what's the problem with honesty?

I'm not really sure what's happened this week, but its been littered with dishonest(ies) and the peddling of untruths and disingenuity. Still can't fathom how I managed to attract so much of this stuff, this week. From colleagues who regularly set out to distort the truth in attempts to mask or distract from their own ineptitude - yes people in academia who cut and paste massive chunks of texts from the documents of other institutions and then pass it off as their own 'staff development plans'. To those I once called friend, who feign concern but then their words and overall intentions collapse under the weight of contradictory and disingenuous utterances. To passing acquaintances who choose to 'quote' factually incorrect information from a document we are both privy too. Maybe they think I cant read or understand of the same sentences on the same page we both have in front of us?


As a social and qualitative researcher I have been taught to judge my work (and those of others) against the degree of credibility and plausibility of the evidence presented. As a normal person in society, the importance of interacting with others from a basis of transparency and openness has always been somewhat of a priority for me, especially in my work environment. Am I always 100% honest, 100% of the time, too absolutely every person I have ever interacted with?No!

But even so; rather difficult, this week to be confronted so continually and so resolutely with such blatant deception. Is it a sign of the times in a world gone crazy with 'fake news' and the deliberate slippage between facts and belief? Or has it merely been the case of my own untruth sins catching up with me? I can't say really. Strangely, it feels for me, so incredibly sad, so draining, to have been enveloped by so many unsolicited and uninvited untruths this week. I cant help but wonder whether or not those doing all this dishonesty peddling know or care, that I know the extent of their untruths?

supporting academic writers

For the last seven or eight years I've become very intimate with myself as an academic writer and my academic writing. The details, frequently gory, have filled out the many webpages of this blog. Its been a very insular experience with lots and lots of navel gazing. Many times I've relied on a sage advice of different gurus of academic writing support and development to help me make sense of the multiple processual and identity aspects deeply implicated in the textual production process of the academy. But I've only ever used that advice in the service of my own development and at times sanity.

For the past six months or so, maybe slightly longer, I've been working on an edited collection that involves almost 20 authors. I sort of stumbled onto the task and didnt really think much of it until the 'real' writing started. I had this fantasy idea about the ideal writing project I would have loved to be part of - all warmly wrapped up in collaborative, collective and communal writing spaces. A place, whether virtual or physical, where there would always be someone to talk to about your writing. In my own academic writing journeys the thing I valued the most, and the thing I felt would help me the most was to have plenty of opportunities to talk about and share my writing. So naturally I imagined other writers would need and want the same kinds of things. I also imagined that I could support other writers through the writing journey for this project in kind, helpful ways. I imagined many things.

I've been surprised at how challenging its been to take on the multifaceted, multi-focused, overlapping and conflicting role(s) of editor, writing developer, guide and supporter. I was especially challenged when writers didnt respond to issues in the way I would respond to the same issue. For example, this communal, collective, collaborative writing space as a panacea for all ones writing woes, appears to simply be a panacea for all MY writing woes. And what people say they understand and how they then act on that understanding sometimes manifest as complete contradictions. Again that adage about not using only your own experiences of teaching to inform and direct your own teaching practice rings very true. I have a lot to learn and a long road to travel to understanding what are the ideal ways of supporting other academic writers in modes that aren't harmful or destructive. I also realise that my own academic writer identity is a fundamental component of what I bring along to my academic writing developer role(s). Sometimes I have to keep it in check and allow more space for other identities, norms and styles to operate - but isn't that also part of that communal, collective and collaborative 'nirvana' I so revere?

10 years ago

I was reminded today on Facebook, that 10 years ago I was preparing to leave South Africa to start my PhD journey. I packed up my flat (well almost) and sold practically everything and got on a plane ready for my new life, my new journey. Now 10 years later I can hardly remember the person I was in this picture - slightly tipsy, salsa queen, teacher, under 40 and open to learn and explore. Much of this blog bears witness to how those initial dream-like expectations and openness became fragmented and morphed into weariness and cynicism as my identity changed.
Strangely today I had a unrelated chat to a colleague who was conveying his observations of our mutual colleague who is currently doing his PhD. My colleague recounted how he felt his friend was descending into a sort-of deep hole of anger and despair, like all the joy was being drained from him. He no longer smiles. I nodded along and said, yes I recognise that. This PhD thing changes you forever. You can never come back. I'm not sure if I miss that person in the photo that I was. You can't miss something you struggle to remember.

