The Creativity of Project Management & Grants Administration

Smart Women & Co., I am so excited to tell you about my new position as Mellon Partner for Humanities Education Fellowship Postdoctoral research scholar at Vanderbilt University! That’s a mouthful, I know. But that’s because it’s an amazing program and opportunity that is allowing me to stretch in all the good ways I want to grow.

Essentially, one of the previous deans at Vanderbilt coordinated a grant to the Mellon Foundation to facilitate an educational exchange between our university and several liberal arts colleges and Historically Black Colleges and Universities in the area in order to strengthen the mutually beneficial ties between these campuses. Vanderbilt sends recent PhD graduates as  postdoctoral fellows to these schools to provide teaching and support with digital projects, and to strengthen ties between faculty and facilitate research and teaching collaborations.

My job in all of this is to help fulfill grant management- ensuring Vanderbilt does all the things it has promised in the grant, stays within budget, and that our postdoctoral fellows (like our very own Raquelle at Fisk University, yay!) are supported in their work at these various institutions and have what they need to succeed. And I have lots of freedom and leeway with how I do this, which leaves room for creativity and troubleshooting and problem solving.

It’s a really fun job, in that there are a lot of different people from different institutions I get to work with, while sharing my digital skills and coordinating events that help facilitate ongoing training and collaboration opportunities between the institutions. It’s been really rewarding finding people I have worked with for years through my work with the Digital Humanities Center, the Fort Negley Descendant’s Project,  the Friends of Fort Negley Board, and the Slave Societies Digital Archive and connecting them in new ways and watching partnerships flourish.

And I get to do all this while working on my own writing projects!

I do leave behind my position with the Slave Societies Digital Archive with a bit of fond sadness. It was an invaluable job that allowed me to learn so much about project management, grant writing and fulfillment, financial administration, event planning, and also flexed my digital skill sets. I liked how elastic the various tasks left my brain, and how much I learned on the job as the archive’s needs changed and I grew to meet them. Everything I learned there was a transferable skill that will serve me well in my new position.  I anticipate remaining involved with the archive as I go on to digitize documents and add them to the ever-growing database, and am relieved that there are several graduate students and outside consultants who have been working alongside me and can keep the archive functional and grow it until a replacement can be hired.

I’m filled with gratitude and excitement about these next two years.  In a world where fulfilling academic and academic-adjacent work is hard to come by, particularly when like me, you are choosy about where you live, these opportunities are few and far between. I’m excited for another two years to follow my passion, support institutions that make huge differences in this world, continue to expand my project management skill set, and pursue my own research goals. It’s a perfect fit. I look forward to having you all along on this new chapter of my journey!

Ruminations on the End of Summer, and the Start of the School Year

by Lynn Clement


Labor day weekend can be a mixed bag. While I never lament a Monday off, especially to honor workers past, present, and future, this weekend does herald the end of summer.

light nature sky sunset
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I am not particularly sorry to see the summer end this time, though the magnitude of this goodbye is striking. Summer was a struggle that culminated at the end of July with the death of my father. August was spent much like the previous months, with family, facing the harder facts of life.

With the start of my semester approaching quickly after, I anticipated spending more time on self-care than ever before. To cope, I’d been baking, running, and encircling myself with friends.  Despite those invaluable supports, when thoughts and actions turned to work I became increasingly negative. Saying goodbye to summer, no matter how difficult it may have been, is tough and welcoming a September of “same-old, same-old” can hold equal elements of hope and frustration.  I found myself struggling to swallow the stress of what did not get accomplished over break, marinating in disgruntled feelings of another year with little recognition or compensation, annoyance at expectations that syllabi would be available a week before I had even signed a contract meaning months of working for free, and immense pressure about what I wanted from the year ahead and how I would fulfill those goals.

