Does This Seem Right? The Closing of a Graduate Program.

When Steve Kay, Dean of the USC Dornsife College of Letters, Arts and Sciences, took leadership of the school in October of 2012, he said, “As a biologist, I have often focused on “nature versus nurture” to help me understand how we form ourselves and become who we are,” but, he said, he had come to realize that “only focusing on nature and nurture denies something critical: narrative. For it is through narrative that we learn to express our experiences, and place them in the context of what really makes us human.” This phrase, strictly parsed, strikes me as not quite accurate—but suffice to say, he voiced his admiration of narrative.

One year later, he called a meeting with the chair of the Master of Professional Writing Program—the 43-year old program dedicated to the study of narrative—and without any warning informed her he was closing the program down, with enrollment to cease immediately, and all students required to complete their studies by spring of 2016.

The shuttering of an institution is always a shock to those invested in it. But in this case, as the shock has subsided, what remains--with me, and with others I've talked to--is a sense of betrayal about the way the closure has been conducted. First, Dean Kay declined to give any reasons for the action beyond stating that it was “a business decision,” despite  a solid enrollment (just under 90 students), and no budget issues. Second, Kay seemed to discourage any official communication about the decision. There was no formal announcement of the closure by the Dornsife administration. Most faculty and staff of other departments learned of the move through the media, well after the fact. It's difficult to imagine that this choice to  close the doors with no announcements could be anything but a strategy to reduce the risk of any protest—by the time a critical mass of people figured it out it had happened, it would be too late.

The one group they could not avoid telling were the current students. The administration now needed them—including many who had chosen the program because they could complete it part time while remaining in the work force—to take enough credits each term to matriculate by 2016. A student-instigated letter writing campaign elicited boiler plate responses from the dean’s office re-iterating the vague  “business decision” . When the same letter writing campaign garnered media attention from a major newspaper, a token meeting was granted with Vice Dean Steve Lamy, who elaborated on the business decision by citing fiscal difficulties that couldn't be shown on paper, but that were partly related to declining enrollment—a confusing statement to those who had heard the program had been asked to be more selective in its admissions process and been given no sign that feelings on this had changed.

A common narrative device--we learn about these things in the Master of Professional Writing Program at USC-- is called subtext. On TV, when the hot girl tells the disguised-but-still-hot super-hero, “You’re a jerk, I never want to see you again,” what she really means is, “I love you.” That's the subtext.

In real life, when the dean of a big college says “business decision,” the subtext is "I don’t have to give you real reasons, and I’m not going to.” Which is smart, since real reasons might elicit real discussion, and real discussion might make the decision an issue in people’s minds. Instead of closing the program, he seemed to prefer to disappear it.

As taxpayers and American citizens we have the right to demand a certain degree of transparency from our government officials. As customers, we are entitled to ask for accountability from the heads of other institutions--like the banks where we invest our money. Transparency and accountability don't always happen in these arenas, but there is at least the pretense that they should, and when someone gets called out for circumventing these requirements, other people who get riled up and form investigatory committees.

What weirds me out in this case is how no one has even bothering to pretend. And, publicly at least, how few folks seem riled up. Most MPW alumni have invested both time and in excess of $40,000 for degree that is being declared defunct. They are lifelong members of the “Trojan Family,” who will receive fundraising calls until they die, and probably for a few months afterward. Do they have a right to an explanation? Do they have the right to be satisfied that the leadership of their alma mater has acted in their best interests—if not as individuals, than at least in the interests of university that asked them to feel like one of its own? Do they have the right to informed at all? To date, program alumni have received no university notification that the degree they earned at USC is has been discontinued.

Programs close, companies get downsized, people get fired—and business decisions get made.   I’m not writing this to change the turning of the world. I am writing it to make a record, because I believe that just because we have to accept people’s decisions, doesn’t mean we should obediently accept their version of the narrative.

Related articles

• Students react to untimely closing of MPW Program
• Major gift to support scholarships at three USC schools

MPW Farewell

As a rule, I often downplay naming people and things in my blog posts, thus the program where I take writing classes I tend to refer to, generically, as "the program where I take classes." Today, however, I want to name it: It's a graduate program at USC called the Master of Professional Writing.  I've been taking classes through MPW part-time for two years. I enrolled for a few reasons: because my job offered tuition remission and I'm a big fan of things that are free; because taking classes maintains my student status and thus prevents my mountain of student debt from toppling down on me; and because every semester I saw interesting topics and instructors. I figured I might learn something, and if not, I'd at least be pressured to write. I didn't enroll because I thought I needed an MPW program. With two MFAs from highly respectable schools,  I didn't need the degree, and I didn't need any more friends who were aspiring writers.