rejection

It stings. For a good while it stings. Last week in the space of 24 hours I got two rejections for the same book project. The first one dispensed with any sentimentality and in two sentences said no. The second one was slightly more apologetic, offered a somewhat complimentary note on the interest value of the topic and suggested other publishers who might have the capacity to accommodate the book. Now I wonder how I could have been so naive, so childish in my expectations. My original pitch was so flawed, so amateurish in so many ways. I missed an opportunity.

Talking to a more seasoned, astute and connected Professor this morning, he confirmed what had started to dawn on me: I was too connected and attached to my project and my articulation of the project that I was unable to tailor my 'message' for the intended audience. Not a journal editor, but a publisher interested in whether or not this project would be financially viable. So I made this elaborate academic article, but failed to say, in plain, accessible English what the book was about and why people would be interested in buying it. In my wildest dreams I never thought I would think, let alone say - 'I'd prefer to write this for a journal editor'. I feel out of my depth doing a marketing pitch without the comfort and support of my carefully crafted academic argument.

Nevermind, I live to see another day and draft another book proposal.

This collection offers a view into the everyday classroom realities of SA university lecturers teaching first years. Their reflective accounts show how they attempt to improve their teaching practices and respond to the diverse academic needs of their students.

This is the two-liner I'm currently contemplating for a proposal that only wants a 40 word description of the book. Interested?

on being a black woman academic in South Africa

This is a reluctant account of how I've experienced academia in South Africa as a black woman. In the last two or three years in the wake of the #Rhodesmustfall and #FEESMUSTFALL student protests and calls for the decolonisation of the curriculum, of the university, of alles, much as been said about the black experience of academia in South Africa. I've stood on the sidelines, feeling inept and ill-equipped to respond, to contribute to the debate and discussion. I worried that I lacked the necessary or appropriate theoretical or conceptual languages of description most of the other commentators were using and that my 'story' wouldn't line up perfectly with the kind of narratives getting the most traction. The main theme of most of these narratives is that academia is a negative and toxic place for black academics and that most universities, but especially the previously liberal white institutions, make it almost impossible for black staff to reach the same levels of achievement as their white peers or that when black academics do succeed, it comes huge personal costs. While, I'm not going to dismiss the validity of this particular narrative or the experiences of individuals that might have lead to the construction of this perspective of being a black academic in SA, I think some refinement and nuance could expand the narrative and reaffirm the variation of experience. Thus while this theme might be rather prominent in our current discourse, it is but a narrative; not the only one.

What's academia like - according to Lynn

Academia is not an open, inclusive and welcoming professional environment. Rarely will you be greeted at the gates with warm, open arms by colleagues keen to offer you all the support and development opportunities you need to become the very best sociologists, physicists, historian, economists, educationalist you can be. The progression up the ladder of success is clearly demarcated and carefully policed; then further tainted with visible and invisible hierarchies of status and privileged conferred on certain institutions, departments, individual scholars. So that your hard earned PhD might not be bestowed with the same quality or legitimacy, as those of your colleagues. Then it is unlikely that your hand be held by an experienced, seasoned and gentle scholar as you attempt to 'break' into the publication world, affirming all your ideas and writing attempts and ready to offer sage advice and a shoulder to cry on when the article you pissed blood to write, is unceremoniously rejected. Also nobody will be at hand to walk you through the indecipherable and many times incomprehensible application processes for study, research or sabbatical leave or conference funding. You will find lots of networks, cliques and cabals that advance their own interests and privilege. These are defined on the basis of discipline, sub-discipline, race, gender, or any other delimiter, arbitrary or not. So just like in high school, but unlike high school, the stakes here can make or break your research career. Similarly, it is assumed that if you have a Masters or PhD, you can teach, develop a curriculum and understand and implement the necessary pedagogic strategies deemed crucial to enhance your students' learning. Again don't expect that anyone will show you the ropes.