These negative thoughts were fed by recent articles and online dialogue about the cost of higher education, a deluge of emails and articles about the realities of student life, and more importantly, student debt.  I am not new to the subject.  I put myself through undergrad and graduate school, but I’ve always had a support system.  Even though I worried at the start of every school year that my financial aid wouldn’t come through quickly enough, I always knew that I’d be able to make it.  I had to work every semester, and ate a lot of noodle packs of varying quality, but work was part time, it never took precedence over my studies, and I didn’t have to worry about feeding anyone else.  Senior year I had to ask my parents for money to buy books because the financial aid did finally run out.  I knew they went without in order to help me, but the support was there.  Those loans still haunt me, but I still consider them an investment that improved my life and career.

the last bow book
Photo by Clem Onojeghuo on Pexels.com

They are dark days indeed when one realizes that it could have been worse and it has been important for me to acknowledge that my college experience is not the same for my students. At the start of every semester, I read about the escalating monetary struggle of students.  In the middle of every semester, I have students who disappear when funds ran out. They have full time jobs, they have families to support, they have higher costs and less help.

So where did I go when feeling so full of malaise?  Costco, because misery loves company.  It was enough to make me want to actually eat the 5 gallon tub of guacamole I’d put into my cart.

However, the deeper I dug into the articles and twittershpere, the more I found others who had figured out ways to help, and finally I could make steps to do the same, things I should have been doing all along.

Higher education has been changing considerably but I had inadvertently held on to ancient rituals that can no longer be supported. So I filled my cart with groceries to donate to my college’s food pantry, a much needed program that was established last year. I have also vowed that every time I am compelled to shop at that God-forsaken place I will buy enough for them. I’ll be bringing paper and pens to class for students who cannot afford the materials necessary to take notes. Something I had never even considered in the past.  I have made every assignment available to turn in online so students need not worry about the costs associated with printing, or stapling. Last semester I brought snacks and meals to my classes during finals week and will do so again.  Textbooks have always been on reserve at the library, but I also changed my syllabus and study guide so students can utilize older, and thus, cheaper versions of the textbook.  In addition, I will loan out old copies that I have to those who cannot afford any other option.  It’s not much, and it’s not enough, but it’s what I can do. More importantly has been the advice I’ve read about changing my approach to students and their struggles in and out of the classroom.

black and white blur book business
Photo by Tookapic on Pexels.com

I am lucky to be surrounded by Smart Women who wrote this month about finding your voice in writing, in teaching, and in unfamiliar territory. I have learned from each, luckily at the right time.

I am from a blue collar working- class background teaching a subject associated with the elite. Art should not be kept out of reach and neither should text books, education, and basic needs. I need to amplify my voice and find new ways to facilitate learning with the current academic and economic challenges. It needs to be something I consider every year, particularly on Labor Day weekend.

The Smart Woman’s Writing Desk, Part IV

By Lynn Clement


Even though Virginia Woolf’s famous essay about the importance of creative space for women (both public and private) was published in 1929, it wasn’t until 2013, after the birth of my daughter, that I finally claimed a room of my own.

I lost myself a bit after becoming a mother and I struggled while my body, mind, and purpose felt as if they were no longer fully my own.  Personal space suddenly became more important as I grappled with identity and nagging doubts about career and choices, in general.  So I staked a claim in my home to help me retake my place in the world.  This was also important for legitimizing my work, to others and myself.  My contingent faculty career status had often been maligned, and this often made me question my place and worth.  Both became stronger after I added “mother” to my list of jobs.  “Maybe now you should focus on something more worthwhile?” “Maybe this could be a chance to switch careers?” “Are you even going back to work?” “When?”  “How?” “Why?”

I did go back to work because I love what I do, and I didn’t switch jobs because I’m also good at it.  However, I needed to find equilibrium between my career and my new role as caregiver. To do this I needed space. I found a tiny section of my already cramped home and tried to carve it into something. I ripped up carpet, scrubbed floors on hands and knees, stripped wall paper, patched walls with joint compound, painted newly sanded surfaces and trim, hauled books, dragged furniture, hung curtains, and remade the space as I tried to remake myself.

