It’s been a week since my official signal to get going on the dissertation writing, and I have made small progress.
Small progress is OK. Got that?
I have a feeling this journey will have its fits and starts. Periods of marathon writing and editing, coupled with dry spells of thinking and figuring.
For me, that has always been the way writing has worked. Time away from the computer is not exactly time away from “writing.” It is time for the words to do their musical chairs impression, floating around while the music plays and scrambling for a seat when it abruptly stops.
I need the word juggling to take place. It’s the only way I can get to the right ones.
So for now, just an update so you know I am serious. I’ve done a bit more reading -- a stack of borrowed books on loan from various libraries is taking up major space on my dining room table, reminding me that the literature review does not end just because I am beginning to write.
I’ve started mapping out the Table of Contents in an order that will be helpful in getting me to take up the chapters in a logical fashion.
Maybe I needed this first week of “stretching” so that I can be ready for the marathon ahead. I do realize it is a marathon. Which means I have to pace myself and stick with it.
Just don’t remind me how much I hate running.
Better to remind me how good I will feel when I cross the finish line.
Copyright 2011 By Marianne V. Heffernan
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Sunday, November 13, 2011
They said, “Go ahead.”
When we last left our fearless PhD candidate, she was getting into her Jeep Liberty for the three-hour drive to Newport, Rhode Island, to deliver a formal presentation on her dissertation proposal.
It was 10 a.m. Armed with a chocolate protein bar, two bottles of spring water, and her trusty MacBook Pro, she promptly missed an exit while fumbling with prepared note cards, and continued rehearsing her presentation three times along the way.
Destination: McKillop Library on the Salve Regina University campus. The only "good" sign in this part of the process. Our heroine loves libraries, loves being surrounded by books. The one location that would surely offer comfort in calming her jitters would be knowing that she is in an environment that has always been a favorite place.
All this prepping for a roughly one-hour meeting with The Committee that would rule “yay” or “no” whether she is ready to render her accumulated knowledge and data (to date) into a written research report.
Would she right her vehicle to the correct highway route after veering off path?
Would one protein bar be enough to sustain her until late afternoon?
Would O.P.T. (Original Professor Three) stroll in and throw rotten tomatoes at the screen?
Ah, the drama of a doctoral candidate’s journey to dissertation. It is fraught with tense moments, highs and lows, every conceivable cliche that might conjure up horrifying images.
Is it really that bad?
In a word: Yes. I’m sure it’s supposed to be. Seeking a graduate degree is a challenge, no doubt. It demands that a student be dedicated, willing to sacrifice hobbies, family time, fun pursuits, sleep. I have not researched the number of people that are pursuing doctoral degrees in this country (give me a break, I’m already researching something here!) but I guarantee you it is not an overwhelmingly gigantic number.
Not everyone does this or wants to. Those of us who do usually have to go all in, or surrender much earlier in the process than dissertation phase. That’s because dissertation phase is the last big hurdle to clear before one becomes a doctor of philosophy.
As many of you know, I have come close to crumbling. It is not an easy process. On Friday, I successfully presented my topic and can begin writing. I gave myself one day to enjoy that little victory -- but only because yesterday was my birthday. I took the whole day to relax with my husband, take in a high school football game and enjoy the company of good friends and family.
I needed that, so I acknowledged that need and indulged it. Today I took time to give thanks for the blessings of the week and for those to come. Then I sat down to sift through my notes and Committee comments, and to begin organizing the first few pages of my dissertation.
Am I ready to write this thing?
As one of my coolest friends would say, “Hell to the Yeah!”
Copyright 2011 By Marianne V. Heffernan
It was 10 a.m. Armed with a chocolate protein bar, two bottles of spring water, and her trusty MacBook Pro, she promptly missed an exit while fumbling with prepared note cards, and continued rehearsing her presentation three times along the way.
