8/14/2019 Monsters, Mentors and Muses in Academia

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By Catherine Bell

Monsters, Mentors and Muses in Academia

I had a professor in University that we liked to call “the

Vampire.” Not only did his dark, greasy hair and un-human like

breath contribute to the name but his ability to suck the life out

of a manuscript was legendary. Like the punctures on a throat

attributed to something more sinister, so were the red marks from

his pen on my writing.

“Call me Mike.” He had said on my first day in class. I should

have seen the fangs then when he went on to discourage us from ever

being writers, poets or journalists. It was his philosophy that we

were, more or less, fools: fools because of the very nature of our

optimism that one day we could become writers, poets or journalists.

Fools we may have been but in my experience it was the wide-

eyed innocence of my confidence that allowed me the courage to

attempt most anything and still does to this day. I have no plans to

succumb to the snivelling anxiety of the academic who is afraid to

perform out of fear of being foolish.

Snippets of hopefulness and shreds of enthusiasm filled the

young days of my academic career. Mentors and muses were real

possibilities. There was, of course, the odd disgruntled teacher

that filled her classroom with the stench of pessimism but most I

encountered at least tried to pull out some shred of potential from

their pupils. For me, it started with my third year primary teacher

encouraging me to leave out all the “then”s in my writing, which

turned out to be sound advice. Grammatical revelations that only

enhanced my ability to be understood by my reader filled my Middle

school days. But then Mrs. Good entered my life in High School and

she not only expertly guided my grammar but also praised my

description and attention to detail. It was the kind of approval

that allowed me to even dismiss the very low level of my popularity

among my peers. Who needed peer-approval when Mrs. Good thought your

writing “was full of potential”?

So, obviously, University challenged my quest for approval. It

only started with “the Vampire” as I encountered many more educators

who had drunk a bit too much from the goblet of bitter grapes and

even a few professors who couldn’t see past the sexual possibilities

of a foolish co-ed. But, despite these academic trials, I came out

of University better for it. I could now see even the most esteemed

writer for what they were – what we all are – ordinary human beings

in the company of monsters, mentors and muses.