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It’s not perfect, and it’s a bit chaotic, but it reflects me: who I have been, who I am despite the changes I have undergone, who I may become.  My actual work space, a narrow desk with an obsolete X-Files mouse pad, is surrounded by objects that make me contented: books, art, notes, papers, mementos, trifles.  Tomes on art, popular culture, programming, science, culture, politics, and religion are stacked below art made by my grandmother, my sister, my students, and my daughter.  (The drawing by my daughter depicts me, fighting a dinosaur with a sword.  Totally bad ass.)  Mismatched bookcases and sills hold some of my most prized keepsakes.  An antique typewriter found at a img_20180804_171120236garage sale was given to me by my parents.  They had high hopes that I would write my first book with it.  I won’t, but it is a sign of the support I have from family and friends.  img_20180804_171106780A guitar built by my great-uncle from an old stump that was half rotting in the backyard of my childhood home serves as a reminder to find inspiration in the unlikeliest of places, and to make something beautiful and useful.  My collection of running medals, all earned during road races of varying distances, reminds me to put in the work no matter how tedious.

Not everyone has the luxury of a room of their own and sometimes I still don’t.  I began writing this post on one of those yellow legal pads because my daughter had commandeered both my desk and my laptop.  In addition, my office now temporarily houses her new kitten and all his kitten accouterments.  However, the process of making that space my own resulted in an important change of mindset about room and my need to make some for myself in the world.  It’s okay to take up space.


 

The Smart Women’s Summer, Part 1

Summer is in full swing and the Smart Women want to talk about what each of their summers looks like.

Mine?

I’ve already had a full summer’s worth of life crammed into my summer so far, but why not live in the fast lane?

I just got back from Barbados, where I presented on the Caribbean holdings of the Slave Societies Digital Archive at the Association of Caribbean Historians’ annual meeting. Let me tell you, this group of scholars is amazing. About half come from institutions in the Caribbean itself, and the rest from everywhere else. They do simultaneous translation so that people who don’t speak English, Spanish, and French can hear the latest scholarship of the full region and ask questions of people a language barrier would prevent them from asking. And they are the only scholarly organization that I know of, that has a end-of-conference fete written directly into the constitution. Our right to party is constitutional! And what a fete. You haven’t lived until you’ve been part of a group of scholars who can both bachata and whine. Continue reading “The Smart Women’s Summer, Part 1”

The Spaces In Between

There are life-changing moments, and there are life-changing moments.  There are the ways you hold those life-changing moments in your memory: that sense of who you were before, and who you’ve been since, and how pivotal that moment was in your life. Over time, you take it as a given: of course that was such a life-changing thing, and of course it’s changed who you were and where your life was headed. Only one day, you wake up and realize that it’s the thing you never talk about, at least not online.

It’s been ten years since my life-changing event. Ten years ago, nearly halfway through my first pregnancy, we lost our son.

This is the thing I don’t talk about, at least not to you or any of my friends or even really with my family. This has become the private grief that my husband and I share. It’s become the thing that shaped so much of who I’ve become, the thing that I think most people forget, especially as the years pass, and especially as I have a vibrant almost-five-year-old rocking my world today.

No, they don’t forget. We just don’t talk about it, and that’s okay. But ten years on, I still think about it every day. I still hit every March and try to pin down exactly when it happened, because ten years on, I can’t quite remember – and that’s okay, because ten years on, it’s not really something that you cry about any more. Not most of the time.

A wise friend told me, back then, that time passing would help. That getting through the milestones like when the baby would have been born, and when the baby would have walked and talked, and when the baby would have started kindergarten – all those things would hurt, but would also help make it better.

(Those were the easy parts, but not so much the parts where you watch your friends start growing families while you sit back and wait a little longer and screw your courage to the sticking place.)

I didn’t come here today to grieve, although maybe I did a little. Mostly, I wanted to write about what happened after, since I was in my third year of graduate school when I lost my son, and only two months away from my comprehensive exams and getting my dissertation prospectus approved.

If you’re not in grad school or academia, that may sound weird, but I don’t care. These are the things we never talk about, but the telling is worth it.

