Yesterday I attended a Symposium on Theatre and Fandom at Bristol University. Generally and academic blog worthy post anyway this was particularly significant as it was the first academic event I'd gone to in over a year.
At first more by default than design, as I found myself out of academic or even alt-ac employment and well, frankly conferences are expensive things and involve taking time out of your job to do. I didn't consciously stop going, I just stopped looking for opportunities to go. But also given that I've now failed as an academic the longer I went without the more pointless it seemed to go.
I hadn't consciously thought of it but my last conference was also an unpleasant experience. I feel terrible saying so as I know one of the organisers who is a lovely person. And it's far from their fault. But that last conference was the kind where I began by getting lost trying to find the venue (for over an hour) and found myself laughed at for it (I'm dyslexic can't read maps for shit, have zero sense of direction get lost really easily). Then the keynote speaker proceeded to talk about how much they hated the two texts I was talking about, much to the agreement of much of the audience. On delivering my paper a co-panelist said he recognised me from somewhere...turned out that somewhere was the last time we were at a conference together and he proceeded to mansplain my entire PhD to me by way of a 'question'. So yeah barrel of laughs that one was.
In the proceeding 18 months or so I've felt less and less welcome in the academic community. I'll be completely honest, I spent the Saturday before sat crying at the dining room table instead of actually writing my talk. Not only did I have nothing to say it all seemed so pointless. Because really what's the point of going to an academic event if you're never going to be an academic? and if that community has made it quite clear you're not welcome? I spent much of the week before worrying about this, and wishing I'd never agreed. In my ongoing commitment to being honest about these things I did air these on Twitter because rather than being 'unprofessional' (and I'm not sure you can be unprofessional when not allowed IN the profession but anyway) we have a duty to no longer gloss over the difficult aspects of academia and pretend all is well. On talking to Kirsty Sedgeman the event organiser and long time online friend, I was reassured I had support from within and decided to go (telling myself I could run away at lunchtime if I needed to).
I got lucky in finding a familiar face on the train as well, which meant I didn't have to walk in alone (or indeed try and find the venue alone again!). And the way the event was organised was definatly a blessing- 10 minutes to talk for each person, no direct questions- which meant no fear of being the person in a panel that attracts someone's personal vendetta. This approach (event organisers take note) really seemed to foster a more collaborative way of working. In the breaks people could seek out the speakers they enjoyed or had questions for and approach them in a less intimidating setting (and should said speakers have been uncomfortable they could easily make a 'I'm just nipping to the loo' type excuse to extract themselves). The discussion part of the day took place (in typical theatre people style) sat in a circle and was open to all. While on one hand it did mean some people dominated the discussion at points, it also meant nobody was put on the spot, and those who didn't wish to speak could simply listen (or tweet!).
Also really important was the inclusion of those who couldn't make it to the day, for whom Kirsty read out small descriptions of work, or ideas they wished to share. This was a great opportunity for people to be included, and engage even if they couldn't make it. A lot of attendees also live-tweeted the event which helped both those not at the event, the mildly interested Twitter passer-by and anyone else to engage. Live-tweeting is also a godsend for an introvert conference attendee- it's a low-stakes way to 'meet' fellow participants and a great conversation opener 'Hey we've been tweeting each other' or 'I liked what you shared about x' 'Oh you know y on twitter too' etc. It's also for me a great form of note-taking as it really condenses highlights of a talk while also letting you link to other things/speakers.
So all in all it was a great way to dip my toe back in the academic water. It was also, after a year of under-employment and feeling like 9-5 my brain is growing dimmer by the day, a great chance to actually use my brain. And I really did get reminded of why I do love (some) aspects of academia. I have a curious mind, and a desire to use it and a certain amount of skill at it. I realised I'm no worse than most of the people in that room in terms of ability, just that in my current situation I don't have capacity to be as engaged a researcher.
Did I have a road to Damascus moment of conversation back to Academia? no. Did I slightly re-consider my 'completly done' approach to it? yes. Am I suddenly convinced all academics are wonderful human beings? No academics are aresholes because people are arseholes (and the profession does attract a higher proportion than normal of self-important wankers). But I was reminded of how interesting and supportive a group of people academia can also attract. More importantly I feel now slightly more confident in returning to other events or putting my work out there in the future.
So where am I now? Still a failed academic. Still struggling with what to do next. Still unemployed in (checks watch) 7 weeks. Not much different to Thursday. But being in a room with academics no longer makes me want to cry (mostly) and I've remembered that I have a brain that's filled with sometimes useful knowlege. More importantly it's a brain that enjoys being used. And I've remembered that love I had for something.
