Both articles highlight a lack of critical perspective in TC pedagogy as a major source of concern. Sullivan (1990) focuses on how the TC classroom may indoctrinate students into a culture that unquestioningly accepts technology and technological progress as a good. For him, the very genres we teach limit the ability to critique technology: “Ultimately, genres in technical discourse seem to preclude the opportunity for citizens to speak simply as citizens on the issues of technology in any meaningful way” (p. 213).  His solution is twofold: emphasize rhetoric as a social act or practice (rather than as an art or set of skills) (p. 214), and include political discourse in the TC classroom (p. 216).

I understand Sullivan’s concern about reducing rhetoric, and by extension the TC course, to a set of skills.  However, I see rhetoric as both technique and practice; there are certainly rhetorical skills to be taught, but that does not mean that rhetoric is only a set of skills. Teaching students the value of audience awareness, purpose, context, etc. is a good thing. Later in the article, Sullivan notes that he teaches students about stasis, kairos, and invention (p. 218). These concepts cannot be reduced to skills, but it would be difficult to deny that there is no technique involved.

Sullivan asks us to include “public discourse about technology” (p. 217) into the curriculum. Herndl (1993), informed by radical pedagogy, asks us to teach students how to resist dominant ideologies (p. 223). He suggests that we begin with the familiar: “. . . students can achieve a level of resistance and discursive self-awareness by articulating their practical knowledge of academic discourse” (p. 229).

Again, I am sympathetic to Herndl’s arguments. I do think it is important for students to learn how to critique, if not underlying ideologies, at least some of the obvious cultural constructs that impact their lives as students, writers, and human beings. The TC classroom (or any writing classroom, I believe) seems to be an ideal place to foster criticism and resistance.

However, Herndl also outlines one of the dangers of radical pedagogy: it may set up a confrontation between teacher and students because it can be perceived as threatening to students’ values. He goes on to suggest that “since critique generally subverts the dominant ideology and this is the position typically occupied by students in professional writing courses, a confrontational pedagogy is more likely to produce opposition among the students than to encourage cultural resistance” (p. 228). In other words, radical pedagogy is difficult. In my experience as a novice TC/FYC instructor, radical pedagogy is extremely difficult.

It is telling that both Sullivan and Herndl’s article quote Bizzell: “Our dilemma is that we want to empower students in the dominant culture so that they can transform it from within; but we fear that if they do succeed, their thinking will be changed in such a way that they will no longer want to transform it.” In other words, if we teach students how to write well in the workplace, they may no longer have the motivation to question and change workplace practices.

I am still working to “empower students in the dominant culture;” that is, my primary concern is teaching them how to become successful writers in the workplace. That does not mean that I do not ask students to question the status quo (broadly speaking, why writers do what they do and why genres are they way they are); still, I would not consider myself a radical teacher. And I’m OK with that.

Herndl, C.G. (1993). “Teaching discourse and reproducing culture: A critique of research and pedagogy in professional and non-academic writing.” In J. Johnson-Eilola & S.A. Selber (Eds.), Central works in technical communication (pp. 220-231). New York, NY: Oxford University Press, 2004.

Sullivan, D. L. (1990). “Political-ethical implications of defining technical communication as a practice.” In J. Johnson-Eilola & S.A. Selber (Eds.), Central works in technical communication (pp. 211-219). New York, NY: Oxford University Press, 2004.

Allen et. al’s “What Experienced Collaborators Say about Collaborative Writing” provides a framework for addressing some of these students concerns. Specifically, their emphasis on knowledge a social construction, their focus on the positive aspects of conflict within groups, and their description of how groups can divide up tasks are ways of helping students understand the value of collaboration.

To begin, it is important to distinguish between group work and collaboration. Allen et. al draw upon Wiener to maintain a difference between working in groups and true collaboration in which “. . . individuals must share power in making decisions that can be accepted by the group as a whole” (p. 353). Peer review, using this definition, is not collaboration. However, the project the students in my 305 section are currently working on – a feasibility report – is a truly collaborative document, as students must work together to write one report.

Articulating knowledge as social construction can help students understand how scholars in their discipline have come to an understanding of what is true. Winsor, in “Engineering Writing/Writing Engineering,” provides a useful definition of knowledge: “that which most people in a discourse community are convinced of” (p. 343). Winsor argues that this knowledge is mediated by texts – that is, writing helps construct knowledge in engineering, for example.

