IF YOU’RE SO SMART WHY ARE YOU STILL TEACHING?

My first teaching job was at Forest Ridge a school of the Sacred Heart, an elite Catholic girls’ prep school in Bellevue, Washington. Sr. Bunny Flick hired me in 1976 to teach 6-12th grade Art part-time. She was eager to see her students both challenged and supported in their education. At the same time, she never seemed quite comfortable in her role as a school administrator, but she was kind to me. Midway through my time at the school, Bunny left for a new job and, though she might not even remember me, I still check in on her online from time to time. She is a generous, good-hearted woman committed to education. I wish I could let her know that I think of her patience and guidance, and I’ve continued to grow. I’m a better teacher now than when she hired me.

My last principal was also committed as an educator and as a supporter of educators. I mention this because I am about to criticize administrators, and I want to make clear that my concerns do not apply to all administrators and they certainly do not apply to my favorites.

I have written elsewhere defending teachers. I chose to become a teacher because I realized that I was good at it, and that teaching was a role I had been committing to at every opportunity since I was young. I have worked at the profession for a long time and I think I’m mostly a good teacher.

Bad teachers are rare, I contend, because they usually don’t last very long in the profession. Shortly after I posted an essay about this, a student came to me, having read it, and asked if I really believed bad teachers were rare. Well, yes, I do. I think most teachers are doing the best they can and most of them are doing a good job. There are exceptions, but here’s another problem: There are bad and indifferent administrators.

This matters to teaching because, other than the teachers themselves, only administrators have the position and power to improve teaching.

This is where I admit there are bad teachers, and it’s true that some teachers are mean and some have unrealistic expectations or absurdly high (or worse: pathetically low) standards. These aren’t necessarily the bad ones. Even mean teachers take the choir to State and prepare teenagers for independent thought and college. Students learn to let the meanness roll off their back. “Unrealistic” can become reality in about two flicks and then students are doing stuff no one else thought they were capable of. Students survive the high standards, and sometimes they even thrive because of them. So for now, let’s set aside the “mean” and expectant ones.

Let’s look at the teachers who wish they were doing something else—something else in particular or anything else. These are the teachers who really wanted to go on playing high school sports for the rest of their lives, or who thought teaching would be an easy job, or that working with children would be good practice for being a mom, or that they would have weekends and holidays off. There are teachers who don’t really care much about their subject. The ones who fell into the job and never really wanted to teach to begin with. The ones who think they have chosen a 40-hour-a-week job. The ones who don’t like students. The ones who don’t want to work that hard. And the ones who discover they simply don’t like teaching.

Most teachers who are unsuited to the profession don’t last. In fact, teaching has among the highest attrition rates of any profession in the United States. Studies find various results, but up to 50% of teachers leave the profession within five years. Imagine if, after five years of training and with less than five years of work, half the plumbers, electricians, and lawyers chose another profession. (That this is not true for teachers in some other countries might give us pause. In Finland, for example, teachers are not paid differently but the job has more respect and time. Top college students in Finland flock to teaching, and they stick.)

What do teachers who leave the profession do instead? Tend bar, start a small business, sell real estate, join the family business, study law. I’ve considered some of those jobs and others, but I am forever becoming a teacher.

Some teachers become administrators. My observations suggest that, like the reasons for entering education to begin with, there are a few less productive reasons for studying administration. Some would-be administrators are bad teachers who don’t want to choose another field. Some are looking for a job where they don’t have to work so closely with students. Some are looking for more money. Some want power. Status. Some see administration as a natural advancement, like becoming the manager of a retail store. Some want more respect from their community, more autonomy in how they spend their days, or less face time with children. These are all good reasons, I suppose, but not one of them concerns wanting a meaningful roll in improving education and in supporting the educational process with teachers, students, families, and communities, which are better reasons for becoming an administrator.

Administrators work hard. Most of them work hours as long as mine and for another month out of the year. They, like me, are never quite off the clock and always engaged with educational concerns, even during down time, though most have more flexibility.

