:: How can you live the life of the mind when your brain isn’t working?
I’m changing up the format of the writing roundup from those in the past. Used to be, in a writing roundup, I revisited all of the pieces I published during the past month or two, pulling out highlights from each one.
Here’s the change: Now, I’m only going to feature the best two or three articles, instead of all of them, like a curated list of things I’ve published recently. (Curated, bespoke, artisan—pick your annoying word of choice.)
OK. Here’s the new writing roundup. Three months worth of writing, not including books.
“I Need Coffee: Writing Isn’t Sexy, But It Can Pay the Bills.” Huffington Post Books. November 12, 2015.
In November 2015, I launched a new monthly column on Huffington Post Books, called “I Need Coffee.” If you take the first letters of the column name, you get “Inc.” That’s important. From the description of the column: INC “covers all sorts of writing topics, with an eye toward how to make a living writing. INC’s audience includes both authors and aspiring authors, and authors who are both mainstream and independent.” You can head over there and read the first 3 columns now.
“Working When Your Brain Isn’t.” Chronicle of Higher Education Vitae. Nov. 20, 2015.
Right now I’m supposed to be writing — and you are supposed to be reading — a column about living the life of the mind with a mental illness. I’m supposed to be writing — and you are supposed to be reading — about how to work in and around academia with a psychiatric disability. Right now you might be thinking: Why am I reading this meandering mess?
Everything is so terrible that my brain just isn’t working. How can you live the life of the mind when your brain isn’t working? This is the terrible secret that a person living the life of the mind with a psychiatric disability never wants to share.
My brain. It isn’t working.
“My Post-Promotion Clarity.” Chronicle of Higher Education Vitae. Jan. 29, 2016.
I received email congratulations from colleagues in my division and across the larger campus community. Each one of the congratulations hit me like a dart from a gun. Just a little more poison. What, I wanted to ask, are you congratulating me for? For being a good puppy and letting myself get kicked? For obeying all the rules? For overworking myself and keeping my kids in school and daycare for 12 hours a day? For hoping that, one day, my 50 bosses would let me in the tenure club?
I didn’t even get a raise. I felt like such a chump.