Academia is a highly performative environment where the object of display and performance is your individual cognitive and intellectual ability - all your worth is locked down in your capacity to display and prove your knowledge and intelligence associated with your discipline. Furthermore, the manner of this display and how you represent your intellectual worth is governed by particular norms and conventions very often linked to language use specific to your discipline or sub-discipline. So it’s not enough to know, you also need to know and master how to express what you know. If you are keen to move up the ladder of success within the academy you have to show excellence in teaching and scholarship. However, in most university sectors, both locally and internationally, research trumps teaching. So in order to build your research profile and publish you will have to, especially in your early career, do most of your research and publication writing after hours, because most of your 'work hours' will be spent servicing your teaching and administrative obligations.

Unfortunately, the discrimination, prejudice, racism, sexism, ageism and meanness that pervades our society isn't blocked at the university gates. Instead it finds fertile ground and is accentuated in a professional environment built on the mostly subjective evaluation of intellectual acumen; with the one's doing the evaluation imbued with all the power. Add to the mix a healthy component of mean, egotistical people who come in all the race, gender and class shapes and sizes, and you have a setting for a perfect storm.

Insert Lynn - a black woman academic

• I've worked in higher education for more than twenty years, doing many different things. I started to lecture just over 15 years ago, but I only started to self-identify as an academic about 10 years ago when I started to engage and participate in the scholarly debates and dissemination of knowledge associated with my disciplinary field.
• I've only ever worked at a historically black institution (although now it’s part of a merged institution).
• The only position I was even held back from was for a more senior coordinating role. Even though I was more qualified (I was the only lecturer with a Masters degree) and had more experience than my colleagues, my black male boss at the time didnt think I was suitable. I was the only female working on the programme and the position was awarded to my male colleague.
• A request for conference funding was once turned down by my black male boss. I decided to pay for the conference myself.
• I was removed from my teaching allocation on a course by my black male boss, because I was deemed to be too critical of the curriculum content and pedagogic approaches used. He also refused to appoint me as course leader even though I was the only female PhD lecturer in the department, and the course I was teaching on was in my specialist area. I had to 'report' to a junior female member of staff who had a contract position.
• Male colleagues of all hues and persuasions have thought it ok to comment randomly on my appearance, clothes, weight, marital status, or disregard my title in communiques while paying careful attention to correctly apply the all important, prefix signifiers of rank, when referring to all the other male recipients.
• I have been referred to as a 'token black' by black female colleagues, who seemingly feel I'm not suitably qualified to work in my current domain, even though they don’t have any experience in the said domain.
• I have encountered black male colleagues who fail to acknowledge both my qualifications and reporting role, and constantly defer to my white male boss, even when I'm at the same meeting.
• I've seen how white research networks operate and how access to these networks are carefully controlled. Membership is bestowed to only the most suitable black academics. When you say no, you worry for your reputation and career progression.
• Friendships, authentic collegial and intellectual engagements are possible across race, class, gender and age divides. It’s hard to find, but I've flourished as an academic from the many genuine and supportive relationships I've managed to develop at my own university and with colleagues in my region and internationally. These relationships jump happily cross whatever  race, gender, class, age, cultural 'barrier' put in its way.

MPhil, UCT 2007

So what is it like to be a black woman in academia in South Africa? It depends really - on where you work, who you work with and who you work for. All these variables along with who you are as a person will coalesce and determine what it means for you. It’s a tough space, generally, and there are personal and structural factors that either compound and exacerbate that toughness or smooth it over. 

For me being an academic is almost a constant struggle against all that I am, because who I am is in so many ways at odd with the norms, conventions and predispositions of academia. The academy and its many people, unfortunately, have a low tolerance for difference – so if you don’t look, sound, behave, think or share the same values as those who have the power to define the norms and conventions – then you are more likely to have a difficult time. And often time the structures inherent in the institutional fabric will allow those in power to exercise their power in harmful ways. I’ve been on the receiving end of this kind of power (and meanness) held by both white and black men and women. In spite of this I've been moderately successful, I believe because I have, in part, being able to harness social capital gained from going to a white university and then completing my PhD in the UK. But I also have a particular personality - 'I don't take kak from kabouters' - and if I want something I find a way, legally and ethically, to get it. And I 'graf''. I do the work. Some of the challenges I face are linked to my race, ethnicity and gender, others reference the cultural capital I either possess or don’t (manifested in how I sound when I talk or my writing style). Luckily for me, these challenges, have been only that - challenges, that I constantly have to work at and navigate around. And I’ve found support in the most unlikely places and so have avoided those perfect storm conditions, that can make your life as an academic truly toxic and negative. 