But some administrators are not skilled at their jobs. Some can’t manage the thousand discrete and sometimes competing demands of community, teachers, students, and finances. Some were well-intentioned but bad teachers and perform no more effectively with peers than they did with students. Some cannot imagine how to get from where they are to where they need to go. They have no vision. Some see the world in black and white and cannot cope with an occupation that is many shadings. Some do not actually like or feel comfortable around students or their parents. Some do not even like children. Some do not respect the choice of others to continue teaching instead of seeking a “promotion” to administration. I’d like to believe these issues are all pretty rare. I see this in other occupations too—electricians, dentist, doctors, small business owners who wish they were doing something (anything) else.

Years ago The Oregonian published an Op-Ed about the disrespect that teachers face every day, including the disrespect from administrators with the attitude that if teachers were really smart, why are they still teaching? I get that a lot. Teachers are sometimes treated as if they were their students. For eleven years I was a substitute teacher in my district and there were principals who treated their teachers like the children they taught. This was especially grating when I subbed at an elementary school where the principal treated teachers like young children. (And if you’ve never worked all day with a room of 26 nine-year-olds, you really do not know what exhaustion is.) Because I teach children does not make me a child myself.

I’ve also been patronized and ignored by college professors, including people who teach Writing and Lit. at community colleges, who have never published anything of significance, and who have barely been alive as long as I have been teaching. I merely taught high school for close to 30 years. Now with a decade of college level teach, I suspect my experience, concerns, and observations still matter less than theirs. Perhaps I did not matter at all.

Elsewhere I have complained about the expectation of some people that everyone must commit to teaching as if it were a sacred vocation rather than a job. Sr. Bunny Flick is a nun. I am not even Catholic. I loved my job, though it is not a sacred obligation, it’s something I choose. But there is some whiff of truth in that expectation of commitment. No one does this job to get rich, but it is an occupation that should suit the practitioner, one they will do their best for even in the moments when it’s hard and unrewarding. They should be paid decently for their expertise and responsibility. (No teacher expects to get rich, but securely middle class is not an unreasonable expectation after a minimum of 5-6 years university education.) I also think it’s a reasonable expectation that if teachers do their job well they should be treated with the respect due to anyone in a skilled profession.

Teaching first graders is not easier than teaching college Physics.

Teaching is not easier than acting as an administrator.

We all work hard in education and administrators and the public can make things easier for everyone. Or not.

WRITING EDUCATION

_MG_0011

I was Class Speaker in 2007 at Pacific University’s MFA in Writing graduation.

A writer friend of mine who has taught in an MFA program for several years reported that not one of her students had become a “successful” writer by publishing a book. I shared that among students from the two years of my MFA program, only a handful had published books. Of those, most were poets and most came to the program with a chapbook already published.

Tom Jenks writes in the newest edition of his online publication:

“By 1975 the number of graduate programs had grown to fifty-two, a number that in the subsequent nine years tripled to 150, and by 2017 the number grew to more than four hundred. If undergraduate programs are included, today’s number exceeds two thousand. Across approximately eighty years, writing programs have proliferated as the accepted foundation for the would-be writer’s route of entry to a life of writing, publishing, and/or teaching. …

“The 2016 AWP conference in Los Angeles hosted twelve thousand attendees, a number that represents perhaps 7 percent of an estimated 170,000 MFA degree holders and students in the US. Currently, graduate writing programs and undergraduate programs with an emphasis in creative writing turn out some fourteen thousand new degree holders each year.”—Narrative

Need I point out that we do not publish 14,000 books from “new” writers each year? The industry published a bit over 316k titles in 2010, but actual sales were down by 14 million that same year. More books, fewer buyers. A book has less than a 1% chance of showing up in a bookstore. That is a bit better odds than being published by most noted literary magazines, which rarely pay anything to their authors.

Academic life? Other than the (very) rare person who lands a tenure track position, the demand for college professors without substantial publications and research means most work as adjunct. Trust me, a high school English teacher is paid much better. A good cocktail waitress is paid much better. Retail sales at least do not result in hours spent scoring papers.

