Reflections on my PhD, and A Defence of Arts and Humanities in Universities

*This is just a picture of my dog. He's not the author of this article. Or the PhD.

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It’s been a week since I passed my viva (subject to some minor amendments). Soon, I’ll be able to say I have a PhD in Creative Writing, something that hasn’t really sunk in yet. Sat here, still in a bit of a daze and meandered in the unfamiliar territory of looking for well-paid jobs or, hopefully, earning money from actual work as a writer, I feel the need to reflect on the last three years, to share my experiences, and, in the wake of disheartening cuts to Arts and Humanities departments in numerous universities, to defend Creative Writing degrees, and all of those who practice and teach in the field.

My PhD turned out to be not just about the project itself. It became a break from the past, and the first step in my journey to become, or reclaim, the person I want to be, and of attaining the kind of life I want to live. That included difficult confrontations with long-held self-doubts and insecurities, as well as overcoming a, still lingering, sense of imposter syndrome.

This break from the past fed into the project itself. In hindsight, this development feels organic. Consisting of short stories set in Manchester, concerned with 21st-century manifestations of alienation and a sense of place, my project always came with personal undertones. Initially, my idea was to have a collection that would span multiple decades, beginning in the late 1930s and early 1940s and the bombing of the city during the Second World War. My grandmother was born during this period too, who, around the time my PhD began, had recently been diagnosed with dementia. This diagnosis shaped my thinking and approach to my work. I remembered how, in recent years, she spoke of a great deal of change in her lifetime, and I was struck by the fact that her childhood and early adulthood had, in essence, taken place in a different world, a world that had long since disappeared. I was struck by the vastness and rapidity of 20th century change, and the inevitable disorientation of having lived through that period and into the new world of our time.

That original idea did not play out well, however. The reason was less to do with the concept itself, but more with a failure to meet the fundamental criteria of a PhD. I struggled to articulate, and demonstrate, my contribution to knowledge within the field. My first effort at speaking publicly about my project (a presentation at an online conference for post-graduate research students) was a disaster. Stuttering and stumbling, I spoke incoherently throughout my presentation, cringing at the perception of myself that was being exposed across God knows how many laptop screens. That conference set the tone for my first-year progression monitoring assessment too, one which I was fairly lucky to scrape through. In the following weeks, I entered a period of reflection, contemplating the feedback I had been given and the work that I had produced up until that moment.

Throughout my life, I have been plagued by self-doubts and a lack of self-confidence. Public speaking and assertiveness have always been difficult. My first year as a PhD student exposed this in a pretty painful way, but through those cringy, painful experiences came the breakthrough.

Reading and re-reading my feedback, I began to accept that my inability to fully articulate my work was not just determined by my lack of confidence, and I came to an acceptance that the work itself, or the case I was making for my work as being an original contribution to knowledge, was flawed. Essentially, there was too much of a fixation on past events and the politics of a particular period. My stories were ambling into the realms of cliché and stereotypes, inevitable considering how widely Manchester has been written about and represented in works of art. What was important, though, was the knowledge that flaws in my work were not fatal to the project as a whole. I remembered something that I had heard multiple times - that many PhD students have moments of crisis or deviations within their projects. It is rare, I’ve been told, for a PhD project to be consistent, for the initial project to have remained intact by the end of the degree.

In short, my project had deviated from its primary purpose, that of being a study and a case in point of alienation and sense of place within short fiction. By undergoing a necessary reset on my project, I realised that my work was, and always had, been focused on the Manchester of the present. By approaching this task through building up to the present, I was simply re-telling other people’s stories. My own stories were lost, or diminished, and, more importantly, I was creating minimal portrayals of modern Manchester, and of 21st century life in general. Consequently, the bulk of my collection was pure exposition.

So, what have I gained from my degree? Well, there is the obvious thing – the degree itself!

Throughout my project, I’ve been pretty blasé about having a PhD next to my name. I’m not really into titles or carrying with me a label. The aim has always been to produce a strong piece of literature, backed up by a component I believe to be deserving of more attention and understanding. Though of greater importance, perhaps, I saw a PhD as a route into academia. Teaching Creative Writing, sharing my knowledge on the subject, and working with other writers in creative environments is something I aspire to. Concerningly, the opportunity for such work has been drastically depleted due to cuts and ‘restructuring’ of universities. From what I am told, it is the Arts and Humanities that are being hit the hardest. This is, no doubt, concerning former Prime Minister Rishi Sunak’s ‘crack-down’ on ‘rip-off’ degrees, more commonly referred to as, ‘Mickey Mouse degrees’.

The logic behind this reasoning is a poor return on government investment i.e. not enough graduates from the Arts and Humanities leaving university for a job in these areas. Rather than focusing on why these deficiencies in jobs exist, the solution has been to virtually eradicate entire areas of the department altogether. This is not just an attack on the Arts and Humanities themselves but on people and culture as a whole. Specifically, it is young creatives and thinkers who are losing out here (I have another recent article that focuses on the current government plans around employment for young people if you are interested - https://craigsnelgrove.co.uk/good-idea-bad-intentions-labours-get-britain-working-scheme).

Ironically, the reasoning of job prospects and losses in tax revenue becomes even more absurd when you think of the mass-scale redundancies these government cutbacks have resulted in. Many people with a passion for their profession, and for Arts and Humanities in general, now find themselves looking for work and other forms of income. Why? Because of an ideological position laid out by politicians.

If we look at it from the perspective of someone like Rishi Sunak, one who doesn’t see Arts and Humanities as a productive area in terms of economic growth and job creation, we see there is a crucial element missing from that assessment, that of, in capitalist speak, ‘transferable skills’. Creative Writing graduates go into numerous areas, such as advertising and marketing, journalism, and various other sectors.

Another aspect to consider is the emergence of AI and the next stage of technological advancement. It is impossible to predict exactly the impact this will have on jobs, but some believe that the jobs available to humans are, potentially, about to shrink. For young people, in the future, then, language and creativity could become even more important.

Finally, we should consider something a student has that will be impossible if they are forced into employment – time. Undertaking any degree allows students time to dedicate themselves entirely to a particular subject. Without Creative Writing, and all the lecturers I have learned from, my writing would not have developed to the level it is now. Learning from someone like Michael Stewart, my PhD supervisor and a brilliant writer with an infectious passion for literature has been invaluable in the composition of my short story collection. Bear in mind, also, the exposure to other writers that would never have been discovered otherwise, as well as connections made with fellow peers and at university-sponsored literary events.

On a personal note, it is difficult to think about the direction my life would have taken if it wasn’t for Creative Writing. In my mid to late twenties, I was more or less down and out. I had no prospects, no ambition, and no money, and was completely at a loss of what to do with myself. Plucking up the courage to apply for a Creative Writing course is easily one of the best things I have ever done.

Any form of education is important, as is the ability, and the freedom, for a person to make their own choices, and to explore any areas of interest. The eradication of university subjects, and the rising costs of gaining a degree, is, in many ways, another restriction on individual autonomy. My PhD, and my academic journey as a whole, have given me a purpose no employer ever could. It has enabled me to grow as a person, and as a writer, and has given me the confidence and belief to travel down my own path through life. I’m glad I embarked on that journey.