This is a reluctant and incomplete account of being a black woman academic in South Africa - heavily inflected by time and place. I've tried to make sense of my own experiences and how it 'fits' into other narratives and discourses circulating at the moment. Hopefully, my story doesn't deny the other stories being told, but builds out just how discrimination and power manifests within the university. 

academic writing: a view from the sidelines

I'm on the sidelines as I watch other people write. Before I had only ever observed and reflected on my own experiences of trying to be an academic writer, as much of this blog bears testament to. I thought, naively, that my own struggles with academic writing would prepare me and allow me to be the supportive, encouraging and understanding 'coach', very optimistic and enthusiastically cheering from the sidelines. I thought I would understand and would comprehend.

This is what I brought along to my sidelined observations: Academic writing is difficult, in the beginning, especially, you think you can write but the reviewers often say you can't. Understanding and applying the 'conventions' and stylistic norms that will allow your writing to be recognised as legitimate is not as easy as 'copying' the forms and styles used by your favourite author. Sometimes doing this, simply signals now 'wrong' you got it. Writers, and especially novice writers, struggle with the huge psychological burden of knowing they don't 'come' with what they think are the necessary or expected linguistic repertoires or fluent and extensive vocabularies. And many times these very resources, especially when they are not recognised or (mis)recognised, mark these writers as 'outsiders' and becomes the source of a vicious and crippling circle of shame and fear associated with academic writing. Reviewer feedback is overwhelming, especially when its not filled with overt praise and affirmation. Its very hard to unbundle your personal and emotional investment in an argument, a sentence, a paragraph, an idea from commentary that suggests, someone else doesn't actually understand or get what you are saying.

From my own writing experiences and trying to mediate all the factors listed above as they play out in my own journey as a somewhat reluctant and self-conscious academic writer, I know that it always takes way longer to write a sentence, a paragraph, an article than you anticipate. You have to work through the reviewer comments carefully and try to see beyond your attachments. You have to seek out feedback and opportunities to talk and talk and talk some more about your work, your writing. And you have to continue to write - you have to put an immense amount of effort, energy, commitment into that act and work through all the freaking demons, weighing you down and distorting your own sense of yourself as a writer.

I'm reminded of the old adage about being a good, effective teacher: You have to grasp the limitations of your own experiences of being taught. As a teacher merely repeating what you saw your old teachers do can frequently leave you on the back foot. Even if you experienced really good teaching - simply emulating your past teachers, without trying to critically interrogate the usefulness or suitability of their practices - can severely limit your own teaching practices and your growth as a teacher. This lesson, is ringing true for me now. I'm finding that my own ongoing journey (very ongoing) as an academic writer has not equipped me as well as I would have hoped, to really understand, let alone support, others on this very same journey.

Home

Approaching Stockholm

I'm home in Cape Town. I once read someone's account of the disruption of place that modern travel creates. Often within short periods of time you can be transported from one city to another on the other side of the world without the necessary time to process both your leaving and arriving. I feel this acutely. It feels like one minute I was in green, silent, warm Uppsala, the next I'm in the bustle and hustle of Cape Town, no longer on my bike, but in my car instead. But there is also a very strange familiarity about everything. Yes I do fit in, yes it all feels, smells and tastes of something I know very intimately. Yet, part of me is also in that other place I just left and I find myself opening draws, cupboards expecting to find the things that should be inhabiting that space, except in Uppsala. Before returning to Cape Town, I read the beautifully captured experiences of the notion of Home, by Salman Rushdie. This in-between world of the immigrate at home and a stranger at the same time, in both their country of origin and their new host country.

But I settle and each day brings a new discomfort and new soothing, calm as I accept my 'new' surroundings.