I'll write a seperate blog about the subject I spoke on (Rent the musical and growing up Renthead) but the most important thing for me is probably another reminder, another nudge that I do love the work I did- it's what got me through to the end of the PhD. And it's probably what will get me through this next stage. Whatever that might be.
Saturday, July 8, 2017
Wednesday, July 5, 2017
Do you get paid for that? and other stupid questions
This is going to be a short post because...well I don't get paid for this.
COULD be the attitude I take if I only ever did things for the money. Of course if I only did things for the money I'd just turn up to my job and not much else. I'd never have studied much, had many hobbies, done anyone a favour.
Reccently I've been busy with a number of things outside my 'Day Job' and when I retrun, or when I mention to friends or relatives what I've been 'busy' with I inevitably get asked:
"Do you get paid for that."
A couple of times I've for example, been quite excited to get readings of my plays done, and performed. Instead of just being either supportive or even impressed (hey I've got a writer's ego would it KILL someone to be impressed for once?) I get asked:
"Do you get money for that?"
Well, no. And at this stage I'm just grateful nobody is charging me for the hours of their life they won't get back reherasing them or listening to them.
Or, I'll talk about reviewing a play. Same thing:
"Do you get paid for that?"
Or writing an academic piece for a book:
"Do you get paid for that?"
Or attending a conference:
"Do you get paid for that?"
Firstly it's kind of insulting. The idea that the thing only has value if there's a transaction of money involved. There's also this unspoken idea that 'well it can't be any good then' if you aren't paid for it. Or that somehow you're a fool for doing it.
Now on one hand I'm a huge advocate for getting paid for work. I loathe that the arts and academia are two particularly explotiative areas of work. But there are levels at which I'm happy to give my time for free. To the small theatre companies who wouldn't get by without volunteers helping out. Sure, have whatever time I can give. To the theatre that receives millions in Arts Council money and charges £60 a ticket, but recently switched it's front of house staff to volunteers: No you do not deserve these people's time for free. In terms of academia I have more of an issue. Because the unpaid labour is not divided equally. There are those in permenant jobs for whom the unpaid labour of writing articles, attending conferences etc is 'covered' by their wage. I know (before they scream at me) that academics go above and beyond. BUT in a full academic post, research is part of the job role. For those not employed in academia it's an additional element on top of a full time (and the rest) week. It's complicated. All of it. We should all be able to be at least not out of pocket for our work. But also we shouldn't have our work reduced to a simple hourly rate.
The thing that really irks me is this: why is my work only valued in terms of monetary gain?
It is incredibly reductive to me to view a person's creative, or even academic work is such reductive terms as how much money they make from it. I didn't start reviewing shows to make money. I started to help me keep developing my understanding and engagement with an art form I love. I didn't do a PhD because I thought 'hey this will make me rich' I did it because I wanted to continue to learn. And for the love of my subject. And because I had something to contribute. I write plays because I have something to say. Even if that something is just a terrible joke about Danny Dyer.
I write plays in the same way I wrote fanfic as a teenager: because I love to write and I enjoy it. Perhaps next time a colleauge or a friend or whoever asks why I do something if I don't get paid I should answer "The same reason I made Mulder and Scully screw on the photocopier when I was 15, because it's fun" (this obviously I entierly made up for this purpose. Obviously. Cough).
I can count the times on one hand someone has followed up my answer of 'A play reading' or 'a book chapter' etc with 'Oh what's it about then?' or similar instead of 'Do you get paid for that?' and isn't that sad? Obviously within my arty/academic circles people ask. But in the more casual aquaintance world, pay is the tip of everyone's tongue. Isn't that sad? that people can't see beyond the financial transaction. And the answer to the pay question is boring. The asnwer to what it's about is far more interesting.
Example from my last play reading:
Did you get paid?
No.
End of conversation.
Oh really, what's it about?
Time travel, and AIDS. And there's a really filthy joke about Paul Hollywood.
I know what conversation I'd prefer to be having.
The point as well being, we're terribly British about money in other ways. Most of us would never ask a colleauge what the make for example. Then why is it ok to outright ask how much my 'creative' work is worth? and why is that worth only financial.
To take a different approach. I did some teaching this year, that was paid actually. Out of that teaching 3 people have told me how much the sessions meant to them or how much they learned. Yes I made some money that day, and yes I've got bills to pay. But in 10 years I won't remember the figure I earned that day (before tax) I'll remember what those people said to me. And hopefully they'll remember me.
We work for money. And we do creative things in the hope they'll one day be a career. Maybe. But the value of these things shouldn't be so reductive. And frankly it's the least interesting part. We who do all this for free, pursue passions. We're excited and interested and yes a bit nerdy about it all. But we also have reasons for doing it. Look at the above description, although I'm being a bit flippant, this play means something to me. And hopefully it will eventually to other people too.
