Because the world needs another blog post about teaching and guns

Because the world needs another blog post about teaching and guns

You don’t realize you’re on edge until a klaxon sounds and you look at your colleague’s face and see your wigged-out-ness reflected in their eyes.

Short story: I grew up in Texas. I have been teaching in Texas for my entire career (more than 15 years, oh my!) The idea of a gun doesn’t really faze me; neither does the reality of a gun. I have held and fired pistols of various kinds and sizes, hunting rifles, shotguns, black powder guns, BB guns, and semi- and fully automatic weapons. Guns in the woods, guns at the military shooting range, guns at your friend’s house, guns in the truck, guns in the dark. I am by no means a marksman, and neither do I own a gun—for no other reason than I’ve never really needed to. When the Texas Legislature opened up public college campuses to concealed carry license-holders, I didn’t find myself quaking in terror at the notion that a student might have a gun because frankly, I wouldn’t have been surprised that kids in Stephenville or Abilene, TX were packing even before that time. No, I don’t want guns on campus. But pragmatically, guns have been on campus.

Today, I teach our university’s technical and professional writing service course, which is always populated in part by criminal justice majors—both students who haven’t yet entered the workforce and working or retired officers seeking a degree for reprofessionalization. It would be absolutely stupid for me to think that there’s not a registered, concealed handgun in my class any day of the week. And the thought doesn’t bother me; it doesn’t factor into my interactions with students—or I don’t feel like it does. Neither does it make me feel safer than colleagues teaching elsewhere. The fact of guns is for me simply that: a fact. Guns are.

But between the increasing and sustained volume of the school shooting conversation (another one this morning!) and the news about package bombs in Austin, where my uncle and cousin live, and Schertz, the little town East of San Antonio on I-35 where my grandparents lived and we spent so many, many visits growing up, I guess I really am secretly a bit wigged out. I didn’t learn that until this morning, in the middle of a conversation in my office on campus with Sarah, when the fire alarm (which I’d never heard before) went off in the building and the accompanying announcement was cut off. Those few—maybe five?—seconds after the sounds stopped and before the next sounds began, as we waited, not sure what—if anything—was going on. Reading each other’s wide eyes waiting for pops or bursts or something. And then another klaxon and an announcement that all was well. Do not evacuate the building. Ourbad. We’re sorry the alarm went off.

Unannounced tests of the fire alarm are fine, I’m not complaining. But the nervous chuckle and thank goodness after the announcement stopped and we realized we weren’t under attach which is something I’d never stopped to think about before really seriously. That moment made me realize maybe I am on edge. Just a little.


The New Year Thing

After taking a real break from work for the Christmas-to-New Year’s stretch (one that began earlier than intended thanks to the Corpus Christi WATER CRISIS of December 2016), it feels good to contort my body back into desk mode (#beastmode?) and get started on 2017-ward tasks. Reviewing articles, pushing out emails, developing material for new courses, scribbling notes to fill into Digital Measures later this week, checking off Habitica tasks, and all the other attendant things that go with sitting down in your chair for the first time in a… while.

2017 Goal 1: Make some goals.

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2016 has been a dramatic year in many ways, but I’m not talking about national politics or the death of Carrie Fisher. (i will not take a tangent on obsessions with mortality in pop culture, i will not take a tangent on obsessions with mortality in pop culture, i will not take a tangent on obsessions with mortality in pop culture.) 2016 has been a year of intense personal and professional change. (I feel like I should quote “Burning the Christmas Greens” at length here, but somehow the lines

At the thick of the dark
the moment of the cold’s
deepest plunge we brought branches
cut from the green trees

to fill our need,

seem overdramatic. And did I just put a blockquote in a parenthetical aside?) Regardless, I don’t like change. Ask anyone. But this year brought self-imposed upheaval to a person who has never ever liked big changes. It’s been hard—harder than I thought it would be and in ways I didn’t expect—on myself and my family. And I don’t know if I can say that it’s easier yet, but there are good things. Great things. New relationships, new friendships, new opportunities, new mentors. New taco recipes. New habits and approaches to tasks. New students that I love (I love the old ones too, don’t worry!) and new work yet to be done.

I’ve succeeded (or at least feel like I’ve succeeded) at some things, and failed at others (whoa, vaguebooking much?), and am painfully aware of the ways I still need to figure out the whole research / teaching / service balance of my new professional location. But I’m feeling great about work / life balance. And seriously: Habitica, y’all.

Goals for 2017? Still working on them. They’ll probably amount to some version of the following: More writing, always. Try new things. Get less fat. Resolutions? Nah, no resolutions, because like you I always break them.

Mostly, it’s just time for a new notebook for 2017. Even if there are still a few too many blank pages left in the old one.

Locating Computers & Writing

Locating Computers & Writing

In a fit of curiosity and being in general inquisitive about the histories, locations, ideologies, and general metadata of our discipline (not to mention being slightly jealous of this year’s C&W attendees), I built a database of the history of locations of the Computers & Writing conference. I wanted to see where C&W has been in a geographic sense, and this gives a snapshot. (See also the very interesting CWCON Memorabilia project, which gives a pack rat’s view of the conference.)

Clicking into the map, you’ll find the data I’ve begun loading into the database, including links to web material and the conference theme, with more to come. It’s simple now, and there are definitely some holes and reformatting I’d like to do, but it’s a start.

See an error? Something missing? Want to add data? Feel like shaming me into attending C&W 2017 at U of Findlay? Contact me and I’ll be happy to add you both to the database and the Google maps file.