Engineering Writing and Writing Engineering

Out of the four readings for this week, the one that caught my attention (and my interest) the most was “Engineering Writing/Writing Engineering” by Dorothy A. Winsor. This was more interesting to me because it sought to fill the gap of “how engineers writing would look when contemporary views about the textual shaping of knowledge are applied” (342) Also I find it interesting to try to bring someone over to our side, so in clear terms, make our engineer who doesn’t think that writing is a major component of his work realize that in fact it is. Winsor shares her own feeling of this at the end of her paper. She makes note of how, as a person of the English field, she is a little biased however, science is the “better” more important field in many people’s minds and to have an engineer understand the importance of writing within his scientific discipline.

This also applies to how I want my students who are getting in to engineering to be. If I could, I would assign them this reading. They are still young, and hopefully through what I have taught so far, they have gotten a small bit of why learning the basic writing skills I am trying to instill in them is important.

“The engine, rather than a document, is “final publication” for the engineer.” (343)

This statement, made at the beginning of Winsor’s paper, exhibits the mentality of a generalized “engineer”. This however does make sense and one can keep that in mind while reading the rest of the paper. I think that this is an interesting view to take because I have not thought of it that way. For the writer, the publication of a work is the “final product”, but for the engineer, any writing is merely part of the interpretation and the journey to get to the product, which in this case would be a more fuel efficient engine. This is understandable, however to devalue the writing that is part of the transmission of information within their field is not at all helpful. Winsor’s paper showed to some small degree that writing is of course important to an engineer and also goes to shape how they produce their work and other writing.

“Knowledge may be defined as that which most people in a discourse community are convinced of, and what a discourse community is convinced of is indicated by the texts it has accepted.” (343)

This connects directly to something we have read earlier in the semester, though at this moment I am unable to pinpoint it. The part of this reading which connects well, deals with the socially constructed understanding of a discourse or a community. Because it is socially constructed and socially accepted, it is true; and that in turn goes to shape how society thinks. It is a never ending cycle that progresses and works around within itself. For this quote from the paper, combined with other discussions within her paper, one can see the engineering knowledge world as being one that is shaped by certain ideas that currently exist as well as those already written in past engineering texts. This second, crucial idea completes Winsor’s work.

“These engineers seem to be explaining these actions to one another and most importantly to themselves so that those actions would square with their ideal notion of themselves and their work. They were, in other words, writing themselves as engineers.” (347)

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.

Pedagogical Reflections on the collaborative process of the technical writing classroom

I promise my students that we will conduct all of the work in our class electronically including my distribution of handouts to them, their documents to me, tests, final assessments, and group work. This is in part because my students pay an additional fee to meet in a computer lab every week and I don’t think it would make sense for them to pay for the lab and not work on the computers. But the other reason for maintaining an electronic work-frame is that the work my students produce, especially on group projects, allows them to learn about group collaboration through a digital environment, which may be unlike the way they experience collaboration in other classes, but relevant to the workplace they’re about to enter.

One such assignment I give involves dividing up the class into groups of four and giving them a specific scenario for a feasibility report and then having them create that document and presentation over Google Docs. Students have to decide who writes what part of the document and whether or not they’ll create an additional presentation (likely through some form of slide ware) or if they’ll present straight off the finished report. I have all of my students pretend that they are employees for a small and locally owned orchard in Pennsylvania, which I base on my parents’ orchard in Minnesota. Using a mock-up of a real world scenario instead of a completely made up example allows me to better define the set of constraints for the students including the nature of the audience.

My students pursue a number of different tasks or new systems for the Orchard including buying a new pickup truck, erecting a deer fence, building a new shed, and investigating different forms of clean energy. The groups set up Google Docs accounts with one another and create and collaborate on the document in real-time. Students can see what other members of the group contribute to the document immediately while also verbally commenting on the material and negotiating a plan. Despite these technologies, however, the experience is not without conflict. Allen et al. comment on the experiences of group conflict they’ve noticed: “Group conflict, which many people fear may occur, did occur in all our respondents groups, ranging from a relatively minor conflict over the use of a particular term to major conflicts over research conclusions” (358).

