Such a heartrending exchange. On reading your thoughts, I'm struck by how fortunate I was to have left (taught at university, GWU and the Smithsonian's Campus-on-the-Mall) for reasons quite different and before these changes you describe that I fear persist as I read about the humanities shrinking everywhere and the political environment not helping. And I'm grateful to have found Substack and you. I find hope here and an openness that continually surprises.
Mary, I agree about Substack. But part of me wishes that we could have taught in the same department and chatted in the hallway now and then! That can't be replicated outside of academe (or hasn't yet for me).
I very much enjoyed reading this discussion. I am personally not in favour of "safe spaces", my view being that if students know what is going to be discussed, and the behaviour expected of them, they oughht to be able to decide for themselves whether they're going to feel safe, and attend or not as the case may be.
The only time I would have welcomed more information from a student and more support from the tutor was when I was a student on a creative writing course myself a few years ago (I attend one every so often in order to keep my skills refreshed). One of the female students wrote about her experience of being raped, and I really wasn't sure how to respond. It seemed to me that I couldn't say much about the experience itself except to offer platitudes, but on the other hand it seemed somewhat superficial to me to make comments about the writing style.
Terry, your last anecdote raises a challenge that became much more frequent near the end of my tenure. There were some heartwarming examples, such as the students who chose peer review (when we'd read drafts individually and silently) to come out to their classmates. But there were many other occasions when stories of trauma were shared that either set off alarms for mandatory reporting (this was part of our training over the last five years) or that created a scenario in which it was nearly impossible to comment on craft. I took to giving caveats near the beginning of my Personal Essay course about how if an experience was so raw and close to you that you couldn't take craft suggestions without feeling personally attacked, perhaps it was not the right time or place to write about it.
My feeling is that trauma narratives either need a very safe space -- a small circle of trusted friends or a therapist -- or they need to be separate enough from the individual to stand on their own, as Alison says. I have some harrowing experiences of my own that I have not yet written about publicly because I am not certain that those stories could be heard on their merits, and I'm not certain that I'm yet capable of writing them in a way that wouldn't leave me unacceptably vulnerable. These are hard choices. I know that in some cases, people want to speak their truth so that it does not remain silent, and I can respect that. When you have to attach a grade to it, however, it gets a little complicated.
Thanks for that incisive reply, Joshua. Sorry to hear of your traumatic experiences. I, too, have no wish to write about raw personal stuff, or at least not in any great depth. A safe space is key, and I think a good teacher will provide that, especially when it comes to feedback. Although I was a secondary school teacher and now teach adults, I've always thought that the primary teacher's mantra, though perhaps formulaic, is spot on: two stars and a wish
Enjoyed this conversation, both, and perhaps especially because I ran away screaming from academia long ago. I am interested in the tension between amateurs and pros in writing. Among Substack writers, I see it in the snark directed at professional journalists who insist they need to be paid (because of course they do). This criticism typically comes from those who write for self-expression and therapy. They don't seem to grasp that Substack is a business, or the massive work involved in researching and writing to engage an audience in often complicated subjects.
As someone trained in history as well as in journalism, I'm also puzzled by the assumption in some comments here that writers asking for stringent criticism of their work are indulging in masochism. So long as there aren't bad actors in the process, surely we should welcome criticism as a means to improvement?
Thank you, Annette! Yes, Substack is a bit of a Wild West right now. I think the uniformity of the tools (everyone has basically the same dashboard whether they are a hobby blogger or a journalist or an entrepreneur) contributes to some of the confusion. I expect that if Substack were to charge a subscription fee, the way other hosting platforms do, the distinction between professionals and amateurs would be clarified somewhat. But I say that as a professional who hasn't yet perfected a business model for the platform!
What I hear Isaac and Liz wrestling with in the other comments is how to create a rigorous environment that is also supportive. This is another balance I'm still thinking through personally -- how to be ambitious without being consumed by ambition, how to lean into work without it being totalizing. At least, that has been part of my recovery from academe. I'd love to hear more about your story!
Thanks, Joshua. Yes on a subscription fee. Nobody can afford to pay for everything they read, but it's not acceptable to allow people to subscribe to dozens--even hundreds-- of Substacks for the "free stuff", and pay nothing. And that's just one of the problems. I would also like to be able to limit how much long-term free readers see, so that I can make more accessible to newer subscribers, without the discouragement of giving away my work.
