AWP Update: Personal Setback

Today was the day my schmoozing died.

I had my panel this morning at 10:30, "New Pedagogy in the Multi Genre Creative Writing Course." On the panel were Judith Ortiz Cofer, Lorraine Lopez, Aimee Nezhukumatathil, Kelly McQuain, and me, and the panel was moderated by Heather Sellers. Everybody did a great job. Except me.

I will say it now for the sake of those in attendance: I fucked up my presentation.

Lorraine went first, and she handed out an exercise she uses in her class, and talked about how she uses the exercise. She was short, succinct, and to the point. Her exercise talk discussed how she gets fiction writers thinking about poetry and vice versa through the use of dramatic persona and dialogic exercises, rewriting eavesdropped conversations into a cohesive whole.

It suddenly occurred to me that this is what I should be doing in my paper. And it wasn't what I had done in my paper, at least, not directly and specifically. Suddenly, I had a sinking feeling in my gut. So, when it was my turn to speak, I should have stuck to the plan and read my paper. But no. I didn't. I improvised, pulling out sections of my paper and riffing on the exercises I had buried in the essay. As I was talking, it seemed to be working. But in hindsight, it was all out of context and now seems like goo. Oh wait, it gets better. Wait until I tell you about the Q & A section and how I inserted my foot in my mouth. But first, a short recap of the other panelists.

Poor Aimee had to bat cleanup after me, and totally won my undying admiration by reading a WONDERFUL essay about the use of image in her work and how she attempts to teach image to students. It was a great essay that connected with the audience and made several of us gasp with her own use of images in the essay. She briefly discussed one exercise that she uses, but the focus of her paper was about why she does it more than what she does in particular.

Then Judith read, and man, is she good. I was sitting right next to the podium, and I could see her notes, and she was actually reading from at least three (3) different essays that she had heavily edited together into a cohesive whole, including sticky notes of insertions and transitions, that flowed out seamlessly. It was amazing, a true writer at work delivering a craft talk about her beliefs about how poetry and fiction are different genres that allow the writer to "write off the subject" in specific and distinct ways. However, again, it was more theoretical in nature, and was not directly about what she was doing in class--no discussion of pedagogy.

Then Kelly read his paper about how the Community College of Philadelphia created multi-genre courses as bookends to their Certificate in Writing classes. It was a good discussion, but it focused on administrative decisions and elements of course design and sequencing. Again, nothing in terms of pedagogy. However, I did ask Kelly for a copy of his paper, because what he outlined is an excellent model for a certificate program for community colleges, which is something my institution is sorely lacking.

And then came the Q&A. Oh boy. The first question was thrown right at me. See, in my presentation, I discussed a workshop exercise in which students write a poem and then someone else deliberately shreds the poem and calls it shit. The point of the exercise is to steel students to harsh criticism and overcoming their fear of having their work rejected by having their work rejected to their face. You have to deal with criticism as a writer, and it's better to deal with that criticism in the safe space of the classroom. But of course, I entirely glossed over this context in my haphazard spewing forth of words. So, the question was asked about what I do to give students support and feelings of success. And I said that I don't do that because the writing class is not the place for pats on the back and "atta girls" and "atta boys"; it is a place to be challenged to write to a high standard, one that should be impossibly high, but always within sight.

Of course, I said it in a much cruder manner. Because that's who I am.

There were, of course, other questions for all of the panelists. I'm just remembering the choice ones. Someone who was there, please write about your recollections in the comments to this post and tell me just how off I am here in my memory.

The second question that was pitched to me was about how I attempt to create a sense of community among my students, and I said that quite frankly, I want my students to rally as a group without me. My goal is not to get my students to like me, but to focus on their work, and that in order to do that, they have to NOT like me. I have to be the guy they want to prove wrong, and then I let them prove me wrong. I try to create an "us against him" mentality, because then they start talking to one another. Boy, that did NOT go over well.

In other words, I came off like a total asshole. Which, quite frankly, is pretty close to the truth.

Anyway, after the panel was over, I went back to my room and immediately broke down with the shakes. I mean, I could not control my body. My gut started heaving, I was sweating profusely, I was nauseous, I think the room started spinning. It was not good. I tried to lay down but my heart was racing. It was, in hindsight, my first full-blown panic attack. It felt like I was going through withdrawal or something. Finally, I threw up, had a bad diarrhea attack, took a shower, and collapsed in bed. Yeah, like you really wanted to know this, right? Anyway, I slept until around 3:30.

When I woke up, I decided I needed to get the hell out of the hotel. I decided I'd go back down to that American Girl store and buy the overpriced doll clothes for my daughters because I had failed them enough already and I was tired of feeling like a failure today.

But then I got on the wrong elevated train. Oh boy. I saw parts of Chicago I don't want to see again.

Eventually I found my way back and got to the store and that is that. I'm tired, disappointed, and feeling miserable right now. This was my first time presenting at a national conference and I totally screwed it up. The only way it could have been worse was if I had ripped a fart while one of the other panelists was speaking.

Damn.

I am only realizing all this after talking on the phone with my wife. In fact, I was perplexed about why I had the shakes, etc. I thought it was just nerves, just the down of an adrenaline rush. But in talking to her, I realized what I had done. Why do I continue to sabotage myself? And why is my wife always right about shit like this? I miss her. It sucks to be away from her on Valentine's Day.

For what it's worth, you can read the paper I should have read here. It's in RTF format.