you've seen a play with only women in it , but no-one was tub-thumping.  My play certainly isn't a 'public discussion'... you make of it what you will, in terms of ideas...

But the theatre does have a vital role, maybe particularly now, and is unique as a present-moment experience and place where people come together, to tell and hear stories. How did you become interested in making performance?I'm not sure what this terminology means. I have been an actor for over 40 years; I have also directed, particularly students at many drama schools, and latterly I have written too. This play is directed by Tim Hardy, and between us I suppose we've 'made performance'. 

If you mean the joy of creating something from scratch, well,  I set myself a challenge to write 4 linked monologues some years ago with my first one-woman show 'Are There More Of You?', and I have sort of gone on from there, with an amazing real-life character in 'Mrs Roosevelt Flies To London' ( Edinburgh 2016 and still touring) and now 'The Power Behind The Crone'. Is there any particular approach to the making of the show?I did the research, deciding which Shakespearean characters - older ladies - most appealed; in this case I also hit on the idea of a framing character, Prof Artemis Turret, passionate academic and one-time student actress, and blended the two.  

Then I learnt the lines. And got directed - remembering that less is more all the time. And the speeches got cut a bit, and shaped, and I decided how to play the main women and also the people they are talking to, if need be... It grows, and then you prune. You cut some of the jokes..! Does the show fit with your usual productions?It is simpler than 'Mrs Roosevelt'; I have deliberately kept the production to a minimum - hardy any lighting and sound effects, and only such 'costume' as the Professor would have with her, when her chum, Dame Bunti Smart, who was supposed to come along and do all the speeches in her lecture, lets her down. 

Obviously it's similar, in that it's just me and I play lots of people, turning on a sixpence to do so: in my first show, 4 characters, in Mrs Roosevelt about 27 as well as her!...It's different obviously in that half of it is Shakespeare's words. Oh, and it's just a bit shorter, an hour. What do you hope that the audience will experience?Oh - the sheer brilliance of Shakespeare: the way the words show us who people are; the way he can mix comedy and tragedy in an instant, the way the words tell an actor how to do it...

I'd also love them to see that theatre, at best, IS 'two planks and a passion' and that all you need is the actor and the writer's words -  and that to create character you do not have to go away and look at your navel in a cupboard, but can, as I say 'turn on a sixpence', using the words, and your body, voice, and imagination in an instant, in full view. 

Also I hope they'll laugh, cry, and in particular have fun with Artemis and the imagined group she's talking to - the keen students of the U3A..  What strategies did you consider towards shaping this audience experience? I am not sure what this means - sounds like plotting! If any 'strategy' I suppose - creating the frame of Artemis and the evening class..but that emerged anyway, as I said, and was not a conscious ploy.  

There is one tiny technical, theatrical trick, which I won't give away here, which I have permitted myself..but even that is not essential to the whole. I really want people to make up their own minds, and hearts. The Power Behind The Crone is a new solo show written and performed by acclaimed actress Alison Skilbeck. Taking the audience on an often comic but always absorbing adventure through some of the best roles for older women in classic drama, Alison illuminates and celebrates seven of Shakespeare’s older women characters, from the vengeful Queen Margaret in Richard III, to the outrageous Mistress Quickly in Henry IV and V, and the outspoken Paulina in The Winter's Tale. Drawing upon her experience both as an actress touring Shakespeare in the USA with Actors From the London Stage, and as a director specialising in Shakespeare as an Associate Teacher at RADA, Silbeck sets out to show that, for women, there is often ‘the benefit of seniory’ when it comes to The Bard.  

"A consummate performer weaving her way effortlessly through her own finely woven web of fascinating material." Alan Ayckbourn

Alison Skilbeck's enormously varied stage career has taken her to the West End and all over the UK, and on tour to the USA and Europe: early on she created roles in six Ayckbourn premieres at Scarborough. Her solo play Are There More of You? received 5 star reviews, and has been acclaimed in Ireland, Sri Lanka and the US. Alison's television work includes Sherlock Homes, The Beiderbecke Affair, Miss Marple, Head Over Heels, Doctor Who, Soldier Soldier, New Tricks, and Midsomer Murders. On radio she has worked with Simon Brett, the late Don Taylor, and Ellen Dryden. She was also Polly Perks in The Archers, until the character was killed off! Two recent projects have been Wimpole Street, the award winning web series, and the pod cast sitcom series Wooden Overcoats. She completed an extremely successful run of her acclaimed production Mrs Roosevelt Flies to London at Assembly on the 2016 Edinburgh Fringe, and will tour it this year. Director Tim Hardy trained at RADA, where he has been an Associate Teacher for 20 years, directing Shakespeare on summer courses and on courses for American actors, and serving on the audition panel. He has directed extensively for the English Theatres in Vienna and Frankfurt, and at many American universities, notably Notre Dame and Illinois Wesleyan. 

