Electric Woman Teaches Girls STEM, Criticizes Social Media Feminists
16 Sept. 2018
Flor Serna, 25, is running late at work. She apologizes over the phone and asks if we can push the interview from 5 p.m. to 5:40. It’s 4:42. Outside her apartment, grey clouds blanket the Tuesday evening skyline and a soft rain drizzles on mid-city New Orleans. Nearby, a calico cat squeezes through a gap in her neighbor’s chain-link fence and disappears under the house to escape the weather. Across the street, three brown sparrows take turns bathing in a small pool of water that’s gathered on top of a dented black trash can lid. A pickup truck drives by and rattles over potholes—spooking the sparrows and sending them to the sheltering branches of a nearby crepe myrtle. At 5:25, Serna texts, “5:45!” followed by “I'm in my car, but traffic.”
At 5:51, Serna arrives in her blue Jeep Grand Cherokee. She gets out and immediately apologizes for changing the date and time of our interview so often. She unlocks her front door and we enter.
Inside her apartment, rows of potted cacti and succulents cramp her shallow window sills. Two large ferns hang from the exposed metal plumbing that runs across her kitchen ceiling, and three more ferns dangle from another overhead pipe in her front room. An acoustic guitar and an old, dusty keyboard sit upright against the wall. The two books on her coffee table are titled Financial Leadership and Bookkeeping Basics. She doesn’t own a TV, and there's no computer in sight. This is hardly the apartment one would expect to house the Founder and Executive Director of Electric Girls, a nonprofit organization that teaches young girls everything from computer animation to circuit building and robotics.
Born and raised in Albuquerque, NM, Serna interned at a recording studio while attending high school. Through that experience, her passions for audio engineering and music technology cemented and launched her toward her current career.
“I was in the middle of the college search process, and that internship confirmed my move to New Orleans to attend Loyola University where I received a scholarship and knew that they had a great recording studio and Music Industries program. After enrolling though, I really didn’t like the Music Industries program—it was much more focused on the music business side than I cared about—I wanted to spend all my time in the recording studio,” Serna says.
She leans back, pushing herself deeper into the couch cushions, and puts her feet on the coffee table. She’s taken her shoes off already, showcasing her black, teal, and white striped socks. She looks exhausted and speaks softly—with a voice that seems only a few decibels louder than the low hum of her air conditioner. In her hands, she fiddles with a nail clipper, opening and closing it, but doesn’t use it.
Dissatisfied with Loyola’s Music Industries program, Serna created a contract degree and majored in Music Technology with minors in Computer Science and Business. Since she was an honors student at Loyola, she was required to write a thesis.
“I decided to research a problem and a curiosity that was close to me: why there were no other women working in the recording studios I worked in and why there weren’t any more women in my Computer Science classes,” Serna says. “This research quickly grew into why women don’t pursue STEM fields at an academic or professional level. Then, the paper morphed into why girls in elementary school have already developed the idea that boys are more skilled than girls in STEM. I became interested in programs designed to combat this issue, and I didn’t see any programs specifically dealing with this problem in New Orleans. So, I asked Loyola if I could scrap the research paper and pilot these projects in New Orleans schools and collect data on their impact. I called it Electric Girls because I couldn’t think of a better name. And Loyola said yes, which I’m so grateful for.”
Since its inception in 2015, Electric Girls has become a registered 501(c)3 non-profit. It’s grown to provide 12 after-school programs, 3 Saturday programs, occasional pop-up/one-day workshops, annual summer camps, and in-school programs across Louisiana. Electric Girls teaches girls between the ages of 5-14 basic electronics, advanced electronics, robotics, HTML, game design, animation, circuit building, soldering, and woodworking.
“Electric Girls’ mission is to increase girls’ confidence and engagement in science, technology, engineering, and math,” Serna says. “The purpose is to increase their confidence and give them skills, have them recognize their own confidence, and then be engaged in those areas by using those skills.”
Having experienced first-hand how male-centric and male-dominated the STEM programs were at Loyola, Serna and her co-workers gear their programs specifically toward educating girls in an encouraging environment.