Knowledge comes about through a process of consensus, and consensus, according to Allen et. al, is at the heart of collaborative writing. Students who are aware of knowledge as social construction are in a better position to see the value of the collaborative work they do; like scholars in their fields, they become knowledge-makers, and not just passive recipients of what is considered “true” or “correct.”

Before consensus comes conflict (and, of course, conflict continues even after consensus is reached – otherwise, there’d be nothing to argue about, and we’d all be out of jobs). Recently, a student came up to me after class and expressed concern about the “fighting” taking place in her group. She said that it didn’t seem to be affecting their ability to get the job done, but she also felt uncomfortable.

As Allen et. al note, conflict can be a source of creativity. In addition, it helps avoid “group think.” Ultimately, they argue, “when the group can tolerate some disharmony and work through divergent opinion to reach a consensus, their work is enhanced” (p. 360). Conflict, then, becomes positive – even necessary.

One source of conflict how to divide up tasks among group members. While our textbook discusses various methods for fairly distributing work, and we also discussed these methods in class, I have also overheard students complaining about how much work they’re doing relative to other group members. Allen et. al describe several ways of dividing up drafting: each member drafting separate sections, one member producing a draft which others comment on, each member drafting the entire document and later agreeing upon one final version, and finally, drafting the entire document together (p. 357).

Most groups in my class chose to divide up drafting by sections. Because of the length of the document, this method makes more sense. In future collaborative assignments, I will ask each group to write about their method for distributing work and why they chose that method. In other words, I will ask them to talk about how they came to a consensus about doing the work before they actually begin working on the document itself.

Overall, focusing on these three aspects of collaboration – knowledge as social construction, conflict, and work distribution – should help students understand the value of the collaborative work they do.

Allen, N., Atkinson, D., Morgan, M., Moore, T., & Snow, C. (1987). “What experienced collaborators say about collaborative writing.” In J. Johnson-Eilola & S. A. Selber (Eds.), Central works in technical communication (pp. 351–364). New York, NY: Oxford University Press, 2004.

Winsor, D. A. (1990). “Engineering writing/writing engineering.” In J. Johnson-Eilola & S. A. Selber (Eds.), Central works in technical communication (pp. 341–350). New York, NY: Oxford University Press, 2004.

Both articles seek to articulate the underlying ideologies in everyday genres and in the process demonstrate how design influences our understanding of content. Barton and Barton’s discussion of the London Underground, in particular, called my attention to the rhetorical power of design. The iconic Underground logo, as well as the overall design of the tube map (one which strikes me as “clean” and aesthetically pleasing – much like the design of, say, Apple products) works to promote bourgeois values. Citing Barthes, the authors demonstrate how the London Underground Diagram’s clean design, which does not reflect the “messiness of the actual city,” is “ . . . a dissimulative attempt to engender chauvinism in the viewer” (242). Furthermore, the diagram’s design encourages a kind of capitalist consumption of the city (243). Design is not innocent.

Tufte’s article also focuses on deconstructing a common tool – one that is much more familiar to me as a student and teacher. I am not often tasked with designing maps (or at least not ones that will be seen by anyone but myself), but I have made my fair share of PowerPoint presentations. In a scathing critique, Tufte points to the inadequacies of PowerPoint intrinsic in the software itself. For example, PowerPoint templates allow users to easily create lists and bulleted points. As Tufte notes, “too often the speaker is making power points with hierarchical bullets to passive followers.” He goes on to link this structure to hegemonic systems (7).

As I read through Tufte’s article, I couldn’t help but notice how much of what Tufte critiques is similar to the practices outlined in the textbook I use in ENGL 305. Over and over again, the textbook stresses creating hierarchical lists and bulleted points (as long as they fit into generic conventions). Creating lists is described as a way to make the text more user-friendly.

In the case of power points, Tufte argues that lists do not allow for the deep contemplation of information necessary for serious reports. In his review of NASA slides, he asks, “How it is that each elaborate architecture of thought always fits exactly on one slide?” (12). In reality, it doesn’t, but PowerPoint dictates that we present information that way.