I have tied myself in so many knots trying to figure out how to fix Substack, which is an experiment in so many ways. As one Substacker caustically commented to me early on, the advice we were getting at the time felt like "First, become a celebrity . . . "
Oh, and I'm very keen on rigor without cruelty, and always, always tried to model that in my teaching. There's a lot of inexcusable sadism in American academe.
And as for ambition . . . I hate that the rat race intrudes into Substack, because I love writing Non-Boring History. Ambition is forced upon us: The opposite of ambition here seems to be declining numbers rather than stasis. But I do focus on the writing first, and try to minimize the "you scratch my back" stuff, not least because I hate it, especially where celebs are involved. I'm hopeless at sucking up. I'm also very much annoyed by celebs who are happy to borrow from me, but give nothing back--yes, that's happened. Accordingly, and probably to my own detriment, I ignore them. I try to amplify voices of people whose Substacks deserve far more attention and support, especially those of experienced journalists.
Looks like you're doing quite well if you're in the bestseller category! But it's somewhat reassuring to know that I'm not the only one wrestling with the best model. Yes, I've also chafed against what feels like gaslighting from the Substack brass about the limitless potential for anyone to earn a primary income here. Being a celebrity first helps considerably, not just because of follower count but because the audience question has already been answered to some degree. I find myself willing to consider many possible "lanes" for my own newsletter, but my readership remains perpetually elusive. I have a good sense of who I'm writing for as a literary memoirist -- and I trust my sensibilities there. But so many of my readers are silent, and I know so little about them, that I don't know what they might be willing to pay for or how I could adapt my approach accordingly.
I hear conflicting advice about this. Some say, "your readers are paying for access to YOU." That makes sense for celebrities, but is it true for most of us? Others say to provide a service that people will keep coming back for. The closest approximation I can imagine is to offer my literary work as proof of concept for my coaching services and to periodically offer more practical coaching content, too. It does seem that narrowing one's focus, as you seem to have done, is useful. I've only been writing on the platform for 19 months, so I'm still flinging experiments against the wall and trying to study the result.
Let's just say that "bestseller" does not mean income that correlates to results. 😂 It's full-time work, I do it alone, and when I have other gigs, it just about does me in!
I teach academic and professional writing to undergraduates, so there are important differences between my students and the students you both have had. But I have noticed something in my students that I didn't see in this interview: a weird masochism. Students will often ask me to "tear apart" their drafts, will ask me to be harsh, as if harshness and/or cruelty signifies honesty and rigor. They want, it seems, an unsafe place. I blame this partially on the movie Whiplash, but there must be a deeper cause, and I wonder if any other writing teachers have experienced this request or have any thoughts on how to best respond to it.
Isaac, you teach a different population of students than I once did if they are familiar with "Whiplash." This was not my experience in the Midwest, where I often gave generous feedback only to see a largely unchanged "final" draft. But if you teach at a selective school, I wonder if it might be linked to other attitudes about competition and success. The notion that one must be relentless and obsessed to succeed, for instance. I hear echoes of this mentality in popular representations of wealth and power in Billions and Succession.
I'm not sure that I have good advice for how to respond, except in whatever manner is consistent with your own standards as a writer and teacher. I think it's possible to give students something more to reach for without the violence you describe.
Fascinating conversation. I've been thinking a lot about some related problems around oral exams in biology graduate programs--how to make them rigorous but not demoralizing.
Thanks, Liz. I'm wondering now what you think of Isaac's comment above, where he describes students masochistically seeking out harsh feedback as a sign of rigor. Maybe the flip side of this is a kind of sadism in academic culture, that one feels compelled to make others pay the dues that one has paid? There is a difference between rigor and ritual hazing, but the distinction gets blurred in academe, IMO.
Nov 28, 2023·edited Nov 28, 2023Liked by Joshua Doležal
I I have not seen this type of request from a PhD student. They seem to want things to be as easy as possible and see graduate school as a job rather than as training.
The line between rigor and hazing is a very blurry one and some thing that we have talked about a lot in my graduate program. It’s extremely complicated even to think about what the point of an oral Candidacy exam is!
Interesting point. Even in literature the oral exam is a kind of arcane hoop to clear. It might make sense as preparation for a job interview, but it's rarely framed in that way. For instance, I never had to explain, as part of my oral exam, how I might teach an American literature survey course. But that explanation requires real mastery of breadth in the discipline, and it was a standard interview question.
Not sure how applicable this is to your field, but often a distinctive literature dissertation makes the author into the primary expert on the subject. In which case gate-keeping questions by mentors who don't have that niche expertise are kind of beside the point. That's how it was with my medical humanities dissertation. My committee members were doing their best to give me a rigorous exam, but many of the questions were a little perfunctory because I was the only one in the room with much knowledge of medical history.