I feel the sharpness of being all alone again in my home, and the togetherness, familiar sounds and accents of all the talking and catching-up with friends and family. I worry that the deep feelings of surety and contentment I experienced in Uppsala will be withered away as I have to start doing the things, that set me on the sabbatical path in the first place. Already I've had shaky starts that have left my mind racing ahead and unable to stop until the early hours of the morning. But all things settle and I now know I have a good foundation, a solid layer to offset the doubts and conflicting thoughts. Sure they will come, but I also know they will leave again - given time, they always leave, pass along.

Closing the circle (again), taming demons

Almost three weeks ago I spent time at the Open University. I went back as Visiting Fellow and to present research work completed with my OU friend and colleague JT. It was wonderful being back. While I spent most of my time in The Hub, just being on the campus in Summer brought back so many warm and familiar memories. Five years definitely gives you perspective. I always loved being within the OU space. I 'took' to the physical environment almost immediately and always enjoyed the campus - I think it had a lot to do with my comparative review of subtle values communicated through the buildings and infrastructural resources. As a PhD student at the OU we were 'showered' with the kinds of material resources and respect I hadn't until then encountered in the professional work spaces I inhabited before. At the OU I always felt welcome and materially 'cared for'. I had more trouble adapting to the intellectual and learning environment and feeling at ease there. Partly this was just because of the PhD experience and the at times 'foreign' learning space of British higher education. My blog posts during that time bear testament to those struggles and contestations. Learning involves change, and change is often hard and painful. It's just the way it is.
During my visit I had dinner with my supervisors. As I was nearing the end of my PhD we had one or two dinners together, but I would never have guessed that a gap of five years should allow new light and wonderment to enter our engagements and shift our relationship. We debated calling each other 'supervisors' and 'student' and how far away from these role differentiations and identities we are allowed to slip irrespective of time (the matter was left unresolved - the role identities, albeit so strongly framed and instructed by external forces, are too hard wired, especially in my psyche). We spoke about post-PhD career pathways, post-retirement activities, new learning joys and about life and living. We laughed a lot, eat good food, drank wine, coffee. My stories were affirmed and validated and I was offered practical and insightful advice that recognised my intellectual worth,  perspectives and the contribution my academic work does and continues to make. Five years definitely gives you perspective. Coming back to the OU as a researcher and academic rather than a student felt like I was closing the circle. More significantly, it felt like finally my PhD demons were tamed.

walking, thinking and writing

And not to forget talking to one's self. Before embarking on a writing task, and certainly all the way through the activity, my head is usually full of ideas and thoughts and I'm frequently in conversation with myself. There is often the misperception that writing is merely a pyschomotor skill. You sit down at your desk, in front of your computer and 'write'. For me I can't disconnect or untangle thinking from writing. I have to think about my writing before I write. Ordering my thoughts, ideas, argument. I always remember saying to my students, that when writing an essay you have to also allocate time for thinking. For processing your thoughts and working out how to deal with the essay question and all the readings and discussions about the readings. Thinking is as important to essay writing, as writing the essay.

my walking route, just outside the Stefan's flat

For me, walking alone can act as a trigger to stimulate my thinking, especially when I'm at the start or smack in the middle of a writing task. I don't know what it is about walking that takes me, almost automatically, to this space, but it does. I'm lucky at the moment, that I can take walks whenever I want and that I can walk in the most calming and serene settings. I haven't always had this luxury. My self-talk is probably most active when I'm out on a walk. I often wonder if the people passing me, might think that I'm 'not all-there' as I openly talk silently to myself - mouthing words, posing questions, gesturing and tracing words in the air. What do I care - this is all part of the process for me, and at the moment I'm very grateful I can experience it in its fullest expression.

fika in Sweden

This morning I said goodbye to my Uppsala University colleagues at the Division for Teaching and Learning. We had a fika. A slightly special, goodbye fika, but nonetheless very typically of what fika means in Sweden. Coffee and informal conversation.

