Seeing as it’s my birthday, I thought I’d do a blog post with the theme of only children’s birthday parties. What I’m hoping to show is that only children did have friends, and that there was a big variation in how they celebrated their birthdays, and the reasons for this variation were not that they were only children.
I took a week off from blogging (and pretty much everything else) last week because my partner and I took a holiday in York. I definitely needed some work-free time between the busy-ness of the conference and the onslaught of a new term (not that I’m complaining about the latter, mind…). We did all the tourist-y things, including visiting a few museums - well, you can’t _not _visit museums on a visit to York! As ever, it was the human stories that interested me most in the museums.
So, we survived the conference. Apparently we made it look quite easy, but inside we were like STRESS STRESS STRESS STRESS STRESS. Anyway, now it’s blog day again, and it’s time for me to write my report. I’ve decided that rather than adopt a panel-by-panel approach, I’m going to draw out the key themes that really grabbed me during the conference.
Today and tomorrow mark the culmination of nine months of hard work by me and my PhD buddy Nicolle. No,we’re not having a baby - we’re having a conference, which I’m pretty sure is just as joyful and stressful. It’s called ‘Myth and Popular Memory’ (#mythpop if you’re on Twitter), and hopefully it will be wonderful (if I post about some other subject next week, you’ll know I’m too traumatised to talk about it). There have been some things I’ve liked about organising a conference, and some things I’ve not enjoyed so much.
I wrote a guest post for Historical Perspectives. Enjoy!
Yesterday I went to the abovementioned workshop, held by History and Policy and the Agents of Future Promise research group, whom I’ve referred to in a previous post. It was a very interesting and enjoyable day that generated a lot of discussion and things to think about.
I took this week out of my studies in order to learn about Big Data at my university’s summer school on the subject. As I enjoy research and am interested by different types of information, and am also trying to expand my skills and get employers to hire me after my PhD, I thought it would be worth going to, and I did indeed learn some new things.
Inspired by Helen Rogers’ great recent post for The Voice of the People online symposium, this week I’m going to write about one of my most complex only children: poet and novelist Cecil Day Lewis (1904-1972). As Helen points out, while Big Data certainly has its place in historical study (and it’s something I’m currently learning a lot about in order to widen my employability horizons), there’s also a very important place for intimate, deep reading of texts. In fact, my thesis is basically a bunch of in-depth case studies formed into a vague order, with commentary, and Big Data appeals to me as a way of starting off with a large dataset, but then focussing in on interesting individual details. Day Lewis’ case shows how what might be deemed typical ‘only-child’ behaviour is a lot more complex than it would seem on the surface, and possibly not even the result of being an only child at all.
By following a few PhD accounts on Twitter, you can’t help but see some excessive-seeming advice, endless lists of writing and productivity tips (some of which appear to have been cooked up by the same people who write bizarre sex tips for women’s magazines), and snark from sensible people like myself who don’t feel the need to work on our PhDs all the time. I’ve had a ridiculously productive week this week. I think that trip to Oxford really fired me up for getting an unprecedented amount of writing done. However, some of my working practices would fill some people who make a living from giving PhD advice with horror. I think the message here is: do whatever the hell works for you.