Classically Inclined

April 19, 2017

A tiny victory: Mythical Reimaginings

Filed under: Research — lizgloyn @ 4:46 pm
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Those of you who follow me on Twitter will have noticed that over recent months there’s been a fair bit of content essentially saying *plotplotplot* and not much else. That’s because the project I’ve been working on has many moving parts (and keeps on developing more), is very complicated, and hasn’t had anything really concrete to share beyond ‘this is totally cool’. Until today, or, as I am thinking of it, phase one of taking over the world in a small scale sort of way.

One thing that’s been on my mind with writing the Monster Book has been impact. You might remember that I had some thoughts about what impact actually looks like as a result of the work I did on the AHRC-funding family archive project, and those have been bubbling around in my brain ever since. One of the things I did during my sabbatical this autumn was complete the free five week training course offered by Fast Track Impact in order to think through how I might build impact into the foundations of my research rather than having it something that was a bolt-on. (I thoroughly recommend the course, by the way, although it did take me more than five weeks to work through!)  As part of the reflection process, I started to realise that where I thought my research could make the most difference, outside academics who think about this sort of thing, was with creative types of people – people who create classical receptions, like video game designers and film makers and artists. I was particularly inspired by Stephen Hodkinson’s role as historical consultant in the production of the comic book series Three, which is something that seems really fruitful but I’m not aware of anyone else doing.

I thought about this. I talked about this, tentatively and nervously. And then Tony Keen said ‘have you met Howard Hardiman?’ Because Howard, as it turned out, had just had an exhibition at Brading Roman Villa on the Isle of Wight about reimagining classical myth, and wanted to carry on working in that direction. So we touched base and had a chat, and discovered that we actually come at some of the approaches to this in very similar ways, particularly some of the political possibilities.

There’s a lot of this that’s still in the works and that may either be revealed in due course or have a veil of modesty drawn over them when they fall over, of course – but today, I am delighted to be able to share we have got some funding from the Royal Holloway Research Strategy Fund to create two new video pieces of performance poetry in British Sign Language along with text based on the stories from classical myth. There are many, many reasons that this is fantastically exciting, the biggest for me being the opportunity to feed into the artistic creation process and try out helping to shape a very new sort of medium. But there’s also the joy of being able to fund artistic creativity ethically (as in, with actual money that represents the amount of work put in), and the possibilities that this piece creates for future work, and the fact this will support Deaf artists using their first language.

Basically, I’m very, very excited. And hopefully this is only phase one – although I’ve quite a lot of work to do before the next stages…

April 3, 2017

Experimenting with student-led seminars

Term’s been over for a week or so now, and I’m just about catching up with myself and all the things I’d meant to do over term but didn’t get around to. And by ‘catching up’, I mean ‘making a list rather than just remembering them and occasionally flailing’. There are a number of things I could write about, but let’s start with the pedagogy, which has been one reason this term has been so busy – I’ve been running two new courses, which has been a lot of fun but a lot of work as well. I’ve also been trying out something new, since pedagogy only works if you keep it fresh and keep tweaking it to make it better, and I wanted to give up an update on the experiment.

Full credit should go at this point to the marvellous Ellie Mackin, who planted the seed for this project in my head back in the autumn term. At the start of November, she vlogged about her use of the student-led seminar format as part of her teaching, and in chatting about it, I started to get the germ of an idea. I’d come across the student-led seminar when reading around pedagogy, but to be honest it had never appealed – it always got sold as something to make learning student-centered, and I firmly believe in subject-centered learning, plus I couldn’t see how it would operate beneficially with the kinds of subjects I generally teach. However, one of my courses this spring has been our Advanced Latin Author unit, which this academic year has focused on Latin Letters, and I realised that this might be my chance.

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February 24, 2017

Some thoughts on Judith Butler and kin

Filed under: Research — lizgloyn @ 7:46 pm
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I was in a packed house a few weeks ago to hear Judith Butler speak about kinship trouble in the Bacchae. I livetweeted it under the hashtag #housman and will pull have pulled together the tweets into a Storify, I suspect, but (as will probably come as little surprise) there was more about kinship as broadly defined than there was about the Bacchae – the play became the case study for, oooh, the last quarter or so of the paper, after the general ideas had been outlined and Butler had looked at some other Greek tragedies.

