Letting go of the dream

As I sit, staring at the phone, wondering if I will receive The Call from a prep school I visited recenlty, I've had to wrestle (again!) with the prospect of giving up on my dreams. It is not my dream to teach in a prep school, and it never has been. But at the same time, it is not (and has never been) my dream to teach at a third-tier public uni, with a low salary and no money for research.

Now I know that very few people in the world have their dream jobs. As a group, lawyers are an unhappy crowd, and Lord knows my mother never said to herself, "I want to spend twenty-five years administering unincorporated areas of Tuscon!" And my wife has no earthly idea what she wants to do. The problem is that I am lucky enough to know what I want (to teach at a small college), but unlucky enough not to be able to do it.

I think that the hardest part about taking an offer is that as soon as I do, that dream - one which I have held on to for a quarter of my life - is gone.

I also worry that my reluctance to let go of the dream could warp my ability to see prep school jobs for what they are. Am I foolish enough to turn down a good position ("It's not the right fit.") in order to avoid letting go of the dream? That, it seems to me, would be the height of folly.

So let me ask you - how do you balance your lofty dreams and the crushing reality of the academic market?

Your Sample Size is One (On campus with Prestigious Prep)

As I noted in my last post about on-campus interviews, I'm completely new to this, so take everything here with a grain of salt. Most of you know more about the collegiate process, so I'll focus on the differences between the two.

The most obvious difference between a prep school and (many) university interviews is that rather than a presentation of your research they will drop you into a classroom full of students and turn you loose. What they want/expect you to do will vary widely depending on the school, as will the amount of guidance you receive. Sometimes you'll receive a specific topic, other times you'll get little or nothing to go on. Some tips to make things go more smoothly:

• Bring a baggie full of large name plates (the ones that fold into tents) and sharpies. As students come in, ask them to write their names. This will make it much easeir to call on students without resorting to, "You, in the blue sweatshirt."
• If you are going to lead a discussion of some sort, make it a self-contained unit. Bring a copies of a short reading, and have them do it in class. (Better yet, have them read aloud.) You could try leading a discussion of the reading assigned by the regular teacher, but you're betting your job that the students did the reading, and if they didn't you'll be out there flapping.
• Treat the class like the first of the semester. (No, don't go over the syllabus.) They don't know you, and don't know your shtick, so explain what you are going to do in class. Also, if you are prone to excessive enthusiasm, tread lightly. (I'm kind of loud and might have scared the 9th graders.) Be 80% of yourself.
• Write on the board. (You might bring your own dry-erase marker for this. You don't want your class torpedoed by an equipment malfunction. Incidentally, what do you call it when a dry-erase marker runs out? They can't dry out, can they?)

A second issue to keep in mind is that department politics in a prep school can be quite different than a college or university. In large part, this is a matter of scale, and the significance of a single hire to a department. From a political perspective, at all but the smallest colleges, your arrival in will probably not be particularly significant. By contrast, at all but the largest prep schools you will be one of four or five people in the department, so your arrival will be tremendously significant.

For example, many prep schools are rethinking their AP offerings in the humanities, and some APs are on the chopping block. While you might not have much sympathy for standardized testing, and hate the idea of teaching to the test, these classes have been around for a long time, and inevitably have strong support among some members of the department. In a small department, your position on this issue will likely determine the future curriculum. As a result, the way you answer a question such as, "What do you think of the AP?" will shape the way different members of the department view your candidacy. My argument here is not that you should avoid answering this sort of question ("Gee, I haven't thought about curricular issues" will get you nowhere), but you should know why people care intensely about your answer.

Beyond this, the prep school interview will feel quite familiar. You'll get a nice dinner, meet a bazillion people, and get a bazillion different versions of the same questions (all focused on teaching).

And don't worry - you'll do great.

Don't Panic! (Er, okay, panic, but don't panic about panicking.)

Okay, just back from my first on-campus interview, and here's what I learned. (Or at least here's what I think I learned. My sample size is pretty small, and the plural of 'anecdote' is not 'data', so the lessons here might not actually apply elsewhere.)


First and foremost, if you are a PhD thinking about jumping to a prep school, it's not unusual for you to panic, and wonder if you are making a horrible mistake. So far I have melted down twice in the last month. "I don't want to teach at a prep school," I complained. "I want to teach at a small, wealthy, liberal arts college, with pre-tenure sabbatical. Iwant to make $65k as an assistant professor, and $80k as an Associate. I want a 3-2 teaching load with no class larger than 20."

The problem, of course, is that I had fallen into the trap of comparing my real-world options with my fantasy-world options. I wrote a version of this elsewhere, but it is stil true:

I think that it is extremely easy to get addicted to being on the market in the way a gambler is addicted to searching for the Big Score. There is the anticipation as the jobs are posted/cards are dealt, the excitement as you mail an application/place a big bet, and the disappointment when you are rejected/lose the hand.

You might always lose, but there is also no reason to leave the job market or get up from the table. Why? Because there's always another hand to play or another year to apply.

