Tag: Graduate Schools and Students

July 14, 2019July 14, 2019

Mother's Day #SampleSunday

Mother’s Day

With her round-the-clock morning sickness, along with “helpful” pregnancy advice coming in from every direction, Professor Molly can’t wait for the registration rush to be over so she can settle into teaching her classes.

That’s when Mahina State’s powerful fundraising office tasks her with a special assignment: to serve as the personal tutierge (that’s tutor-concierge) to Jeremy Brigham, whose mother happens to be fabulously wealthy and gravely ill.

But once inside the Brigham House, Molly realizes something is very wrong. And she has to decide whether to mind her own business and keep her job, or risk everything to prevent a murder.

Excerpt

I could never remember Victor Santiago’s actual job title. As far as I could tell, his duties involved cozying up to potential donors and scolding faculty members whose unruly behavior threatened to tarnish our Institutional Image.
“Professor Barda.” Victor half-rose as I entered his office and shook my hand, in precisely the way you’d greet someone you could barely stand. “Please. Have a seat.”
I sat down as directed and stared at the plaque on Victor’s desk, trying (once again) to memorize it:
Victor Santiago, (M.Ed., MBA) Vice-President for Student Outreach and Community Relations.
Alas, I’d forget it (again) as soon as I walked out the door.
“We’re rolling out an exciting new program,” Victor said, without any excitement whatsoever. Victor did not waste his charm on faculty members. “We call it the Young Leaders Program. It’s a targeted, high-touch, boutique program for our valued student stakeholders.”
“Sounds great.”
“We’re piloting the program this semester with a student named Jeremy Brigham. You’re familiar with the Brigham family, I assume.”
I shook my head.
“Jeremy’s late father was Alexander Brigham, a direct descendant of Hiram Brigham.”
“Hiram Brigham, of course.” I vaguely recalled something about a planter son of a missionary who had married a Hawaiian princess. The confluence of money, land holdings, and political connections had catapulted the Brigham family into Hawaii’s elite.
“Jeremy Brigham has had to withdraw from his classes due to illness.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.”
“Fortunately, under our new Young Leaders Program, Mr. Brigham will receive daily tutoring sessions to keep him on track for graduation.”
“That sounds like a great idea,” I said. “Very compassionate.”
What does all this have to do with me? I wondered. If Jeremy Brigham were a management major, I’d know his name by now.
“Is Jeremy Brigham a management major?” I asked.
“No. Psychology. But they can’t spare anyone, so we’re inviting you to serve as Mr. Brigham’s tutierge.”
“Me? Excuse me, his what?”
“Tutierge. Tutor-Concierge.”
“I see. Well, that’s immensely flattering. But I’m the chair of the management department. Why would you choose me for such an important job?”
I wondered how Victor would manage to answer this question without saying anything positive about me. He did not disappoint.
“Your elective didn’t fill. Your participation in our pilot of the Young Leaders Program gives you a way to discharge your teaching obligations. Without having to pay part of your salary back.”
“Pay my…what? I thought I just had to do more research or something if my class didn’t make. I have to pay my salary back if my class is canceled?”
“Your union agreed to the terms, Professor Barda. To those of us without tenure or summers off, it seems more than fair.”
I didn’t bother to reply that my summers were unpaid, which was very different from having summers off. Especially when I always got stuck doing work over the summer anyway. And tenure was great, but it didn’t mean I couldn’t get fired. It only meant the administration had to put in a little more paperwork to do it.
“No, that sounds great,” I said. “I’d be thrilled. What am I teaching him?”
“Statistics.”
“Stats? I’ve never even taken a stats class, let alone taught one.”
“It won’t be a problem for you. It’s the intro class. I’ll have my assistant send over your schedule and textbook. You and I will make the initial visit together. And remember, Professor Barda.”
Victor fixed me with his unsmiling gaze.
“Your students don’t care how much you know, until they know how much you care. We’ll start on Monday. Meet me here at my office at seven-thirty.”
“In the morning?”
“Yes. In the morning.”

Mother’s Day is available on these platforms

June 30, 2019July 1, 2019

The Invasive Species #SampleSunday

The Invasive Species

On the way to interviewing a local farmer, Professor Molly stumbles onto a dismembered body in a field of genetically modified papayas. Molly is sure the murder has nothing to do with her new research project…until a second gruesome death rocks Mahina’s tight farming community, and Molly’s administration drops her research like a hot potato. If Molly can’t root out the bad apples, not only will her tenure case go pear-shaped…she might end up pushing up daisies.