For those of you who haven’t come across Butler, she is a very influential thinker in the gender studies world and beyond – in particular, her Gender Trouble and Undoing Gender kind of rocked my world when I was a graduate student, not least through the notion of gender performativity (which in some ways I now take completely for granted). She has since published important things on war and grief and many other things which I haven’t read, but I do need to catch up, and indeed to return to the familiar scholarship for a refresher. It never hurts to have a reminder of the ideas you found so exciting.

I wanted to muse a little on the concept of kinship that Butler sketched, because to my surprise I found myself thinking about its applicability to the Roman world as well as the world of the Bacchae (and indeed Butler herself framed the project within the scope of a wider interest in kin in the modern world, not a purely ancient one). Starting from the anthropologists and good old Levi-Strauss, she noted that kinship is often seen and employed as a way to control and define relations, with an underlying assumption that kinship is a stable thing – you are my brother, she is my mother, he is my father, and that leads us into a series of laws and regulations that govern how we behave towards these kin, and that lay out the punishments if we disobey these laws (and thus, as usual, we come to the incest taboo, but never mind).

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January 16, 2017

The Trackers of Oxyrhynchus – Tony Harrison

Filed under: Out and about — lizgloyn @ 2:26 pm
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Last weekend I was very lucky to get to a very rare performance of Tony Harrison’s Trackers of Oxyrhynchus at the Finborough Theatre. I’d never heard of the Finborough before, and before I get any further in this post, the performance is running until the 28th and there are still tickets left at the time of writing.  If you can get there, do. The cast are superb.

Trackers has been performed precisely three times – once at Delphi in 1988, once at the National Theatre in 1990, and now at the Finborough. It is, as we are reminded, almost thirty years since it was last staged. You’d expect it to have aged. It hasn’t. Given the specificity of its targets, this is rather worrying.

Trackers begins with the dig of Grenfell and Hunt at Oxyrhynchus, the city of the sharp-nosed fish, from whose rubbish dumps we have recovered amazing amounts of papyri and otherwise unknown texts. Grenfell is nervous and unwell, searching desperately for fragments of a lost Sophocles play which he says the god Apollo is urging him to find. He retires to his tent, overwrought – only for Apollo to possess him, and for us to segue, unexpectedly, into a satyr play of our own, with satyrs led by Silenus tracking down the play , discovering the god’s lost cattle, the baby Hermes and the discovery of the lyre. Apollo is delighted at this find, and pays off the satyrs in gold while promising that they will never have access to the sort of high art that he can now create. Having come to the end of the satyr play structure, the shift into a fearful messenger speech from Silenus about the flaying of Marsyas for daring to approach ‘high art’ is, frankly, harrowing. So is the remainder of the play, as the satyrs wander, outcast, wondering what to do, how to live, how to survive, until they end up as the homeless on the South Bank. Silenus makes a final appeal to the audience, asking if there is anyone who can help interpret the scraps of papyrus… before finding a voice and standing up on the ‘tragic’ stage, where no satyr has stood before, to shout. And curtain.

Is there a doctor…some don from Queen’s
who can tell the rest of us what all this means?

As is probably clear, Trackers is about high art and low art, about who gets to make art and who has access to it. It is also about the British class system. Apollo speaks with obvious received pronunciation, the satyrs have broad Yorkshire accents and clogs. It is also about the politics of classics, although that strand is obviously woven into the concern with class – white scholars from Oxford have access to the papyri and say what it means, the Egyptian fellaheen are the ones who actually get their hands dirty; Apollo’s high tragedy gets preserved safely while the mass culture satyr play gets dispersed into scraps; the satyrs aren’t allowed to go ‘outside’ their genre, which gets pushed down, down, down, while high art not only gets pushed up, but also becomes sanitising.

Wherever the losers and the tortured scream
the lyres will be playing the Marsyas theme.
You’ll hear the lyres playing behind locked doors
where men flay their fellows for some abstract cause.

Who gets to do classics? Who gets access to culture? Who gets the privilege? The context that generated this play, the Britain of the late 1980s with the closure of the coal mines, the rise in unemployment, the rise of the City and the fall of the working class, seems to be one reason that this play first of all didn’t get performed more, and secondly why it didn’t get performed again. But watching it last week, it still felt frighteningly contemporary and relevant – not least because of the current battleground in classical studies over whether the subject is an enabler or a limiter in terms of race and class. We know we have problems with both these fields in terms of what academic professors look like; the wider implications of the abuse of the subject are more frightening. Questions about who gets to own classics and who gets to play the lyre are, it seems, still very much up for heated debate. As they should be, given that the stakes are as high as they are.