That's what I thought.

I thought wrong.

While it would be impossible for every concept to be new, I've been consistently surprised. I've gained skills and knowledge in my MPW classes that five years of MFA classes didn't give me; and though I'd graduated from my screenwriting program with friends and acquaintances in the Los Angeles area, it has been the MPW program that has given me a  community--both a strong student community and an introduction to Los Angeles as a writing (and reading!) community.  I'd come to believe that my screenwriting pursuits were entirely incompatible with a path as a creative writer. Through MPW I have been shown that is not the case, and introduced to a number of role-models who work in multiple genres.  Finally, MPW has reminded me of my appreciation and gratitude for writing and for other writers, which is not a luxury, but a necessity for anyone who plans to persevere in a writing profession.

My current semester at MPW has been the best I have experienced in terms of all of these things.  My classes have been educational and directly applicable to my work; I've felt a real affection respect and compassion for the students I share the classroom with. I've been inspired by my professors and the literature they've introduced to me,  and I've been ever more impressed by the reading and events the sponsored by the program and the efforts its administration makes to give us ties to the larger community of Los Angeles.  Friday night, I attended a student/ faculty reading. Afterwards as I wandered through The Last Bookstore in the company of other students, I was struck by a sense of belonging. This is not to say that I spend lots of time feeling ostracized or alienated, but moments of feeling a real sense of belonging occur seldom enough that I notice them.  And lately, when I have noticed them, it's been during in MPW-related activities: attending readings at bookstores around L.A., volunteering for the department-run journal, participating in professional seminars organized by the faculty on the weekends. Lately, when thinking of the MPW program, I've felt uncharacteristically warm and fuzzy.

Which makes it a little ironic that today I received an email saying that the dean has decided that the MPW Program will no longer accept new students. The current cohort will be the last cohort and the program will be discontinued as of Spring 2016.  So far, no reasons for this have been offered, other than the statement that it was "a business decision."

This will likely not affect my own educational trajectory, but somehow it still changes things-- like learning in your senior year of high school that after you graduate the city is going to burn down the building.  You'll still get to go to school everyday, but when you're done, there won't be anyplace to visit, and all the secrets and advice you might have given your kid brother are no longer pertinent.
It's an odd, sorrowful feeling.

But mostly I feel lucky.  Lucky that I found MPW when I did, and that it has given me so much that I didn't even know I needed.

The Not Comfort of Miles

P.S. This week I learned MORE about Miles Davis. He treated women like shit. He beat his wives and was psychologically cruel.

I'm still looking forward to exploring his music, but this information definitely taints things for me. Kinda like how I don't think if I'll ever watch Braveheart without thinking of how messed up Mel Gibson is. And I don't think I'll be able to listen to Sketches of Spain without thinking about how Miles made his wife give up her dancing career to follow him around, and how she finally had to divorce him because when he started doing cocaine, "the violence got to be too much." In other words, he started to beat her up MORE than he was already beating her up.

The Comfort of Miles

Right now, I’m reading Kind of Blue by Ashley Kahn. It’s about the making of the Miles Davis album of the same name, but, in the first chapter at least, it’s about the making of Miles Davis as a fully formed artist and leader of other musicians.

I’m reading the book for class, and didn’t go into it thinking it would have any take home lessons about my own life. And yet, some Davis factoids have resonated with me.

1) Kahn quotes pianist Bill Evans who called Miles “a late arriver” and said, “There are always a lot of early-arrivers who have great facility. Miles had to go through a longer laborious, digging, analytical process, finally arriving at something which is far more precious.”

2) He writes that “Mile’s constantly questioned his ability. ‘It was so bad I thought, I’ll go study dentistry,” he recalled.”

3) He notes how even later in his career, Miles wasn’t the best technical player, so he simplified things, found their essence. “Fellow trumpeter Art Famer commented on Davis: ‘When you’re not technically a virtuoso, you have to say something. You have no place to hide.”

Basically, what is comforting for me to remember, is that some artists struggle. And the fact that you struggle doesn’t make you not an artist.