Destination: McKillop Library on the Salve Regina University campus. The only "good" sign in this part of the process. Our heroine loves libraries, loves being surrounded by books. The one location that would surely offer comfort in calming her jitters would be knowing that she is in an environment that has always been a favorite place.
All this prepping for a roughly one-hour meeting with The Committee that would rule “yay” or “no” whether she is ready to render her accumulated knowledge and data (to date) into a written research report.
Would she right her vehicle to the correct highway route after veering off path?
Would one protein bar be enough to sustain her until late afternoon?
Would O.P.T. (Original Professor Three) stroll in and throw rotten tomatoes at the screen?
Ah, the drama of a doctoral candidate’s journey to dissertation. It is fraught with tense moments, highs and lows, every conceivable cliche that might conjure up horrifying images.
Is it really that bad?
In a word: Yes. I’m sure it’s supposed to be. Seeking a graduate degree is a challenge, no doubt. It demands that a student be dedicated, willing to sacrifice hobbies, family time, fun pursuits, sleep. I have not researched the number of people that are pursuing doctoral degrees in this country (give me a break, I’m already researching something here!) but I guarantee you it is not an overwhelmingly gigantic number.
Not everyone does this or wants to. Those of us who do usually have to go all in, or surrender much earlier in the process than dissertation phase. That’s because dissertation phase is the last big hurdle to clear before one becomes a doctor of philosophy.
As many of you know, I have come close to crumbling. It is not an easy process. On Friday, I successfully presented my topic and can begin writing. I gave myself one day to enjoy that little victory -- but only because yesterday was my birthday. I took the whole day to relax with my husband, take in a high school football game and enjoy the company of good friends and family.
I needed that, so I acknowledged that need and indulged it. Today I took time to give thanks for the blessings of the week and for those to come. Then I sat down to sift through my notes and Committee comments, and to begin organizing the first few pages of my dissertation.
Am I ready to write this thing?
As one of my coolest friends would say, “Hell to the Yeah!”
Copyright 2011 By Marianne V. Heffernan
Friday, November 11, 2011
Ready or not, here I come
I know I shouldn’t be spending these minutes blogging, but as I am about to get on the road to drive to Newport, Rhode Island, this morning, I am compelled to capture my thoughts now. Reflecting on them later will somehow make this part of my Dissertation Journey inauthentic.
So here it is: I am five hours from the start of my formal presentation on my proposed topic, and I am nervous. No matter how prepared I am, I think I would still be nervous because this is an important meeting. I have so much to say, but I need to stay focused. I have done so much work already, but I need to hit the highlights.
I am surprised at the thoughts that are popping into my head this morning. Mind you, I have been up since before 5 a.m., my brain reminding me that I had more “reviewing” to do of my presentation slides, and more rehearsing to get my speech down.
What thoughts are bombarding me?
Will I be able to articulate this topic without wandering down tangential paths?
Will my knees be shaking as I stand there?
Perhaps the oddest question of all: Will the original Professor Three make an appearance to poke holes in my idea and challenge my sources?
You may recall that I had a difficult experience with this professor, who is a well regarded grief expert and someone I had sought out to support me in this research effort, but ultimately became a Committee member that did not fit within my intended path of exploration or ambitious schedule. I found a new reader, replaced this one with courtesy and appreciation, but never received a reply from her when I officially notified her I was making the change.
I was disappointed at that, but tried not to take it personally. She is a busy professor, lecturer and author, and I don’t know what she might have said to me other than perhaps, “I understand,” or “Good luck.”
Still, for some reason she came to mind this morning as I stumbled through my slides to practice my delivery.
What if she, or other Committee members, or even random audience members, ask questions that I cannot answer?
I can’t go there. I’ll stop right here, thank you very much. Here is what I need to do. Take a deep breath. Gather up my laptop, my note cards, my bag. Get into my car and head to Rhode Island. I have about three hours on the road to rehearse and gain confidence. As a wonderful colleague and friend has reminded me over and over these last few years, this is MY topic. This is my project. No one is a better expert than I.