“We are extremely intentional about how we teach,” Serna says. “I’d say the biggest highlight is that we focus on having a growth mindset. Have you heard of that? The whole thing is like growth mindset vs. fixed mindset. Basically, a fixed mindset is a mindset that thinks ‘I am good at writing, I am good at art, and I am bad at math. It’s just not who I am, and I don’t identify with it.’ Whereas a growth mindset is like, ‘I’m not good at math but I’m getting better—or I recognize that I could get better at math.’ Basically, that you know that you could get better. We focus a lot on growth mindset because we don’t want to make girls feel like they have to become masters by the end of Electric Girls, but that you do get better. We have structures built into programs like end-of-day shout-outs, badge ceremonies, where girls get badges and get recognized for them, and Demo Day, where girls present what they’ve done, to act as formal recognition structures of their progress and other skills. So, that’s very specific to girls as they learn in this environment. And I’d say—even more obvious than teaching with a growth mindset—is having an all-girls environment. That’s the most foundational level—it’s that you don’t have intimidation when you have an all-girls environment.”
Serna’s cat, Muncher, enters the room and jumps on the couch.
“Boys don’t need that sort of encouragement that girls need, because they, at a very young age, don’t face the same stereotypes and biases that girls do,” Serna says. “Their logos aren’t pink. Their logos are grey. You know what else is grey? Steel, bars, and metal. Things that actual engineers use are not pink.”
According to a survey on Electric Girls’ website, “3/4 girls report liking science more, 9/10 girls feel confident enough to teach someone what they learned,” and “100% of girls feel better about their tech skills” after attending one of their programs. Sponsored by companies such as Shell and Capital One, Electric Girls demonstrates its merit through the positive responses of its participants.
Toward the end of the interview, however, the conversation takes an unexpected turn.
“Am I a feminist?” Serna says. “Maybe not. What am I? Female empowering? I believe that women as a whole face issues that men don’t in some ways, but I also believe in the power of the individual. And I hate, hate, hate, hate things that are like, ‘I’m doing this for women.’ Like no, you’re doing that for yourself. And that's fine, but you’re doing it for yourself. My old roommate had a cup she used to drink out of. It just said, ‘male tears.’ I hate that shit. I hate it. Everybody likes to talk about toxic masculinity. When did the word ‘toxic’ come into it? What about it is toxic? Masculinity is awesome. It’s badass. It is. Everybody knows that. They just like to act like it’s just terrible because, I don’t know, like it’s bad and they fell into it. It’s a bunch of bullshit in my opinion. Masculinity is not inherently toxic. You’re an idiot if you think that.”
She sits upright. Her voice has grown louder. The nail clipper in her hand clicks rapidly. Then, Serna ends by criticizing social media feminist activism.
“Social media feminism is gross because it’s just so blind—like not really thinking,” Serna says. “I don’t know. It’s just like, what’s the point of anything that you guys are saying, you know? I think that there’s just a fine line between being an effective advocate and taking the easy road and just bashing people on social media to feel better about yourself. Just do some freaking introspection, and don’t worry about other people. Seriously. Just figure out where you are in your life, and figure out where you are in relation to other people’s lives, and recognize whatever level of privilege you have, or don’t have, and design your life and actions accordingly in a way that you find appropriate.”
No Fear for the Future of Print Media: Shoptalk with UNO Press’s Editor-In-Chief
9 Dec. 2018
Abram Himelstein, 47, texts, “running a little late.” He asks if we can push the interview from 2 p.m. to 2:30. It’s 1:49. Grey clouds blanket the December skyline and a frigid wind slithers across the University of New Orleans, unusually quiet and vacant for a Thursday afternoon. It’s the week before finals. The Liberal Arts Building, an ominous three-story brick and semi-metal structure, sits adjacent to a large green space where a row of magnolia trees shiver—leaves shuddering and branches quavering—with each wintry gust. In the building’s open courtyard, I find an available table and sit. Along its woven metal top, rust sores breach through a layer of black paint, peeling up and chipping off in thin flakes.