The addict's challenge is to realize that while there is some truth to the saying, "You can't win if you don't play," it is almost as true to say, "You can't win if you do play." But the panicky voice in your head is only telling you the first story, and that story is for suckers.

So what to do when you panic? First, do nothing. Don't call your rep, don't email search committees. Just let the panic be. Then, breathe deeply, and remind yourself why you are making this move: You will have better students. You will make more money. You will have a choice where you live. You will be able to send your kids to an excellent school for pennies on the dollar. Repeat.

If you need to, to read this thread: http://chronicle.com/forums/index.php/topic,66956.0.html It was my original cris de coeur when I started down this road, and it might help remind you why you did so as well.

Then, have a drink or two. Get a good night's sleep. See where things stand in the morning. Have any of the things that made you want to leave academia changed? Have any of the attractions of prep school teaching (or whatever other career you have selected) diminished. Probably not. Then carry on.

Stepping Outside the Maze

Sometimes, particularly in the midst of a long and torturous job search, it can seem like you've been blindly walking in circles and are starting to run out of viable options. Your efforts have seemingly come to naught; the various, sometimes conflicting tracks you've been following into the distance have all but disappeared. Last month's job leads have dried up. It feels like your SOL: alone and lost in a bewildering job-hunting maze, without a map or a plan or even a piece of beef jerky to keep you going. 

What to do? Should you reconsider your options, lower your standards, or check out a pile of self-help employment books from the local library? Is it time to fill out a Starbuck's application?  (Or maybe you hit  bottom long ago and are already working there, or somewhere similar?) What, in other words, should you do when you have no idea where to go from here--wherever here may be?

As the tenure-track job advertisements dwindle down to November's haphazard drip, rather than September-October's steady trickle, I for one have begun to seriously consider the fact that I may not have any academic interviews, not to mention a tenure-track job, to gear up for in 2011. Am I OK with this? Am I ready to face the inevitable? Well, first of all, my search this year was quite "selective": not only was the number of jobs advertised in my specific history field limited to no more than 10-15 total in the entire country, I only applied for the handful of positions that I'm realistically prepared to accept, if it came to that point in the process.

In the past, I've applied for just about anything and everything because I didn't feel like I had a choice. Teach a 4/4 in North Dakota or Alabama? Why not? Work at an uber religious school when I'm not the slightest bit religious? Okey dokie. Who am I to turn my nose up at a relevant position? I'm an academic and should therefore suck it up and do whatever it takes to jump on the tenure track, right?  Even if that means making $40K per year; teaching classes I'm not remotely interested in; teaching summer school/night classes to make extra cash; living somewhere I know I won't like; and watching my research program dry up to a puddle of goo. It's still better than the alternative: leaving the ivory tower. Handing in my "professional academic" badge for good.

Hmm . . . Now I'm not so sure. After spending the past 6-9 months seriously considering non-academic job options (academic administration, communications, publishing, journalism, nonprofits, government work, etc.), I've made a complete 180, at least mentally. I'm no longer so committed to academe that I'd be willing to live anywhere, do anything, wrack up more debt, to stay in the game. I've finally begun to make peace with my past and consider the sunk vs. opportunity costs of my current professional situation.

Sure, I'm still squarely on the fence. I've applied for academic jobs at this point in the year but not nonacademic. I've yet to decide which direction I really want to go or to solicit contacts in a new nonacademic field or to arrange informational interviews. (Why? Because I still have another postdoc lined up for 2011 and another couple geographic moves to make before I truly taking the plunge one way or the other. I'm basically still living the life of an impoverished academic vagabond.) But I have stopped applying for postdoctoral fellowships and grants, visiting positions, and undesirable tenure-track jobs. I'm getting pickier just when all signs indicate that I should be getting more desperate. And, yes, I'm OK with that. Regardless of what happens in the future, I'll still be living the life of the mind as an impoverished scholar in one form or another, whether I'm in the academy or outside, so why limit my employment options? There's a big world out there.

Sunk Costs vs. Opportunity Costs: Economics 101

When you're trying to make a  major life decision, in this case whether or not to stay in academe (or whether or not to finish an M.A. or Ph.D.), it's easy to get trapped in a vicious cycle of worry, self-doubt, and anxiety about the future. "Should I or shouldn't I do X? . . . What will happen if I stop doing Y? . . . Am I ready to take such a huge step right now? . . . Perhaps I should wait until next year? . . ."

If you're trapped in a perpetual moment of indecision, these are the types of questions that will soon begin to haunt the halls of your mind, both during your waking and your dream life. It's not fun to be stuck in the middle, constantly looking backward, with no clear way of moving forward.

So what factors should you be weighing when trying to decide which path to take right now? These will invariably differ depending on individual circumstances, but it might make things easier for you if you stop to consider two concepts that economists call "sunk costs" and "opportunity costs."

Are you a gambler?