There is, of course, the slight disconnect at a play which was only ever performed at Delphi and the National (and now the Finborough) castigating people for limiting access to things. Harrison knows his Greek drama, which is why I have come away from the performance with a much richer sense of how an ancient chorus might have worked – this production features some inspired clog-dancing sequences in hobnailed boots on board during the satyr play section which are glorious to watch. Yet for this message, this message, to be stuck inside the pages of the scripts and not to be seen, even now, unless you are one of the lucky fifty who can get a Finborough ticket on a given night or even know the Finborough exists? It feels as if there is something vaguely fitting for Trackers to be experiencing a similar fate to the fragments of the Oxyrhynchus piles, although I hope that this revival leads to it being staged much more frequently than it has been. The language alone deserves that.

January 6, 2017

Looking back over 2016 and the sabbatical

Filed under: Research,Teaching — lizgloyn @ 1:34 pm
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I’ve decided that I’ve done all the admin that I want to do for today, so am going to spend the rest of my afternoon thinking about research. That means I want to review my sabbatical, and that in turns means having a look at the first part of 2016.

The spring and summer terms involved finishing off teaching Intermediate Latin and Roman Life Stories, and teaching our first year Roman literature survey again. I learned quite a lot in the process, especially about the Roman Life Stories course, which was new on the books and will need a bit of gentle modification before it gets its next run. I also proposed the two courses I will be picking up next term, and dealt with various MA and PhD supervision. I did a couple of school talks in Somerset over the Easter vacation and submitted an overdue book review. My biggest research achievement was sending the full manuscript of the Seneca book to the publishers just before Easter, marking a significant milestone in that particular intellectual journey. Oh, and of course we had the launch of the Women’s Classical Committee!

Then in the summer I got going with the Monsters project, starting with a conference paper in Warsaw in May on the Minotaur in British young adult fiction. I also gave a paper on monsters in modern classical epic films at the Celtic Classics Conference. I helped organise an event with the WCC UK on feminist pedagogy, which was very well received. I made a good start on turning the Minotaur paper into a chapter, and had a good go at planning how I was going to tackle writing the Monster book. I got started on the process of indexing the book manuscript with the invaluable assistance of one of our graduate students.

Then, during the sabbatical term, I managed the following:

  • An awful lot of core reading around monsters, monster theory and the like.
  • Two very rough chapter drafts of the Monster book and a third in progress.
  • A conference paper exploring some of the ideas for the fourth chapter.
  • Some very exciting ideas and actions about monstrous impact.
  • A very, very almost completed version of the Minotaur chapter.
  • All the paperwork, including copy-editing and proofs, around the Seneca book.
  • A full seminar paper on Seneca, fathers and rulers, which will be the basis of an article in due course.
  • A completed and submitted application for an outreach scheme.

When I finished the summer term, I had grand ideas about getting the whole book written before Christmas. This was, in retrospect, utterly implausible, but you have to start somewhere. At the beginning of September, I was aiming to get the first four chapters into draft. I’ve not managed that – but I have done some other things that weren’t in the original plan, and I’m well underway to getting more written.

In retrospect, the most valuable thing about the sabbatical term has been the time to set the stage – to spend a month reading what I picked out as ‘core reading’, get my head around the debates, articulate some of the issues I was running up against, blog and tweet about them, take my time to get organised. I now feel like I know what I want to be doing for finishing off the chapter I’m working on and starting the next ones – the project has become manageable, which it wasn’t at the start of the summer. There’s a lot still to do, of course, not least of all finding more lovely primary sources to talk about and analyse (which, to the untutored eye, may look like watching a lot of silly television). But I now feel like I’ve made a good start. Let’s hope it gives me good foundations for the work of 2017.

December 7, 2016

Between Scylla and Charybdis – the current outline

Filed under: Research — lizgloyn @ 10:23 pm
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After all my general potterings about the monster book, I thought you might be interested in hearing a bit more about what it’s going to look like when it’s finished – or, at any rate, what the plan looks like at the moment. I came up with this outline in the original pitching process, but over my research leave I’ve had the pleasant discovery that my vague ‘this’ll work’ idea actually hangs together methodologically much more sensibly than I originally thought it did – one of those pleasant research-in-action surprises you sometimes get as you work on a project. The most sensible way of doing this seemed to be sharing the chapter outlines, so a brief summary of what I hope each chunk will say and do when it’s finished.

