Proposal Guidelines

According to the Georgia State "MA Thesis Proposal Guidelines" distributed via mass email today by the Assistant Graduate Coordinator (or whatever her title is), our proposals should contain the following 5 criteria in order to be considered successful:

1. An extensive description of the topic.

2. A working thesis (liable to change).

3. An outline of structure (chapters, sections, etc.).

4. Discuss the existing secondary material.

5. An extensive working bibliography.

This seems reasonable. But somehow the tangible-ness (not a word, but I'm too tired and lazy to think of a real one) of this list forces me to reflect on my current state. And if you don't mind, I'm going to use this post as an opportunity to indulge in some self-interrogation. (This is going to be needlessly dramatic, I promise.)

I'm at a crossroads (ok, drama over). I've been trying to get some traction on my desire to do something on Adrienne Rich. I have a list of "themes" from which I could possibly narrow into a respectable topic. I've been reading criticism on her. I even emailed (whom I believe to be) the leading Rich scholar, Albert Gelpi, formally of Stanford, over the summer just to tell him how cool I think he is, and also ask how to pronounce his last name. And he emailed me back. (It's a hard 'G'.) This doesn't get me anywhere near a thesis proposal though.

On the other hand, my hard drive is full of papers I've written for classes, going all the way back to 2006. Papers I've presented at conferences. Papers I could use as a springboard for something bigger. And the hard work is done for me. I have an argument, at least somewhere to start. You get it.

I feel guilty not starting from scratch. But should I? No one cares, I know that. But I care. I don't know if I'll get into a PhD program, so this could be it for me. I want it to be awesome. I want to be proud of it, I don't want to look back and just remember taking a short cut. It would be so much easier to write. But I'm not sure whether starting from scratch will be that much more rewarding...

Clockwork Muse

I've tried observing my writing proclivities yesterday and today, and it's helped me to at least be more cognizant of my habits and tendencies. When I learned class was cancelled on Wednesday, I went to Barnes & Noble to work on the paper I plan on using for my PhD application writing sample. (So granted these were a couple of "re-writing" sessions, and I'm afraid I just can't bring myself to actually start from scratch, at least not yet.) Anyway, it was very helpful, both in terms of recognizing the stages of my process, and in improving the paper significantly.

Usually for my warm-up I go straight to ESPN to agonize over how close the Braves are to blowing the wild-card, or Hulu to watch an episode of the Daily Show. If I'm being completely honest. I think it helped for me to be away from home, I got right down to work. For the warm-up, I started reading the first couple pages of my paper. I was only a couple minutes in when I had an epiphany. My writing binge lasted a couple hours, and I paid more attention to my state of mind as my energy and mental capacity tapered off. I ended my session with 2 or 3 specific uncompleted tasks that I could pick up the next day. I felt good after, rather than drained. And I was excited to keep working the next day. I think that was a key piece of advice for me, to end when I'm on my high.

Thank you, Dr. Christie, for that. I think it is going to make a big difference for me.

On the Subject of My Thesiss

I have formally decided to base my thesis on the poetry (and/or essays) of Adrienne Rich (having just spent a good deal of money on those volumes I was lacking), primarily for two reasons:

1. I love her stuff. I have been reading her for several months now, and feel I have properly acquainted myself with her work, her life, her politics. I also have read several articles about her, and consequently become familiar with the major players in "Adrienne Rich studies," if I can call it that. I do not want to have to go through this process again with another writer.

2. Adrienne Rich is a unique subject in that I am provided several scholarly doors to choose from. If I were to write my thesis on John Steinbeck, for instance, I would show competence in just one or two areas of scholarship (Early 20th C. American Lit, for example). With Rich, the possibilities are essentially endless (as far as my own interests are concerned): Gender Studies, Sexuality Studies/Queer Theory, Jewish-American Lit, Late 20th Century American Lit, even Holocaust Lit/Trauma Studies, etc. I can show I have a background in any one of these areas. And while she is a well-known literary figure, she is not necessarily a popular scholarly subject.