In our PhD program, the oral qualifying exam is seen as a check on student quality and on their progress over the first year of graduate school. I do think it’s helpful to get students reading and thinking deeply, and having an assessment like this certainly does the trick, but I wonder if there aren’t other ways to motivate the kind of work we want to train students to do.
I see you're still using the present tense? 😊 Have you joined a new PhD program, or are you still involved in the one you left? Just curious. I struggle with this, myself, as I am technically still a member of the college as an emeritus professor, even though I feel like I've largely left it behind.
😂 I did notice that. I guess I still feel ownership even though I left a year ago . . .I’m not involved at all anymore. Emeritus wasn’t available to me, though I sure could use the library access it would have afforded.
So much of this conversation resonated with me. As a psychotherapist who works with both children and adults, I see my job as helping people grow from wherever they are in their lives. I already know my writing isn’t great. But, I want to make it better and I’m willing to explore next steps.
I like that, John -- growing from wherever we are. I do like to give students and clients some sense of what they've done well before shifting to what needs work. I think we all need that positive foundation.
As someone in the teaching game for a long long time who recently jumped ship, a lot of this resonated with me, however, for me a primary impetus was perhaps more selfish. Working through student stories, poems essays and trying to give useful feedback frequently tapped into the same well used for my own creative work--or depleted enough other energy to make tapping into that well a difficult process.... The thoughts here on Substack also echo a lot of what's been going through my mind after a year of writing here. To dwell on the positive: it keeps me writing on a regular schedule and reminds me that a real live audience is at the other end of it all (not unlike a workshop).
Good points, Arnie! Yes, there was often some uncoupling required from leading undergraduate workshops or grading student work before I could ramp up my own writing. And totally agree about the schedule and the sense of audience on Substack.
Absolutely spot on, you two! Writing workshops were once about the art and craft of telling authentic stories, wherever they led you. Sadly, they have transformed into ideological safety caves for young people who seem to no longer care about Art.
Such a heartrending exchange. On reading your thoughts, I'm struck by how fortunate I was to have left (taught at university, GWU and the Smithsonian's Campus-on-the-Mall) for reasons quite different and before these changes you describe that I fear persist as I read about the humanities shrinking everywhere and the political environment not helping. And I'm grateful to have found Substack and you. I find hope here and an openness that continually surprises.
Mary, I agree about Substack. But part of me wishes that we could have taught in the same department and chatted in the hallway now and then! That can't be replicated outside of academe (or hasn't yet for me).
Wouldn't that have been grand, my virtual friend.
I very much enjoyed reading this discussion. I am personally not in favour of "safe spaces", my view being that if students know what is going to be discussed, and the behaviour expected of them, they oughht to be able to decide for themselves whether they're going to feel safe, and attend or not as the case may be.
The only time I would have welcomed more information from a student and more support from the tutor was when I was a student on a creative writing course myself a few years ago (I attend one every so often in order to keep my skills refreshed). One of the female students wrote about her experience of being raped, and I really wasn't sure how to respond. It seemed to me that I couldn't say much about the experience itself except to offer platitudes, but on the other hand it seemed somewhat superficial to me to make comments about the writing style.
Alison, sorry to hear of your personal tragedy
Terry, your last anecdote raises a challenge that became much more frequent near the end of my tenure. There were some heartwarming examples, such as the students who chose peer review (when we'd read drafts individually and silently) to come out to their classmates. But there were many other occasions when stories of trauma were shared that either set off alarms for mandatory reporting (this was part of our training over the last five years) or that created a scenario in which it was nearly impossible to comment on craft. I took to giving caveats near the beginning of my Personal Essay course about how if an experience was so raw and close to you that you couldn't take craft suggestions without feeling personally attacked, perhaps it was not the right time or place to write about it.
My feeling is that trauma narratives either need a very safe space -- a small circle of trusted friends or a therapist -- or they need to be separate enough from the individual to stand on their own, as Alison says. I have some harrowing experiences of my own that I have not yet written about publicly because I am not certain that those stories could be heard on their merits, and I'm not certain that I'm yet capable of writing them in a way that wouldn't leave me unacceptably vulnerable. These are hard choices. I know that in some cases, people want to speak their truth so that it does not remain silent, and I can respect that. When you have to attach a grade to it, however, it gets a little complicated.
