#this is NOT AND EXCUSE for someone to go off and give unsolicited feedback by the way

[koraesrambles]

You know when you start a fic with a good premise and fun plot but realize quickly that the writer of this fic is just a little, baby writer? A brand new baby writer who is just starting out, and you're so proud of them and want to pat them on the back and tell them how awesome they are.

There's a long journey ahead, and you may look back at the stuff you write today and hate it, but quality is subjetive. Please never think that the stuff you create as a beginner lacks worth. If you never write the bad stuff, you'll never be able to write the exceptional.

So this new baby writer is doing the work and you couldn't be more excited and proud of them.

But also you cannot wait until someone explains that you need to separate different speakers' dialogue into different paragraphs. Please, for the love of all that is good and sacred, separate your different characters dialogue so I can follow what the crap is going on. I love you. You're amazing. Please separate the dialogue.

[ngaatee]

For the People Academia Breaks

Hey so I am going to get something off of my chest. Last year I got a postgraduate degree in philosophy and it was actually one of the most devastating experiences of my entire life.

I have always been someone with big ideas, and my favourite aspect of philosophy has always been the way that I can blend different ideas to address current issues, especially if something about those ideas sometimes veer into using my imagination. So when we got to choose our thesis topics, I jumped to do something ambitious, something impressive, something grand. And it was. I posed the following question: What would an African feminist ethic say about posthumanism and transhumanism as it pertains to the right to bodily integrity?

This question meant the world to me. It means the world to me. There was so much to get into, so many ideas, and so little published philosophical work on each section of the question. It was quintessentially me.

Ambitious, important and interesting. And I did fucking do it. I didn't get the high grade that I had hoped for, but I got a high enough average should I pursue further higher education, I had gotten a high grade for a concept I essentially invented and built from the ground up, and I had yet another fucking degree after a year plagued by illness, piss poor mental health, worse financial management and not a damn clue what I would do next.

I had also excelled in my other classes and so I was going to take the win and move on. I was in a space where what mattered to me was that I had what I needed for the next steps. Academia career, and somehow reforming education, those have been my goals forever, So I had my grades and set out to get reference letters and one person I asked was my supervisor. And that, dear reader, was when it all went to shit and my mental health sunk to a new low.

My supervisor and I had not had major conflict but I was ready to move on for a variety of reasons. I had tutored one of her classes and had reservations about her methodology and when opportunities for feedback came, I was as honest but diplomatic as possible. I was not the lecturer. When she became my supervisor I had looked in the guide and I had thought that she was going to be the right fit. But in some ways I always felt that my work was not my own, and often times my work became a site of ego. But it could have been worse so I was going to move on and take those lessons to do things differently next time.

So I emailed her, was happy to have the grades for a future in academia and asked for the referral. She emailed me and gave me unsolicited feedback and then openly stated that a section of my work "surprised her, and not in a good way". I will be frank, it disgusted me. I read it and my skin crawled because she had been a less than stellar supervisor, including being angered when I got an extension after my hospitalization, threatening to not even give me a grade, when the HEAD OF THE DEPARTMENT granted me one.

I was a star pupil, with the exploratory ideas to back it up, and consistently she undermined me and I forgave her every time because of how badly I wanted it. And then in the last moment, after I toiled on a thesis and made it through with a high GPA, she could not let me be happy. She could not let me rejoice that every single day last year felt like I was taking my dying breath, And she could not be the kind of supervisor that deserved my bright ideas, my desire to learn, my ambition. I was told that I should prep a version of my paper for a conference and she never had the time to help me, everyday there was an excuse, and I still made it, and she could not just let us be cordial and move on.

That thesis I did is my first child. I laboured, I read, and I thought it through, and I was willing to accept the imperfections that came in my crafting of it because it was powerful and meaningful. I am an African woman, concerned with how we understand our autonomy and our bodies and what that means in a greater philosophical context. I chose a thesis that meant something to me, and I used whatever philosophical building blocks I could to bring it together, and achieved a feat that people thought might be impossible for me. And I am damn proud of it. And in that email, my supervisor didn't care because she felt embarrassed or something.

I have spent a year being angry. How dare she? Especially since academia puts certain kinds of constraints on work and even with those constraints, I made lemonade out of lemons. In fact, I made lemonade out of rocks. And I have grieved and been sad and it has broken my spirit remembering the disdain in that email. And then the later email with the reference letter where I discover that after all this time, my supervisor knows nothing about me.

She doesn't know my worth, she doesn't know how much her class benefitted from having me as a tutor, and my fellow tutor too. She doesn't know anything that other institutions would love about me. Her colleagues do though. They gave me beautiful letters that reflected my passion, honesty, and integrity, and I felt seen. I wish that I had gotten one of them to be my supervisor, I just didn't know any better, it was a new university, a new city, with new people. But my thesis, my baby, would have been so much safer and cared for in their hands.

But I am not ending it like that. I have started to embark on a multimedia art project revisiting and expanding my thesis and I am explaining different philosophical and sociological concepts that are relevant to it as I go along. Because my thesis belongs to me. My ideas belong to me. And the projections of my supervisor, and the painful memories that are attached to it for me will not under any circumstances, end with her defining my thesis for me.

