I had to pitch my PhD plan to a group of other PhD planners in Guelph today. I did not rehearse because I feel confident about the story I’m writing. By the time you get to this point they have already made you inspect your own work upside down and sideways. I got bored sitting there listening to others. I usually do. Like poetry readings. Does anyone in the world not get bored at a poetry reading? Is it just me? Maybe the parents of the poet say they don’t (I would like to see them take a lie detector). I like reading poetry, I just can’t follow it live. One word or sentence missed and I’m ruined. The PhDers all speak fast. I can’t follow what they’re talking about and most of them are nervous which is a whole other distraction. I started thinking about an old poem that makes fun of music business people that expect to attend a concert without paying admission when it is a benefit. I wondered if I might start with that just make ’em laugh before next talking about a serious story, the one my PhD is about. One of those rare times you dream up something that might work and it did. The most interesting part happened after. Fact and fiction mixed. I added I am also expected to write a second piece of writing critiquing the first fiction. The second piece is supposed to focus on theoretical ideas underpinning the novel. They could tell I am not so excited about that but I have accepted my fate. This is how the system here in academia works. But a lot of them wanted me to become defiant. I didn’t expect that. They were disappointed that I wasn’t more on fire and saying fuck the man! It was funny because that is what the character in my story realizes. That is his epiphany from studying improvisation, getting worked up about trying to control an outcome has many unpleasant risks, some quite tragic. I wondered for a moment if I should point this out but instead thought it more useful to just enjoy the dynamics of fact and fiction that never could adequately be explained.