The Way to Generate School Pride (In an Opposite Universe)

Our spelunking school offers a limited number of scholarships, based on need and merit. So, last spring, for the second year in a row, I wrote a five-hundred word essay, printed my hundred page screenpl—ahem, spelunking document, filled out application forms online and on paper, drove across town, paid to park then stood in line to turn in my packet at the designated hour.

For the second time in my spelunking school career, the summer passed. Dead quiet from the Spelunking Division on the topic of scholarship decisions.

And then I heard a rumor. Whisper circulated that scholarships had been awarded. Surely, I thought, something would appear in my inbox to confirm this rumor. A short courteous note perhaps, saying something along the lines of: “Thank you all for your application. Scholarships have now been awarded, and the recipients have been notified.”

Days passed. Then weeks. Months.

Nothing.

The end of summer approached, and for the second time in my spelunking career, my spelunking school announced available D.A.ships—a kind of work stipend applied toward tuition. I revamped my resume, wrote my personal statement, provided my financial details and class schedule and drove across town to hand in a manila envelope full of papers and my hopes by the deadline.

Once again, I’ve watched my inbox. Not, to be honest, with any real hope that I would get a D.A. ship. But with some curious hope again, of some acknowledgment: "Your application was received and considered, but that the positions had been allocated."

Spelunking classes begin tomorrow. I should probably give up that hope.*

Once, in high school, I had a girlfriend who was invited to prom by a boy. She decided not to go with him, but didn’t bother to tell him. “He’ll figure it out,” she said.

I couldn’t look at her the same after that. That moment marked the beginning of the end of our relationship. But looking back, I see she was young, not fully morally developed, not really that smart.

From grown-ups, however, who are not stupid, one might expect better manners.

Should I talk to them do you think? It’s a dilemma. I did, last year. I wrote my letter, had a meeting with the chair of the spelunking department. I voiced my disappointment. The grown ups looked at me across a table, and thanked me for expressing my concerns.

And then, for the second year in a row, the representatives of an organization that urges me to consider it to be my community (albeit one I’ve paid many thousand dollars to belong to) have again chosen to accord me—and my classmates-- the same courtesy and respect one might expect to receive when responding to an anonymous job posting on Craigslist.

*Lest my bitterness be misinterpreted as that of someone who has never been the object of the school's largesse, I'd like to note that I have indeed received a D.A.ships in two recent semesters and was grateful for them. On those occasions however, my less fortunate friends were not informed, and had to find out through those of us who had received awards.

Damnit

Damnit Damnit fucking damnit.
I think today was the last day to pay tuition and fees. Not that the university ever warns you in anyway. you'd think with all the propaganda they send, they might, until you think of how much money they make by charging the $100 late fee.

So I hate the university, which charges me late fees, and even for my 7pm classes has no parking available around that building.

I hate Paul because everytime we have a fight in the morning, I forget something on that day's to do list, and usually by the time we're done, whatever it is we were fighting about, usually cleaning or doing tasks that will prevent us from losing money, doesn't get done anyway, so it seems pointless to bother.

I don't hate me of course, because it has nothing to do with my own utter disorganization and distractibility.

I Love My Classes

(Admittedly, I always do at the beginning of a semester.)

My Screenwriting workshop, my non-fiction writing workshop, my fiction-writing workshop, and my grantwriting workshop are all excellent.

So far there is just one problem: Two of these classes, the fiction and the non-fiction workshops, meet on the same night at the same time.

Because of of instructor conflicts and holidays, the classes began on alternate weeks and I have been able to attend the first session of both classes…but now the jig is up. On Monday I need to pick one, because I can’t be in two places at once.

Oh why can’t quantum mechanics keep up with my desires?

Out of Africa

For my new project of figuring out how and where to find money for Paul’s upcoming film I’ve been investigating classes at FSU. Last night I went to one called "Fundraising and Development" taught through the Public Administration Department. It was pretty interesting. One thing the instructor said that really caught my attention was this:

Each morning in Africa a gazelle awakes.
It knows that it must outrun the fastest lion or it will be eaten.
Each morning in Africa a lion awakes.
It knows that it must outrun the slowest gazelle or it will starve.
It matters not whether you are a lion or a gazelle,
When the sun comes up, you’d better be running.

That seemed like a pretty interesting concept, although I couldn’t apply it in any kind of direct way to what she was saying about fundraising.

When Paul came home, I started to tell him, but he stopped me in mid-sentence.