The conflict as part of the work that stems from collaboration that Allen et al. noticed is not all unlike what happens in my classroom. In one group this summer, one of the students who was sitting on the far end of her group kept asking a particular group member for help understanding particular terms she was encountering like “torque” and “payload.” The other student’s responses were largely dismissive which lead to the first student becoming frustrated, feeling that she didn’t have an equal voice. I eventually intervened, but only lightly since I wanted the group to manage the conflict independent of my authority. Largely the group did create a clean and thorough document, but since the second student never became receptive to the other student’s questions or concerns with the project, his participation grade in the class was lowered.

In some ways, my decision to give a lowered grade stemmed out of Allen et al’s notion that “All members of a shared-document collaborative group have power within the group’s decision-making process and share responsibility for the resulting document . . . individual members are not free to make final decisions affecting the document without consulting the group but instead must go through the group process” (361). Since the outcome was largely affected by one member making decisions and not listening to the others (or at least one specific member of the group), I was not able to acknowledge his role as equal to others.

This is my own pedagogical decision and isn’t necessarily universal to all situations. I still question how to manage situations like these since, as Allen et al. notes, conflict does sometimes serve a purpose: “The statements from our respondents that conflict contributed to their creativity and to the quality of their final document are supported by other work done on group decision making and creativity” (360). This sometimes places us as teachers of technical writing in a strange situation: would it have been better to let my students fight it out and waited to see what happened or was I in the right place as a teacher in a classroom to stand up for my student whose opinions were being squashed by a student who refused to listen?

Perhaps the pedagogical answer is in collaboration itself. Even if technical writing in the workplace may lead to more creative documents after a good cathartic shouting match, as a teacher I am woven into the collaborative process and can’t ever step completely outside of what’s happening in my classroom. By intervening, I also offer a model to the students in the group to see how to resolve conflict and make each voice heard equally, allowing them to later be more functional collaborators in the shared documents they’ll work on outside of my classroom and outside of academia.

Consensus and Difference in Workplace Collaboration

For my pedagogy class, I’m researching collaboration, so I was particularly drawn to the research by Nancy Allen and others into collaboration in the workplace. And I was happy when their subjects mentioned the importance of disagreement in their collaborations. Citing one research subject, they write: “While he agreed that mutual respect between collaborators was important, he also believed that too much respect would prevent members from challenging one another and would thereby lessen the group’s creativity” (359). If we accept that disagreements are important, I think it raises a question: Can we teach disagreement?

I would argue that we can’t teach disagreement for disagreement’s sake. After all, too much discord would leave an collaborative work impossible to carry through. And a lot of the foundational studies of collaboration (cited by Allen and also noted in my own readings) come from Kenneth Bruffee. Bruffee says an aim of collaboration is consensus. Everybody needs a stake in the issue and a group needs a goal of reaching consensus. But Bruffee himself notes that collaboration without proper guidance can “perpetuate, perhaps even aggravate, the many possible negative effects of peer group influence: conformity, anti-intellectualism, intimidation, and leveling down of quality” (Bruffee, 1984, 652). Therefore, Bruffee says the selection of groups is important to ensure that the groups work together well (Bruffee, 1973 637). Of course, looking at Allen’s work with her colleagues, this type of “perfect” group is not always possible. In fact, when discussing the typologies of group collaboration, Allen notes that some groups are designed to “synthesize” otherwise disparate knowledge (363). So, in the real world, we may not always be able to rely on perfectly drawn up groups.

Bruffee introduces another idea for combating the negatives of collaboration: abnormal discourse. Certain group members will be outside the normal discourse of the group. This could result in the person being marginalized in the group, but it could also result in a revolution in the way the group thinks (Bruffee, 1984, 648). To me the question (that I will leave unanswered) is how can we ensure a positive result from abnormal discourse? Can we—or should we—train students to introduce “noise” into a discussion to see whether that results in a better outcome? Maybe.

John Trimbur offers a critique of Bruffee’s ideas in “Consensus and Difference in Collaborative Learning.” Here, Trimbur argues against accepting consensus as a goal for many of the same reasons that Bruffee was hesitant. Trimbur, though, is unwilling to say that consensus will ever necessarily create an outcome that is good for everyone. “Instead,” he writes, “I want to displace consensus to a horizon which may never be reached.” In this way, consensus becomes “a utopian project, a dream of difference without domination” (615). In other words, consensus is a measure against which you can pit reality. By interrogating the difference between the reality and some supposed “consensus,” we may be able to better understand each other in group work. Perhaps this is something more teachable.