A group of three students, unspeaking and with eyes on their phones, walks through the open floor-to-ceiling metal gate that dons a pigment somehow both pink and beige. In the courtyard, one student buys a soda from a nearby vending machine while the others wait. Then, without a word or a glance away from their phone screens, they leave together. A crow swoops down and meticulously picks at the remnants of a soggy Chick-fil-A waffle fry at the foot of a trash can. Behind a corner of the courtyard’s brown brick exterior, a stray black cat emerges and stares at me hesitantly, frozen in place, with one forepaw in the air. Eventually, it scuttles around a small hedge bush and squats—peeing on a bed of pine needles that’s gathered behind a wooden bench. When finished, the cat bolts and disappears behind a line of shrubs. At 2:21, Himelstein texts, “Closer to 240.” I gather my things and move inside to escape the stiff, biting wind.
Wedged between a men’s bathroom, a stairwell entrance, and a seminar classroom on the first floor, the frosted glass door of Room 135 features “UNO PRESS” above the university’s insignia. Below it, the lines “Study Abroad Programs in Writing & The Low Residency MFA in Creative Writing,” incised clearly on the glass, glimmer under fluorescent lights. Nearby, a young woman finishes reading something on her laptop before packing it in her bag and retreating up the stairwell. Himelstein enters the hallway and suggests we go into the seminar room. I follow.
Born and raised in Jackson, Mississippi, Himelstein attended the University of Texas where he received his undergraduate degree in Latin American Studies. After living in Mexico for a short time after college, Himelstein then travelled to New Orleans to attend UNO’s MFA program. While there, his journey to his current position as UNO Press’s editor-in-chief concretized.
“So, I self-published my first book when I was twenty-seven,” Himelstein says. “I was already in the MFA program, and I was shooting pool at Parkview, and the guy I was shooting pool with was a printer. I had been frustrated with my efforts to get my first book that I had written published [Tales of a Punk Rock Nothing], so we decided to self-publish on the Westbank in Gretna. So, I started as a self-publisher and then started being a publisher of other people’s work. Then, I co-founded the Neighborhood Story Project. Then, when the press seat was open for a while, I took over UNO Press. I was asked to be the editor-in-chief. I was already a professor here, and they knew I already knew how to publish from the Neighborhood Story Project.”
Founded before Hurricane Katrina fifteen years ago, the Neighborhood Story Project is a collaborative book-making project that seeks to publish works by New Orleanians about the city. Beyond the Neighborhood Story Project, Himelstein continues to work as a professor for the University of New Orleans. As the now five-year reigning editor-in-chief of UNO Press, Himelstein teaches a graduate-level publishing institute class, among others.
As far as the press’s operations, Himelstein’s responsibilities and involvement range from book to book.
“My duties are to think about what books belong at the press, and then to make those books as popular as possible,” Himelstein says. “That’s the nutshell. I more or less greenlight or stop books from arriving in our catalogue. There are a lot of books where I’m very involved, and I read them down to the granular level and make sentence-by-sentence changes. So, it runs the gamut. My involvement runs from the very, very small to the deeply involved.”
According to Himelstein, the press leans toward publishing works that spotlight and enhance the New Orleans community as well as the university’s esteem.
“I mean, I want [the press’s publications] to be stuff that benefits the greater New Orleans community and the University of New Orleans itself,” Himelstein says. “So, one of the things I take very seriously is that I’m a guardian of resources for the university. And so I want this to be something that helps move the University of New Orleans—work of which the University of New Orleans can be proud. So, I never lose sight of that idea.”
Himelstein slouches back into the cushions of the swivel chair. Though he speaks rapidly, he remains casual and relaxed. His phone buzzes and he apologizes. He tells me to continue with the interview while he quickly messages back his wife. According to Himelstein, the process of selecting and publishing a book at UNO Press requires simultaneous modes of action.