The introduction will do the heavy lifting about what classical reception is, where this book fits into it, how I have chosen what I’m going to talk about and so on. It will also note where I’m setting the chronological and geographical limits to my subject, and the limitations that places on what I’m going to say. I’ll also explain that monsters, like everything else, don’t have a single static meaning. At any rate, this is the heavy reception theory bit.

Chapter one gets stuck into the various forms of monster theory available, and looks at how they might or might not help us work through understanding what’s going on with the classical monster in the modern world. At the moment, the reader travels through catalogues, cryptozoology, Cohen and Mittman’s monster theory, the historical trends in what a monster looks like, anthropology, psychoanalysis, Foucault, Haraway and Braidotti, coming out at the end with what I hope is a version of monsterage that makes sense for what I want to do.

Chapter two stays with the theory for a bit longer and thinks about place, space and genre. This chapter looks at the question of where monsters dwell, broadly defined, and how that’s an important difference for the classical monster – I think it’s one of the major differences in what’s going on, a factor that comes from the Greek and Roman sense of a very porous boundary between everyday and divine or otherworldly space. I’m also talking about the difference it makes about whether we meet a monster on the pages of a book or on a screen, drawing on more Benjamin and more Haraway about the effect of vision, along with the rise of CGI technology.

Chapter three follows through this idea that genre-place matters by looking at monsters in the movies, starting with films produced in the sixties, seventies and eighties, with a particular focus on the work of Ray Harryhausen, and then looking at what has come afterwards. I find myself focusing on two strands – what one might call the modern peplum movie (all the Hercules your heart could desire), and what I tentatively call ‘creative interpretations’, where the monsters are taken and reimagined in plots that aren’t necessarily concerned with providing full filmic immersion into the classical world.

Chapter four sticks with the screen, but moves to the small scale to think about television. The conference paper I’m giving next week is the start of this chapter, thinking about the way monsters are used in Hercules: The Legendary Journeys; I’m planning to bring in in Xena: Warrior Princess, the appropriate bits of Doctor Who, and quite possibly Ulysses 31 at the very least. My ideas about what’s going on here are still unformed, but I think something about the television series format allows for a different kind of engagement with monsters, both because of the extended time and lower budgets involved.

That’s the first half of the book – the second half will consist of four case study chapters, each focusing on the presentation of a particular monster in popular culture. The monsters I’ve picked are Medusa, the Minotaur, sirens and centaurs, each having their own interesting features and a range of representations in media. I want to give a brief overview of the ancient myth to start each chapter, just to highlight some of the key aspects of each monster, but the main meat is going to be looking at particular instances of reception and seeing where things work and where they don’t. I’m anticipating that these chapters will mainly look at books and comics, with a few other odds and ends thrown in, as most of the film and television stuff should be in earlier chapters in its own right. I’m looking forward to talking about using the sirens to give an anti-porn message in more detail, and I’m sure I’ll find some other fun things to talk about.

So, that’s the plan. I’m hoping to have the first half in very rough draft by the start of term, and then to get on with researching and writing the case study material in the new year. We’ll see how it all goes. In the meantime, if you have any thoughts about examples of classical monsters in popular culture that I simply can’t miss, please do leave a comment and I’ll do my best to chase them up!

December 1, 2016

On sabbatical goals and #acwrimo

Filed under: Research — lizgloyn @ 11:56 am
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I decided this year that I was going to have a go at Academic Writing Month, better known as #acwrimo over on Twitter. Taking its inspiration from National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo, it’s basically a way to get an academic writing practice established – whether that’s daily writing, having a project finished by the end of the month, you name it, you can have a go at it. I had a go at this back in 2012, with mixed results – I found it a good way to push myself forward on revisions for the Seneca book, although I didn’t get as much done I as I wanted (plus ça change). AcWriMo isn’t good for everything – its emphasis on counting words, for instance, isn’t always the most helpful thing to do to help move your academic work along. But right now, given the fact I’m trying to get as much of the monster book drafted as possible, I thought that going the AcWriMo route would be sensible to move the sheer generative phase forward.

And so I set myself a very simple goal – to write at least 500 words a day, with Sundays off. And it worked really quite well… until the 22nd of November, when I completely fell off the bandwagon through a combination of full family sickness, travelling to a research seminar and giving a paper, and needing to finish the work of rigorously checking the proofs of the Seneca book by the deadline. So there’s been quite a lot of academic work in the last week or so of AcWriMo, but it’s not really been translating into words. Which is fine, not least because the proofs have been returned, the seminar was successfully given, and generally all the other bits and pieces I needed to do are more or less done – thus again reinforcing the point that word count isn’t always the most important thing.