This goodbye fika signals that my 'formal' time at Uppsala University has come to an end, and I'm on the 'home stretch'. Each day I get closer to the end of my sabbatical. But currently, I'm not thinking too much of my return to 'work'. I'm in a very good space - so far  the sabbatical has done what it was intended to do: Give me the chance to clear my head, try and focus on what I want to do next and of course, write, write and write. 

don't forget the peripherals

Writing peripherals. And I'm not referring simply to the multiple pens (as many different colours as you can source), pencils and miscellaneous stationery needed as part of the writing task to be completed. I'm thinking more of all the supporting processes and tasks that go alongside but are essential to completing an academic writing project. Like that pesky reference list that is never completed until, two hours before you are meant to submit the manuscript. And when it is finally compiled, it is often riddled with errors or omissions. Or organising all your data files and smaller analysis tasks into a single folder that can be readily accessible irrespective where in the world you might be writing the research.

On Friday I spent all of the morning working on the reference list for my in-progress paper. Yep - a whole morning. I'm an academic, a scholarly writer, not a freaking administrator I kept mumbling under my breath, as I realised how disorganised and incomplete my reference repository is. I'm a print-person - I love paper, so I could find the hard copies of most of my references but when I tried to compile the reference list electronically...well, all was not well on this side of Uppsala. As a PhD student, I had diligently spent most Friday's on this mundane, administrative activity. Sorting out my reference repository, and 'cleaning' up all my data and research related files. It paid off when I had to construct and produce that huge thesis document. But it would seem I've lost sight of the valuable lessons learnt. I'm thinking some of my sabbatical time should be devoted to 'cleaning-up' and organising my articles and updating my Mendeley repository. I might even set aside some time to  refine my cite-and-write skills - yes, I'm a late adopter and still not 100% convinced it the best/most practical way to produce a reference list. But I guess writers have to be good administrators too.

talking about South African higher education in Sweden

On Monday I did a little informal presentation on the South African higher education landscape and my work in academic development, with colleagues in the Division of the Development of Teaching and Learning, here at Uppsala University. Although the timing of the presentation was a bit 'off' - it could have come earlier in my stay at the unit - I was finally given a chance to reflect on the sector I work in. Also opportunistic was the fact that I'm currently preparing to scope out the chapter of the collections book I'm editing, and this requires a good placement of the ECP within the contextual realities of the South African landscape. All very simple, right?

Many of the Swedish colleagues had been to South Africa, some even to educational conferences in South Africa, so they all had a view, however that may be framed, of the country. Mostly a combination of the shiny, positive stuff and some recognition of the more challenging bridges yet to be crossed (especially from those who went to conference in SA). Two questions I got asked made me think about the angle I had taken for my presentation. I was asked "How would one know you were White in SA under apartheid?" and "What about gender and disability, how are these reflected in student/staff profiles?" Are we as South African's obsessed with race? Is it the only lens we use to see ourselves and what and how we encounter the world around us? Did my presentation really harp on race as the all important factor shaping and driving the sector and the work many of us pride ourselves on doing?

It didnt help that the night before I was particularly aggravated by the inane but unashamedly racist mutterings of my CT neighbours in the 'whatsapp security group'. I lashed out, calling out 'their' inherent racialised beliefs that always linked 'blacks' to crime and their totally self-imposed removal from the realities of South Africa. Rather I should say - their efforts to recreate in a by-gone era where their neighbourhoods really were lily-white - without the slightest recognition that to achieve that status quo meant the denigration by force and law, of anyone who didnt look like them. So I was angry!

My race politics and the shape it takes, has little place in Sweden, and it had little place in the UK, while I lived there. It is uniquely South African. I know I also get irritated by 'the angry black 'x' or 'y' types' I encounter at work or via social media. I know I don't only see race and I know both black and white people can be 'despots' or 'humanitarians'. But I also feel the anger, the collective anger of being on the receiving end of racism in all its shapes and forms. Maybe our society in SA and world at large needs to change before I can take race completely out of the picture.

hitting a writing milestone

I can relax now that I've passed on draft 0 of my developing journal article. It's now with my co-author and its amazing how the relief of reaching this kind of writing milestone makes itself present in your body, your mind. Last week was particularly tense. I was struggling to articulate my thoughts in writing, while also grappling with the theoretical concepts central to my argument. I was behind schedule and the self-critic inside me was having a wonderful time. And spring was showing itself in all its glory, which coupled with some more public holidays just before the weekend (yes I'm very sure Sweden has more public holidays than South Africa!) pushed my anxiety levels beyond the 'productive' level those 'motivational gurus' always seem to be making such a hoopla about. Self-imposed anxiety derived primarily from one's own highly critical view of your ability to do something is not a pleasant state.