Thanks for that incisive reply, Joshua. Sorry to hear of your traumatic experiences. I, too, have no wish to write about raw personal stuff, or at least not in any great depth. A safe space is key, and I think a good teacher will provide that, especially when it comes to feedback. Although I was a secondary school teacher and now teach adults, I've always thought that the primary teacher's mantra, though perhaps formulaic, is spot on: two stars and a wish
Enjoyed this conversation, both, and perhaps especially because I ran away screaming from academia long ago. I am interested in the tension between amateurs and pros in writing. Among Substack writers, I see it in the snark directed at professional journalists who insist they need to be paid (because of course they do). This criticism typically comes from those who write for self-expression and therapy. They don't seem to grasp that Substack is a business, or the massive work involved in researching and writing to engage an audience in often complicated subjects.
As someone trained in history as well as in journalism, I'm also puzzled by the assumption in some comments here that writers asking for stringent criticism of their work are indulging in masochism. So long as there aren't bad actors in the process, surely we should welcome criticism as a means to improvement?
Thank you, Annette! Yes, Substack is a bit of a Wild West right now. I think the uniformity of the tools (everyone has basically the same dashboard whether they are a hobby blogger or a journalist or an entrepreneur) contributes to some of the confusion. I expect that if Substack were to charge a subscription fee, the way other hosting platforms do, the distinction between professionals and amateurs would be clarified somewhat. But I say that as a professional who hasn't yet perfected a business model for the platform!
What I hear Isaac and Liz wrestling with in the other comments is how to create a rigorous environment that is also supportive. This is another balance I'm still thinking through personally -- how to be ambitious without being consumed by ambition, how to lean into work without it being totalizing. At least, that has been part of my recovery from academe. I'd love to hear more about your story!
Thanks, Joshua. Yes on a subscription fee. Nobody can afford to pay for everything they read, but it's not acceptable to allow people to subscribe to dozens--even hundreds-- of Substacks for the "free stuff", and pay nothing. And that's just one of the problems. I would also like to be able to limit how much long-term free readers see, so that I can make more accessible to newer subscribers, without the discouragement of giving away my work.
I have tied myself in so many knots trying to figure out how to fix Substack, which is an experiment in so many ways. As one Substacker caustically commented to me early on, the advice we were getting at the time felt like "First, become a celebrity . . . "
Oh, and I'm very keen on rigor without cruelty, and always, always tried to model that in my teaching. There's a lot of inexcusable sadism in American academe.
And as for ambition . . . I hate that the rat race intrudes into Substack, because I love writing Non-Boring History. Ambition is forced upon us: The opposite of ambition here seems to be declining numbers rather than stasis. But I do focus on the writing first, and try to minimize the "you scratch my back" stuff, not least because I hate it, especially where celebs are involved. I'm hopeless at sucking up. I'm also very much annoyed by celebs who are happy to borrow from me, but give nothing back--yes, that's happened. Accordingly, and probably to my own detriment, I ignore them. I try to amplify voices of people whose Substacks deserve far more attention and support, especially those of experienced journalists.
Looks like you're doing quite well if you're in the bestseller category! But it's somewhat reassuring to know that I'm not the only one wrestling with the best model. Yes, I've also chafed against what feels like gaslighting from the Substack brass about the limitless potential for anyone to earn a primary income here. Being a celebrity first helps considerably, not just because of follower count but because the audience question has already been answered to some degree. I find myself willing to consider many possible "lanes" for my own newsletter, but my readership remains perpetually elusive. I have a good sense of who I'm writing for as a literary memoirist -- and I trust my sensibilities there. But so many of my readers are silent, and I know so little about them, that I don't know what they might be willing to pay for or how I could adapt my approach accordingly.
I hear conflicting advice about this. Some say, "your readers are paying for access to YOU." That makes sense for celebrities, but is it true for most of us? Others say to provide a service that people will keep coming back for. The closest approximation I can imagine is to offer my literary work as proof of concept for my coaching services and to periodically offer more practical coaching content, too. It does seem that narrowing one's focus, as you seem to have done, is useful. I've only been writing on the platform for 19 months, so I'm still flinging experiments against the wall and trying to study the result.
Let's just say that "bestseller" does not mean income that correlates to results. 😂 It's full-time work, I do it alone, and when I have other gigs, it just about does me in!
Beautifully said Annette!!!!
Thanks, Michael.
Thank you, Josh, for this opportunity to share thoughts and experiences! I am grateful.
Such fun, and thanks for trying the voiceover experiment!