What might be troubling is that both Trimbur and Bruffee were discussing collaboration in the context of collaborative learning. Allen and her compatriots are looking at collaboration as a real world product. Still, while the trick to productive collaboration may just be to collaborate more (just as the trick to better writing may just be to write more), some understanding of how we can better prepare students for these activities might improve workplace writing long term. Allen’s work seems to confirm some of the suspicions voiced by Bruffee and Trimbur. And looking at them together, perhaps we can create a coherent way to address collaboration in the classroom.

Works Cited

Allen, Nancy et al. “What Experienced Collaborators Say about Collaborative Writing.” Central Works in Technical Communication. Ed. Johndan Johnson-Eilola and Stuart A. Selber. New York: Oxford University Press, 2004. 351-364. Print.

Bruffee, Kenneth A. “Collaborative Learning and the ‘Conversation of Mankind.’” College English. 46.7 (1984): 635-652. PDF.

Bruffee, Kenneth A. “Collaborative Learning: Some Practical Models.” College English. 34.5 (1973): 634-643. PDF.

Trimbur, John. “Consensus and Difference in Collaborative Learning.” College English. 51.6 (1989): 602-617. PDF.

A Comparison of Two Different Depictions of Collaboration

Comparing Two Different Depictions of Collaboration
Since my project for this class focuses on collaboration, I thought it would be interesting to explore the topic further by comparing Allen et. al’s essay, “What Experienced Collaborators Say about Collaborative Writing” to the sixth chapter of John M. Lannon’s Technical Communication (9th edition). Both texts focus on the topic of collaboration, although Lannon’s text is obviously geared towards students in technical communication courses, and Allen et. al’s research is focused around non-writer professionals.

In this blog post, I will examine what each text has to say about what collaborative writing is, and what values are attached to it.

What Is Collaborative Writing?
Allen et. al (2004) identify a range of activities that can be described as collaborative writing. Works can be:

  • Planned and drafted individually but edited by a supervisor or peers
  • Planned and drafted individually but revised collaboratively
  • Planned collaboratively but drafted and revised individually
  • Co-authored (p. 353)

However, while Allen et. al acknowledge that many variations of collaboration may exist, they specifically focus on Wiener’s conception of collaboration as an activity which must involve consensus. Allen et. al (2004) clarify the parameters within which their study will operate: “We wanted to investigate collaboration as it existed in the activities of experienced collaborators on the job – professional people who had worked together throughout the planning, drafting, and revising activities of a single document” (p. 354). In other words, Allen et. al focus on co-authored documents, documents that have been created collaboratively from beginning to finish.

Technical Communication does not focus specifically on any of the different types of collaborative writing that Allen et. al listed. Instead, the textbook stresses that any of these approaches may be used in the workplace. In fact, in the text’s “Guidelines for Managing a Collaborative Project,” step number four addresses group organization. The textbook suggests two different collaborative approaches that may be used in the workplace, involving differing individual and group roles in planning, researching, drafting, and revising the single document (Lannon, 2003, p. 98).

Values Associated with Collaborative Work
In her introduction to “What Experienced Collaborators Say about Collaborative Writing,” Allen (2004) identifies some of the important values associated with collaborative work:

Today’s employers apparently still see collaborative projects as ones in which group members divide a large workload or contribute particular expertise. These are good reasons for collaboration, but they overlook what I find to be the greatest values of working with a group: the deeper understanding of a rhetorical situation that comes from batting ideas back and forth with co-authors, or the sense of common purposes and respect that can result from shared interests and discussions (p. 351, emphasis mine).

Allen clearly delineates two of the greatest values of working with a group: the exchange of ideas, and the sense of common purpose and respect that can develop between teammates. Are these values shared by Technical Communication? The chapter opens up with a description of successful collaboration: “Successful collaboration combines the best that each team member has to offer. It enhances creative thinking by providing new and different perspectives, innovative ideas, and solutions. It enhances critical thinking by providing feedback, group support, and the chance to test ideas in group support, and the chance to test ideas in group discussion” (Lannon, 2003, p. 97). The textbook’s description emphasizes three aspects of collaboration, in this order:

  • Combines the best that each team member has to offer (roughly analogous to “contribut[ing] particular expertise,” as Allen expresses it)
  • Enhances creative thinking by providing new and different perspectives (similar to Allen’s “batting ideas back and forth”)
  • Enhances critical thinking by providing feedback, group support, and the chance to test ideas (similar to a combination of Allen’s “batting ideas back and forth” and increasing “sense of common purpose”)

The textbook does not discuss collaboration in terms of dividing a workload up to make it more manageable; neither does it specifically mention fostering a sense of respect among teammates.