In other genres, of course, hierarchical lists and bulleted points are effective ways to present information. However, I wonder how much the cognitive style of PowerPoint has infected my students’ and, I worry, my own writing. Although the textbook stresses that content comes first, just like in a power point, however, it is easy for us to create visually pleasing documents in Microsoft Word, for example, that lack actual content. The received wisdom in the technical writing textbook I employ seems far too close to the practices that lead to the kind of sloppy thinking PowerPoint promotes.

The solution? Both Barton and Barton and Tufte argue for more content – again, we see that “less is a bore.” In many ways, Tufte’s article can be read as an ethics of PowerPoint. The underlying ideology in the software itself, which he characterizes as “a smirky commercialism that turns information into a sales pitch and presenters into marketeers” (4), promotes sloppy thinking. Like Barton and Barton, Tufte promotes an alternative – in this case, Microsoft Word or other word processing software to create print documents. However, PowerPoint is relatively easy to use and ubiquitous. It is the primary software for creating slide presentations, whether the content is “serious” or not (although I’m no longer convinced it should be used if the content is less serious, either). Because PowerPoint is so firmly entrenched in academic and business culture, we should focus our efforts on creating better presentations. Christina’s post is a great resource.

Works Cited

Barton, B. F., & Barton, M. S. (2004). Ideology and the map: Toward a postmodern visual design practice. In J. Johnson-Eilola & S. A. Selber (Eds.), Central Works in Technical Communication, (pp. 232–252). New York, NY: Oxford University Press.

Tufte, E.R. (2006). The cognitive style of PowerPoint: Pitching out corrupts within (2nd ed.). Cheshire, CT: Graphics Press.

Writing process

In chapter 1 of Technical Communication, Anderson introduces students to his approach to the writing process, which consists of “five major activities”:

• Defining your communication’s objectives
• Conducting research
• Planning your communication
• Drafting its text and visual elements
• Revising your draft (p. 22)

The book is divided into sections based on the five-step writing process. For example, Part III, “Planning,” corresponds with the “planning your communication” step in the writing process. With the exception of the first two chapters, which serve as an introduction to the textbook, and chapters 23-29, which focus on specific genres, each chapter in Technical Communication offers six to eleven guidelines based on the writing process outlined above. In addition, many chapters feature global guidelines, which focus on cross-cultural communications. Finally, many chapters feature a guideline devoted to ethics as well.

Rhetoric and persuasion

Although the word rhetoric is not mentioned, persuasion is a central concept in the text. Anderson defines a document’s persuasiveness as “its ability to influence its readers’ attitudes and actions” (p. 12). He goes on to say that all workplace documents are inherently persuasive; even those genres usually seen as informational, such as instructions, contain persuasive elements.

The fifth chapter of the textbook is focused entirely on persuasion. After presenting research about how persuasion is based on shaping audience attitudes, Anderson draws upon the rhetorical tradition. He mentions Aristotle and the rhetorical appeals (logos, ethos, and pathos) several times throughout the chapter, noting that pathos is used least in workplace settings. In addition, Anderson cites Toulmin in the fourth guideline, which deals with sound reasoning.

Style and tone

Anderson devotes an entire chapter to issues of style. Chapter 9, “Developing an Effective Style,” contains three subsections that move from broader concerns (voice) to more specific stylistic issues (sentences and words). Much of the advice in the voice section is focused on audience needs; for example, Guideline 1 asks students to “find out what’s expected” (p. 264), while Guideline 3 asks them to “consider how your attitude toward your subject will affect your readers” (p. 267).

In order to construct effective sentences, Anderson advises students to be concise (p .270), use action verbs (p. 271), and emphasize the most important information (pp. 273-274). The subsection on word choice asks students to be concrete (p.276), use specialized terms when the audience can understand them (pp. 277-278), and use plain terms over fancy ones (p. 279), among other advice.

Document design

Examples of effective document design can be found throughout the textbook. Each chapter features a number of visuals that students can look to when designing their own documents. However, Anderson also devotes an entire chapter to document design. Chapter 14, “Designing Reader-Centered Pages and Documents,” begins by suggesting how good design increases usability and persuasiveness. Next, Anderson explains that each document contains six design elements:

• Text
• Headings and titles
• Graphics
• White space
• Headers and footers
• Physical features (p. 380)

Much of the chapter focuses on practical advice, including putting related visual items closer together (p. 388), using color, type size, and bold to create contrast (p. 391), and using repetition (p. 395). Each guideline also includes a brief explanation of why it is useful in creating effective technical communications. Anderson mentions that using contrast, for example, can help create a sense of hierarchy and focus (p. 391).

