This week’s readings can be divided into two categories that address ethics in distinct ways: two articles address the ethical implications of what we teach in the TC classroom (Sullivan/Herndl) and two focus on approaches to teaching ethics (Gough and Price/Dombrowski).  Other posters have already discussed most of what I wanted to address in the Gough and Price and Dombrowski articles, so I will focus my efforts on Sullivan and Herndl. These authors ask us to consider the political and ethical ramifications of a pedagogy that indoctrinates students into the dominant discourse of industry.

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.

 

The seemingly opposing debates between Paul Dombrowski and Jim Gough and Anne Price seem to illustrate a problem not just in ethics, but also in the teaching of technical communication—and maybe some problem with teaching in general. On the one hand, we have Dombrowski claiming that trying to “technologize” ethics—that is “procedures cannot substitute for personal ethical responsibility (334). Therefore, we need a way to help students understand a personal ethical responsibility. On the other hand, the suggestions from Gough and Price take the form a list of suggestions and processes they believe will lead to ethical decisions. In this way, Gough and Price seem to be attempting to “technologize” ethics.

In other words, the question about ethics seems to hinge on whether ethics come from within (“personal ethical responsibility”) or from without (“conditions” and “circumstances” that make for ethical decisions). Perhaps unknowingly, I think Gough and Price touch on an issue with creating the sort of “schematic” for ethical decision making when they are discussing circumstances for ethical decision making. Here they state that “ethical considerations require a human interest” (323). Maybe we could rephrase this to say that ethical considerations require an audience.

And, technical communicators no doubt agree that audience is important. And, perhaps we can point to heuristics that will help us understand a given audience. But at the end of the day, a true ethical decision must take place within a situation involving real people. And any sort of schematic for making these decisions will necessarily be lacking. Still, one can see the temptation to look for these schematics. They can provide an easy “check list” to making an ethical decision. But will that decision truly be ethical in a given situation? I worry the answer is no.

So then, how might we teach ethics. To me, Dale Sullivan made an interesting attempt at describing how to teach ethics by appropriating Carolyn Miller. In Sullivan’s essay, he does not try to lay out a one-size-fits-all ethical decision-making device. Instead, he looks at the definition of technical communication as social practice and attempts to situate ethics within that schema, with that schema representing a particular situation.

The main move Sullivan seems to make for teaching ethics is to make teaching technical communication political. To do this, Sullivan pulls on classical traditions of rhetoric as political discourse in opposition to classical traditions of “business writing” as the discourse of “slaves” (216). In doing so, he attempts to show that situating technical communication as a purely business-oriented type of communication strips technical communicators of the ability to make ethical decisions. Sullivan concludes, “[t]herefore, our present way of defining technical communication as the discourse appropriate for industry is equivalent to defining it as the rhetoric appropriate for slaves—those barred from making decisions about the ends, those whose decision-making authority is restricted to determining the most efficient means of obtaining predetermined ends” (216).

To remedy this, Sullivan suggests broadening the definition of audience to include the public—“even an imaginary one” (217). Now, the idea of assuming an “imaginary” public  seems counterproductive to me. In doing so one could fall prey to one’s own prejudices or the prejudices of society. However, when Sullivan describes his own class, we can see how these ethics can become more situated. In class, Sullivan assigns his students to different interest groups who debate a real social situation, in this case, copper mining strikes in 1913 (218). By situating students in a real (albeit historical) situation, I think that Sullivan creates a space where students can explore ethics without the necessity of the sort of “check lists” that Dombrowski decries and Gough and Price strive for. He figured out the third path.

Gough and Price’s “Developing Ethical Decision-Making Skills: How Textbooks Fail Students” and Dombrowski’s “Can Ethics Be Technologized? Lessons from Challenger, Philosophy, and Rhetoric” present ethics very differently from one another.

Gough and Price clearly state that good ethics should prelude the situational context:

If we were to suggest (mistakenly) that all ethical decisions could vary from one individual to another and from one circumstance to another, then consistent ethical advice would be difficult if not impossible. The mistake here is confusing propriety (which may change by circumstance) with sound ethical decisions (which are invariant to circumstances). (p. 324)

Gough and Price make several points here. Firstly, there is a difference between propriety and sound ethical decisions. While propriety may vary from individual to individual or circumstance to circumstance, ethics may not. These pre-existing ethics may be applied to different situations, certainly, but their existence always precludes the situation.

