Another Anniversary

One year ago today, I defended my dissertation and became Dr. Eddleman. I don't think I've quite recovered yet.

Accepted!

I received some good news yesterday. The paper that I'm presenting at the Jane Austen conference in Philadelphia this October has been accepted for publication in this year's edition of Persuasions: The Jane Austen Journal.

The paper is a version of one of my dissertation chapters. It's nice to get a little extra mileage out of all that hard work.

What Relief Looks Like

L to R: Dr. Ronald Schroeder, Dr. Natalie Schroeder, me, Dr. Colby Kullman

(Not pictured is my fourth committee member, Dr. Ralph Braseth,

who kindly commemorated the event for me.)

This picture was taken right after defending my dissertation at Ole Miss last Wednesday afternoon. I was confident that the defense had gone well, but I have to admit that I was still pretty nervous as I sat in the hallway outside Bondurant C208 while my committee conferred. When Dr. Schroeder opened the door, smiled, and said to me, "Congratulations, Dr. Eddleman," it was a pretty amazing thing.

4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . .

Prayers, good wishes, positive vibes, and happy thoughts deeply appreciated! The defense starts at 1:30. I'll let you know how it goes.

Dissertation Defense Don'ts

Only three more days . . .

Bottom of the Ninth . . .

No rest for the weary.

I will be spending the weekend preparing for my dissertation defense. (Four days and counting . . .) I'll be teaching most of the day Monday, so I can't do it then. I teach again Tuesday morning, so that's out. It's now or never. I'm not really worried, but I want to be prepared. It's important to me to do a good job.

I've decided to go down to Oxford on Tuesday afternoon. My defense is scheduled for Wednesday at 1:30, and I really did not want to have the added stress of worrying about getting caught up in traffic or having a flat tire and ending up late. And I thought a nice calm morning to relax (and pray, and pray, and pray . . .) would be better preparation than a three-and-a-half-hour drive.

A funny thing happened yesterday. I had not even looked at my dissertation in probably at least three weeks, so I sat down to read it through. This is the longest time I've had away from it since I began writing the dissertation, and I had the strangest reaction. It was almost as if I were reading it for the first time. It was something strangely distinct and separate from myself. It was hard to believe that I actually wrote it, that those were my ideas and my thought processes, my arguments.

I hope that muse comes back for a visit on Wednesday.

Countdown

One week and counting til the defense . . .

I had a stressful week last week. I went down to Oxford the week before and filled out my application to graduate and took care of all the paperwork across campus. I came home feeling on top of things and thinking only of preparing for my defense. Then, last week, late Thursday afternoon, I get an e-mail from the graduate school telling me that I don't have enough hours to graduate. And I'm not lacking just a few hours. It's a huge chunk.

Well, of course, panic sets in, even though I'm one of those students who micro-manages her schedule. I read the catalog; I keep a checklist; I visit with my advisor regularly. I knew I'd dotted every i and crossed every t. I also knew that I'd been evaluated every year by the whole English Department faculty and given a "Satisfactory Progress" rating. And how could I have been allowed to take Comps and enter dissertation phase if I hadn't finished my course work? I called my advisor. He said he'd check on it. He sounded a lot calmer than I felt.

Then the University shuts down for the 4th. Of course. A long weekend with no information.

I heard nothing Monday.

By Tuesday I thought, "Enough." And I called. "Oh, yes," she said calmly. "We forgot that you entered the program already having earned a Masters Degree. That was the difference in hours. I'm approving you for graduation today. Sorry."

Well. I feel better now.

The Hurrieder I Go, The Behinder I Get

This past week has been jam-packed with way too much to do. Necessary things. Things I simply cannot ignore. I'm leaving today for the CSC in Nashville, and this is all the stuff I had to get done in the last week:

1. Write the paper that I'm presenting at the CSC

2. Read Gilead because Marilynne Robinson will be a plenary speaker

3. Make minor corrections to my dissertation, proofread the Works Cited page (again), and get the finished version back to my director

4. Prepare to teach a class on "Images of Women in Literature," which I taught on Friday afternoon

5. Prepare for Honors Symposium.

6. Re-read Frankenstein before I teach it at Honors Symposium.

7. Shop for and prepare a nice Father's Day meal

8. Start teaching Honors Symposium on Monday

9. Download and fill out a bunch of graduation-related paperwork, drive to Ole Miss and run around campus, handing in one form here, picking something up there, taking it to another office on the other side of campus, paying fees, etc., and jumping through all necessary hoops prior to the defense, then driving home (same day)

10. Submit an essay for a critical edition of Mansfield Park

11. Pack for the CSC

That doesn't even count things like laundry. Boy, I'm tired.

Can You See Me Smiling?