First, some definitions:

Sunk Costs: These are the costs (in time, money, mental and emotional energy spent, etc.) incurred in the past as a result of a decision made long ago. It's now impossible to recover these retrospective costs. You may have spent 6-8+ years in grad school and wracked up $50K in student loan and credit card debt, or way more in my case, to obtain a humanities Ph.D., but there is nothing you can do about that now. Unless time travel becomes a realistic possibility sometime soon, it's too late to go back and change your mind or take a different path. 

Opportunity Costs: These are the immediate costs of not taking the next best alternative or, in economics speak, of not putting a resource to its best use. Your Ph.D. in English, for example, might be of greater use in the corporate world rather than in academe, particularly if you've been looking for a full-time position for several years and are still coming up empty handed. The time/energy you're currently spending adjunct teaching at four different commuter campuses (for $3,000 per course, per semester, and no benefits), would most definitely be better spent on some other method of professional development that involved greater financial and career returns.

While it may seem like moving into another career, or investing further energy and money in a completely new professional path outside academe, is essentially wasteful (and depressing) at this point, sometimes it's better to start afresh. The fact is that continuing to stay un/under--or miserably--employed in academe is not going to get back what you've already sunken into the Ph.D. any more than leaving the ivory tower would.

Opportunity costs, on the other hand, are still in play. Sure, it's safer to stay with what you know and continue looking for academic work: joining the professorate in is what you've trained to do; academe is the world you're comfortable with. But what's the cost? If your energies and time could be better spent looking for a non-faculty administrative position, or learning HTML, or volunteering at a private school, or working part-time at a library, or taking business courses, and so on, the long-term cost of not doing any of these useful things could be great indeed. It's always a risk to move in a new professional direction. No argument there. But what's the cost of treading water? And more importantly, especially if you're currently unhappy, what's the emotional cost of remaining immobile, trapped in a job, or a location, or a stage of life that you hate? What's the point of all this suffering?

Maybe the best thing you got out of pursuing a fancy doctoral degree was the knowledge and skills attained in the process. Maybe,10 years from now, not landing on the tenure track will turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to you. Either way, it's critical to make a decision rather than continue to torment yourself needlessly. You might make the wrong choice, or you might not, but stalling is not going to make the transition process any easier.

I'll conclude with a few question worth pondering for any job seeker currently stuck in limbo:

1. What are the sunk costs of my professional choices thus far?

2. Am I willing to concede that these retrospective costs will never be returned to me and thus shouldn't have a bearing on my decisions now?

3. What's the opportunity cost of inaction?  What am I missing by remaining in academe?

4. What could I gain if I chose to walk away or began to take steps in a new direction?

Am I saying that every non-academic opportunity out there is worth taking, no matter the cost? No, not at all. Instead, I'm advising you, the job seeker, to consider the cost(s) of not doing things that might help you to transition out of academe at the same time that you consider the costs of doing them.

The Decision to Walk Away from Academia

Guest post by Benjamin Harrison

A few years ago, with a three-year contract about to expire and a family to support, I found myself on the verge of leaving academia. While I might have been able to cobble together some sort of teaching position to tide me over another year, that is a game for someone who is young and single, not married and supporting a family. In short, if I hadn’t found a tenure-track job that year, I would have been out of academia, and the prospect was too awful to contemplate for any length of time.

I conducted desultory explorations of other careers, including academic administration, secondary school teaching, and strategic consulting. But mostly I went to see a therapist and indulged a short-lived (but profitable!) addiction to on-line poker. Happily, I landed a tenure-track job, moved, and found actual people with whom I could profitably play cards. If the secret to a happy ending is knowing when to roll the credits, that would have been the time, right?

Well, life goes on, even when it’s going well. Here I am, once again about to leave academia and…I’m fine with it. What happened? How did I get to this place? I’m planning a few posts on this subject, mostly because the route was neither straight nor obvious, but it’s one that many PhDs have to take.

Although it was by no means the most important factor, I can now say, “I succeeded and decided to move on.” I grabbed the gold ring of a tenure-track job, finished my book, wrote two articles of which I am quite proud, locked up tenure, and won a couple of spiffy grants. I could stay in academia if I wanted to. As stupid as it might seem, leaving voluntarily is fundamentally different than leaving because I have to. Obviously, I’m very lucky to have a tenure-track job to abandon, but I think the larger lesson applies to everyone who is on the fence. If you’re contemplating a move out of academia, or face the horrid prospect of having that move forced upon you, find a way to make the decision yours. If it helps, remember that academia makes some pretty unreasonable demands on its acolytes, and it’s often not worth the price. Go, and don’t look back.

An important step in making the journey out of academia voluntary is to figure out what is keeping you in. It isn’t the high pay, or jet-setting lifestyle, so what is it? For me, a big part of it was that my research wasn’t done. I had a half-revised book, and a second project I loved. I didn’t know it at the time, but figuring out how to leave my research on my own terms was tremendously important. The first step was to wrap up the book; so if that’s your ultimate goal, get cracking. You might find that once you have closure on that project, you can move on. In my case, however, it was the second project that drew me in. I had a story to tell, and hated the idea of never doing so.