Epiphany of the week: All the stress I'm bringing to this long-term project is counterproductive at this point. I mean, this is supposed to be the fun part, right? Right now the possibilities are endless. I need to relish it. As I continue to read, I can plan and organize according to the principles of The Craft of Research. I don't need to have an exact idea of what I'm going to do. My ideas will inevitably evolve into something completely different, anyhow.

Right now my biggest concern is becoming better acquainted with the works of Adrienne Rich. I'm reading "The Sounds of Poetry" by Robert Pinsky to help me see and hear more deeply into the sounds and structure of the poems. I also plan on memorizing a few of my favorites.

Cynicism or Pragmatism?

Reading about the institutional history of the formation of English departments and evolution of Theory as a discipline has been eye-opening. I'm learning that departmental and disciplinary politics are essentially built into the structure of higher education, and therefore unavoidable. It seems political considerations influence even the "purest" of pure research, and (more importantly) inform the crucial question of whether or not I'll be able to get a job at the end of all this.

At the risk of seeming to disregard Dr. Christie's advice that we approach the political aspect as a "game" of sorts, I feel some introspection is in order. So to address one of the big questions of this class, how does this dawning awareness of political disciplinarity influence my ethos as a writer? How does it change the way I address my audience? It's kind of a blow to my youthful, idealistic ego to realize that one's ideas can only get you so far.

Bruce Robbins asks, "How cynical should we be about the disciplinary motives of the knowledge makers?" (98). How cynical, indeed? I'm actually asking, because I have no idea, and Robbins doesn't help me very much. To be fair, I feel like I'm looking for a one-word answer, which I realize is impossible. But it is the very unanswerability of this question that is the cause of my anxiety. (Again with the therapy.)

What are the consequences of this for my writing? On top of writing a really mind-blowing paper, I have to worry about the political implications of my theoretical orientation. I have to acquaint myself with the biases not just of entire departments or editorial boards, but of individuals who are in a position to Yay or Nay my very scholarly existence. I have to anticipate years from now defending a body of work that may or may not clash with the ideals of the group holding that ever elusive pot of job-security-gold. If I'm honest, I'd be willing to do whatever it takes to get there. I'm sort of a closet whore of the intellectual kind. Light side, dark side... doesn't matter to me, as long as I'm on the winning team.

This is all very unsettling.

Research Problem Exercise

I want to hold on to what we read in The Craft of Research, and the exercise we struggled to get through our second day of class. Answering the "So what?" question has always been the biggest challenge for me, so I feel strongly that if I can fill out the three parts of what Booth, et al. consider to be a good research problem (Topic, Question, Significance), my papers will basically write themselves.

So I've been working on this for a few days, using a paper I wrote for a class I took over the summer, and I wasn't actually able to do it (to my satisfaction). But the good news is by using this model, I performed some fantastic brainstorm-style gymnastics. And I think I have a pretty good idea of where I could go to take the paper to the next level.

Here was my paltry attempt:

1. I am studying the structural ingredients of Emily Dickinson's religious poetry because I want to reconcile (?) the paradoxical nature of Dickinson's spiritual (and poetic?) relationship with God in order to illustrate her influence on 20th century (American? Women's?) poetic depictions of prayer (for example, Adrienne Rich).

Alright, I know that's horrible. It doesn't even really make sense, but the point is I was forced to examine my writing (and thinking) process in a way I never have before. Usually I spend hours researching, hoping to come across a problem somewhere along the line, and then spend the last 36 hours before it's due whipping out a subpar paper. The exercise was uncomfortable and frustrating, but ultimately productive. It will become a crucial part of the planning stages of my paper from now on, to guide my research, and keep me focused on my task. If I can actually address the three elements of a good research problem, I might even finish my papers before "the night before."