I found out yesterday that my dissertation advisor has approved my revised dissertation. Now, it goes to the rest of my committee, but I don't foresee any problems there. We're shooting for a mid-July defense.

If I'm this happy now, just imagine how ecstatic I'll be after the defense.

The long-awaited Ceremonial Note-Card Burning is drawing closer.

What Was I Thinking?

Way back in December, my good friend Julie told me about a conference she was helping with that I absolutely must submit a proposal for. I checked out the Call for Papers, and was intrigued:

CHOOSING A NARRATIVE

Choosing a story to tell often shapes the messages we send about faith, history, literature and our world view. How should a scholar balance a comprehensive perspective with the voices of race, class, and gender? To be considered for this peer reviewed session, please submit proposals on topics relating either to how we effectively communicate a narrative – whether in the classroom, pulpit, through media, or in the public sector– or how and why we choose a narrative to communicate.

Then, I found out that Billy Collins (former poet laureate) and Marilynn Robinson (author of Gilead and Home) were the keynote speakers. I was hooked. In the euphoria engendered by the exciting topic and the wonderful speakers, I thought, sure, I can work on my dissertation and write a paper for a conference, too. I'll have plenty of time.

What in the world was I thinking?

The conference begins on the 26th, and I don't have my paper written yet. Just what I needed. More stress.

I'll tell you what my paper's supposed to be about tomorrow.

Overwhelmed. Again.

I'm a slow learner, I guess. Last Monday, after receiving suggestions from my dissertation director, I sat down to begin the process of revising my dissertation. I was pumped, and I worked hard all day long--until my brain refused to cooperate and informed me the work day was over.

Tuesday morning, though, I started thinking of all those pages of work ahead of me, and I simply could not force myself to sit down in front of the computer and start. I exercised, cleaned the kitchen, read the paper, made up the bed, checked Facebook, dusted the living room, read some blogs, did laundry, all the time promising myself I'd get to work on that pesky dissertation just as soon as I finished __________. My procrastination went on all day.

That night I decided that, if I ever hoped to finish this thing, I had to have a plan. I divided my dissertation up into a very manageable number of pages per day. Then, all that I had to ask of myself each day was to revise those pages. If it took an hour, I had the rest of the day to do whatever I wanted. No guilt. If it took all day, well, then at least I'd know that every day wouldn't be that bad. I'd be making measurable progress but still be able to have a life along the way. For the last week or so, my plan's worked. (Although I haven't had a day yet where I finished my work in one hour. I couldn't be that lucky.)

Sure seems like I've been here and done this before.

Nose Back to the Grindstone

For once, I had impeccable timing. On Saturday, I read the last page of Breaking Dawn, then walked out to get my mail, only to discover a packet from my dissertation director with revision suggestions. I knew it was coming. I'd just been trying to push the thought to the back of my mind while I enjoyed a couple of weeks of recreational reading.

Of course, I would have loved to have opened it up and read the words, "It's perfect! You're done!" but I'm not that naive. Actually, it wasn't that bad. He gave me two choices. He said that my committee would accept it with minor cosmetic revisions, BUT he thought it had the possibility of being an exceptional dissertation if I'd make the revisions he suggested in a seven page letter and detailed marginal comments. The question is, he said, "How good do you want to make it?"

Aaaaaarrrrgggghhhh. Having a Type A personality costs you.

A friend whom I really respect and who has already been through this process told me early in my doctoral studies to remember that I don't have to write the perfect dissertation; I just have to get four signatures and the diploma. And he's right. I have no illusions of being able to write the perfect dissertation and I'm really ready to get that diploma. But I don't want to finish by doing the least amount of work possible. I want four signatures, the diploma, and the satisfaction of a job well done.

So now I'm looking at about a month of revision, and every day as I sit down to work I can think of about a million things I'd rather be doing. My self discipline is wearing thin.

Not There Yet

OK. I know I'm not finished. I have to wait for feedback from my committee, make the necessary revisions, and the defend the final version.

But, man, it sure feels good to have a little bit of time without any doctoral work hanging over my head. As soon as classes were over last spring, I began preparing for written comps. As soon as written comps were over, I began preparing for oral comps. After passing them, I began working on the dissertation prospectus. As soon as it was successfully defended, I began work on the actual dissertation. Sure, I've taken a few days off here and there, but not without that guilty feeling that I really should be working.

This is the first time in a year that I simply can't do anything. At least not until I hear back from them. Ahhhhh.

Ta Da!

I submitted a complete, finished draft of my dissertation yesterday. And what did I do to celebrate?

I cleaned house to the accompaniment of Miles Davis and John Coltrane.

So, now you're wondering what I'm going to do to celebrate after the defense?

Well, for one thing, I'm going to have a ceremonial note card burning. Any other suggestions?

