First, Gardy suggests that there are two types of scientists in this world: those live, eat, and breathe their work and those who “make time for other activities, be they long walks on the beach, a good finger-painting session, or sculpting great scenes from the history of science in butter.” I would suggest that there are probably two types of historians who could be described in a similar manner: there are those who spend all day at the archives or at the computer and those who spend much of their time on creative projects, activism, teaching, or with their families. (Me, I fall squarely in the latter category: as soon as I meet my history-making goals for the day I move quickly onto cooking, gardening, creative writing, photography, or whatever my kids are up to.)

But Gardy’s aim isn’t simply to categorize scientists, she’s arguing that precisely because there are so many types of researchers, the need for collaboration is paramount in order to solve problems. She re-tells the fable of the blind men feeling the elephant and how they all needed to share their observations in order to understand the nature of the large animal that they were observing, underscoring the need for scientists (or let’s say, historians) to work together.

In closing she writes,

As the wise man in the tale explains, it is only when knowledge is shared that the complete picture emerges. This holds true for elephants, and it holds true for science. Our lab, for instance, studies a new class of therapeutics for the treatment of infectious diseases. There is simply no way we could test it on all of the major bugs in the world, and even if we could, would you really want to work in a lab that housed everything from Anthrax to Yellow Fever?* Instead, we focus on a couple of models that we’re experts at, and have our collaborators test the compounds in the other models that they specialize in. Everybody wins, especially those of us who get to visit our far-off collaborators every so often to compare notes in person.

Ask any respected researcher their secret, and I can guarantee that many – almost all, perhaps – will answer that it’s to surround themselves with good people, both in terms of who they bring into the lab, and who they choose to collaborate with. Those researchers who fail to foster at least a few collaborations are sentencing themselves to massive workloads, depriving themselves of important insights, and making it very difficult to get a complete picture of their subject. That, and they’re probably making a lot of elephants really mad. So unless you want a rampaging elephant trampling your lab members and stamping on your glassware, get out there and find a few willing folk to partner up with.

I’d like to do more collaborative work in history, but I struggle to know the best way to approach it (we historians tend to be wallflowers/loners), what tools to use for such work (blog, wiki, podcast, listserv?), and how to navigate the interpersonal issues related to collaborative efforts (me, I am always afraid that I come off as a bit too eager in such relationships).

But despite the possible pitfalls, I’m determined to forge onwards with my efforts. The podcasts will resume soon, the blog will have regular posts, and meanwhile I’m strengthening my ties to the various possibilities of Digital Humanities (even while I hone my skills at Second Life butter sculpting along the way).

On the console, paint is worn away and dirt permanently applied. Unexplained keystrokes are not unknown. Above the hard drive, the metal is warped away from the rubber lining, so that one more spill could spell calamity. Where the power cord connects, the metal is so misshapen that the charger must be threaded into place, as it fits only one way. Even then it glows an angry, unforgiving red-orange—it’s not described in any manual, but so far it has not meant a total cessation of function. And of course these problems aren’t covered by the warranty, which has expired now anyway.

But, then again, this computer is finished. Despite aged software and questionable printer drivers, despite an overloaded hard drive that no longer communicates directly with its backup, my computer has completed its mission. Purchased in May 2005, on the cusp of my dissertation research, it organized archival trips, stored thousands of digital photographs, held hundreds of document transcriptions, and facilitated dozens of drafts. Never lost, never stolen, never broke down, it has survived. The goal has been reached—the dissertation is completed, printed, filed—and so the computer is done. Its gleaming replacement, upon which the dissertation will become a book and the next projects will be born, sits quietly in the box, waiting.

Serious writing demands its own environment, its requirements exacting but replicable. For me, that means sunlight and a vista with distance, however drab; the promise of regular, extended periods of silence; the space to pace; a chair supportive enough but not too hard on the muscles; the screen raised to the proper height; easy access to books on the shelves and files in the cabinet; and a tap for water within reach—but not so close as to bring the clatter of the kitchen pipes. At the center sits the computer, the keyboard angled correctly, the mouse movements registering on the screen. To work best, it should all stay arranged, so that scant writing time can be devoted to writing, not setup or packing up, not searching for files or wondering when that banging will stop. For the system to work best, it should go unnoticed for days at a time. And so it did.