Document genres and types of writing

Anderson employs the term “superstructure” in place of “genre.” The last section of the textbook is focused exclusively on specific genres; Chapters 22-27 deal with letters and memos, proposals, empirical research reports, feasibility reports, progress reports, and instructions. In addition to these genres, each chapter provides exercises that stress collaborative writing, digital texts, and ethical issues.

Visuals and oral communication

As a whole, the textbook relies on a number of visuals, including photographs, tables, and charts, to illustrate key concepts and provide examples. Chapter 13 focuses on creating reader-centered graphics, and the text again asks students to consider usability and persuasiveness. The textbook also contains a twenty-page reference guide to visuals found immediately after chapter 13. This guide features eleven types of graphics, and each graphic type is illustrated with a labeled example and a list of suggested uses.

Research and writing technologies

Anderson devotes two chapters to research. Chapter 6, “Gathering Reader-Centered Information,” asks students to first define their objectives (pp. 152-153) before identifying and gathering information that will be useful to both audiences (pp. 153-155). Chapter 7, “Analyzing Information and Thinking Critically,” is the shortest chapter in the textbook and asks students to look for “patterns, connections, and contrasts” in information (p. 197). Finally, there is a reference guide between chapters 6 and 7 that focuses on five research methods: exploring your own memory and creativity, searching the Internet, using the library, interviewing, and conducting a survey.

Technical Communication focuses almost exclusively on newer writing technologies. There are a number of “Writer’s Tutorials” that instruct students on how to use specific computer programs to draft documents; for example, the first “Writer’s Tutorial” tells students how to design a resume using tables in Microsoft Word (see pp. 40-43). However, the book does provide at least one example of using older technology to help compose documents. In the “Using Five Reader-Centered Research Methods” reference guide, Anderson provides an example of a hand-drawn cluster sketch (p. 171) and an idea tree (p. 172) in the section devoted to invention activities.

Online edition

Anderson’s Technical Communication is also available in an online edition. On the Cengage Learning site (www.cengage.com), the online version is substantially cheaper than the print edition ($57.49 for 6 months of use to $131.49, respectively). The online version bills itself as “an interactive eBook,” and it resembles a traditional print textbook. Users can navigate by page number and view the book one or two pages at a time.  Navigation controls are located in the upper center of the page. There is a search box, print page button, and help guide in the upper right corner of the screen.

In addition, users can bookmark text, create notes, and highlight passages in blue, pink, or yellow. Notes and bookmarks are denoted by symbols, and each symbol is a clickable link that users can place wherever they like on the page. Highlighting text brings up a highlighter tool, which is somewhat awkward to use. Bookmarks, notes, and highlights can also be sorted. Bookmarks are sorted by the page on which users created them, while notes can be sorted by date created, page on which users created them, and by “text.” The “text” sorting is unclear; it does not mean alphabetical order. Finally, highlights can be sorted by date created, page number, color, and “text.”

Concluding thoughts

Anderson’s Technical Communication: A Reader-Centered Approach stays true to its title, emphasizing audience awareness in each of its 27 chapters. Usability and persuasiveness are key concepts as well. While such a clear, consistent focus helps students grasp these three main ideas, it also means that the text seems repetitive at times.

Overall, the Technical Communication eBook is rather slow to use (on PCs and Macs and using Firefox, Chrome, and Safari). “Turning” pages and using the search function bring up a loading bar each time. However, the ability to save and sort notes, bookmarks, and highlighted text, in addition to its relatively inexpensive price tag, makes the eBook an attractive option for students with access to computers in the classroom.

Work cited

Anderson, P.V. (2011). Technical communication: A reader-centered approach (7th ed.). Boston: Wadsworth.

In essence, Lauer and Sanchez argue for a greater awareness of students’ visuospatial ability, defined as the “ability to manipulate, maintain and manage spatial information” (187-188), in the professional writing classroom. Because of the increased use of visuals in professional writing contexts and in our culture as a whole, visual literacy has become an important component in the curriculum. Assessing students’ visual ability may be challenging, however.