The answer, I’m afraid, makes me something of a caricature: I’ve begun work on a historical novel. To my surprise, I have found that writing in this genre satisfies many of the same psychological and intellectual needs that scholarly writing does. Call it methadone if you like. Whether I’m writing a scholarly monograph or a novel, my goal is to understand the past, and communicate that understanding in a way my reader will find meaningful. The difference is that when Ben Harrison, historian, runs out of evidence, he runs out of argument. When Ben Harrison, novelist, runs out of evidence, he makes it up. Obviously this particular route is not for everyone, but if you love the academy because you love writing, don’t stop! For my purposes fiction allows me to continue to think and write about the past in a way I enjoy. And right now, that seems like a pretty good way to go.

Freelance Writing: Alternate Careers Continued

Not Your Typical Career Advice Post

I realize that some veteran freelancers may think it unwise to call freelance writing a "career" (in the sense of a full-time, paid position with benefits) and, at this point, I'm inclined to agree with them. Breaking into freelance writing is almost as difficult as finding a tenure-track academic job, only the pay is much worse and more sporadic. Simply put, making a proper career out of freelancing takes initiative, time, guts, connections, and supplemental resources; it's not the path of least resistance. You may have to live in someone's basement for a year, go without electricity or cable, or even subsistence farm your parents' backyard, in order to live the freelancing "dream." In fact, you may be waiting for the dream to pan out indefinitely. I'm not joking.

Crap, did I forgot to pay the electric bill again?

My own attempts to segue into freelance writing have convinced me that while it can be a great way to broaden your professional social circles, experiment with a variety of writing genres, and diversify your writing portfolio, it's not the best way to make money. Consequently, it's also usually not the best time investment. You might pour your heart and soul into researching, writing, and polishing that 1,500 word article over a period of several days, but you're still only going to get paid $100. And who wants to start off on an alternate career path that is not only strewn with significant hurdles but also pays worse than adjunct teaching? As for myself, I refuse to gear up madly in pursuit of yet another career promising limited, or nil, financial returns. (Been there, done that, thank you very much.)

I am, however, interested in attaining the following, all of which I believe freelance writing does afford:

1. Professional contacts in the non-academic world
2. Experience writing for a wide variety of print and online publications
3. Hands-on experimentation with writing genres outside my traditional comfort zone
4. Ability to reach new, diverse audiences
5. Short-term, incremental steps away from academe

Freelance writing is great for those of us who enjoy writing and working independently but are not sure if we're ready to make an actual career as a professional writer, either inside or outside the ivory tower, on our own or as part of an organization. I think we learn best by doing, and freelancing is one way to get busy and flex your mental muscles. FAST. You don't have to sit around for months and months waiting for the perfect full-time job to materialize. Instead, you can get out there and start working on small projects right away and even make a little pocket change. You can also make contacts with editors and establish positive working relationships with media professionals outside academe.

The important thing to keep in mind is that freelancing is not something you'll suddenly transform into a full-on, well paid career overnight. It's better, in my opinion, to think of it as a practice run, an experimental jaunt into the world of non-academic communication. It's a great way to test the waters and gain confidence in your ability to market yourself to, and communicate with, a much wider public than the small, exclusive circles of academe to which you've been confined in the past.

So far my freelancing "career" has consisted of article writing for legitimate magazines and other print/online publications, column writing for Inside Higher Ed, and manuscript editing and proofreading for various academics. All of these were either ongoing paid assignments or one-time only gigs, and they were acquired in a variety of ways. In some cases I sent queries and sample clips to editors before they commissioned me to write an article; in other cases I submitted completed articles and hoped for the best (not all were selected for publication); and still in other cases editors and fellow academics contacted me directly to ask if I would write a specific piece or proofread a text. Finding work through people you know, or organizations that you trust, is a wise way to get started. So, too, is submitting queries to editors at well-established print and online publications.

Do keep in mind that the world of freelancing is full of bottom feeders. Avoiding scams is key. Be wary of anything that sounds to good to be true! I was nearly suckered into a lucrative sounding part-time freelancing gig with a fictitious company whose sole intent in advertising for a freelancer was to convince X number of job candidates to pay an exorbitant fee per month to join an online site for writers. (Yes, http://www.realwritingjobs.com/ is a scam. Don't fall for it!) A little online research indicated what was really going on and the misstep was easily avoided, but it is annoying to have to sift through false leads. For this reason, I would avoid hunting for freelance writing and editing leads via websites like http://www.freelancewritinggigs.com/. There is nothing intrinsically wrong with this site but they tend to just scan Craigslist, which is full of dicey ads, and then post links to job openings that may or may not be legitimate. Why waste your time? Time is money . . . and mental and emotional energy.

In sum, on a scale of 1 to 10, I'd rate freelancing a 3 in terms of viable career options for humanities Ph.D.s. While I enjoy the work and will continue to pursue freelancing opportunities on the side as they come my way, I think I (we) can do much better.