Allen, N., Atkinson, D., Morgan, M., Moore, T., and Snow, C. (2004). What experienced collaborators say about collaborative writing. In J. Johndan-Eilola and S.A. Selber (Eds.) Central Works in Technical Communication. pp. 351-364. New York and Oxford:    University Press.

Lannon, J.M. (Ed.). (2003). Technical communication (9th ed.). New York, NY: Longman.

10: Workplace Writing, Collaborative Writing, Writing, Writing, Writing…

In Selzer’s (1983) article, in his study of engineer Kenneth E. Nelson’s composition practices, he writes in the “Arrangement” section: “Nelson follows a particular procedure for arranging ideas; as he told me in one interview, he does not ‘see how anyone could write anything of any length or any importance without an outline,” and then again concludes, “For to Nelson writing presupposes an outline; it is not much of an exaggeration to say that he cannot write without one” (p. 320–321). This got me thinking about my own writing process and the use of outlines. I’ve rarely ever been required to draft outlines as part of an assignment that would actually have to be submitted for a grade in a course. In fact, the only time I can think of everhaving to create an outline was in my Nonfiction Book Proposal course in my last PWE master’s program in which we had to submit all the parts of a proposal, including a chapter outline of the proposed book. Otherwise, I am not an outline person. And I wonder whether outlines are, like Nelson suggests, essential to good writing, or if outlines are a tool that are extremely effective in some cases or for some writers, but are not necessary for all writers, in order to be successful. I have written numerous texts in the course of my undergraduate and graduate studies, and I have largely been successful (or at least, successful enough) to do well. And I have never adopted outlines as something that help. Instead, I do my research, I read, I think, I ask questions, I jot down notes, I do random Internet searches to see what other people are saying on the topic, and I literally let all of this information and thought stew in my head, rolling around, coagulating into what finally, when I sit down and write, comes out in one fell swoop as a nearly-finalized draft of my document, with cohesive thoughts, proper transitions, and all the necessary elements of a well-composed text. Outlines feel too structured. Too restrictive. I can’t do my writing piecemeal and I feel that’s what outlines require. You sketch your original thoughts. You think, you take notes, you read. You revise and add to the outline, do more research. Finalize your outline, and then write your final document within those pre-set guidelines. I’m not arguingagainstoutlines. I’m just wondering about the necessity of outlines in a writer’s toolbox. Would I be aneven better writer if I did use outlines? Maybe Selzer’s (1983) conclusion is a viable explanation: “Perhaps detailed plans for writing complex documents come naturally to professionals who must plan and coordinate complicated engineering tasks” (p. 321). There’s almost a hint of implication here that other professionals don’t deal with complex planning of complicated tasks or documents, but maybe outlining and planning comes more naturally to an engineer like Nelson because of the very nature of his work. But then, the shocker for me was reading that “revision takes up less than 5% of Nelson’s time and consists of little more than superficial editing” (Selzer, 1983, p. 322). This has all just got to be a generational thing revolving around who’s teaching what and what those teachers’ preferences are! I vaguely recall in high school having to be try the whole Nelsonian approach to writing with invention, outlines, and drafts. It wasn’t until my freshman year of college that I was throttled into the universe of revision and from that moment on, revision was God. My professors preached revision, and thus, little of my time was devoted to outlining. But obviously, some learn the writing process differently—for Nelson, outlining, not revising, is God. Selzer’s (1983) final observation that “[t]he most striking thing about Nelson’s composing habits is how closely they approximate the habits of the professional writers and skilled academic writers whose composing processes have been studied by other researchers” (p. 322). This statement leads me to believe, if other professional writers’ writing processes so closely reflect Nelson’s, that I am an exception to the rule of professional writing.