“What happens is a book arrives, or somebody comes to us with a book idea—sometimes the manuscript isn’t written—and we say one of three things: not interested, might be interested, or absolutely,” Himelstein explains. “And so, things we’re not interested in, generally, we look for those people other avenues into print. Things we might be interested in, then we continue a conversation with those people. And then manuscripts we’re interested in arrive, and we begin the work of trying to figure out what it needs for publication. For some of that, that means looking for problems in the manuscript. And so, first, you want to get the manuscript as best as it can be. And so you’re editing and copyediting and all those things, and at the same time, you’re looking for whatever graphic material needs to go with the book and maybe the rights to those. The images need to be clear, and so you’re doing all of that work and talking to people. You’re writing a contract with the author about how the revenues are going to be shared. So all of those things are happening at the same time, and we have a checklist that we go through. You go through this then this. You get an ISBN number. You get a cover image, or you get a series of cover possibilities ready. You have a committee of people, which usually includes the author, to help weigh in on that. You pick a cover, then you do the work of promoting it—though the work of promoting it is quite robust. So you try and tell every community that you think might be interested in this book about this book. So each book has a different—you want to talk to people directly in that community and what I like to think of as interest-adjacent, so people who might possibly have an interest in that book.”
Although Himelstein’s focus centers prominently on promoting and generating public interest around each publication, he remains starkly aware of the entire trajectory of the process.
“That’s what a lot of what publishing is, is like—understanding when you’re on one part of the rollercoaster, you’ve got to get ready for the next part of the rollercoaster,” Himelstein says. “So that’s a lot of it. You know, several months before the book is ready for the printer, we’re getting quotes from usually two or three different printers that we’ve liked working with. Then we say, ‘yes,’ we sign the dotted line, and then we ship those books—we send those books via an FTP site to their printer, and then they send us books, and then we pay them.”
Depending on the degree of work required to ready a manuscript for publication, the entire process takes the press anywhere between ten to twenty-two months per book. Generally, the press publishes about nine to twelve works annually, according to Himelstein.
Despite the modern day trend of media digitizations and the internet, Himelstein remains unconcerned about the future of the publishing industry.
“There’s a lot of great books being published,” Himelstein says. “I don’t think that goes away. There’s always going to be. The internet has wiped off a whole swath of publishing. I mean, it has changed. The internet is publishing, and so there’s a whole group of things that used to be printed that don’t—that no longer need to be printed. But there’s never going to be a time where books are obsolete. It’s a damn great technology. It’s a really efficient transfer of ideas, and it lives in a very three-dimensional way and space. So, I think people who used to have tremendous libraries have mostly curated them and made them smaller, but I think we’re a long way from the idea that they’re being naught. I think people find them talismanic.”
Himelstein adjusts himself in his seat, sits upright, and places his hands on the table in front of him. A janitor opens the door to the room and apologizes for disturbing us before ducking back out. As the conversation continues, Himelstein at once says, “I’m pro e-books,” though he later admits, “I personally prefer paper books.” As a writer and publisher, Himelstein stands in favor of electronic book formats.
“The margins are better for both the press and the writer—if people like e-books. And if they don’t, then, you know, that’s what paper’s for. And generally speaking, they cost about half as much. So, a fancy new e-book is ten bucks where a fancy new hardback is twenty-five.”
Despite the financial benefits of e-books, however, Himelstein suggests that these digitized formats depreciate the experience of reading—compared to that of physical paper books.
“There is something being lost,” Himelstein says. “I mean, I think that an e-book is a reduced version of reading, generally. I mean, like, it’s really nice to have my books next to my wife’s and I’s bed, and, you know, it’s nice to live amongst those. And things we read online aren’t represented there. So, if I really love something online, like it became a top-ten book of mine, then I’m definitely going to go and buy the physical copy of it.”
As someone who personally aspires to work in the publishing industry and hopes to start my own press someday, I ask Himelstein if he can offer any advice.
“The best thing is finding an awesome thing to publish,” Himelstein says. “So, if you want to be a publisher, find a great—not a mediocre work—but a great one to publish. If you find that, you’re halfway to the bank.”