Beware the Career Transition Nightmare

You're running through a dimly lit empty hall filled with closed doors . . . rushing to find the right classroom . . . searching for lecture notes . . . trying to remember what you're scheduled to teach. Glancing down, you notice you're improperly dressed, or even naked, without shoes or socks, or god forbid, undies. Though you're 100% ill prepared for today's class, and full of terror and anxiety, you open the door and find hundreds of students waiting for you (or just someone scary). Making your way over to the lectern, you wonder what the hell you'll talk about today and why you don't remember accepting, or wanting, the position. You wonder whose idea this was anyway. There must be some mistake, you conclude . . . 

 . . . Moments later you find yourself on a motorbike, clad in shorts and a tank top, weaving through a crowd of people in an office building with one arm. In the other arm you're holding a black leather briefcase. Spotting you, someone important looking beckons you to follow them down a bright, artificially lit hall into a conference room. Everyone is waiting for you to take the podium. You open the briefcase . . . discover its empty. A cell phone rings. You answer. Its your lover, or spouse, or friend, reminding you that you never submitted your dissertation, or that its full of errors, and the graduate program is going to rescind your Ph.D. . .  You flee the conference room. Glancing at yourself in a random mirror, you see someone naked with missing teeth and hair. You can't find an exit, but that makes the terrifying little man in the corner whose watching you very happy indeed . . .

I give up already.

Sound familiar? This sample scenario pretty much sums up my latest round of job-hunting/career transition nightmares. I jerk bolt upright at 4am, with sweaty palms, a pounding heart, and feet tangled in the sheets. Annoyance with myself  for having such ridiculous anxiety dreams about teaching or looking for work or forgetting to attend class trumps whatever fears I might have just experienced in dream land. (Listen, subconscious, enough with the tardy, clueless student dreams already; I'm well and truly done with school now!)

These dreams are pretty easy to read. They're about losing control of one's professional identity and falling apart as a result. The equation is simple: if you lose track of your professional self, you lose everything, ranging from your sanity to your underwear. OK, for someone still fully in career search mode, that is a bit freaky. Why are our professional identities so entangled with our personal, interior selves? Is there some way to disentangle these various selves, to tell them apart?

Herminia Ibarra, author of Working Identity: Unconventional Strategies for Reinventing Your Career, argues that a mid-life career change amounts, in essence, to a total reinvention of the core self. While we're holding on to the past with one hand, clinging tightly to the time and effort we've invested in a particular path, we're simultaneously reaching out toward an unknown future with the other. For career changers, this can lead to a confusing yet necessary period of being, as Ibarra calls it, "between identities," in which we feel deeply fragmented, pulled in several different directions at once. This experimental phase, though exciting at times, is truly nerve wracking for the individual.

"The reinventing process is rarely quick or easy, even for the veteran job-hopper. Emotionally, it is hard to let go of a career in which we have invested much time, training and hard work. Letting go is even harder when the alternatives remain fuzzy. And yet there's no avoiding this agonizing period between old and new careers: A transition can begin years before a concrete alternative materializes, as we start creating and testing possible selves," notes Ibarra.

Viewing the beginning or middle stage of a career transition as a trial-and-error period of experimentation, doubt, and inner turmoil, where our identities remain in a constant of flux, certainly explains the nightmares. Transitional states are never fun or easy; they're mentally, emotionally, and financially draining. And the bad dreams merely confirm how we're really feeling about being torn between options A or B, or pushed out of one career into another due to a lack of openings, or not having any money. But whether or not we end up actually making a professional switch, we still need to suffer through these painful periods in order to better understand, and test out, the possible selves before us.

Ibarra's work makes clear the underlying connection between what we do for a living, and the values and beliefs associated with our careers, and how we define ourselves. Our basic but implicit assumptions about life are often so buried beneath the surface that we rarely stop and think about how our working identity can either affirm or contradict personal values rooted at a much deeper level.

All this makes for excellent food for thought. Knowing the whole job search thing is really about the self is motivation to keep battling those pesky nightly demons. I'll try to keep an open mind, then, the next time I find myself in my undies in a dark classroom, alone with Freddy Krueger.

Nails on a chalkboard, anyone?

Prep School Applications: The Personal Statement

Guest Post by Benjamin Harrison

My deepest apologies for a long absence from this lovely page – midterms beckoned with an insistence rivalling that of a hungry infant...


In previous posts (here and here), I’ve discussed the differences between the job application materials required by prep schools and by colleges and universities. In the last post in this series, I’ll touch on the dreaded Personal Statement. In some ways this will read like the Statement of Teaching Philosophy that some schools require, and you may be able to adjust it, but there are also important differences. (For discussion of this subject by someone who has actually landed a teaching job in math, visit Sam Shah’s webpage. I’ll also admit that I feel less sure about this post than others I’ve written.)