I didn’t intend to focus on only one of our readings this week, but Selzer got me thinking. But since this week’s theme is workplace studies, I guess my biggest question would be, when it really comes down to it, how much time does a professional writer or engineer ultimately have to devote to their writing process? Like Nelson, or even in my own personal experience, I guess you find the writing process that feels most natural to you, that gets the job done well, and you hone that process into such a finely tuned skill that you are capable of meeting deadlines, no matter how tight, using the process that works for you.

To at least acknowledge some of our other readings, here are a couple thoughts:

In Winsor’s (1990) discussion of engineering and writing, she observes how “[w]riting is viewed as a part of an engineer’s job but not as part of engineering,” and then details how lab results are translated into reports that pull from already-existing lab results and reports that are then compiled with “documents written by other people” in the workplace to complete the final production of the product at hand (p. 342). I guess my question is: how can people—engineers in this case—deny that writing is not separate from any given task? How can they miss how much writing they take part in to reach their final goal? Nothing we do, as professionals, is free of writing, which means everything we do is infiltrated with the process of writing. Writing creates knowledge and knowledge is delivered or transmitted through writing.

Allen, Atkinson, Morgan, Moore, and Snow’s (1987) article on collaboration had me thinking about my own experiences with collaboration, particularly in the more obvious or forced, if you will, group work collaboration projects assigned or required in a class like ours. While I would never have really considered my everyday work at the magazine “collaborative,” Allen et. al’s definition of collaborative includes “a peer’s critiquing of a coworker’s draft (Anderson),” which I participate in daily with no questions or qualms (p. 353). But my group experiences in this class,  (though I’ve been extremely fortunate in the people I’ve worked with and often feel like the weakest link!) have felt far less intuitive. Group work or document collaboration feels forced. How does one person not become The Leader? What do you do if some people don’t add their notes to the shared document? Won’t a person who’s naturally more outgoing or naturally a better writer or editor naturally become the one who the rest of the group turns to—and how do you avoid these sorts of hierarchies? Or do you even have to avoid these hierarchies in collaborative work?

WORKS CITED

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.

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.

Engineer Writing as Self-Expression

This week, Dorthea A. Winsor introduced me to the idea that engineers are, in fact, forming themselves through writing technical documents. This idea is exciting for me because I’ve never seen it articulated so clearly.

She says, “These writers seem to be explaining their actions to one another and more importantly to themselves so that those actions would square with their ideal notion of themselves and their work. They were [SIC], in other words, writing themselves as engineers” (p. 347). I never thought of engineer-writing (e.g. fact-gathering, data recording, data generation, lab reports, project templates) as vehicles for self-formation, but I see this possibility, now.

Winsor’s guiding principle that “knowledge of a document equals knowledge of a thing” implies that our writing of anything is a writing of ourselves (p. 345). And now this makes much sense to me, especially when reflecting on my own experiences with pre-formed documents I’m asked to fill out. Previously, I wouldn’t put that act under the same category as “essay writing” or “creative writing” because it doesn’t directly ask me to explore my beliefs. However, when filling out plans of study, medical documents, surveys, data sheets, etc. I do negotiate how best to represent myself.

For instance, at an eye doctor’s office with pink eye, I might need to choose between several descriptions of the eye color and the level of discomfort to best represent what I’m feeling, or perhaps to best achieve the desired outcome (for instance, if I didn’t want to pay for an X-ray, I might not check the box that says “Pain is behind the eye”). So, I would have the choice of either answering the questions to most authentically reflect reality or of misrepresenting the “data” in order to achieve a desired outcome. I would also have to indicate my allergies, my emergency contact information, my past medical history, etc. In a certain way, this is a writing of the self in that very moment and a writing of the history of the self. We decide “I am this,” “This is that,” which are perceptions of reality and beliefs about what reality should be, expressed in writing.

(Hyperbolic example: Look at how the blogger of Hyperbole and a Half recreates the universal pain chart to better express her reality.)

This negotiation about a very “objective” situation demonstrates how data recording reflects an inherent view of reality and a belief of what should be happening. As long as we are humans, we are creating ourselves (and our research) through every decision put in writing.

Think, especially, of those who may not have a traditional family and cannot check the “Father” or “Friend” box for their “personal guardian” without going through a difficult negotiation about what their relationship is: “Well, he’s kind of like my dad, but we aren’t really related, but he’s not exactly my friend, either. He was first my teacher, then my stepdad, and now after the divorce, he’s technically nothing to me, but he still pays for my insurance, and I take him to baseball games.” Similarly indeed, when people of mixed ethnicity fill out census forms, they are confronted with impossible choices about how to define themselves. So how do they fit? Suddenly, a perceived “black or white,” categorical decision becomes very gray and subjective. And in the same way, checking “Caucasian” expresses a certain facet of our identity—of how we identify ourselves.