But on the issue of word count, I don’t think I did too badly – overall, I managed a bit over 14,000 words in those three weeks. This was made quite a bit easier by the fact I’m counting my seminar script and handout translations in those words, and the former certainly pre-existed and just needed to be shaped into a script form. But the other words mean I’ve now got all of chapter two for the monsters book in first draft, and chapter three is under way.

When I applied for this sabbatical, I said that my goals for the term were to complete the majority of the Monster book manuscript, and to complete an article based on the research seminar. A short, sharp encounter with reality meant that I soon revised the first goal to having the first half of the Monster book in first draft, which feels like it should still be doable – not least as I’m due to give a paper at an AHRC conference in a few weeks based on chapter four, which should get that started. I’m not sure about whether the article manuscript will get much further, but at least I know what I want to say and that there is a kernel of an idea there. So it’s all progress – and sometimes, putting the words down onto the paper is what you need to do.

November 16, 2016

Coming soon to a bookshelf near you… The Ethics of the Family in Seneca

Filed under: Research — lizgloyn @ 4:59 pm
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seneca-book-page-proofThere are quite a lot of things contributing to a sense of unreality around here at the moment. One of the more pleasant of these is that I am currently working through reviewing the proofs for my soon-to-be-published book, The Ethics of the Family in Seneca (available for pre-order now!). There’s something very surreal about seeing the words that I’ve agonised over for almost ten years in the font of Cambridge University Press, suddenly getting a whole new dose of authority in the process – are these really my words? In a way, the other surreal thing is that they aren’t my words any more. My job in checking the proofs isn’t to change anything, but to look for problems of presentation, spelling, referencing and so on. To use a natural metaphor, these are words in their chrysalis, waiting to become fully published words and spread their wings, not words that I’m nourishing on some kind of intellectual cabbage. (Alright, it’s an odd metaphor. I’m sticking with it.)

Starting to look at the proofs and working out a strategy for approaching everything that needs to be checked has reminded me that I’ve never really written about the book here. I started blogging just after defending my PhD thesis, so while I’ve grumbled a bit about the whole revising the thesis into a book thing and have talked about some of the spin-off work that’s come out of it in more detail (like the ad Polybium article), I’ve never done more about the thesis/book’s content than a plain English summary of the thesis early on. I guess this is one of the perils of living with a project for so long: it becomes utterly normal to you. I certainly know I’ve had days of wondering why I’m putting in all the effort, before reminding myself that the ideas that have become so familiar to me will be completely new to other people – which is why I’ve followed the long road that’s got me to these proofs and will, eventually, produce a real live book.

9781107145474So I thought I’d take a moment to talk about the book and what you can look forward to when it comes off the presses and into your eagerly awaiting hands. My modest goal is to revolutionise how people think about ancient philosophy and the family. There’s a tendency for the family just to be ignored – to be treated as if it’s something that only those social historian types need to worry about, while we can read ancient philosophers as if they knew their Kant. This is a problem, particularly with Stoicism – Roman philosophy is about constructing a system of belief in which everything has a place and everything intersects. That is, if we can spend so much time talking about how various ancient philosophies think about friendship, we can surely give some attention to what they have to say about how we should relate to our family.

This may sound like common sense, but there’s very little out there that thinks about how familial ethics operates in the ancient world, or even if it’s a thing. I argue that it is – that Stoicism offers a framework through which to understand all parts of the world, and that through reading Seneca we see how Stoic concepts shape our relationship with family members. There are chapters on mothers, fathers, brothers and marriage; I have a look at how Seneca handles the imperial family, and close by running through Seneca’s Epistulae Morales or Moral Letters, which are written to someone with a serious commitment to becoming a better Stoic rather than the general audience Seneca is trying to attract to Stoicism in most of his other writing. All of them suggest that the family is a significant place for moral formation and education, and that when the family gets it wrong, bad things happen. Bad things like Caligula.

Why does this matter? Because looking at ancient philosophy as if it were something that doesn’t match up to the other bits of ancient society doesn’t make any sense. Because treating the family as if it doesn’t connect to the intellectual sphere doesn’t make any sense. Because seeing how these various layers of understanding the world interlock and inform each other matters if we are going to understand what Seneca thinks he’s saying, and what we might make of what he’s saying. Because, oddly enough, women and children feature in the lives of philosophers. The Romans didn’t see any distinction between their philosophical activity and the rest of their lives – neither should we.