According to Carney Sandoe’s website, your personal statement is “a reflection of your philosophy of education, your belief system in terms of pedagogy, and/or your ideas about teaching and/or administration. It is a way for your voice to shine through your file and reach out to potential schools... Your personal statement can take many forms. It can include anecdotal information that will make your candidacy more interesting to a school. It can outline your professional accomplishments and address how your experiences have prepared you for this move. You may want to touch on an example from your past where you were inspired by a former teacher or colleague. You could discuss a few of your personality traits, in particular those that help explain why you work well with kids or why you would be successful in a school setting. OR, you can blend any number of these themes.”

The personal statement is doubly important for Ph.D.s because, as I’ve mentioned before, some administrators are suspicious of a Ph.D.’s motives for seeking a job in a prep school. You’ve started to allay those concerns with your CV (which highlights your work with tweens and teens) and cover letter (which briefly explains why you’re doing this), but your teaching statement is where you have to close the deal.

As in the case of the letter and CV, your prep school personal statement will probably be shorter than your statement of teaching philosophy. (Carney Sandoe suggests 1-2 pages.) While the statement is shorter, it has to cover a lot of ground, perhaps more than your teaching philosophy. Think of your personal statement as a story that interweaves past, present and future. How did you decide that prep school teaching is the life for you, and what kind of teacher will you be? Many statements (including Sam Shah’s) begin with an anecdote that captures the moment at which the author’s desire to teach crystallized. Alternately, you might lead with a description of a particularly striking class-room experience that illuminates your teaching style. But in either case the goal is the same – to make the person behind the application come to life.

Leading with the personal accomplishes two important goals. First, it forces you to discuss your individual experience rather than wander off into a vague discussion of your teaching philosophy. (Guess what? Every teacher on the planet encourages active learning.) Don’t simply say that you try to get students excited about your class, explain how you do it. Do you try to connect chemistry to the real world? Of course you do, but how? Do you use literature to bring history to life? What books or poems do you use, and what lessons do students learn from them? Second, the act of writing about this key moment will bring a passion to your writing that both captures the reader’s attention, and (hopefully!) serves as a leitmotif for your entire statement.

Good luck, all. If you have corrections or comments, I’d love to hear them!

Alternate Careers, cont.: Commerical or Academic Publishing

Let me be straight with you. When I finished my Ph.D. a few years ago, my first thought (other than "oh, crap, now what? I've got to pay back my student loans . . .") was the following: "If I can't find a tenure-track job, or decide I'd prefer to do something else with my overly specialized humanities degree, the first alternate career I'm going to explore is the world of commercial or academic publishing."

I am a total bibliophile: I love reading, I love amassing books, I love stroking books (esp. old books), I love writing, and I love editing and proofreading the work of others. What a perfect job, right?

So I read as much as I could online and even bought a few books including How to Get a Job in Publishing by Alison Baverstock and Book Business: Publishing Past, Present, and Future by Jason Epstein, as well as a thorough textbook introduction to the publishing world, the title of which I can no longer remember (sorry.)

I discovered quite quickly that the publishing world was undergoing a process of major transition due to the increasing importance and popularity of digital technology. Whether a job candidate was interested in working in editorial, marketing, production or sales, without a basic knowledge of e-publishing and other current trends, and an awareness of some of the larger crises facing publishers today, he/she would have little hope of either getting an interview or landing a job, even at the entry level.

Since I'm a historian and basically a speed reader, I read the textbook first and absorbed the history of publishing and the major world-wide players in the industry in about 48 hrs. So far so good. Then I moved on to reading about publishing as a business, learning how the four main departments (see above) function differently, and yet work together constantly, to achieve the final result. It became clear to me that I was most interested in the editorial side of things: working with authors, acquiring and editing manuscripts, writing copy, focusing on all the little details, etc. Reading How to Get a Job in Publishing, in which the duties of each department are discussed in detail, only confirmed my assumptions. Editorial should be my home department, assuming I could find a job in publishing in the first place. And this was going to be pretty tricky, considering the fact that I lived a FAR distance from any publishing centers. Like an academic position, a publishing job would require a move.

The first few resumes and cover letters that I sent out resulted in silence. Nothing happened; zilch. But I kept applying. The next thing I knew I had two interviews lined up, one with a major commercial press, another with a company that produces mainly textbooks. Both interviews were for entry-level editorial positions working with reference works. Not my #1 choice but at least I could get my foot in the door as an editorial assistant. And Baverstock and other industry insiders swear that just finding a job in the department you would like to work in for the long term, in my case editorial, is a great way to begin. Most people change jobs and/or positions relatively frequently in publishing anyway.

Needless to say the first interview didn't go as well as I had anticipated. First there was the editorial test, then there were all these touchy feely personal/professional questions, then there was the awkward and brutal salary disclosure, and finally, I discovered that I'd have to return for a 2nd round interview if I made it onto the short list. (You can read about my experience at the first publishing house, "Botching the Interview," here: http://www.insidehighered.com/advice/on_the_fence/woolf3) I wasn't very poker-facey at this interview, and I did a poor job, I think, of hiding my disappointment about the low, low salary and need for another interview. I had already paid out of pocket to fly to said distant city, stay in a hotel, and take a taxi to the publishers. Having to do it again didn't bode well for my pocketbook, esp. considering the salary and lack of moving assistance. They also wanted someone who could start right away.