Relating these thoughts to professional communication and workplace studies, I suppose I am seeing how all work is a form of self-expression. I have previously believed that writing creatively is closer to an expression of the self than job-related writing (which I have expressed in a continuum, that you may see in my conference presentation). But after this week’s readings, I understand that, whether we are conscious of it or not, our work is an expression of ourselves, and we should never treat someone’s work lightly. What someone does, how they think, and what they write is who they are. And the categorical thinking that engineers practice is an ordering of reality through various choices, the very basic of which is to trust numbers. This decision to believe in numbers and the action of recording numbers are expressions of a personal belief.

This is not to say that all data is “subjective” and useless and rife with human flaw. I am, rather, attempting to demonstrate how any choice, whether working in science or math or the humanities, is an expression of a certain logic, or a certain belief. And if choices reflect beliefs, then categorizing data (categorizing, itself) is a form of self-expression.

 

Reference

Winsor, D. A. (2004). Engineering Writing/Writing Engineering. In Johndan Johnson-Eilola and Suart A. Selber (Eds.). Central Works in Technical Communication (341-350). New York: Oxford.

10. On Technical Difficulties Removed from Workplace Writing

In Barbara’s Mirel’s preface to “Writing and Database Technology,” she writes, “Interactive data visualizations, data cubes, and enterprise resources management systems did not yet exist for easier data retrieval, analysis and, sharing” (381). This kind of disclaimer certainly dates, but does not necessarily make moot, Mirel’s claims when she says, “If data reports are to serve readers’ needs for recordkeeping and problem solving, the writers’ technological skills must serve their rhetorical aims and strategies” (383) and “When developing reports in an electronic medium, writers’ rhetorical intentions for arrangement are inseparable from their technical skills in implementing them” (289).

In no uncertain terms, Mirel’s claiming that one’s ability to discern and address a rhetorical situation in the workplace is a slave to one’s tech abilities. After discussing the pros/cons of a table or other means of visual data (eg., graphs), Mirel writes of the Detailed Charge Report, “Readers can redesign the row groupings to get this desired arrangement of they use the sort function…But, as noted earlier, few respondents understand the uses of technical capability” (389). I wonder sixteen years after being published, if this can still be reasonably claimed, if technology still reigns as master and there still exists such separation.

Because I’ve not had the joy of actually working-working and have not been instrumental in facilitating the process of data retrieval, discerning appropriate data, arranging, then making meaning of that data (at least to my knowledge), I can only speculate, but if the workable data is tabular and numerical, I suspect modern workspaces are easily prepared to deal with it– in my limited experience with workplace technology, most computers are equipped with Microsoft Excel which can be used to perform tasks that might resemble the composition and manipulation of Mirel’s Detailed Charge Report. Mirel writes that her subjects’ disappointment with the Detailed Charge Report was the result of “invention issues.” She writes, “The report does not select and display key data relevant to readers’ needs. For instance, it gives a fine-grained level of detail on exact monthly and year-to-date costs…But it does not include higher-level figures on variances between budgeted and actual costs…(387). Excel, I think, performs this kind of task without difficulty. Switching between sheets (on the bottom left: Sheet 1, Sheet 2) various groups of data can be shown with tables, graphs, charts embedded in the sheet itself. Because the rhetorical situation can affect the data after the technology produced it, data can easily be changed and the table will immediately adapt to whatever data has been changed or fed to it.

So yes, technology does still reign as rhetoric’s master (in this context), but it’s a nonstarter. The likelihood of a professional communicator incapable to perform the manipulation of data, the tabulation of that data, all with an eye on its readability and visual composition is, I think, slim. However, handling “pressing business problems” (382) still requires collaborative rhetorical strategies to ameliorate. And as an afterthought: Using Google’s cloud technology (using Spreadsheet through its Drive), I suspect, will and, probably has, made this easier.

Textbook Analysis: Writing That Works, Tenth Ed.

Writing That Works, Tenth Edition. Walter E. Oliu, et al.