Looking out at Spring from Blåsenhus. The castle completely obscured.

Nevertheless, onward I plodded, through the beautiful, sunny-weathered weekend. The draft is incomplete, in need for some serious editing and refinement, but I'm happy its done and ready for the next phase of writing development. Two unique and different things about the writing process this time around have come to mind 1) the writing felt lighter, I was able to put aside my 'internal editor' and just write - I fully accepted that the editor role would come at some point in the future, but that consciously putting it aside at this beginning stage was in some respects rather liberating. 2) writing collaboratively is such a gift; you know there is someone you can lean on, someone who shares the burden and someone rallying for you to be successful in the terms you define. Even though this is only the second collaborative writing project I've been involved with, I've been lucky with my co-authors. My writing has benefited from the positive energy and spirit they have infused in the process, whether they know it or not.

making meaning of 'sabbatical'

I've been in Sweden for a month and I'm starting to wonder more seriously about what it means to be on sabbatical. As part of my leave application I had to list all the expected outcomes for this period. They were all written artefacts - publications in accredited journals, editorial activities for the edited collection I'm working on. All writing tasks. So it would seem my sabbatical is all about writing. But what about just reading (anything), just thinking, just walking, just doing 'stuff' I wouldnt normally do back at my desk, in Cape Town? How do these activities fit into my sabbatical plan?

I've been writing, making slow, but I would also say, stead progress on that highly prized 'journal publication'. Most mornings I get up around 7 and I'm at my desk at Blåsenhus or the sunny dinning-room table at the flat by around 9:30am. I have that same anxiety and then guilt that I had for much of my PhD about not writing enough, not writing fast enough, not doing more. On Thursday a colleague back home said to me jokingly, when I mentioned I had a hard, long day, 'Are you working? Aren't you on sabbatical?' Made me think! In no time I will have been here for two, three months and all I will have to show are those written (incomplete?) artefacts. My neck and shoulders will still be rock-hard and sore, my body will continue to be stiff and inflexible, the sadness, worry and displacement I've been feeling for months before arriving in Uppsala will still be warmly nestled in my being.  I will also berate myself for my inability to calmly respond to the workplace stress that will surely greet me on my return.

So what is this sabbatical about then? Yes it's about writing - it's about finding the joy, and not only fixating on the terror, and weight of writing. But it's mostly about me, Lynn, the academic writer, the academic and teacher. It's about valuing and accepting how I am as an academic writer, how I write academically, what kind of academic writing I do and why I write the 'stuff' I do. It's also about me, Lynn. Just me, Lynn.

relationships in academia

Relationships of any kind can be tricky and complex at the best of times. In the university and academia more generally, the structural and organisational systems, that give life to ego-saturated status and rank  differentials, over and above the complexities of interpersonal interactions, make for a difficult terrain to navigate. I've learnt a number of hard lessons, bruising lessons about how this can play out over the last six months or so. And while living through this period, I suspect my immersion in the day-to-day specifics of 'who said what', and 'who did what to whom', and 'what does this mean' and 'how shall I respond', left me a bit blindsided and unable to appreciate a more helicopter-inspired perspective on - relationships in academia. Yesterday in some sort of strange way (no such thing as coincidence) I 'suddenly' caught a glimpse of this enriched vantage.

Two things happened - interlinked, implicated - at the level of both the concrete, the visceral. A reflective piece I co-wrote with LT was published and we decided to share it. So I was copied into an email that saw this piece travel across distant lands. I also heard of the death of a well respected, admired and beloved academic. We interacted with each other on many occasions in very collegial ways, and I am very familiar with, and have at times, extensively use her scholarship, but ours was never more than a professional relationship. I am however, privy, through my connections with colleagues who were very close to her, to their hugely meaningful and deep interpersonal relationships. And, yesterday to some of their heartfelt sadness and devastation because of their loss. Both these examples made me think anew about the relationships within the academy that I have been able to forge or those that have floundered or more dramatically, exploded. I wondered about the degree to which the academic setting acted against or contrived to scupper the chances of meaningful personal connection as we race to 'put ourselves out there' and gain academic recognition through primarily, the high stakes activities of publication and research outputs.