Dombrowski’s paper, on the other hand, presents several examples which suggest that ethics are situated in the personal and contextual. Dombrowski discusses two examples of situations that were based on following procedural ethics: the Challenger disaster and Sophist teaching. Dombrowksi argues that ethical systems like these are fallacious because they do not take the personal into account. Dombrowski then suggests that Socrates’ view on ethics is more correct. Dombrowski writes that Socrates held that good ethical conduct was impossible to teach and differed depending on the situation:

Socrates also held that virtue—ethical conduct—could not be taught because it too could not be reduced to a set of rules. Ethics could not be reduced to technai because of the uniqueness of every situation. Instead, the right thing to do had to be determined in each particular situation, a determination that required the engagement of real individuals earnestly arguing according to their own enlightenment. (p. 335)

Socrates’ view on ethics is significantly different from Gough and Price’s view on ethics: for Gough and Price, ethics preclude the situation; for Socrates, ethics had to be based on the unique situation.

Dombrowski concludes that: “[Ethics] is not a fixed set of rules but an ongoing human activity that must continually be thrashed out for particular circumstances and people. This is not to say that nothing can be said about ethics in general, only that the difficult business of arguing between competing values cannot entirely be circumvented” (p. 337).

I believe that it is possible to merge both the ideas from Gough and Price’s paper and the ideas from Dombrowksi’s paper. Ethical guidelines that preclude situational context (be truthful, be compassionate, have a concern for human rights, advocate justice, etc.) can be applied uniquely in different situations. But the overarching values should not change. Otherwise, as Gough and Price point out, people will be implicated in perpetrating hypocrisy and inconsistency (p. 324).

 

Dombrowski, P. M. “Can ethics be technologized? Lessons from Challenger, philosophy, and rhetoric.”

Gough, J. and Price, A. “Developing ethical decision-making skills: How textbooks fail students.”

There is no doubt that ethics is paramount to technical writing; the doubt, it seems lies with how to teach students about ethics and what of it to teach them. If Gough and Price’s article lends itself to nothing else, it certainly points out how incredibly complicated the issue of ethics is. In many ways, their attempt to cover all the different elements of an ethical code creates its own ethical code worth examining.

They state: “Anyone making an ethical decision or giving ethical advice should be aware of the necessity to employ some acceptable standard or other in the judgement to arrive at the decision” (322). Gough and Price believe this decision must be made void of personal feeling or subjectivity: “This standard must be decided independently from the subjective interests of the individual making the decision and independent of the situation in which the decision is made” (322).

Gough and Price’s notion that ethical decisions can/should be made without subjectivity is problematic for one basic reason: it’s completely unrealistic. In fact, this is a point where their entire article starts to tear at the seams from the implicit irony in criticizing the inadequate approach towards ethics in technical writing textbooks since these books apparently “are often sufficiently wrong, vague, misleading, or confusing as to make the problem of effective ethical decision-making more difficult (321).

In the wake of this conjecture, Gough and Price leave us with a long and complicated list of things to remember when judging a situation for its ethics so circuitous and rambling, it’s difficult to say what the takeaway is. Gough and Price’s framing of ethical and non-ethical situations are another unproductive addition that do little to clear up the confusion. They point out there is a difference between legal and ethical situations and that purely individual actions that have no effect on the community are not imbued or affected by ethics. Although this is an interesting claim, it is difficult to point out any individual action that does not either influence the community or stem from the community and the ethics within that given group. Gough and Price’s example of a situation that’s so individual it doesn’t affect ethics is the classic abandoned-on-the-island scenario, but even then one’s arrival on such an island would have been affected by an ethical system.

I would propose that it is more useful for the technical writing classroom to acknowledge that other divisions and fields already heavily address ethics and ethical theory; the technical writing classroom would benefit from adopting those models. Med students are almost always required to take a medical ethics course where they are introduced to theorists, theorists who lend themselves nicely to debates over how to best address any sitatuion. Two such theorists are often John Stuart Mill and Immanuel Kant, who, respectively, propose the ideas of the Greatest Happiness Principle within Utilitarianism and the ideas of maxims and duty in Deontology. A basic summation of their claims emphasizes that Mill says people should do what is best for the group in a quality way where Kant says people should act according to their duty to do what is right.

Technical writing in many ways already adheres to these principles; we as teachers have the opportunity to introduce our students to these ideas in order to give them a model they can apply in any situation instead of thinking that ethics is situational or the result of a long list of intertwined and difficult rules. Within this system we can also show what Gough and Price overlook: ethics is entirely subjective so our students should not expect to ever fully please all audience at once, though they should try to be as respectful as they can.

 

What are ethics? Whenever we delve into new topics, it’s always funny to me when I catch myself wondering about the nature of something I had previously taken for granted as obvious. So, now, I wonder: what are ethics? (Or is it: what is ethics?) A very small instance in Gough and Price caught my attention, namely that one ethical situation is “in writing headings that truthfully represent the contents of a section of a document” (p. 325). That is an ethical situation?! To me, it doesn’t seem that if an author called a section of their paper “High School” but they were really writing about “College” that that would be unethical. It just seems like it’d be distracting because it’s simply not correct. As a reader, I’d tend to think it was an error before I thought: “You lying author! You told me this section was going to be about high school!” I know this is a lame example—I’m merely trying to illustrate my surprise that something seemingly so minor, like a subhead, would be considered an ethical situation.