So next time someone tells you about a really cool project they're excited about, ask them about the project. Not about how much it pays. It'll be a far more interesting conversation. And you might learn something.
COULD be the attitude I take if I only ever did things for the money. Of course if I only did things for the money I'd just turn up to my job and not much else. I'd never have studied much, had many hobbies, done anyone a favour.
Reccently I've been busy with a number of things outside my 'Day Job' and when I retrun, or when I mention to friends or relatives what I've been 'busy' with I inevitably get asked:
"Do you get paid for that."
A couple of times I've for example, been quite excited to get readings of my plays done, and performed. Instead of just being either supportive or even impressed (hey I've got a writer's ego would it KILL someone to be impressed for once?) I get asked:
"Do you get money for that?"
Well, no. And at this stage I'm just grateful nobody is charging me for the hours of their life they won't get back reherasing them or listening to them.
Or, I'll talk about reviewing a play. Same thing:
"Do you get paid for that?"
Or writing an academic piece for a book:
"Do you get paid for that?"
Or attending a conference:
"Do you get paid for that?"
Firstly it's kind of insulting. The idea that the thing only has value if there's a transaction of money involved. There's also this unspoken idea that 'well it can't be any good then' if you aren't paid for it. Or that somehow you're a fool for doing it.
Now on one hand I'm a huge advocate for getting paid for work. I loathe that the arts and academia are two particularly explotiative areas of work. But there are levels at which I'm happy to give my time for free. To the small theatre companies who wouldn't get by without volunteers helping out. Sure, have whatever time I can give. To the theatre that receives millions in Arts Council money and charges £60 a ticket, but recently switched it's front of house staff to volunteers: No you do not deserve these people's time for free. In terms of academia I have more of an issue. Because the unpaid labour is not divided equally. There are those in permenant jobs for whom the unpaid labour of writing articles, attending conferences etc is 'covered' by their wage. I know (before they scream at me) that academics go above and beyond. BUT in a full academic post, research is part of the job role. For those not employed in academia it's an additional element on top of a full time (and the rest) week. It's complicated. All of it. We should all be able to be at least not out of pocket for our work. But also we shouldn't have our work reduced to a simple hourly rate.
The thing that really irks me is this: why is my work only valued in terms of monetary gain?
It is incredibly reductive to me to view a person's creative, or even academic work is such reductive terms as how much money they make from it. I didn't start reviewing shows to make money. I started to help me keep developing my understanding and engagement with an art form I love. I didn't do a PhD because I thought 'hey this will make me rich' I did it because I wanted to continue to learn. And for the love of my subject. And because I had something to contribute. I write plays because I have something to say. Even if that something is just a terrible joke about Danny Dyer.
I write plays in the same way I wrote fanfic as a teenager: because I love to write and I enjoy it. Perhaps next time a colleauge or a friend or whoever asks why I do something if I don't get paid I should answer "The same reason I made Mulder and Scully screw on the photocopier when I was 15, because it's fun" (this obviously I entierly made up for this purpose. Obviously. Cough).
I can count the times on one hand someone has followed up my answer of 'A play reading' or 'a book chapter' etc with 'Oh what's it about then?' or similar instead of 'Do you get paid for that?' and isn't that sad? Obviously within my arty/academic circles people ask. But in the more casual aquaintance world, pay is the tip of everyone's tongue. Isn't that sad? that people can't see beyond the financial transaction. And the answer to the pay question is boring. The asnwer to what it's about is far more interesting.
Example from my last play reading:
Did you get paid?
No.
End of conversation.
Oh really, what's it about?
Time travel, and AIDS. And there's a really filthy joke about Paul Hollywood.
I know what conversation I'd prefer to be having.
The point as well being, we're terribly British about money in other ways. Most of us would never ask a colleauge what the make for example. Then why is it ok to outright ask how much my 'creative' work is worth? and why is that worth only financial.
To take a different approach. I did some teaching this year, that was paid actually. Out of that teaching 3 people have told me how much the sessions meant to them or how much they learned. Yes I made some money that day, and yes I've got bills to pay. But in 10 years I won't remember the figure I earned that day (before tax) I'll remember what those people said to me. And hopefully they'll remember me.
We work for money. And we do creative things in the hope they'll one day be a career. Maybe. But the value of these things shouldn't be so reductive. And frankly it's the least interesting part. We who do all this for free, pursue passions. We're excited and interested and yes a bit nerdy about it all. But we also have reasons for doing it. Look at the above description, although I'm being a bit flippant, this play means something to me. And hopefully it will eventually to other people too.
So next time someone tells you about a really cool project they're excited about, ask them about the project. Not about how much it pays. It'll be a far more interesting conversation. And you might learn something.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)