I teach academic and professional writing to undergraduates, so there are important differences between my students and the students you both have had. But I have noticed something in my students that I didn't see in this interview: a weird masochism. Students will often ask me to "tear apart" their drafts, will ask me to be harsh, as if harshness and/or cruelty signifies honesty and rigor. They want, it seems, an unsafe place. I blame this partially on the movie Whiplash, but there must be a deeper cause, and I wonder if any other writing teachers have experienced this request or have any thoughts on how to best respond to it.
Isaac, you teach a different population of students than I once did if they are familiar with "Whiplash." This was not my experience in the Midwest, where I often gave generous feedback only to see a largely unchanged "final" draft. But if you teach at a selective school, I wonder if it might be linked to other attitudes about competition and success. The notion that one must be relentless and obsessed to succeed, for instance. I hear echoes of this mentality in popular representations of wealth and power in Billions and Succession.
I'm not sure that I have good advice for how to respond, except in whatever manner is consistent with your own standards as a writer and teacher. I think it's possible to give students something more to reach for without the violence you describe.
Fascinating conversation. I've been thinking a lot about some related problems around oral exams in biology graduate programs--how to make them rigorous but not demoralizing.
Thanks, Liz. I'm wondering now what you think of Isaac's comment above, where he describes students masochistically seeking out harsh feedback as a sign of rigor. Maybe the flip side of this is a kind of sadism in academic culture, that one feels compelled to make others pay the dues that one has paid? There is a difference between rigor and ritual hazing, but the distinction gets blurred in academe, IMO.
I I have not seen this type of request from a PhD student. They seem to want things to be as easy as possible and see graduate school as a job rather than as training.
The line between rigor and hazing is a very blurry one and some thing that we have talked about a lot in my graduate program. It’s extremely complicated even to think about what the point of an oral Candidacy exam is!
Interesting point. Even in literature the oral exam is a kind of arcane hoop to clear. It might make sense as preparation for a job interview, but it's rarely framed in that way. For instance, I never had to explain, as part of my oral exam, how I might teach an American literature survey course. But that explanation requires real mastery of breadth in the discipline, and it was a standard interview question.
Not sure how applicable this is to your field, but often a distinctive literature dissertation makes the author into the primary expert on the subject. In which case gate-keeping questions by mentors who don't have that niche expertise are kind of beside the point. That's how it was with my medical humanities dissertation. My committee members were doing their best to give me a rigorous exam, but many of the questions were a little perfunctory because I was the only one in the room with much knowledge of medical history.
In our PhD program, the oral qualifying exam is seen as a check on student quality and on their progress over the first year of graduate school. I do think it’s helpful to get students reading and thinking deeply, and having an assessment like this certainly does the trick, but I wonder if there aren’t other ways to motivate the kind of work we want to train students to do.
I see you're still using the present tense? 😊 Have you joined a new PhD program, or are you still involved in the one you left? Just curious. I struggle with this, myself, as I am technically still a member of the college as an emeritus professor, even though I feel like I've largely left it behind.
😂 I did notice that. I guess I still feel ownership even though I left a year ago . . .I’m not involved at all anymore. Emeritus wasn’t available to me, though I sure could use the library access it would have afforded.
So much of this conversation resonated with me. As a psychotherapist who works with both children and adults, I see my job as helping people grow from wherever they are in their lives. I already know my writing isn’t great. But, I want to make it better and I’m willing to explore next steps.
I like that, John -- growing from wherever we are. I do like to give students and clients some sense of what they've done well before shifting to what needs work. I think we all need that positive foundation.
As someone in the teaching game for a long long time who recently jumped ship, a lot of this resonated with me, however, for me a primary impetus was perhaps more selfish. Working through student stories, poems essays and trying to give useful feedback frequently tapped into the same well used for my own creative work--or depleted enough other energy to make tapping into that well a difficult process.... The thoughts here on Substack also echo a lot of what's been going through my mind after a year of writing here. To dwell on the positive: it keeps me writing on a regular schedule and reminds me that a real live audience is at the other end of it all (not unlike a workshop).
Good points, Arnie! Yes, there was often some uncoupling required from leading undergraduate workshops or grading student work before I could ramp up my own writing. And totally agree about the schedule and the sense of audience on Substack.
Absolutely spot on, you two! Writing workshops were once about the art and craft of telling authentic stories, wherever they led you. Sadly, they have transformed into ideological safety caves for young people who seem to no longer care about Art.
Michael Mohr
"Sincere American Writing"
https://michaelmohr.substack.com/