I can do this, and I will do this. Let’s get this show on the road.
Copyright 2011 By Marianne V. Heffernan
So here it is: I am five hours from the start of my formal presentation on my proposed topic, and I am nervous. No matter how prepared I am, I think I would still be nervous because this is an important meeting. I have so much to say, but I need to stay focused. I have done so much work already, but I need to hit the highlights.
I am surprised at the thoughts that are popping into my head this morning. Mind you, I have been up since before 5 a.m., my brain reminding me that I had more “reviewing” to do of my presentation slides, and more rehearsing to get my speech down.
What thoughts are bombarding me?
Will I be able to articulate this topic without wandering down tangential paths?
Will my knees be shaking as I stand there?
Perhaps the oddest question of all: Will the original Professor Three make an appearance to poke holes in my idea and challenge my sources?
You may recall that I had a difficult experience with this professor, who is a well regarded grief expert and someone I had sought out to support me in this research effort, but ultimately became a Committee member that did not fit within my intended path of exploration or ambitious schedule. I found a new reader, replaced this one with courtesy and appreciation, but never received a reply from her when I officially notified her I was making the change.
I was disappointed at that, but tried not to take it personally. She is a busy professor, lecturer and author, and I don’t know what she might have said to me other than perhaps, “I understand,” or “Good luck.”
Still, for some reason she came to mind this morning as I stumbled through my slides to practice my delivery.
What if she, or other Committee members, or even random audience members, ask questions that I cannot answer?
I can’t go there. I’ll stop right here, thank you very much. Here is what I need to do. Take a deep breath. Gather up my laptop, my note cards, my bag. Get into my car and head to Rhode Island. I have about three hours on the road to rehearse and gain confidence. As a wonderful colleague and friend has reminded me over and over these last few years, this is MY topic. This is my project. No one is a better expert than I.
I can do this, and I will do this. Let’s get this show on the road.
Copyright 2011 By Marianne V. Heffernan
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Making the pitch
It’s kind of a big week for me. I am in the “Countdown to Proposal Presentation.”
For a PhD candidate, this is a key milestone, and I am happy to say I am finally on the brink of achieving it. After submitting a full draft proposal on my research topic, Literary Grief: The Changing Communication Technologies of Grief Memoir, I faced yet another arduous task that must be tackled to get past this critical stage: The task of corralling my three-member Committee for a scheduled appointment to hear my pitch.
This is not as easy as you might think. Does the term “herding cats” mean anything to you?
First of all, the Graduate program requires that you have a three-week lead time for scheduling this presentation. That window of time presented a challenge for me since the Fall semester ends in early December, and there is a cutoff prior to that which precludes these presentations from being scheduled until the next semester.
Then there was the “herding cats” aspect: Finding a time and date when all three Committee members would be available to attend my briefing. Since these are full-time professors with classes to teach, other PhD candidates to support, lecture responsibilities and a host of other obligations, this was a fun game of back-and-forth to shake out a common time slot that would work for everyone. As the presenting student, you have no say, by the way. When your Committee says THIS is the day and date I can do this, you must throw your entire schedule out the window and plan to be there.
For me, this meant giving up my plans to indulge in a spa treatment or two to relax, de-stress, and treat myself to an early birthday present for a change. Heck, I’ve been working hard. Life has been pretty intense of late. I deserve it. More than that, I need it. But hey, I can reschedule. If the Committee says “Be there,” I’m there.
So here I am, prepping for my moment at the front of the room. This is when I tell my team what question I am exploring, how I will explore it and what it potentially will contribute to the Humanities when I have finished. I do not enjoy public speaking, usually, so it will test my nerves and tax my knowledge on the topic – much of which has been collected in fits and starts over the past two years.
When I have finished presenting, I will likely be peppered with questions from the Committee, and potentially from any other guests who wander in to check out what I am attempting to do. I hope to have the right answers or at least an intelligent way to suggest that I will find those answers as I proceed to writing my dissertation.