Another thing that bothered me was the spatial layout of the place and the gender dynamic. The publishing "house" actually looked like a bleak newsroom, with desks manned by women placed close together in the middle of a large, central room surrounded on the left and right by larger enclosed offices, nearly all of which contained important looking men. The lack of women in key positions made me feel slightly icky.

After some soul searching, I withdrew my name from the search and cancelled my upcoming interview with the 2nd publisher, who had already emailed me to ask if a max salary of $22,000-$24,000 was going to be too low for me. As a 30 yr old with a Ph.D., tons of debt, a need to relocate asap, and a partner based elsewhere, too low it most certainly was.

Disappointment set in immediately. I knew I would like the job, and the industry, even if being an editorial assistant seemed super easy and meant more for a 22 yr old with a B.A. But if I had lived nearby and not needed to make a professional level salary due to my poor life choices, I would have accepted the position regardless just to get a feel for the publishing world. There is nothing better than real experience to confirm your assumptions. Instead I walked away, remained in the academic world, and am still looking for a meaningful career with a decent salary. I don't regret my decision or my experience but do wish things might have worked out better. And I really wish editors received higher salaries.  

Moral of the story: Know what you are getting into; do research; read about the publishing industry and know what department you'd most like to join. Spend a lot of time looking at job ads and exploring company websites.

Useful sites:
http://www.bookjobs.com/

http://www.aaupnet.org/jobs/jobslist.php

http://publishingjobs.org/

*There are, I'm sure, lots of fantastic entry-level publishing jobs out there that no doubt pay better starting salaries (like $35,000). However, being independently wealthy can't hurt; for this reason working in publishing feels dangerously close to working in academe.

Get Thee to Boot Camp: Combating Obstacles on the Non-Academic Track

Over the weekend I made a mental list of the top 3 alternate careers I would most like to pursue if I either cannot find a tenure-track academic job or choose to leave the academy irrespective of my future prospects in the ivory tower.

In no particular order they are:
1. Writer/editor/researcher (in an academic, government, or corporate setting)
2. Head reference librarian (university, research, or public)
3. University administration, especially something along the lines of "associate director and/or director of ______ program" (women studies, career services, and the like)

Now, all of these options sound fairly reasonable for someone with a Ph.D. who also works as a freelance writer on the side. But there are large, disheartening obstacles attached to each alternate career I have listed. I can sorta see the light at the end of the tunnel but am unsure whether I'm 100% ready and willing to start jumping through a new set of hoops, or climbing ropes, or scaling fences, or doing push ups. (Although the intense workout would be a pretty sweet bonus in any case.)

Am I fit enough to navigate my way through?

Working as a full-time writer, in whatever setting, usually requires several years of steady employment experience. Right now I have a checkered professional history, with most of my experience involving part-time undergraduate teaching in one form or another as well as unpaid or low-paid administrative positions. I have never actually been hired by an organization to work specifically as a "writer" 9-5pm, M-F; instead I write a column, occasionally proofread for others, and publish various non-academic articles here and there, depending on the work available. Is this enough to land a job as a staff writer, despite my lack of full-time experience or references outside academe? Only time will tell.

The 2nd option, working at a library, is even more fraught with difficulties. Becoming a reference librarian requires an MLS degree in addition to the Ph.D. I have looked into this and experienced a feeling of revulsion upon learning that I would need to pay for and retake the GRE; submit undergrad transcripts; find people willing to write letters of recommendation; demonstrate mastery of a foreign language (again); and pay thousands of dollars to sit through 36 more credit hours of schooling. Um, yuck. It's not that I'm against going back to school, I just don't know if it would be worth it to me in the long run as an unemployed 30 something, when there are so many other things, I hope, that I can do with just a Ph.D. But the idea of being surrounded by books 24-7, and not having to sell anything, is awfully tempting.

Breaking into university administration sounds less than glamorous, I must admit, but it would allow me to use what I know and tap into my type-A personality skill set. I like the idea of helping to run a program and continuing to work with academics and students. But would I enjoy working with university staff and higher-up admin types on a daily basis? Again, I have no idea. Therein lies the problem. With limited administrative experience, and no experience managing people or budgets, why would anyone hire me for an administrative position when there are more than enough qualified applicants looking for work right now? My sense is that HR would place my application in the "REJECT" pile straight away, unless I had special connections. Hmm . . . need to work on establishing those connections.

In sum, I don't have a steady employment history doing, well, anything; I've spent the last 10 years in school and part-time teaching but I no longer relish the thought of teaching as much I used to; I don't have the additional qualifications necessary to work in a library; my lack of administrative experience doesn't bode well for an office job; and I haven't worked long or steadily enough as a freelance writer to prove that I'd be a good hire for a staff writer position.

Ugh, back to square one. If I was really smart I would establish a "Kick Your Soft Ph.D. Ass Into Gear" career transition boot camp. As long as the fees were low, I bet there would be plenty of takers. Who wouldn't like to tone up, lose a few pounds and prepare for a new career all in one go?