His long and varied acting career includes seasons at the RSC, including Peter Brook's Marat/Sade in London and New York, Simon Gray'sMelon at the Haymarket Theatre, and Peter Hall's Lysistrata in the West End and Athens, as well as many tours of the US in Shakespeare with Actors From The London Stage. His two one-man shows, The Trials of Galileo by Nic Young, and At the Mountains of Madness by H.P Lovecraft tour extensively throughout the UK, Eire, and America. His TV work includes Jesus in The Son of Man for American television, Galileo in Days that Shook The World, Eastenders, Midsomer Murders, and Casualty 1909. Films include Captain Corelli's Mandolin. Edinburgh Fringe THEATRETHE POWER BEHIND THE CRONEA play celebrating Shakespeare's older women Written & performed by Alison Skilbeck VenueASSEMBLY GEORGE SQUARE STUDIO 4 Dates3 – 28 August (not 14th) Time12pm (60mins) TicketsPreview £6.00(full) Weekday £10.00(full) / £9.00(conc) Weekend £12.00(full) / £11.00(conc)

from the vileblog http://ift.tt/2eTOSG7

[emilyisaacson]

You Haven't Heard of the School that Will Hire You, a series of posts

This week, due to job search committee responsibilities, a book chapter on teaching at a non-elite institution, and general scheming with Shakespearean colleagues, I came to the realization that I want to run a professionalization workshop for graduate students called "You haven't yet heard of the school that will hire you."*

So, in order to start thinking about this topic (and hopefully a snappier title, since I am actually in charge of some professionalization panels for a November conference), I've decided to try to blog about the experience of teaching at a small, teaching focused college, while trying to be an active (or active-ish) scholar, living in a community far from home, and generally maintaining some areas of interest outside of work.**

What I'll write about is drawn heavily from my own experience, teaching at two small institutions; but it's also drawn from years of reading and from years of developing a network of fellow scholars at similar institutions.

To kick off what I hope will be a regular set of posts (or irregular, whatever), let me outline my career up to this point:

I finished my comprehensive exams in the fall of 2005 and immediately began work on my dissertation.

While I worked on my dissertation, my husband was hired by a public regional comprehensive university in Florida. We moved there and I took a part time instructor job for one year, then a full time instructor job the second. In the first year, I was writing my dissertation and teaching three classes; in my second I defended my dissertation, taught four classes, and began applying for tenure track jobs.

In the late spring of our second year in Florida, I applied for a tenure track job at a small, private, church-affiliated school in an extremely small town in North Carolina. I got the job and negotiated a tenure track job for my husband. (After this, I'm leaving him generally out of the explanation, because it's not really necessary for what I'll be writing about; rather it's necessary for you to know why I wound up in Florida and how I left.)

The church affiliated institution turned out to be a bad fit for us. It was more religiously conservative than we were initially led to believe.  While that's their prerogative, it simply wasn't good for a couple of liberal people who don't really go to church very often, but have a strong enough commitment to theological differences in protestant groups that we wouldn't go to just any church to comply with expectations.  (TL;DR version of that last sentence: I'm Lutheran and I won't join your [any other denomination] church.)

I found a job at another small liberal arts school in Ohio after 5 years in North Carolina.***

I am up for tenure this year (decision in a month!). I was also tasked with overseeing our Honors Program, which puts me in a part-administrative and part-faculty job.

With the exception of that first year in Florida, my contracted teaching load has been four courses every semester. When I've not taught four courses, I've been overseeing programs instead.

I've also taught a wide array of courses:

College Writing (Basically, English 101 in all of its permutations)

Intermediate Academic Writing

Introduction to Critical Thinking

Introduction to College Life

Introduction to Honors

Introduction to Literature

Interpretation of Fiction

Interpretation of Poetry

Interpretation of Drama

Introduction to Literary Theory

Shakespeare

British Literature before 1798 (the survey)

British Literature after 1798 (the survey)

Women's Literature

World Literature (courses in ancient drama, Caribbean literature, magical realism, and the post-1700 survey of literature in translation)

Novels

British Literature (courses in early modern literature, early modern drama, 18th century literature, monsters in British Literature)

Senior Capstone in English

Along the way, I've also mentored all kinds of senior projects.

The point in all of this is that I'm a busy professor who is constantly learning new things to teach -- and that's part of the job.  But what I'm learning isn't pushing me deeper into my field; rather it's pushing me to explore far beyond my specialization and it's challenging me in ways that grad school didn't necessarily prepare me for (though the good people in my graduate program certainly worked hard to do so).

What I want to do here is to talk about my own experiences -- and if those experiences help current graduate students out a bit, then this becomes something beyond navel-gazing.****

My experience is not particularly unique, but it's one borne of experience that graduate school could not have given me -- and I think that's why it's worth writing about publicly.

Because this is public, I will say all the disclaimer things here: my work only represents my own views, not those of my employer. I also will not identify students or specific colleagues in ways that make them identifiable: but I also try to avoid complaining about students and colleagues in public forums anyway. For every moment I get annoyed with someone, I'm sure someone else is frustrated with me. It's part of working with, well, people.  I won't name the schools where I've worked, but they're easy to find (I link to my CV from this blog).

Based on reaction that I got from the title yesterday, I'm going to tag this series "Secret Schools" (h/t Meg Pearson for that name).  Let's just see how well I keep this up.

*If you can find tenure track (or full time) work at all.

** I might not be the best person to discuss this last part, but whatever.

*** I leave out much about my husband, because this is where our careers get complicated and sent us to live in different towns for a few years. The good news is that we live together again and he's working on a college campus again. The less good news is that it's not in a faculty position, the way that we would like.

**** I'm also okay with navel gazing.