My thesis is my baby, my child and I am proud of it. Its words live in me, its ideas still are a fixation in my mind, and now I have what it takes to really bring it to the next level. And so I will. I do not just love my thesis as a cute baby that people admire and call beautiful. I love my thesis as a petulant older child that sometimes struggles to string ideas that are linked but in ways that are not obvious. I love my thesis as a teenager lost in despair trying to reconcile how a society functions and the philosophies and ideologies that underpin it, the teenager reading social and political thought for the first time. I love my thesis as the young adult that has more questions than answers. I love my thesis as all of the people I have been and whom I will be.

Academia broke my heart. and it devastated many people befor me. But many ideas are worth exploring. Many ideas are worth cradling in a warm blanket and developing over time. Your ideas and mine, are worth so much more than the egos and power of people around us, and they do not get to rob our work of its dignity. And we do not have to leave the brilliance of our thoughts with the memories of people who never cared to understand them. And so I am coming back for my child, I am returning for my thesis. Because I am willing to spend time with it, and nurture it, and develop it. I am ready for it to one day be in the world and standing on its own.

The words of my thesis live in me, but the words of my thesis will live beyond me. And so as I drawm paint, photograph and write for this multimedia art project. As the young mother of this thesis and this combination of ideas, I will be raw and approach it with care, consideration and thoughtfulness. and hopefully, my thesis will find the right people who are interested in philosophy, sociology and the arts. Because this thesis will always be my baby, and I hope it meets people that love it and see it for what it is, the way that I do.

I dedicate this multimedia art project to the people whose first heartbreak was being alienated from their ideas in service of other people's desires. May you always find your way back to that child who wondered so much about the world, and was eager to learn more.

[bapple117]

hey, we don’t really know each other but I follow you on twt & I saw you speaking up for that other fanfic author getting unwarranted hate / criticism

I just wanted to say I think that was cool of you. More artists need to stand up together about that kind of thing. I’m sure it’s something you’ve gone thru at one time or another

I also think it’s super unfair how people wouldn’t ever do that for artists who make illustrations and drawings and stuff in the same way they do for fic writers. You don’t really see people giving unsolicited feedback on drawings (or if they do then they’re called out for being an asshole p quickly) but people feel like they can do it for fics. Idk it’s kinda weird that way? Like people will just be supportive for artworks but then critical of fanfic, idk. anyway sorry for going off in your inbox this is super irrelevant lol but I just thought that was a cool thing you did & it made me want to read your fics, so. Keep being you ig!

Hey! I really wish I knew who submitted this cause you sound like a really sweet and nice person. If you ever feel like talking normally, feel free to give me a message on Twitter! I’m always happy to talk with people 😁

And secondly thank you, that’s really nice of you to say. I think the topic did hit home for me so that’s probably why I felt so passionate about it haha! But I do also have a very strong sense of justice (thanks autism) so when I see other creatives going through something like that my inner bulldog gets triggered 😂 I’m no good at standing up for myself but I will sure as heck go on a rampage for someone else 🤣

And yeah wow that’s a really good point too, I didn’t even really think about it that way. I wonder where the disconnect there is. Although I have to say I do see people giving unwanted feedback on art but like you say, that tends to get called out quite quickly by other artists or fans etc. I wonder why people feel more free to be intense or rude about fanfic, I don’t know 😂 I suppose because there’s more opportunity for a story to conflict directly with someone’s head canon or disappoint them if it goes in a different direction than they expected after heavy investment. Still, it’s no excuse for rudeness or cruelty.

Fandom is a mixed bag, it can be a real high full of amazing things but it can also be extremely draining and stressful. I think the important thing is just spreading kindness, tolerance and knowing when your input isn’t required or wanted. A lot like real life really LOL

Thanks again for the sweet message, I’m sorry it took me a little bit to notice it, I haven’t been checking tumblr as much 😅 Come find me if you feel like it! 💜

[purgatoryandme]

Really though, I didn’t want to go off too much about good teachers and parents cause like...most people on here aren’t old enough to try and be those sorts of things themselves? But it’s also A Big Important Subject to me.  Good teachers have been the only reason I have progressed as far as I have. I’ve fluctuated wildly between between an average student to the top of my class. I’ve been a fantastic athlete who then immediately dropped the sport. I’ve half-learned dozens of things. My successes, the things I stuck with, all hinged on good teachers.  I don’t just mean the kind of people who teach material well. I mean the people who teach PEOPLE well.  I hated physics in high school. I was bad at it right from the start. I’m a perfectionist, so I wanted to leave the subject in the dust and never come back to it. But my PHYSICS TEACHER was a huge pain in my ass.  You see, after fucking up innumerable times, I finally went to his desk in near-tears and asked him to explain something to me. He tried in like...three different ways. It didn’t work, I got angry (with myself), then I tried to leave.  Now listen, this man had made fun of me and everyone else in my class on countless occasions. He was kind of an asshole. But he stopped me from walking off and asked me to work on my homework in the room while he trained the rowing team after school. He said he’d check on it for me.  I wanted to say no SO BADLY, but his offer was clearly genuine and I just...I wanted to stop screwing up.  I did everything wrong lmao. I would start off right, then wander completely off course with the problems. He wouldn’t let me say I was bad at it, though. He also wouldn’t make excuses for me. Instead, he pointed out what I did right, found the first thing I had done wrong, and went back through the problem with me from the beginning.  I’ve never forgotten how to do kinematics. It’s been years and I still know how to do it right. Because it was important to him, it was important to me.  I loved that man. I was a surly, bitter, stressed-out teenager when I started that class. By the end of it, I treated that man like he was my father. I still remember when he offered popcorn to the class, a kind of “congrats on the end of the semester” thing, and nobody took it. As I said, he was kind of an asshole.  But I remember the look on his face when I took some. And when I gave some to other people.  He was absolutely delighted. He really just wanted us to be happy and I’ve never gotten over it.  He was even happier when I took the next level of his class.