Years ago, I read that the average full-time writer earns less than $10k/year. True, Neil Gaiman, but there is only one of him. The nation does not need many new writers. They will not earn a living through creative writing of any kind. A writer I knew from years ago had this piece of advice: “Marry money.” Unlike the graduate of an engineering program or even one with an English degree, very few creative writing majors will find work relevant to their education. Their odds are about on par with the high school character actor becoming the next Cate Blanchett.

So of the majority of people who graduated with me in 2005, what are we up to? Several are not writing at all. They have stopped pursuing “writing, publishing, and/or teaching” altogether. Some have moved on in their academic careers. At least half published work in literary journals or books, but several of those are not actively writing now. Only two that I know of have new books out in the past few years. They are not making even $10k/year from those books.

I am mostly retired from teaching but still writing. I am publishing in journals. According to Duotrope, an online resource I use to locate markets and track my submissions, my publication rate has consistently been “higher than the average for members who have submitted to the same markets.” My acceptance ratio has varied over the years from a low of around 5% at the start to a brief high of 14%. Just now I am at 8.5%. I submit to journals than accept less than 1% of submissions recorded by Duotrope. At no time have I made a profit on my writing. I have been published in fine journals (without pay) and have presented to regional and national conferences (for zero pay). I have been paid for technical writing, but I was better paid freelancing graphic design, which was not my major, or drawing plans for an architect, for which I had no educational preparation at all. Even when I was judging field trials across the West, a hobby, I was paid travel expenses and was housed and fed. Writing and presentations on writing? Not a chance. I have never actually been paid for any literary work, though I do expect a small check to arrive in the next month from a paying market. Maybe.

So why the degree?

I had promised myself an MFA. I assumed it would be in the visual arts since my undergraduate degrees were in the visual arts. I have BFA degrees in ceramics and metal and a BA in Arts Education. I came to writing relatively late in life because I wanted to return to teaching and there were no arts jobs available. I thought I would teach Social Studies, those classes where I learned to write essays, but instead I began teaching English, where all writing is taught these days. I did not need an MFA for that job.

My MFA cost me $20,000 and I will never see a return on that investment in any job. I had already written three novels and published essays, stories, and poetry before I began the program.

So why?

There were people in my program who only wanted to write a book, people who needed a terminal degree to advance in academia, and people who left the program and became musicians. I have kept writing and reading and writing and reading. Why the MFA? I was already productive and growing.

It was that promise to myself. Self-indulgence really. Just as most the other actual writing is self-indulgence. My sons had graduated from college and I found that the frugal habits I had developed when we were a one-income family and throughout our sons’ education were not as easy to break as I once thought they would be. I was at the top of the pay scale as a teacher, my husband was also working, and we went no where on vacation, drank only cheap wine and good homemade coffee, used no drugs, and ate out rarely at restaurants labeled with one fork, for “cheap eats.” I could afford $20,000 spent over the course of two years.

The degree was for me. I hoped to become a better writer and to find a writing community since my efforts at finding a writing group had failed again and again. (There was the group where the poet-leader declared fiction “annoying.” The group that wanted mostly to gossip. The one that wanted to get high. The one that self-published horrible trendy fiction.)

Jenks assures me that I didn’t need that MFA degree, that I will likely join the tens of thousands who will never “use” their degree to be a “successful author,” a term even he finds it difficult the define. Did I enjoy the program? Yes, very much. Would I do it again? Absolutely. Did I find the writing community that I desired? Not really. Did it make me a better writer? Perhaps it did. Did it help me to become a published writer? No, it did not. That is something else again. I got something from the program, made a few friends, and often consider how to return. That is enough.

Were I today in my early 20s, a white girl, even a white girl from a modest upbringing _MG_0049and married to a man raised in poverty, what value would I bring to fiction? What story do I offer? It is a question I ask myself even now.

“Some things can be taught, some learned—so much depends on the character of the writer.”—Tom Jenks

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