The reflective piece, which in many ways details an evolving friendship birthed in and through the university, and my second-hand insights into the multiple ways in which BL transcended the academic setting to nurture deeply meaningful and authentic interpersonal connections with many of her colleagues, draws attention to how relationships can be different in academia. Maybe I haven't realised it before, but these are the only kinds of relationships within academia I am keen to foster and give attention. It means that I have to personally act against the structural mechanism that pull me into viewing colleagues as adversaries or using my rank and status to undermine opportunities for meaningful connection with others. It also means I have to avoid situations and people who cant appreciate this way of doing relationships in the academy. Where I cant carefully avoid this (at least 60-70% of the time), I have to see it for what it is, disconnect and tell myself, 'this isn't for you Lynn, just try to be respectful and keep it strictly professional'. To Brenda, Hamba Kakuhle!

Cycling in Uppsala

I fell off my bike yesterday, not five-minutes after reflecting on my 'cycling capital' and recounting friends I know who also fell off their bikes and as a result needed plastic surgery. Luckily for me, I don't need plastic surgery - I came away with some bruises, scraps and a sore shoulder.

 Blåsenhus Building. 

the cocoa cha chi replacement

I'm not very good on a bike. I'm stiff and rigid. I can't handle going down hills and nervously approach traffic lights where I have to stop. Also I'm slow. So very slow. All manner of other cyclist whiz past me, the very young and the very old. They all seem so much more confident and adept at what they are doing, while my legs feel like I'm asking them to climb Mount Everest. But I'm in Uppsala and people (everyone!) cycles here. I want to fit in, so I cycle. To work, at the Blåsenhus, or to the city and my new favourite coffee shop.
But I cycle on the wrong side of the cycling lane, I'm nervous about the cycling traffic, I jump traffic lights and I'm not very gracious when I get off the bike. Cycling is not as good for me as walking, because when I walk, I think; I process my thoughts, I talk to myself, I look around and take in the sights and I make sense of my thinking. When I cycle I'm just concentrating on how not to fall off the bike. But this is what I'm going to do for the next three months. I'm going to cycle - maybe I'll continue to be slow, so what. But I'm going to start wearing a helmet. Need to protect my head.

the good ole days of being a new PhD student

Yesterday I attended a session in the Academic teaching training course run by the Unit for teaching and learning here at Uppsala University. It was the English course so filled with participants from across the globe who are spending an extended time at the university and have some teaching responsibility. All lecturers/academics at the institution are mandated to attend at least 10 weeks of training in university teaching and learning. And PhD students with teaching responsibility have to complete at least five weeks of training. So it happened that the majority of those in the course yesterday were PhD students.
I was immediately reminded of those early days at the OU and the PhD skills training we were required to attend. The people I met; the diverse, strange, opinionated and interesting characters who were for the most part hugely enthusiastic about their research and firmly believed they were the best and brightest and that their research were going to change the world. Looking back on that heady period in late 2008 and my fellow PhD students (I have a photo of the group somewhere), I realise what a wonderful, open time it was - almost filled with a optimistic sense of the intellectual and interpersonal possibilities that can exist when you bring together some twenty odd, relatively smart but very different people and ask then to engage and learn together.

Visiting academic: Uppsala University, Sweden

It's 8:30am, it's 3 degrees and I'm on a bike cycling. First day in my Visiting Academic position at the division for Teaching and Learning at Uppsala University.

The view from my desk for the next two months might look a bit bleak at the moment, with leafless trees, but I have a desk, and internet access and a door pass, and free tea and fruit and a lovely open staff lounge area. I've met several of my 'new' Uppsala University colleagues, who joined in on a short informal chat in the lounge area. Very welcoming. Hopefully I will attend their current 'Academic Teacher Training' course which they run about six/seven times a term and I've been asked to do a short little input at their informal seminar sessions. Overwise I will be allowed to get on and write at my neat little desk, with just a glimpse of Uppsala castle in the distance through the window.

Uppsala Castle - the pinkish circular building behind the leafless tree