At this point, the only thing that matters is that I clearly articulate my road map for scholarly exploration and ultimate success. Friday at 2 p.m., it’s Go Time.
Copyright 2011 by Marianne V. Heffernan
For a PhD candidate, this is a key milestone, and I am happy to say I am finally on the brink of achieving it. After submitting a full draft proposal on my research topic, Literary Grief: The Changing Communication Technologies of Grief Memoir, I faced yet another arduous task that must be tackled to get past this critical stage: The task of corralling my three-member Committee for a scheduled appointment to hear my pitch.
This is not as easy as you might think. Does the term “herding cats” mean anything to you?
First of all, the Graduate program requires that you have a three-week lead time for scheduling this presentation. That window of time presented a challenge for me since the Fall semester ends in early December, and there is a cutoff prior to that which precludes these presentations from being scheduled until the next semester.
Then there was the “herding cats” aspect: Finding a time and date when all three Committee members would be available to attend my briefing. Since these are full-time professors with classes to teach, other PhD candidates to support, lecture responsibilities and a host of other obligations, this was a fun game of back-and-forth to shake out a common time slot that would work for everyone. As the presenting student, you have no say, by the way. When your Committee says THIS is the day and date I can do this, you must throw your entire schedule out the window and plan to be there.
For me, this meant giving up my plans to indulge in a spa treatment or two to relax, de-stress, and treat myself to an early birthday present for a change. Heck, I’ve been working hard. Life has been pretty intense of late. I deserve it. More than that, I need it. But hey, I can reschedule. If the Committee says “Be there,” I’m there.
So here I am, prepping for my moment at the front of the room. This is when I tell my team what question I am exploring, how I will explore it and what it potentially will contribute to the Humanities when I have finished. I do not enjoy public speaking, usually, so it will test my nerves and tax my knowledge on the topic – much of which has been collected in fits and starts over the past two years.
When I have finished presenting, I will likely be peppered with questions from the Committee, and potentially from any other guests who wander in to check out what I am attempting to do. I hope to have the right answers or at least an intelligent way to suggest that I will find those answers as I proceed to writing my dissertation.
At this point, the only thing that matters is that I clearly articulate my road map for scholarly exploration and ultimate success. Friday at 2 p.m., it’s Go Time.
Copyright 2011 by Marianne V. Heffernan
Monday, November 7, 2011
Off-the-grid lessons learned
It has been nine days. We have tossed perishables that became suspect by Day 3. We have not seen a single rerun of The Sopranos. And my 8-week dedication to a morning workout routine has been one of the most painful hits so far. Just when I was getting results, I was forced to surrender to a silenced BluRay player. No power, no Tony Horton.
The freak Nor’easter of October 29, 2011, that left hundreds of thousands of Connecticut residents without electricity has yet to be officially a “memory,” because for my husband, our dog, and me, life is still a camping adventure.
We keep our flashlights handy, and our coolers packed with snow and ice as we desperately try to preserve what perishables we have left. Our wood stove is burning from morning ‘til bedtime.
The routine tasks we have been living without include Internet access, television, hot showers, flushing toilets, and the ability to charge our cell phones or run the washing machine. But these are all things we can deal with. There is really nothing that you “need” in the way of modern conveniences that you cannot find a way to accommodate or do without, at least for a while. That’s what a storm can teach you. You adjust.
Yet, when the local hardware store called us on Day 5 to say they had gotten a shipment of generators, we broke the bank and snapped it up. It had been on our Wish List anyway, but I would have preferred to have a cushion in our checking account before draining it for this. We’ll be living on even more of a shoestring for a couple of weeks before the next paycheck, but it beats melting snow on the wood stove to fill buckets for flushing toilets.