“I know that one,” he said, “It was on one of the inspirational corporate posters for sale in the in-flight catalogues on the airplane.”

Damn. You think you’ve been given an original profound thought, and it turns out just to be ‘Footprints” for marketing staff.

A Post About Film Stuff

A few of my readers have mentioned that mostly they just skim my blog looking for posts about Paul’s burgeoning film career, so I thought I would put “film” in the title of this update just to make it easier.
It’s been a busy and crazy week or so. The film from the clown shoot came back (from the developing lab) looking good, but the sound needed a little work. Apparently some of the acting performances were at the same level as the “sound floor” (which I think is the just what we used to call “room tone” or the “ambient sound”) of the location. Because of this he had to do quite a bit of “ADR” or Additional Dialogue Recording. Two of my lines got ADR’d over the weekend, so I can tell you about it.

The ADR room is a recording studio like ones you see in movies, where the band or singer is in a room, and the guy on the mixing board is in an adjacent room behind a glass window. Paul sat behind the window, and I went into the recording room and sat on a stool facing a TV monitor, and put on a big pair of headphones. Then he played the part of a scene he needed to re-dub. There is a line where I say “Thank you, Louie,” so he played that part over and over again. Each time it started again there would be a little “beep beep beep” to cue me, and then I would watch my own lips on the monitor, and say “Thank you, Louie.” Afterwards, he could listen to all the takes and pick the one that he felt worked the best. The hardest things about recording ADR is that you can hear your original performance at low volume, and you hear yourself talking in the present at a much higher volume, but it is just slightly delayed, like when you have a messed up phone connection, and hear yourself echoing.

Tuesday and Wednesday nights were was the shoot for the Coke contest. They shot at an office, so the shoots started at 5pm when the office closed, and went into the wee hours of the night. Thanks to our dedicated friends who stayed up til 3am to be extras!

And tonight was screening for the student films. His movie, “A Clown’s Life,” got a very good audience response, so he was very happy about this. So was I. My little brother Greg did a great job on the musical score. And even though on a personal level I’m not incredibly happy with him, I will still link to his recently formed company’s website here, because it looks very good and we’re proud of him.

Next up, the “Thesis pitch,” Only five people in Paul’s class of twenty-five will be awarded directorships for their final “thesis” films. On Monday and Tuesday, each student has to go in and “pitch’ their film idea, and based on that pitch, track record and some other criteria, the faculty will choose the lucky five. This is what Paul has been working hard for for the last year and a half…so please keep your fingers crossed!

(A couple notes not about film…my colonoscopy this morning…All clear, which is good news, because, you know, cancer would be such a damper on all of this.

And, I promised not to talk about this anymore, but I happened to see my Old English professor at the screenings. (His daughter is a talented actress who acts in many of the student films.) He said I was getting an A on my project…whoo hoo! If he noticed that I “abridged” it by about fifty lines of translation, he didn’t mention it, and so neither did I!

Yeah, midnight didn't happen so much.

But I'm pretty close now, just need a cover page. I added an illustration. Only me and maybe the three other people in the world who have read Book 4 of Gregory's Dialogues in Old English will think this is funny, but I'm posting it anyway.

It won’t die…

Old English.
Still.
I really thought that at 4pm, I would just take whatever I had over to the humanities department and turn it in. What really happened is that I DID stop translating (line 116), but still have hours of persnickety formatting, making of bibliographies, additional research etc. My new deadline is MIDNIGHT. That’s it.

Then I have to go pick some stuff up at the 24 hour pharmacy that I haven’t really talked about yet, and buy a spindle of DVD’s for Paul’s film stuff that I also haven’t talked about. So tomorrow I will turn this project in first thing in the morning, and then, I promise: I’LL CHANGE THE SUBJECT.

1:45am, line 100

8:50pm, line 83

How can it be this slow, you ask? Believe me I'm asking the same question.

9:50 am, line 66

Ah, a new day!

1:50 am, line 65

Those were the days...

Every so often, though not too often, perhaps as I’m translating line 53 of 160 lines of Old English text, my inbox will “ping,” and I’ll get a letter like this.

