wherein I attempt to weed out my library

The English club at New SLAC is having a book sale to raise money for Cool Trip That I Seem To Be Organizing This Year. (This is a little alarming, as I do not normally do organization, and my usual approach to travel is along the lines of "buy a plane ticket to City A, and another one returning a month later from City B, and see what happens in between." I suspect that Travel With Student Groups takes a bit more planning. But I digress.)

Anyway, I thought I would donate some books. I already donated a bunch of books to their last book sale, and brought a boxful to the Free Market in Crunchy Granola Town before I moved, so I'm scraping the bottom of the barrel here. And yet, I probably should not be. I have lots of books I will probably never read again. I have some that I've had for years and have never read at all, but I don't want to part with them before I've had a chance to ascertain what they might contain.

My books fall into three broad categories. There are the books I genuinely like and / or find useful for my work, which I obviously want to keep. There are books that I haven't actually read, or read long ago for an undergraduate course, but keep around in a vague hope that I will find them useful someday. These are the ones with titles like Teach Yourself Thai, Orthography in Shakespeare, and Oral Presentations in the Composition Course: A Brief Guide. I might, actually, give serious thought to donating some of these, except I suspect that undergraduates are even less likely to find them useful or interesting than I am.

And then there are the books that have, broadly defined, Sentimental Value. Pretty much all of my travel guides fall into this category, although most of them are outdated. So does the trashy paperback that I bought at the hotel when I visited the University of Basketball as a prospective student; the Shakespeare authorship conspiracy books that a friend gave me as a graduation present; and the copy of The Duchess of Malfi that used to belong to my undergrad American lit prof (whose class was memorable solely because it inspired me to write a short story about a killer copy of Moby Dick that flew around the English department clubbing boring professors over the head, but somehow those memories seem to have acquired a patina of sentiment with time).

In short, everything has sentimental value. I tried an experiment today where I chose a bookshelf at random and tried to remember when, how, and why I acquired each of the books; there were only three or four that stumped me. The rest all had stories. And I find it very, very hard to get rid of a book with a story. Sigh.

So.

Think interview was neither great nor awful. At any rate, it is Out of My Hands, and that at least is one fewer thing to worry about.

They do not prepare you in grad school for things like having the student member on the search committee ask you questions about the class she's taking with you right now. (Actually, they don't prepare you in grad school for having undergrads on the search committee at all. I keep thinking I should do a whole post about the things your grad school professors won't tell you about interviewing at smaller colleges, except I feel like I should actually get a t-t job before I take it upon myself to dispense advice.)

Too. Much. Happening. At. Once.

I have a phone interview for the t-t job at New SLAC. Tomorrow. This is both very good and very ill-timed, as it comes right on the heels of two hours of student conferences for freshman comp, and right before New Colleague's Poetry Reading. And this afternoon, the secretary dumped a pile of writing proficiency exams that need to be scored ASAP in my lap, and the day after tomorrow, I teach Modern American Play That I Have Never Taught Before And Have No Idea How To Teach As Yet.

OK, I have known about this interview for almost a week, so I have theoretically had time to prepare, but dammit, it doesn't count as time if it's over Thanksgiving break!

Clearly, this is the crazy season, and I need to remember that the craziness lifts right around the second week of December and there is a great stillness, and then Christmas. A comforting rhythm. Interrupted by the redoubled craziness of the MLA, these last few years, but at least it's a pause for breath. I remember going for long walks during exam week when I was an undergrad, and being amazed at how suddenly all the deadlines had gone away. I need a long walk now.

Also, one of the writing exams referred to "playing bad mitten," which is one of the more adorable misspellings I have come across. BAD mitten!

Breathe. The day after the day after tomorrow is another day.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

more job-searchy stuff

Whew, I'm done. Forty-one applications, I think. I amused myself during office hours by making a map of all the places I might be living next year, but I couldn't figure out how to post it without cutting off the eastern third of the country. Anyway, twenty-five different states.

I have never been to twelve of these states. Well, I've sort of been through Ohio, but not in a way that counts. You toss the dice and see where they fall, I guess.

I got to visit some interesting places last year, including one foreign country, so that was cool. Keep your fingers crossed I get to add a few more states to the life-list after this is over.

Is anybody else getting super-twitchy when they refresh their e-mail?

Comments I never envisioned writing on a student paper

"Is every paper you turn in for this class going to have a drunk angel in it?!"

... I guess some people really like drunk angels.

VAP's Dilemma; or, Yet Another Boring Job Market Post

So, this is my third year on the market. The first time around, I had a half-finished dissertation and no clue what I was doing, so I applied to fifty-odd jobs in the hope that some of them would stick. The second time, I was in a blind panic and applied for every early modern or generalist job on the table, interviewed every which way, and finally ended up in a visiting position here at New SLAC, after one of those fabled late-April miracles.

This year is different. Among other things, they say it's easier to get a job when you have a job, but I'm not sure yet how much easier it is. Then, too, the flip side is that it's a lot harder to apply for jobs when you already have a job, particularly if that job is at a SLAC that emphasizes faculty involvement in the life of the campus, whatever that means. Do I go to the English club meeting, or use the time to revise the teaching statement? Spend the weekend being convivial with the new colleagues, or send applications?

Mostly, I've chosen to put New SLAC stuff first -- partly because I think I have a better shot at being hired for a t-t job here than I do at a place where they've never heard of me before, but mostly because it's what I genuinely want to do. I like this job and I like hanging out with the people here, and I have an uneasy feeling that this, too, is a trap, because for all I know they don't like me enough to hire me for the tenure-track position, and it's best not to get your heart set on any particular job. But I'm here, and this is my life right now, so how am I supposed to not get attached to it?

At this point, it looks like I've definitely caught the attention of a couple of search committees, both at other SLACs that look like they would be quite decent places to work, one of which is in a cool and interesting if rather troubled city. And what worries me is that I should be excited about having one MLA interview lined up and another strong expression of interest this early in the season -- this time last year I would have been jumping for joy -- and this time around I'm not all that excited about these two unknown schools, more worried that I haven't heard anything from the search chair at New SLAC yet. Last year I was all about the great leaps into the unknown, and this year it's like my inner two-year old is stamping her feet and howling "Don't WANNA go anywhere!"

Well -- things will get resolved, one way or another, and in a way it's a comfort to know that so much of the process is out of my hands. It's a bit like getting on the bus in a strange city and seeing where the driver takes you, which is the very best way to take buses, except when you end up at the landfill. (Uh, I'm not sure this analogy is all that comforting after all. Never mind. It's late and I'm tired.)