It has been an interesting experience in recognizing how I spend my time. The effects of this early snowstorm have given me the opportunity to evaluate many things. For example, for years I have subscribed to the Writer’s Digest and Poets & Writers magazines. They consume a large portion of magazine holders in my home office. Today, I sat down and read a couple of issues, cover to cover, with a mindfulness that was ultimately inspiring.
Except for the constant hum of generators and chain saws in the neighborhood, I feel good in the silence. I have been able to read with focus -- something that a doctoral student (or any student) values. Since I am preparing this week to formally present my dissertation topic to my Committee, the silence is a blessing. I need to be ready to clearly articulate how literary grief has evolved, and I will need full focus to feel confident that I will sail through this next major hurdle on my Journey to Dissertation.
In all the challenge put forth by this latest storm’s wrath, there are some things I can acknowledge:
Most people are good. While many people were without electricity this week, I found those that “had” were thoughtful of those that were without. Neighbors who had generators offered the chance for a hot shower. Coworkers who had their power restored offered a loan of their generator. People who were unaffected by the outage brought hot food to those who couldn’t cook in their own homes - especially elderly who might be inclined to eat a less nutritious meal, for lack of a way to prepare it.
The elderly are resilient. My parents, in their early 80s, were an amazing example of strength in the face of crisis. Sure, they did their share of complaining about the inconveniences of being without electricity, but they are awesome survivors. They toughed it out in their own home, which, thankfully, has always had a cranking woodburning stove.
They pulled out an old tape cassette recorder and listened to a 1980s radio broadcast of a local high school basketball game, reliving that time when my youngest brother was a three-sport standout. They warmed up leftovers on the flat top of their woodburning stove. Like my husband and me and my visiting in-laws, they spent evenings after dinner chatting and reminiscing, and they went to bed early and prayed to have power restored the next day.
It felt like a kind of connecting was taking place. With so many distractions created by the technologies we cherish, we may take for granted the presence of real people in our lives. The storm gave me a chance to think about this in a new way. It also enlightened me to the idea that for many people, the outages delivered the opportunity to see what we are made of. How much can we take? The threshold is different for each of us. What are we willing to do to survive and what do we absolutely hate to be without?
The point really hit me the other evening at a family gathering when a loved one suggested that he was perfectly content to deal with the power outage but for one inconvenience that he had missed all week. “No Facebook!” Then he jokingly went off to chat up other guests, telling me that he “sees me on Facebook all the time.”
It was a striking thought: He had become so accustomed to socializing on the web, he preferred that to an in-person opportunity.
I understood that he was saying that he wanted to visit with people who are not connected to him electronically, but I couldn’t help feeling less friended than if I had posted a note to his Wall or tagged him in a photo.
Have we really come to this?
It made me think about all the disconnectedness in my life. While I employ social networking sites regularly, I don’t feel they keep me “close” to those I really wish to be close to. Email, for me, has become more of a chore -- just another thing to “clean out” regularly, with sporadic moments of genuine exchange.
Text messages and Facebook posts ensure that you always have your say, because even though the communication goes both ways, you don’t have to acknowledge the return posts and texts. For me, that just doesn’t cut it. I won’t be abandoning the social media lifestyle, but it will be easier to keep it in perspective.
For me, this week on the old frontier has reinforced one thing: The connections to those I love are not maintained by Internet networking. They are maintained by direct contact and genuine acts of caring.
Copyright 2011 By Marianne V. Heffernan
The freak Nor’easter of October 29, 2011, that left hundreds of thousands of Connecticut residents without electricity has yet to be officially a “memory,” because for my husband, our dog, and me, life is still a camping adventure.
We keep our flashlights handy, and our coolers packed with snow and ice as we desperately try to preserve what perishables we have left. Our wood stove is burning from morning ‘til bedtime.
The routine tasks we have been living without include Internet access, television, hot showers, flushing toilets, and the ability to charge our cell phones or run the washing machine. But these are all things we can deal with. There is really nothing that you “need” in the way of modern conveniences that you cannot find a way to accommodate or do without, at least for a while. That’s what a storm can teach you. You adjust.