I had a math professor in my first year of university who was just...in love with teaching. He was awkward and nervous and so new to it...but he got to know us. He put in the effort to learn all of our names, apologized when he messed up (and would come into class the next week with determination to get it right), and tried to tell us about movies, music, and all the math things he thought were cool.  Math was a puzzle to him, so he never ran out of approaches. When someone didn’t get something, he took it in stride. There was never a,  “But it’s easy!”  Or a frustrated blank stare. Instead, he’d talk about the goal and all the many valid ways to get there.  “This equation isn’t wrong.” I remember him telling us,  “It’s not what I taught you, but you see how it fits in here? It’ll give you the right answer, though not in every situation.” His class was a class on ingenuity. He learned how all of us thought because of it. When it came time for exams or assignments, he knew our own process as well as we did.  I’ve never had a professor give me personalized hints before or after him. I still hope there’s someone else like him out there. I worked hard for him and my marks were astoundingly high. (He knew I love walling off problems with brute force, finding all the limits and closing in on them, and used my own wording to help me remember something. I’m never going to forget that) 

In organic chemistry, I hadn’t been taught a series of concepts correctly in the previous semester. I tried to express this to my professor, but wound up just saying, “I’m bad at this.” I was a little offended at first when he told me not to talk about myself like that and, admittedly, was pretty unhappy with him when he told me to stay back after lecture. It was embarrassing to go through something simple with him again and again... But he identified all my problems with the concept. Then he reworded, redrew, and generally twisted the concept this way and that until I got it.  “You see,” He told me,  “You aren’t bad this. It just wasn’t speaking your language.” He would speak to me occasionally after lecture, toying with my knowledge of his lectures, poking at the gaps that I had. He designed all of his assignments to hit on mechanisms from as many different angles as possible.  He catered to the individuals in the room, not a set average.  Nobody ever skipped his class, even though it was at 8:30 am 3 times a week.  I might not’ve done amazingly on his exam, but I have never been more proud of my performance. Having him congratulate me on the way out meant more than a 90 ever could’ve. 

I came out of my first year of university angry. I walked into my second year hopeful, then tried to walk out of it bitter beyond belief. I still think I would have crashed and burned absolutely if it hadn’t have been for the two people who proved they cared.  You see, a lot of personal interactions with authority figures in my university...wasn’t good. It was oppressive in ways that would take too long to discuss.  But there were two professors who cried when they saw me break down in tears. Who listened to my accusations and who, though they flinched away many times, asked what they could do.  Ms. S did whatever she could to encourage my work in the things I liked. She talked about her own work with me, prompted my interest in history to continue, and tried to give all the feedback she could.  Mr. H entrusted us with his heart and soul with this program. His emotional attachment to it, to us, was the only thing keeping me in class some days.  I’m still grateful to them both.

When I was still a teenager, I used to fence at a club. I think I wanted to build arm strength? I can’t remember why I enrolled. 

The instructor was a oddball who kicked my feet whenever they were out of line and jabbed at my shoulders when my stance slumped. He’d manhandle us all into position and drill us with basic concepts one by one, distracting us with stories of his blues band.  I was still so argumentative back then. Always ready to get into a fight, always a sore loser, always frustrated when I did something badly.  He’d make me practice with him one-on-one whenever I got too worked up. Tired me out with basic drills. Switched them up on me whenever I got too cocky. Ended it with a salute that said he respected me, a hand on my shoulder, and a question about my day. I was an absolute sucker for it. I worked hard to impress him, to make him proud, and I got good. And now, I’ve come back to the sport years later. I wouldn’t have if it wasn’t for him.

My teachers in high school let me roam free. They let me goof off because they saw I was trying. They let me gossip with them because they saw how much I benefitted from adult interaction. They indulged my projects, set me up with advanced materials, and let me...be me.  Sure, sometimes their concern was overbearing. Sometimes their advice was unsolicited. Sometimes they straight up didn’t understand me.  But the fact that they LIKED me, wanted me specifically to do well, and acknowledged my needs brought me from a 70% average to tying for the top mark in science overall. It won me scholarships. It got me into a top university program.  Without them, I wouldn’t have been able to continue moving forward.  Good teachers are so important. Support systems mean so much more than “natural intelligence”.