I find this article valuable because it corresponds so well to my experiences in the classroom. As Lauer and Sanchez note, “When teaching design, instructors may struggle to provide feedback to some students who seem to understand by rote the design principles but are unable to appropriately apply hem. In contrast, other students, in the same class, who receive the same instruction, are somehow able to apply the principles in dynamic and cohesive ways” (187). This statement just about sums up my experiences with teaching students design thus far.

Although we are just beginning the visual unit, elements of design have been a part of the course from the first day. We have discussed effectively using white space, color, font size, and other elements to craft user-friendly documents. Almost every student is able to articulate the basic principles of design we’ve covered thus far. However, only a few seem able to translate those ideas into practice. Their documents simply do not reflect the knowledge about design they are able to demonstrate orally and using written text.

Lauer and Sanchez point to differences in visuospatial ability to explain the discrepancies in their students’ work, and I’m inclined to believe that this may be the case in my classroom as well. Although I have not surveyed my students’ background in design (but as a result of reading this article, that’s the first thing I will do at the beginning of the unit), I suspect many of them come from educational backgrounds that privilege the verbal, as I have. In many ways, I am learning right along with my students.

The authors suggest an increased focus on the visual during the invention stage of the writing process. They provide a number of examples of activities to encourage visual thinking about problems. For example, they suggest that instead of simply asking students to create notes and lists about audience, instructors should ask students to complete exercises that ask them to think through ways to represent this information visually (208).

The entire semester, my students and I have talked about audience awareness. The textbook I use repeats this point in some way or another in each chapter, and every student seems to have internalized this information. However, it never occurred to me to ask students to articulate audience values visually. As Lauer and Sanchez explain in their conclusion, many instructors lack training in visual design, and I count myself among them. Almost everything I know is self-taught, and I often find myself depending on the textbook to guide me on assessing the visual elements of student work. I do not believe my own deficiencies have greatly affected my ability to teach students about design, but I also recognize this is an area I need to work on (and probably a lot). By incorporating Lauer and Sanchez’s suggestion to ask students to think about problems both verbally and visually, I hope to improve the visual design section of my course and gain some confidence in teaching and providing feedback on visual elements in student documents.

Work Cited

Lauer, C., & Sanchez, C.A. (2011). Visuospatial thinking in the professional writing classroom. Journal of Business and Technical Communication, 25(2), 184-218. doi:10.1177/1050651910389149

What strikes me about this piece is both how little, and how much, has changed since “Who ‘Owns’ Electronic Texts” was published. Two aspects of the article, in particular, stand out: the continued relevance of the three theories of ownership outlined at the beginning of the text and the importance of intellectual property in technical communication pedagogy.

Questions of ownership and copyright are intimately related to questions of authorship. As Howard explains, three theories of textual ownership inform current copyright law. The first two involve a negotiation between the author and the public’s rights to texts; the author owns her work because it is her creation, and the public owns works because knowledge and truth are not the property of the individual. The third approach follows from the second, but it is more complex. Because knowledge is a social construction, it follows that “ . . . a text is a product of the community the writer inhabits, and that the text must therefore be communal, rather than individual property” (400). Howard traces the historical development of these three approaches to textual ownership, noting that copyright law has its roots as a system of privilege and not a right (400) and in the state’s attempt to censor certain kinds of texts (401).

I believe we can see these three theories at work in recent controversies surrounding proposed copyright law, and especially in digital contexts.  SOPA and PIPA represent two attempts to privilege the author as sole ownership approach, with content providers (represented by the MPAA and RIAA) as “authors” of texts. The backlash against the legislation demonstrates a move toward the second and third theories of ownership, a move we can see in organizations like Creative Commons and, taken to the extreme, in the wide availability of torrents of copyrighted material.

As Howard suggests, “For most people, including a large number of practicing professional writers and professional writing teachers, the issue of intellectual property isn’t something they usually consider to be problematic” (398). Since “Who ‘Owns’ Electronic Texts?” was published, a number of rhet/comp and technical communication scholars have interrogated intellectual property in digital environments; our field recognizes that intellectual property is problematic and worthy of our attention in the classroom, in the workplace, and in our personal lives.

For this reason, I believe Howard’s call for understanding intellectual property as a component of digital literacy (399) is crucial. Last semester, I devoted a day to intellectual property issues in ENGL 101; we watched part of a TED talk by Lawrence Lessig, a video about SOPA, and discussed the Wikipedia blackout. I asked students to compose a short reflection about their own views on authorship and ownership. It was a (mostly) successful day, and I hope to do something similar in ENGL 305 this semester. The technical communication textbook I use devotes two pages to copyright law and a few tips on ensuring that you don’t violate it. I don’t think these pages are particularly useful to students, however.