Excerpt

I drove the short distance back to my house and went inside. Branches protruded into the house through the window. The floor underneath was covered with water, leaves, and broken glass. I swept up as much of the mess as I could, then pulled some clean towels from the linen closet and wiped the floor until it was merely damp. That was as good as it would get. In Mahina’s humid climate, nothing ever gets completely dry.
I checked my computer for new email messages. The only one that required an immediate reply was from the Student Retention Office. Linda (they all seem to be named Linda) was asking me to make the required readings in my Intro course optional. I could just imagine how her bright idea would go over with those students who actually had bought the textbook and done the assigned work when class started two months earlier.
Linda had also attached a list of students who “needed” to be excused from the upcoming writing assignment. These exemptions, she explained, were based on results from the new Foundation-funded software connected to our Learning Management System and designed to track student progress in real time.
We hadn’t yet achieved the administrators’ dream of replacing the faculty with software, but we were getting closer.
I wrote back, politely telling Linda the suggested changes were not possible at this time, what with the semester already half over, and thanking her for keeping me “in the loop.” The university’s legal department (blessings upon every one of them) had ruled that because of academic freedom, the Student Retention Office couldn’t require us to dumb down our classes, although they were free to ask us to do so. This verdict had been greeted with wailing and gnashing of teeth on the part of the administration, and much rejoicing by the faculty.
I made sure my reply was sent, packed up my computer, and retrieved my overnight bag from the wrecked carport. I went to my bedroom and collected a week’s worth of outfits, a few items of jewelry, my makeup bag, my special comb for curly hair, and my Alice Mongoose sleep shirt. I took one last look around before I left, to make sure I wasn’t forgetting anything. It was both liberating and discouraging to realize how little I had worth stealing.

The Invasive Species is available on these platforms

June 23, 2019June 23, 2019

The Black Thumb #SampleSunday

The Black Thumb

When a violent death disrupts the monthly meeting of the Pua Kala Garden society, Professor Molly Barda has no intention of playing amateur detective. But Molly’s not just a witness–the victim is Molly’s house guest and grad-school frenemy. And Molly quickly finds to her dismay that her interest in the murder of the stylish and self-centered Melanie Polewski is more than just…academic.

Excerpt

At first, I had been glad to hear from Melanie Polewski. I hadn’t seen her since we had both graduated with our doctorates from one of the top ten literature and creative writing programs in the country. I don’t mean to brag. I’m putting it here as a warning to anyone thinking about getting a degree in literature and creative writing. My dissertation advisor had been devastated when I told him I had accepted a position in the Mahina State College of Commerce. I had pointed out the last full-time English department job I’d applied for had over a thousand applicants, and after a year of fruitless job-hunting, I needed to start earning a living wage. I was lucky to get this job, even if it was just “teaching a room full of slack-jawed baseball caps how to pad their resumes,” as my advisor put it.
Melanie had been less fortunate than I. She had floated around after graduation doing freelance editing and, rumor had it, working for one of those villainous websites with a name like wedoyourhomework-dot-com. Using me as a reference, Melanie had managed to land a one-year visiting professorship in the Mahina State English department, and was staying with me until she could find a place of her own.
“You were right,” she whispered. “This is a nice house. Hey, I could buy it, and rent it to you. And then I could stay over whenever.”
She nudged me as she stood up. “Maybe I could take care of Donnie when you’re too tired. Oh, come on, I’m just kidding. Now where did you say the bathroom was?”
I watched her stride back to the house on long, tanned legs, her tawny hair shimmering in the hot sun. This was going to be a long year, I thought.
I had little to contribute to the Garden Society’s discussion of rose-arranging, so I sat and listened, enjoying the lovely garden. We were invisible from the main road, tucked away amidst fragrant roses and well-tended palms and ground cover sprouting vivid green patches on the black lava rock.
There was no scream of anguish. The impact of soft flesh landing on the hard lava made no sound, at least nothing loud enough to be heard over the roar of the river below us. It took the assembled members of the Pua Kala Garden Society a few long seconds to register a young woman lying face-down on the lava in front of us. We sat frozen in place, staring at the earthly remains of Melanie Polewski.