Sometimes people leave you
Halfway through the wood. – Sondheim

Continue reading “The Spaces In Between”

Choosing Your Next Writing Project

I’m pretty young, and already I have more projects ideas than I will be able to write in this lifetime. This is true even if I have the fortune of living well into my 90s (which I suspect I won’t, as my family’s history is riddled with darkly comedic early deaths- too much pull toward adventure, and not enough common sense in the Sutton genes).

I do periodically root out the “bad” ideas- the ones that wouldn’t work because of the mediums I write in, or the zeitgeist, or because they would be better expressed non-verbally, or by someone who isn’t me, or the ones that go beyond my current skillset, or the ones that wouldn’t help along any of my personal or career goals. I hesitate to call them bad though, as any idea can be good under the right circumstances. But I’m all about efficiency. Do I have time or inclination to cultivate new circumstances? Not right now. Let’s work with the circumstances I’ve already got.

So even after whittling down the list, it’s still too big. How do I pick and choose what gets written and which ideas go into the big ether of ideas to hopefully get recycled and occur to someone else? Continue reading “Choosing Your Next Writing Project”

Where History is Alive

I know, I’m sorry, I’m late!

Actually, I’m not sorry. I’m late with my post because I am on the beautiful Caribbean island of Sint Eustatius for work, and it is so heart-breakingly breathtaking that I needed a minute to just appreciate being here and learning.

SWW2You see, the formerly Dutch island is also a location in the nonfiction history book I’m writing. Known as the “Golden Rock,” it was the center of Atlantic Commerce in the 1700s, and a lot of that was deemed illicit by the other European superpowers of the time. It was filled to the gills with pirates, and plunder, and esoteric objects from around the world.

The island isn’t a big tourist destination (outside of a small and devoted group of returning diving and nature enthusiasts), and doesn’t have a place for larger cruise ships to dock, so much of the material remnants of this history remain. Down every alley, over every cliff, is evidence of corrupt governors, the enslaved, plantations, merchant homes, warehouses, etc. Yellow bricks imported from the Ijssel River regions in the sww4Netherlands comprise some of the most important ruins. Sherds of blue and white Delftware can be seen embedded in the runoff from several forts and plantations. Divers still regularly find glass beads used in trading in the sand. Many residents live in or on top of historically important buildings and sites. Everything is free and open to be viewed by anyone who cares enough to look. Every breath you take, is saltwater and history.

Thankfully this island also has people who appreciate all they have, and work hard to keep it safe for the future. I had the fortune of meeting them, and seeing the history through their eyes.  And you know what happened? I discovered that several of the things historians like to repeat about this island in the literature, had to have been written in error if they weren’t outright falsification.  When you can tangibly step into a place that you only before knew from the documents, a whole new truth unfolds right in front of your eyes.

This happened to me when I visited Ghana in 2010: many of the slave forts I wrote about, I had discovered in documents in The Hague, where most Dutch imperial materials are kept. From reading them, I had an idea in my head about what it must have been like. But actually going there, showed me that many of the things people wrote about would have been impossible. I walked several of the trails mentioned in the documents to see how long it took. I looked at the distances between forts, and how far away they were from the ocean, to see which cannon shots claimed in the literature could have made it, and which wouldn’t have. I saw the way the vegetation grew. I looked at how ruins were positioned. I realized at what points of the day which way the shadows would lie. I made note of the directions the wind blew. All of the sudden, a whole new world of what would have been possible and what wouldn’t opened up.

SWW1It’s the same here. Seeing the bays makes it obvious which could have sustained ships, and which would have wrecked them against the rocks. Seeing the plantation setups allows me to make guesses as to how many enslaved workers there could have been at any one time. Seeing the steep immensity of the inactive volcano known as the Quill (pictured above) makes it clear that no planting could have happened on its sides without some serious twenty-first century landscape architecture. Going to the ruins of the governor’s mansion helped me to see the types of things he could and could not see from his desk. All of these facts are incredibly helpful, and will breathe life into my book that I wasn’t even aware was missing.

I’m living the dream, folx.