A note: Like crafting an in-office memo or company wide e-mail, critiquing a textbook relies on many factors: context, tone, style, etc. Last class meeting, Rachel expressed her neutrality for the cheesy albeit effective use of goofy images and accompanying speech bubbles from a text we shared in another course. While cheesey, this pedagogic technique is an example of a feature I value in a textbook. So, because the way textbooks choose to instruct is subjective, I’ll be using a concrete criteria for which to critique Writing That Works. For this review, I’ll examine WTW beneath the backdrop of the ENGL 304 Syllabus

INTRODUCTION
What separates WTW from other business writing textbooks lies in its ability to develop in fine detail not just the mechanics of professional communication mainstays (resumes, letter writing, memos), but their designs, their quirks, and the culture in which the circulate. The text has many strengths, but most salient is its ability to instruct in a way that considers these genres and documents as a means to an end: interaction among humans. While it spends many pages clarifying the obvious (the importance of white space in Ch. 7) and the not so obvious (grant and research proposals in Ch. 13), WTW stresses that adherence to accepted and formal designs, documents, and other ways of information exchange is perhaps the greatest signifier of productive and healthy business writing.

To achieve this, Oliu and the gang divide WTW into four parts:

  1. The Writing Process
  2. Essential Skills: Collaboration, Research, and Design
  3. Writing at Work: From Principle to Practice
  4. Revision Guide: Sentences, Punctuation, and Mechanics

Beyond this division, sections are subdivided by chapters until section four. The third section, with nine of the the text’s sixteen chapters, dominates the bulk of the book. This third section offers practical guidance for at-work writing is stressed (proposals, presentations, even job hunting). Proceeding to the final part of the book, section four serves as a reference for polishing sentence level prose by discussing proofreaders’ marks, mechanics and tips for ESL wrtiers.

WRITING PROCESS (CHs. 1-4)
WTW stresses purpose-driven and audience-aware writing. In this first section, WTW discusses (1) how to compose the cornerstones of business communication like memos, letters, and proposals. Plenty of visuals are provided. To be sure, this is the text’s bread and butter for instruction: use many visuals with marginalia to reinforce the text written before it. (2) WTW encourages “writing systematically.” Claiming that process will produce helpful work documents, WTW adores processes like outlining, brainstorming, and checklists.

RHETORIC & PERSUASION
Last week, it seemed that one common criterion for evaluating the general quality of a text book was the use or appearance of the word “rhetoric.” Like a few other texts considered then, WTW lists the use of “rhetoric” only once (in reference to avoiding rhetorical questions within professional communication). Because WTW is a text designed for the business writing classroom, perhaps the word would be even more useful here rather than technical writing textbooks. To be sure, much of the material used in WTW focuses on saving face and establishing credibility (ethos) while persuading a co-worker or authority figure (pathos) that the new plan to change a practice or policy is worth their time (logos). Ultimately though, Oliu and company effectively achieve introducing the reader to the knack of rhetoric without saying as much.

VISUALS AND ORAL COMMUNICATION (CH. 7)
Not as an illustration, but as a kind of visual affect, WTW uses color and colored text boxes to spice up and organize the text. Orange is used for headings and as a background colors to differentiate between the meat of the text (ultimately, dos and don’ts) and auxiliary information (“Voices In the Workplace,”Ethics Notes”). As mentioned, WTW heavily relies on visuals to instruct. Clearly marked (eg., Figure 7-9), the graphic element of WTW is mostly always used in antiphony with the text. The less than ideal student who considers reading a chore will benefit from this feature. Of course, the illustrations also provide quick, concrete examples of document format, tone, style.

RESEARCH AND WRITING TECHNOLOGIES (CH. 6)
Nested in the text’s second section, Chapter 6, “Research Your Subject” guides the on-the-job researcher from very beginning raw data collection to polished product. From interview tips (“Be pleasant but Purposeful”) and designing a questionnaire (“Keep it as brief as possible”) to library and online usage (Ebscohost), WTW also provides metasearch engines and subject directories (see below) for the researcher.

Beyond the research process, WTW stresses the ethics of citation and provides clear and useful APA and MLA citation guides marked by colored margins for easy side-of-the-book findability.