Dead On

I took one of those Facebook quizzes the other day. Usually I ignore them, but this one was “What Literary Character Are You?” So, of course, I had to take it. The answer?

Hamlet.

You are introspective, skeptical, and brooding. To you the world is far too complex to be viewed in simple black and white terms. You are artistic, articulate, and intelligent, but your equivocations can sometimes lead you into trouble, which in your case can end up with everyone you know dead while some foreign prince storms your castle.

They left out an important part: everyone you know including yourself

I don’t quite think I’m Hamlet, but a few of those observations might, in some tiny way, be true. But then it hit me. The answer should have been Macbeth. That would have revealed all my inner angst over writing this dissertation. I mean, haven’t I been thinking “Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day . . .” every day for the last few months? And haven’t I secretly believed that I would not finish my dissertation til “the last syllable of recorded time”? And deep down, aren’t I truly afraid that my dissertation will be “a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing”?

Winding Down

As regular readers of my blog know, I've been struggling with dissertation burnout lately. But, guess what?

I'm working on the conclusion!

I hate conclusions. By the end of a long paper I usually feel that I've already said all I have to say on a subject. I ask myself the big "So What?" question, and, at first, I usually have no answer. But if I just let it rest, give it time to sit on the back burner, eventually--there it is.

With a dissertation, multiply the aggravation times about a million. I mean, I've already had to answer a "So What?" question at the end of every chapter. Now, I'm faced with the "SOOOO WHAAAAAT??" question. And, true to form but equally exaggerated, at first my brain answered: "I've said absolutely everything there is to say about this subject, I'm tired and aggravated, and I've used up the next twenty years' supply of self-discipline. I really just want to watch movies or read escapist fiction and be LEFT ALONE, preferably fully supplied with some form of chocolate. Enough already!!!"

But ever the good little girl, I couldn't rebel for long. I wrote the first paragraph of my conclusion on Friday, took off for the weekend, and came back strong on Monday.

The end is in sight!

The Problem with Perfectionism

My writing's been going a little bit better the last few days. One of the problems I've been having (besides my brain turning to sludge) is that I kept finding myself sitting in front of the computer, thinking and thinking and trying to come up with the perfect sentence or the perfect word without actually WRITING anything.

I realized that when I wrote on the computer I felt like I had to produce polished, quality writing, but if I turned to my pad and pencil instead, I could let myself just spill out ideas without that editor's voice taking over the process. Then, after brainstorming all those ideas and letting them flow wherever they wanted to--often to surprising insights, it was not nearly so hard to turn that fertile mess into passable prose.

Of course, I already knew this. I do teach writing, after all. But it's funny. I got so involved in the idea of getting through that I forgot to do what I know.

The Rabbit or the Turtle

I've really been battling Dissertation Burnout lately. All through the process, I've set daily goals--read a certain amount, take notes and develop an organizational plan today, write X number of pages--and for the most part I met them. I was submitting chapters regularly, and that stack of typed pages was growing steadily higher.

Until I hit the last chapter. Then my brain turned to mush. Instead of writing several pages a day, some days I'd sit and stare at the computer screen and, by the end of the day, be lucky if I'd finished a whole paragraph. Aaaarrrgggghh. I couldn't hold a train of thought, I wasn't sure if what I'd written made sense, and I'd have to keep reading the previous pages to make sure I was going where I intended to. Very frustrating.

But I talked to an old friend who's been through the process, and he gave me some great advice. He said to remember that getting a PhD is like a marathon, not a sprint. By the end, it's not about speed. It's about not quitting. This really made sense to me because I've run a marathon. And I remember at about mile 20 really just wanting to walk over and sit down on the curb. But instead, I kept putting one foot in front of the other and repeating in my head "I will not quit, I will not quit, I will not quit . . ." And I didn't.

And I won't.

Dissertation Blues

You know you're in trouble when you start thinking that cleaning out closets would be more fun than working on your dissertation.

Disclaimer: No, this is not really my closet.

Haitus

Last Friday, I got to do two really great things today. For one, I finally got to start a novel just for pleasure. The other? I flew to London.

I know. I know. Who takes a vacation right in the middle of dissertation writing? But my oldest son found a great last-minute deal, next week’s his Spring Break, and he asked me to come along. The offer was just too good to refuse!

Besides, British Literature is my area, so it really is work-related. It is. I’ve convinced myself of it.

Furthermore, a week off might actually do me good. My brain is so tired that sometimes it is incredibly hard to make myself sit down and work. And, although I am disciplined and do write—all day, five days a week—it seems as if my thinking processes have slowed, and I’m finishing fewer pages than I’d like by the end of each day.

I’m hoping that I go to England, have a great time, never think of my dissertation while I’m there, and then become a writing fool when I get back home.

Yep. That’s the plan.