Yet, when the local hardware store called us on Day 5 to say they had gotten a shipment of generators, we broke the bank and snapped it up. It had been on our Wish List anyway, but I would have preferred to have a cushion in our checking account before draining it for this. We’ll be living on even more of a shoestring for a couple of weeks before the next paycheck, but it beats melting snow on the wood stove to fill buckets for flushing toilets.
It has been an interesting experience in recognizing how I spend my time. The effects of this early snowstorm have given me the opportunity to evaluate many things. For example, for years I have subscribed to the Writer’s Digest and Poets & Writers magazines. They consume a large portion of magazine holders in my home office. Today, I sat down and read a couple of issues, cover to cover, with a mindfulness that was ultimately inspiring.
Except for the constant hum of generators and chain saws in the neighborhood, I feel good in the silence. I have been able to read with focus -- something that a doctoral student (or any student) values. Since I am preparing this week to formally present my dissertation topic to my Committee, the silence is a blessing. I need to be ready to clearly articulate how literary grief has evolved, and I will need full focus to feel confident that I will sail through this next major hurdle on my Journey to Dissertation.
In all the challenge put forth by this latest storm’s wrath, there are some things I can acknowledge:
Most people are good. While many people were without electricity this week, I found those that “had” were thoughtful of those that were without. Neighbors who had generators offered the chance for a hot shower. Coworkers who had their power restored offered a loan of their generator. People who were unaffected by the outage brought hot food to those who couldn’t cook in their own homes - especially elderly who might be inclined to eat a less nutritious meal, for lack of a way to prepare it.
The elderly are resilient. My parents, in their early 80s, were an amazing example of strength in the face of crisis. Sure, they did their share of complaining about the inconveniences of being without electricity, but they are awesome survivors. They toughed it out in their own home, which, thankfully, has always had a cranking woodburning stove.
They pulled out an old tape cassette recorder and listened to a 1980s radio broadcast of a local high school basketball game, reliving that time when my youngest brother was a three-sport standout. They warmed up leftovers on the flat top of their woodburning stove. Like my husband and me and my visiting in-laws, they spent evenings after dinner chatting and reminiscing, and they went to bed early and prayed to have power restored the next day.
It felt like a kind of connecting was taking place. With so many distractions created by the technologies we cherish, we may take for granted the presence of real people in our lives. The storm gave me a chance to think about this in a new way. It also enlightened me to the idea that for many people, the outages delivered the opportunity to see what we are made of. How much can we take? The threshold is different for each of us. What are we willing to do to survive and what do we absolutely hate to be without?
The point really hit me the other evening at a family gathering when a loved one suggested that he was perfectly content to deal with the power outage but for one inconvenience that he had missed all week. “No Facebook!” Then he jokingly went off to chat up other guests, telling me that he “sees me on Facebook all the time.”
It was a striking thought: He had become so accustomed to socializing on the web, he preferred that to an in-person opportunity.
I understood that he was saying that he wanted to visit with people who are not connected to him electronically, but I couldn’t help feeling less friended than if I had posted a note to his Wall or tagged him in a photo.
Have we really come to this?
It made me think about all the disconnectedness in my life. While I employ social networking sites regularly, I don’t feel they keep me “close” to those I really wish to be close to. Email, for me, has become more of a chore -- just another thing to “clean out” regularly, with sporadic moments of genuine exchange.
Text messages and Facebook posts ensure that you always have your say, because even though the communication goes both ways, you don’t have to acknowledge the return posts and texts. For me, that just doesn’t cut it. I won’t be abandoning the social media lifestyle, but it will be easier to keep it in perspective.
For me, this week on the old frontier has reinforced one thing: The connections to those I love are not maintained by Internet networking. They are maintained by direct contact and genuine acts of caring.
Copyright 2011 By Marianne V. Heffernan
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