Copyright law doesn’t have to be a dry topic. By connecting it to students’ personal lives, I hope to show how the national discussion surrounding intellectual property is relevant to their lives at home, at school, and in the workplace, and to their roles as consumers, students, and writers.

Howard, Tharon W. “Who ‘Owns’ Electronic Texts?” Central Works in Technical Communication. Ed. Johndan Johnson-Eilola and Stuart A. Selber. New York: Oxford University Press, 2004. 397-408. Print.

Collaboration has been on my mind recently; I assigned a chapter entitled “Creating Communications with a Team” for Tuesday’s ENGL 305 class. After reading Bosley’s “Cross-Cultural Collaboration,” I took another look at the chapter I assigned. Anderson devotes a segment to cross-cultural communication, citing Bosley’s article in the process. However, most of the chapter is devoted to “Euro-North American” communication practices, including suggestions on how to be an active listener by making eye contact (Anderson 464) and how to debate effectively (463).

Anderson’s approach makes sense. While Bosley asks to alter our pedagogical strategies in order to make them more inclusive, the fact remains that Euro-North American communication practices (really, white male practices) continue to dominate business settings. By acknowledging the privileged place of Euro-North American culture in our classrooms and in society at large, I am not proposing that we accept and participate in that culture without question. Indeed, the first step in creating change is to take a good, hard look at ourselves and the situation we’re in.

Both Bosley’s article and Brausseur’s “Contesting the Objectivist Paradigm” assert that there are multiple approaches to teaching (technical) communication. Brausseur, in particular, seeks to introduce “a new paradigm for ‘objective’ discourse’” in the classroom through feminist critique (477).  Wilson outlines another approach in “Technical Communication and Late Capitalism” as he looks to postmodern theory to expand our pedagogical practices.

I find Wilson’s approach particularly interesting. He begins, at the outset, by acknowledging that a “postmodern technical communication pedagogy may seem a multifaceted oxymoron: designing a structure to teach a structureless approach to the structured description of structured systems” (72). By designing new pedagogical practices, Wilson hopes to educate “partners in the technology enterprise and not merely punctuators of sentences” (73). I support this goal wholeheartedly, and for the most part, I also find value in his pedagogical approach.

As Eric pointed out in his post, it is difficult to imagine technical communication without structure. Technical communication is so entrenched within the modernist paradigm that I can’t imagine a radical re-imagining of how we do things that wouldn’t severely undermine our practices. Furthermore, I don’t view the traditional, modernist, objectivist approach as an entirely bad thing. For me, writing that we call “clear” and “precise” – thoroughly modernist, Euro-American values – is a good thing. However, it doesn’t hurt to rethink our approach to our work, and Wilson gives us a few good places to start.

Wilson draws upon his own experience and Reich’s concept of the symbolic-analytic work to argue for an expanded approach to technical communication pedagogy. Despite his characterization of postmodern pedagogy as “structureless,” I see his suggestions as a way to propose a new paradigm – a new structure that takes difference, and different kinds of interactions among values and belief systems, into account. For example, the mapping exercise he proposes in his “systems thinking” section is a way to impose structure on a vast system. The difference between this activity and more “modernist” approaches to thinking about systems is the way it asks students to consider a wider variety of relationships among disparate elements.

Of all his suggestions, I find Wilson’s mapping activity to be the most immediately useful for my students. I plan to include an in-class mapping activity this week as students begin researching information for their feasibility reports. Mapping isn’t a new strategy to me, but it also isn’t one I’ve stressed in any of my courses. However, Wilson’s argument is a convincing one: “By perceiving complexity in terms of dynamic systems of interrelated elements, students can slip the confines of traditional hierarchies and linear thinking/writing/political subjectivity” (92). Encouraging students to expand their approach to thinking about and drafting documents is a good first step in encouraging them to see themselves as flexible, symbolic analytic workers.

Anderson, Paul V. Technical Communication: A Reader-Centered Approach. 7^th ed. Boston: Wadsworth, 2011. Print.