Also, because a large part of my research paper focuses on self-reflection and -awareness, I am finding myself more attuned right now to other researchers’ declarations that communicators and professionals must “be knowledgeable, self-conscious or self-aware, self-reflective, and self-critical” (Gough & Price, p. 322). More than any other tool, technique, or skill taught, I think self-awareness and self-criticism are the hardest skills to teach or learn. And yet, I believe they are more important to effective communication than any other skill.

I’m not sure I understand Dombrowski’s question: “Can ethics be technologized?” but I do understand his position that “[w]e should not expect such technologies to substitute for personal judgment and responsibility” (p. 331). If technologizing ethics means somehow creating systems or software that can make ethical judgments, that just doesn’t seem right or even completely possible. But why must it be considered an “ethical burden…a weight from which we can never fully be relieved” (Dombrowski, p. 331, my emphasis)? Sure, ethics are often so gray it’s frustrating to try to determine what’s right or wrong. But I think humans are instinctually (mostly) ethical beings, so ethics are not so much a burden as just a part of being human. Perhaps Sartre said it best: “philosophy is what philosophers do. It is not a lifeless system of principles but a task, and one which is never complete. It is a task with which we are always saddled—a burden, yes, but also the root of our very humanity” (Dombrowski, p. 336). Ethics will always be a part of us and technical information will never be able to “determine fully either its own meaning or its own ethicality” (Dombrowski, p. 332).

I continue to be drawn to this question we keep running into about whether we are or should or should not be teaching to the industry, “[indoctrinating] our students in the forms appropriate to their employers” (Sullivan, 1990, p. 213). I can’t decide whether or not I think it’s a bad thing to teach to the industry; after all, we are educated to be employed and employers want to see that we know a thing or two about their industry, but I think I do agree with Sullivan (1990) that “modern composition instruction reflects this technological consciousness: it casts the writing process in terms of problem solving, stresses objectivity and thereby denies a writer’s social responsibilities, distances the interaction between writer and reader, deals with abstract issues, and denies politics” (p. 212). Again, if I’m reading this correctly, I think what Sullivan is getting at here has a lot to do with my final conclusions in my own research, that professional communication is not clearly defined, black and white processes but is, instead, flawed by our humanness. So, to teach composition courses in a way that denies a writer’s social responsibilities or deals with abstract issues only harms their prospects of succeeding in the workplace.

Dombrowski, P. M. “Can ethics be technologized? Lessons from Challenger, philosophy, and rhetoric.”

Gough, J., & Price, A. “Developing ethical decision-making skills: How textbooks fail students.”

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. 351–364). New York, NY: Oxford University Press, 2004.

To me, teaching ethics in professional communication sounds very similar to teaching creative writing. You can present students options, have them read other authors, but, ultimately, they must figure out their own way of functioning in the world and bring that to the page (or in ethics, bring their honed decision-making process to situations of conflict).

With the help of Dombrowski, I see ethics more as a way of life, a “burden,” as he calls it, than a set of guidelines to be taught. But, part of me says, “Our students need those guidelines for practice!” I believe that by proposing conflict-situations to students, and allowing them to view perhaps how others have handled certain ethical dilemmas, they can be “changed through the interaction,” as Dombrowski indicates (p. 336, 337). I have witnessed this in my own English 102 classroom when I have students debate. Those who take advantage of the opportunity come away from the discussion with a better handle on their own beliefs and what kind of ethical choices they must make by having beliefs. (This worked not-as-well in English 101 in which my students struggle to commit to any opinion strongly, or at least share such commitment.)

I also enjoyed this week’s readings because they advocate the idea that we have an obligation as fully self-aware beings, to accept and process the undercurrents of not just our professional lives but our personal lives in order to become, simply, fully realized people. This philosophy is similar to that of creative writing in which we are taught to become more engaged with the world by noticing and sensing things around us and to marry that way of interacting with a way of writing.

Perhaps this experience I’ve had in which “intuition” is admired as a pseudo-synonym for “dignity” or “sensibility” causes me to take issue with how Gough and Price use the word.* (Not to mention the awareness I have that “intuition” and “feelings” have, in the past, been considered feminine traits and therefore “fluffy” or dumb.) When Gough and Price insinuate that “intuition” and “feelings” are irrational tools of deciding, I think they are contradicting themselves. How can we be “knowledgeable, self-conscious or self-aware, self-reflective, and self-critical” people if we do not pay attention to feelings, “gut reactions,” and the intuitive sense that humans simply have (p. 322)? I see the danger in making decisions based on reactions or impulses, but I often think the “right” thing is decided upon through some process of thought that may not be articulateable but that many people agree upon because we have similar thoughts/feelings.