Hi Paul
My husband just loves his gift last Xmas of PauleatsPerth
I have a question. My husband wants to go to a new restaurant in Perth for his birthday next month and I can't find it anywhere - wondering if you may be able to help.
It is M & M's or M'nM????????? Do you know of it? Is it good?
Thank you
Regards, Beth Klenner

Beth, the restaurant which you seek is called “Eminem,” which has nothing to do with the rapper. It’s Turkish, and the chef there won a “best new talent” award this year.

I am feeling nostalgic, and sad that 2007 is almost upon us, but there will be no PaulEats Perth 2007 edition. Putting that book together, especially the index, was incredibly tedious, grueling even, not unlike creating an Old English glossary. But at the end of that tedious grueling task, I had a book. When I get done with this, I’m not sure what I’ll have…but it won’t be a book.

Potato

Four chapters down, one to go...had to take a hiatus the other day to have a ridiculous fight with my little brother that left me drained. Had a nice dinner for my birthday, better for friends, but hard to shake the sads.

Yesterday afternoon was cold and it wasn't bad to curl up on the couch, even if it was with the Anglo-Saxons. This morning I'm back for more. Can I get deep vein thrombosis from sitting on the couch too long?

What I'm Reading Right Now

The Anglo-Saxons. It's excellent. Even if I didn't have a final exam that covered the second half of the book, I would probably be reading it for pleasure.

But before you run out and buy your loved one a copy for Christmas, talk to me, I might be able to find you a copy, cheap.

Also in the news...I still have my final performance for dance class tomorrow. I still am not enthusiastic, but it turns out that even though this is an undergraduate course having nothing to do with a graduate degree in Writing, the grade will still accrue to my GPA with the same weight as this Old English class I've been discussing all semester. So if they say "dance," I'll dance.
There may even be some documentary footage. Stay tuned.

It's a real question...

Why does my friend Katie, who has a fair amount of social anxiety still have a life so much more adventurous than mine?

It could be that I have (undiagnosed) social anxiety too, and that’s why I sit at my desk in my flannel cowboy pajamas night after night instead of going out.

Or, possibly I can just blame the whole thing on my Old English professor.

On a More Positive Note

I feel like my last couple posts of late have been somewhat negative. I’m okay with that. In fact, I intend to continue in the same vein until mid-December, so be sure to stay tuned!

But before we embark on two more weeks of hilarity, I would like to riff on the topic of gratitude. Even as I whine and complain about my workload and teachers, there are few things that even though I don’t necessarily put to paper (or screen), I do keep in mind…

I AM THANKFUL FOR:

My health. Part of the reason I am a bit touchy of late, is that I am traveling through the anniversary of my cancer diagnoses and surgery. In fact about right now, four years ago, I would be discussing my options and flying to the Cancer Center in Melbourne. This Tuesday I would be rolling into surgery. Thursday I would be writhing in pain post op, and Friday I would be celebrating my birthday by getting some of my catheters pulled out. But I’m not doing that. I am pursuing my studies in comfort. I can get up and walk around. I can go to friends’ houses for dinner. I complain about suffering over Old English, but I am not in pain. I may complain (in the future) about dance rehearsals, but I can dance! These are major things, and I am grateful for them.

My friends. Who are so entertaining, and encouraging, and thoughtful, and tolerant of me even when I am mired in crabdom. I have a community and I feel loved.

The Shambala Center. I have been lucky in recent years to find myself in places with small, down to earth Buddhist communities. I don’t go often, but every time I do (and I did this afternoon), I am warmly welcomed and accepted, and my time there always helps me center myself, and think of things from a larger perspective.

The weather. Which has been beautiful all week. Not too cold, with good fresh air, and sunshine. It is a pleasure every time I walk outside, even if it is just to class or to the bus.

New shoes. They’re Rocket Dogs, and they are olive green and brown which are two of my favorite colors to wear. And they are really cute. And comfortable. Every time I think of them it makes me happy.


Paul. (Gee, maybe I should have put him before shoes, not that these are in order.) But we are getting along very well lately, and even though we are both very busy, he has made some uncharacteristically chivalrous gestures lately, like the other night, he actually helped me with my jacket, and yesterday, he spontaneously rubbed my neck.

Free tickets and places to stay. I have a great credit card for air miles toward plane travel. It is so good that Citibank doesn’t offer it anymore, but they still honor it for people who have it. Thus I have a free ticket to L.A. to see my family/friends over the holidays. And my brother has lined up a house-sit, so that I will have my own apartment (with cat!) while I am there.

So, underlying all,
My deep gratitude.

We will now return to our regular programming.