Bosley, Deborah S. “Cross-Cultural Collaboration: Whose Culture Is It, Anyway?” Central Works in Technical Communication. Ed. Johndan Johnson-Eilola and Stuart A. Selber. New York: Oxford University Press, 2004. 466-474. Print.

Brausseur, Lee E. “Contesting the Objectivist Paradigm: Gender Issues in Technical and Professional Communication Curriculum.” Central Works in Technical Communication. Ed. Johndan Johnson-Eilola and Stuart A. Selber. New York: Oxford University Press, 2004. 475-489. Print.

Wilson, Greg. “Technical Communication and Late Capitalism: Considering a Postmodern Technical Communication Pedagogy.” Journal of Business and Technical Communication 15.1 (2001): 72-99. PDF.

Flower and Hayes go on to state that their theory of writing process is “. . . powerful because it is flexible” (376). This flexibility s particularly important in considering one important component of the writing process they outline – setting goals. As they note, “ . . . writers frequently reduce [a] large set of constraints to a radically simplified problem, such as ‘write another theme for English class’” (369). Encouraging students to look beyond simply completing the assignment can be a difficult task. Flower and Hayes argue that the writers themselves set goals that change throughout the composing process (373). Cultivating an awareness of and engagement with goals beyond content and organization, or just finishing the paper, is something I struggle with, and continue to work on.

Other articles this week also speak to tools. In “Visualizing Writing Activity as Knowledge Work: Challenges & Opportunities,” Hart-Davidson, Spinuzzi, and Zachry focus on distributed writing in digital contexts. They argue that while research-based and management-based views on writing can be useful, artifact-based views, even with their limitations, are most useful to writers (72). By way of example, they point to an email folder that one of the authors uses to manage writing tasks. I suspect students rarely consider how commonplace tools such as a web-based email application can shed light on their own writing processes. Indeed, coming to this department from a different (although related) discipline last year, I was immediately struck by how professors and grad students here were so aware of how they used various tools in the composing process. In particular, I remember a discussion about marginalia and doodling that came up in casual conversation among students last August. I had never been exposed to thinking about writing in such a broad way; although I might have recognized my doodles or comments on the side of paper as “writing,” I would not have considered how they contribute to my writing process. I am certain many of my undergraduate students would have a similar reaction.

Slattery’s “Undistributing Work Through Writing” also discusses writing as distributed work, focusing on the writing processes of five technical writers. As Slattery notes, the number of artifacts a technical writer may use on the job is huge, “…  literally hundreds for even short projects” (316). These texts, along with the software and expertise of others (including SMEs), are, in a broad sense, the tools the writers have to work with. Slattery agues that “the profession of technical writing straddles technological and rhetorical skill” (314). Because of our heavy reliance upon technology, though, “there is the very real concern that . . . technologies and environments might relegate technical writing to a technological skill” (319).  I have often wondered about this very danger. So much of my hesitation about entering the job market involves my fears about being unfamiliar with specific applications or programs that the job postings I have looked at ask for in prospective employees. Although I consider myself a technologically savvy person, a “digital native,” and a quick learner, I also recognize I have limited experience with software beyond what’s required in my classes.

Both my students and I have many tools at our disposal. Figuring out which tools are most appropriate for the situation – and learning how to use new ones, whether that involves deeper engagement with the writing process as tool for my students, or, in my case, increasing technological expertise – is a challenge.

Flower, Linda, and John R. Hayes. “A Cognitive Process Theory of Writing.” College Composition and Communication 32.4 (1981): 365-387. PDF.

Hart-Davidson, William, Clay Spinuzzi, and Mark Zachry. “Visualizing Writing Activity as Knowledge Work: Challenge & Opportunities.” SIGDOC ‘06. ACM Press, 2006. PDF.

Slattery, Shaun. “Undistributing Work Through Writing: How Technical Writers Manage Text in Complex Information Environments.” Technical Communication Quarterly 16.3 (2007): 311-325. PDF.

You can also take a look at the PDF version.

In “Empiricism is Not Four-Letter Word,” Charney argues that “rather than endorsing or condemning methods a priori by ideological purity, we should consider how they affect our ability to work with each other to conduct the very best research we can and to expand our understanding of academic and nonacademic discourse” (283). Charney believes that researchers in our field rely too much on qualitative methods while discrediting empirical approaches (296), and she devotes much of her article to outlining and responding to common critiques of research informed by scientific methods.