Ready to get buff and make $!?!

Translating the Value of the Liberal Arts Degree

How do we reach parents and students increasingly anxious about the economic outcomes of their undergraduate degrees and still manage to convince the next generation to invest in liberal arts majors and classes? Proclaiming the "value" of the liberal arts in the abstract (good citizen, critical thinking skills, flourishing life of the mind, etc.) is no longer working, writes Richard A. Greenwald  in an article today at Inside Higher Ed: http://www.insidehighered.com/views/2010/10/01/greenwald

"We need to speak more concretely to the economic as well as the intellectual value of a liberal arts degree," he observes. 

I agree, of course; boy do I agree. I only wish the concrete rather than abstract value of a liberal arts degree, and now Ph.D., was clearer to me, too. I went into this at age 18 (in the beginning at least) believing that the liberal arts allowed for the greatest amount of self exploration, creative expression, reading/writing, and critical analysis, all elements I sought in a major, and especially in a lifelong career, at the time. I still seek these elements in my pursuit of a professional life but have now come to realize that they're not appreciated by the vast majority of people in the US and that getting paid a decent salary to be a well-rounded, smart, critical thinker and writer is incredibly difficult. The economic value is still lost to me personally.

So who can blame these skeptical parents and undergrads? We liberal arts majors don't usually have good news to report about our personal financial situations, at least not at the moment. Well, come to think of it, none of my friends who majored in English, history, or anthropology back in the day ended up where they would have liked. Let me give you an illustration of where they are now.

Some highly subjective but legit examples of real-world results of liberal arts degrees:
1. Waitress for a catering company ($12.00 per hr)
2. Library assistant ($15.00 per hour)
3. Library clerk ($11.00 per hr)
4. UPS driver ($10.00 per hr)
5. High school teacher ($45,000)
6. Adjunct university instructor ($12,00 per year)
7. Administrative assistant ($38,000)
8. Assoc. director of an academic program ($40,000)
9. Tenure-track professor ($50,000)
10. Freelance writer (negligible salary info.)
11. After-school programs consultant ($13.00 per hr)
12. Unemployment benefits

Where's my change?

I could list more results but the proof is in the pudding: no one I know with a liberal arts background makes more than $50K per year, and these are people in their 30s and 40s. Now, for some, a salary ranging anywhere from $12-50K, with both $12 & $50K being the result of many additional years in school, might be good enough. I say let's advise all of those people with low salary expectations (and hence no knowledge of the costs of real world living) to major in the liberal arts. Then no one will be bitter and shocked down the line.

My list is also reflective of the major "economic shift" that Greenwald talks about: "Today estimates are that over 25 percent of the American population is working as contingent labor -- freelancers, day laborers, consultants, micropreneurs. Sitting where we do it is easy to dismiss this number because we assume it comes from day laborers and the working class, i.e., the non-college-educated."

Um, NO. I don't assume it comes solely from the non-college-educated. Only someone sitting relatively pretty would make such a statement!

"Today’s liberal arts graduates will need to function in an economy that is in some ways smaller. Most will work for small firms and many will simply work on their own. They will need to multitask as well as blend work and family," he concludes.

None of this sounds that promising to me as a job-seeking Ph.D. in my 30s. Can't imagine how it would sound if I was 18.

Careers in Corporate Communications

Interested in transitioning from the ivory tower to Wall Street? Think the reading, writing, and analytical skills you acquired in graduate school, and perhaps beyond, would work well in a high pressure (but well paid) corporate setting? Sick of living in your parent's basement or a dull, dumpy, isolated college town!?

Then check out my latest Inside Higher Ed "On the Fence" column: From Academe to Wall Street.  In this piece, I chat with "Sally White," a former medieval professor turned Wall Street writer and novelist who successfully transitioned out of academe in the 1980s. Sally has not only had a fascinating career, she also has many useful and specific pearls of wisdom to share with Ph.D.s considering non-academic employment options, especially in the private sector.

http://www.insidehighered.com/advice/on_the_fence/woolf6

Comments and questions about the interview are welcome and will be read by both Sally and myself!

Public domain image

Writing a Column: My Guest Post at The Urban Muse

Today I'm guest blogging at The Urban Muse, Susan Johnston's popular website for freelance writers, on the following topic: "How to Land Your Own Online Column."

Here's a brief taste:
"Many freelance writers dream of becoming a weekly, bi-monthly, or monthly columnist for a major online publication. As a columnist, the work is steady, you have a built-in audience, and, depending on the focus of the column, you’re essentially expected—and paid—to write first-person opinion pieces. The column becomes, over time, an individualized public meditation, a series of related articles showcasing your personal viewpoint on a particular subject. Done well, a regular column will accrue a dedicated readership (and keep you steadily employed).

What more could a non-fiction author ask for?"

But things are, of course, not always as simple as they seem!

Check out the rest of the guest post, and my pointers for pitching a column, here:
http://www.urbanmusewriter.com/
 

From The Urban Muse website