November 3, 2016

New publication: This Is Not A Chapter About Jane Harrison

Filed under: Research — lizgloyn @ 5:42 pm
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Just a brief note to share the exciting news that my chapter “This Is Not A Chapter About Jane Harrison: Classicists at Newnham College, 1882-1922” has now been published! It appears in Women Classical Scholars. Unsealing the Fountain from the Renaissance to Jacqueline de Romilly, edited by Rosie Wyles and Edith Hall, and I’m really delighted to have contributed to this fantastic volume. It’s bringing together whole swathes of previously forgotten women scholars and shows the kinds of contributions have made to classics as a discipline over the centuries – often despite the expectations or censure of men.

My particular chapter charts out how we go from a situation where women aren’t accepted to study at Cambridge in any capacity to the situation, after the first World War, when women are established in the teaching faculty of the university, women students are an accepted presence at university lectures (despite the continued objection of some individual lecturers), and female academics are developing their own chains of inheritance rather than relying on men.

A lot of this work drew heavily on material from the Newnham College archives, to whom I owe a great debt of thanks; I wrote about some of the hidden gems I found in this post about what the departmental photocopier looks like in 1903.

For me, this chapter is a marker set down for future work – but for now, the monsters call again.

October 31, 2016

Livetweeting conferences – a protocol

Filed under: Meta — lizgloyn @ 1:56 pm
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This set of guidelines was originally compiled by the team of Tweeters who were planning to attend the Classical Association conference in 2014, with me basically kitten herding. The intention was to offer guidance to those new to Twitter and livetweeting, and to help them and more experienced Tweeters create a comprehensive and useful livefeed for those not attending the conference.

These guidelines originally appeared on the Classical Association blog, but because of issues with the CA’s website they are not currently available. I am taking the opportunity to repost them, and to make a few small edits to make them applicable for conferences in general. I’d like to take this opportunity to thank the original #CA14 crew for their help and assistance.

The Basics

  • Always tweet using the conference hashtag. Include this in all tweets you want included in the conference feed; anyone following the hashtag will see it, and it will be used to compile an archive of the conference tweets later.
  • If you don’t know the conference hashtag, ask the organisers for one, or come up with your own – before committing to it, do check that it’s not being shared by another event.
  • Be aware that livetweeting can change the atmosphere in a room, particularly if you are attending a single track conference; it may be appropriate to tweet less and be more directly involved in conversation at smaller events.
  • If you are asked to stop livetweeting by a panel chair, a speaker or a conference attendee, please stop. Many are not comfortable with Twitter as a medium; its presence should not negatively impact the conference experience for other attendees, however positive we may feel about social media.
  • You can livetweet whatever you like about the conference – the papers, the plenaries, the social side…
  • You can tweet as little or as much as you like. A livetweeter who tweets half a dozen times over the whole conference is as important as one who tweets half a dozen times to thoroughly summarise a single paper.
  • You may find this article on livetweeting conferences in general helpful: http://www.theguardian.com/higher-education-network/blog/2012/oct/03/ethics-live-tweeting-academic-conferences

In Panels and Plenaries

  • Always begin your tweets of a paper with the speaker’s initials, to make it clear that you are reporting their argument. If a tweet gets widely retweeted, this makes sure the right person gets intellectual credit for the idea.
  • If the speaker is on Twitter, please use their Twitter handle when livetweeting – that will let people following on Twitter connect with them if they so wish.
  • If you are giving a paper, mention your Twitter handle as you begin, or include it on your handout.
  • Remember that the goal of livetweeting a paper is for somebody who isn’t in the room to be able to follow along with the speaker’s argument.
  • You may find that sitting at the back of a room makes you feel less self-conscious about tweeting; it may also make the process less obtrusive for other attendees.
  • Please make sure that your device is on ‘silent’.
  • Please demonstrate the usual high standards of professionalism, collegiality and courtesy that are the hallmarks of classicists as a discipline – that is, if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.
  • It is fine to have multiple people livetweeting the same session.
  • Don’t try to livetweet your own paper. Trust us on this.
  • If anyone following along on Twitter asks a question, please feel free to ask that question of the speaker and report the answer back. However, be aware that questions from people in the room take precedence.

Outside Panels

  • Again, please demonstrate professionalism, collegiality and courtesy in everything you say.
  • Remember to ask permission before posting photographs.
  • Be mindful that people following the hashtag are interested in the academic aspects of the conference rather than what dinner looks like. Unless someone has made a scale replica of Troy in mashed potato.
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