And so, after these three years, when the laptop has finished its tasks and stands ready for replacement, I do notice.

These are the last words to be typed before the awkward process of file transfer commences. Under the inglorious name “Things I Need,” the folder of older items will migrate into unfamiliar territory. And a new computer, with a new name, will start a new relationship with me and my academic work, with the case unscratched, the keys undirtied, and the quirks as yet undiscovered.

I have been grandiose in my name choices. There was Nehemiah, who kept the visions of the prophet Ezra recorded; then Blue, reflecting a mood and the color of the curving iMac plastic, but also the possibilities of a jazz sensibility; then Be My Yoko, a play on an early project name (“One Night Only,” or ONO, for short), and reflecting the wish of The Barenaked Ladies’s chorus: You can be my Yoko Ono / You can follow me wherever I go—an excellent goal for valuable possessions, and especially a work laptop.

The new computer has a university bar code and the standard-issue name “Macintosh HD.” Changing it will renew my compact with another machine. It will maintain order and process queries while I get back to the process of writing history without thought to such physical requirements.  For that, once again, I will be thankful.

Discussion Facilitator: Jana Remy, Graduate Student, Department of History

Yet I remain fascinated by her, diving deeper into her life each day, mapping the various places she traveled, making lists of her associates, creating a timeline of her life. A part of me feels as if I’m smitten with my subject–she is endlessly fascinating to me. A another part of me wonders if I’m simply indulging in some rather creepy voyeuristic tendencies. Certainly none of her papers were written with the audience of a 21st century historian in mind. And while I don’t feel that I am exploiting her memory or her experiences, I’m also a bit uncomfortable with how my own life is now revolving around hers. My past research projects never led me to dive so deeply into one person’s story before, and while this is a fascinating experience, it’s also starting to make me just a bit unsure of my relationship to my subject and her papers.

Do you have any experience in this vein to share? Have you ever found yourself a historical ‘voyeur’ in the life of your research subjects? And, perhaps most importantly, did you feel a discomfort with using their life stories to serve your own ends?

This provocative Q&A with Ulrich includes her thoughts about the renaissance of women’s history, touches on the tensions she experiences as both a feminist and a Mormon, and gives some details about her new research projects.

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Another application that I’m growing fond of is Hiveminder, a task management system I’m using to manage my research goals as well as personal stuff like grocery lists and errands. What I like best about Hiveminder is that it integrates with both my browser (so I can add items via my searchbar) and with googlecalendar–showing my daily ‘to do’ list on the top of each day’s schedule. Hiveminder allows for recurring tasks and “before-after” tasks (as in, before I finish my grant application I need to contact my advisor to write a recommendation letter and after I finish it I need to go to the post office–all added seamlessly from one entry).

Are you using Zotero, Hiveminder, or other similar programs? If so, how are they aiding your research and writing?

Here’s a brief youtube overview of Zotero:
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pq94aBrc0pY&rel=1]

And a look at Hiveminder:
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LXYvIefeoHE&rel=1]

Martha mentions some books that she recommends as inspiration for writing:

Erskine Clark, Dwelling Place
Clare Messud, The Emperor’s Children
Stephen Carter, New England White
Daniel Mendelsohn, The Lost: A Search for Six of Six Million

Some questions for discussion:

• Martha says that she finds much of her writing inspiration from fiction. Do you find inspiration from fiction? If so, what books would you recommend to other writers?

• When conducting your own research, do you find yourself looking for good stories to tell?

• She notes that in The Sea Captain’s Wife she leaves out the sentence that says “I argue that…” because she feels that the argument is evident from the historical narrative. Do you, in your own writing, find the need to explicitly spell out your argument for your readers or do you find that you can write in a manner that makes the argument obvious?

In this episode Martha discusses her undergraduate class in “Experimental History.” This previous post links to her Perspectives article on this topic and offers links to the books and articles that she uses in the classroom.