(Why are feelings and thoughts considered so different, anyway? I would be hard-pressed to give an example of a feeling vs. a thought.)

Smartly, our past friend Brumberger points out that “we have historically labeled as ‘intuitive’ or ‘talent’ those thinking abilities for which we do not have well-defined norms” (p. 379).  In other words, saying “intuition” is another way of saying “we don’t know how to teach this,” but I believe all authors this week offer a way to teach it: by focusing on specific situations students can be invested in. In such a method, we do use our internal sense of what’s right and wrong to guide us through our decision-making process. And we can only learn to be ethical through practice and through a certain level of awareness, philosophy, engagement, spirituality (however you want to say it). If we are truly empathetic people, we will be ethical people. (I think.)

 

*That being said, I greatly admire the definitions offered by Gough and Price! I was not taught ethics through a set of guidelines in a textbook, but within the context of certain ethical questions I was engaged in, either with literature (like in high school discussions about of Lord of the Flies, Of Mice and Men, and The Grapes of Wrath) or with day-to-day life questions. I do think I would have benefited from the distinctions of ethics vs. propriety vs. legality, etc. and from a rational system for reaching an ethical decision.

In my experience, of the perennial sources of conflict and exasperation for students in writing courses is collaborative work. Each semester, students express concerns about group assignments and, to a lesser extent, peer review and editing. They often feel uneasy about taking on leadership roles and making sure tasks are divided up equitably.

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.

While reading the articles for this week, I became quite interested in the idea of “borrowing” pieces of past texts for new writing tasks as a part of technical communicators’ writing process.  This repurposing of information from past documents is directly addressed in Jack Selzer’s article entitled “The Composing Processes of an Engineer” when Selzer notes that “Nelson jogs his memory by reviewing previously completed documents. . . Nelson often borrows sentences, paragraphs, sections—even graphics—from past documents and incorporates them into new proposals, reports, and correspondence” (320).  I am most intrigued by this strategy because we so strongly discourage that kind of “plagiarism” in academia yet the Selzer article specifically seems to show that it is quite an acceptable workplace practice.  As a writing practice for students, a similar strategy, patchwriting, has even been considered a failed attempt at plagiarism.  I wonder, then, how commonplace this borrowing strategy really is for working technical writers and whether or not it has a place in technical writing pedagogy.

Reflecting upon this borrowing strategy and other collaborative processes has also led me to question the idea of co-authorship in technical documents.  In her article “Engineering Writing/Writing Engineering,” Dorothy A. Winsor explains that the subject of her study, Dr. John Phillips, named his subordinate the co-author of Phillips’ conference paper because the subordinate had written documents that influenced the development of the paper: “The subordinate made only a few minor chances in Phillips’ draft. His ‘co-authorship’ was thus based on the development work [the creation and presentation of six sets of handouts] he had done, as inscribed in the documents Phillips was using” (345).  Although Winsor doesn’t go into much detail about the situation, it seems to me like the subordinate’s documents should have simply appeared in the references list of Phillips’ conference paper rather than the subordinate himself being named a co-author of the paper.

What is the difference, then, between authoring a source of information for someone’s writing and co-authoring the work itself?  Couldn’t we make the hypothetical argument that because every source we use in our writing contributes so heavily to the development of our work that the authors of those sources should be considered “co-authors” of own finished text?  The intertextuality of technical writing is so pervasive that a list of “co-authors” of any given text could be potentially endless.  And the situation is complicated even further when we throw the borrowing strategy from Selzer’s article into the equation.  I suppose my main question is this: Where do we draw the line of the authorship of technical documents when strategies of borrowing from past texts, collaboration, peer feedback, synthesis of past documents, etc are all such integral parts of workplace practice?  Or does authorship even matter at all?

Finally, should the strategy of borrowing text from past documents to construct a new document play a role in technical writing pedagogy?  It seems counterintuitive to expose technical writing students to a writing strategy like this when we’re always hounding them about the dangers of plagiarism and the many ways to avoid it.  When I read that almost half of a working technical writer’s proposal was “borrowed” from past documents (Selzer 320), however, I wonder if it could be at all beneficial to teach students the ethical, productive ways to “borrow” from past texts in constructing new ones, to collaborate in writing technical documents, and to co-author texts.  If so, we need to have a consistent definition of technical documents’ authorship.

 

Works Cited

Selzer, J. (1983). “The composing process of an engineer.” In J. Johnson-Eilola & S. A. Selber (Eds.), Central works in technical communication (pp. 317–324). 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.