Accordingly, each section of her article begins with a summary of what Charney characterizes as misinformation surrounding science and the scientific method. As a science-friendly English student (I began my undergraduate career with a double major in biology and mathematics, and while I recognize its limitations, popular science literature is one of my favorite genres), I was shocked by some of the arguments composition scholars have put forth. In particular, I was taken aback by the idea that science and its methods are inherently sexist. While I recognize that our society privileges scientific knowledge over other kinds (and especially the approaches and knowledge offered by humanistic fields), and that science has traditionally been and continues to be a male-dominated field, Blyler, Flynn, and Lay’s claim that “. . . feminism is consistent only with subjective, qualitative, narrative, ethnographic research. . .” (285) seems excessive – and limiting. In her response to this charge, Charney cites other feminist researchers who argue, “. . . sexism and other injustices have often been most effectively exposed by quantitative studies that provide stronger evidence of the prevalence of a problem and its trends than can individual testimony” (285). One example that comes to mind is the pay gap between women and men. I seem room for both subjective and objective approaches. If the goal is to fight injustice, why not use all the tools at our disposal?

In my view, one of the strongest arguments against using empirical methods in composition research is science’s claim of being “objective.” As Charney points out, objectivity does not necessarily mean absolutism or positivism (284).  Furthermore, Charney acknowledges,  ” . . . scientific knowledge and methods are, at least in part, socially constructed” (287). Whenever I find myself in the position of defending science (and it’s always science as a whole – not, say, evolutionary biology), I often begin by acknowledging the socially constructed nature of scientific knowledge. I then posit that the scientific method is the best approach we have for understanding phenomena in the natural world. I would not extend that claim to writing, however.

While I appreciate Charney’s call for an increased acceptance and use of empirical methods in our field, I believe a situational approach is best. There are some aspects of writing, and in particular the writing process, which cannot be quantified. In these cases, a qualitative approach may be more appropriate. For this reason, Sullivan and Porter’s “On Theory, Practice and Method” struck a chord with me. The authors argue that “. . . research methodology should not be something we apply or select as much as something we design out of particular situations and then argue for in our studies” (301). In order to do so, Sullivan and Porter make a compelling argument for moving beyond the theory/practice divide. In order to bridge this divide, they offer the concept of praxis.

Sullivan and Porter define praxis as “. . . a type of conduct that negotiates between positions rather than grounding itself in any particular position” (302). In other words, our research must consist of a negotiation between theory and practice and not rely too heavily on one or the other. Praxis involves “prudential reasoning” (305). Because methodology is rhetorical (and also theoretical), we must thoughtfully choose the most appropriate methods for a particular situation, and justify our reasons for doing so. Choosing quantitative or qualitative methods (or some combination of the two), for instance, is ideally determined by purpose and situation.

I find Sullivan and Porter’s focus on praxis reasonable, and to borrow their term, prudential. Their most intriguing and problematic claim is born out of this emphasis on a balanced approach. Because they see theory, practice, and method as heuristics, the kind of knowledge our research offers cannot be objective in the scientific sense. Instead, they believe researchers can only offer understanding, which they define as “strategic knowledge” (312).

I have sometimes struggled to articulate exactly what kind of “knowledge” we impart to students, and especially when I am called upon to justify what it is I do in the classroom. We cannot offer the kind of truth that science endeavors to provide. Kent’s paralogic hermeneutics further calls into question how much we can really teach writing (or anything, for that matter, since all communication involves negotiation). However, I find Sullivan and Porter’s definition of “understanding” to be a good first step in defining exactly what research into writing can offer. Whether we use quantitative or qualitative methods of research, it seems that we are unable to come to an objective (meaning absolute) truth about writing. Understanding brings us closer to the mark – much in the same way I believe the scientific method brings us to an understanding of the natural world.

Charney, Davida. “Empiricism is Not a Four-Letter Word.” Central Works in Technical Communication. Ed. Johndan Johnson-Eilola and Stuart A. Selber. New York: Oxford University Press, 2004. 281-299. Print.

Sullivan, Patrician, and James Porter. “On Theory, Practice, and Method: Toward a Heuristic Research Methodology for Professional Writing.” Central Works in Technical Communication. Ed. Johndan Johnson-Eilola and Stuart A. Selber. New York: Oxford University Press, 2004. 300-313. Print.