DOCUMENT GENRES AND TYPES OF WRITING
Like instructing the aforementioned business communication mainstays, WTW gives consideration to a surprisingly wide range of genres and types of writing. With the exception of Twitter (which might not be germane considering what kind of business writing is desirable), WTW is brilliantly up-to-date re: modes of workplace communication. From medium selection to the appropriateness of when an instant message conversation should happen, WTW covers the obvious genres to the less obvious (eg., transmittals).

ELECTRONIC COLOPHON
The ancillary companion to the text takes a few days for registration. If not registered, the online element to WTW is unremarkable and ultimately not very helpful. To boot, there’s
nothing to write home about in terms of design:

The online component (unregistered) is really only helpful for instructors to assign quizzes and exercises. The tutorials link is somewhat helpful. Here, a student can access entry-level web design and online research tips.

WITH ENGL 304 (CHs. 8-15)
In the business writing classroom, I can reasonably see WTW approached chronologically. As WTW might be applied to WVU’s ENGL 304 it most certainly fits the bill (it is, in fact listed among the suggested ENGL 304 textbooks for instructors. But in accordance to the syllabus, approaching the text from front to back might not be putting it to its best use. Its scope and length are just too much. However, it would be very useful for ENGL 304′s two major processes: “The production of a professional writer’s portfolio and the production, with one other student, of a proposal and presentation project.” In this light, WTW is a shoe in. However, one process of the presentation project, the Rhetorical Analysis Memo, would certainly be arhetorical if this text was used, that is, it wouldn’t use the three rhetorical key words and their modes of meaning we’ve come to know and love.

Pg. 5 of the 304 syllabus says, “Students who have completed English 304 should be able to:”
1.“Apply strategies for analyzing professional writing contexts…”
2. “Compose and design documents…”
3. “Apply rhetorical arguments…”
4.  “Conduct research and analyze data” with “proper methods of documentation” and to
understand ethics within the realm of research
5. “Know and apply composition methods and document design strategies…”

Broadly put, the goals amount to this: English 304 must be rhetorical. That is, English 304 must pay attention not only to what students should write, but to how and why writing happens in specific contexts for specific purposes. While WTW doesn’t approach making meaning and establishing credibility under the guise of “rhetoric,” it does an exceedingly good job of instructing them. Again, using WTW for the instruction of Aristotelian rhetoric may be a misstep, but supplements like hand outs or in-class lectures on the topic of rhetoric don’t seem too far out of reach.

 

 

Technical Communication: A Reader-Centered Approach (6th ed.).

Anderson, P. V. (2007). Technical Communication: A Reader-Centered Approach (6th ed.). Boston, MA: Thomson Wadsworth.

Paul V. Anderson’s 2007 installment of Technical Communication: A Reader-Centered Approach is the sixth edition of his textbook. It is split into eight parts and an appendix that guide readers on the process of writing for work-related purposes (5). Chapters not only instruct on writing practices and products but also discuss important workplace topics like ethics and appealing to international and multicultural audiences. Each chapter concludes with exercises, as well as directions to online exercises, that build upon the material in the main text. The primary theme for the textbook is that a writer must “think constantly about [their] readers” (10).

Writing Process

Anderson arranges the textbook so that its parts and chapters represent different steps, in order, of the writing process. The parts include:

  1. Defining Your Communication’s Objectives (63)
  2. Planning (97)
  3. Drafting Prose Elements (197)
  4. Drafting Visual Elements (323)
  5. Revising (399).

Rhetoric and persuasion

Like later editions of this textbook, Anderson’s sixth edition does not include the term “rhetoric” within its text (although it is used on the book’s back cover). However, Chapter Five, titled “Planning Your Persuasive Strategies”, does mention Aristotle, a seminal rhetorician, as the “source of [that] chapter’s advice” (121). The terms ethos, logos, and pathos are also defined and clarified in this chapter (121). The textbook stresses logos through sections titled “Reason Soundly” (127), “Present Sufficient and Reliable Evidence” (131), and “Choose Carefully between Direct and Indirect Organizational Patterns” (132), but using emotional strategies (137) and asserting credibility (135) are also recommended.

As previously stated, the idea of audience is the key to the textbook. Anderson perpetually reminds writers to consider their readers as while planning, writing, designing, and revising their texts.

Style and tone

The textbook’s chapter on “Developing an Effective Style” most explicitly addresses the issues of style and tone for its readers. The chapter is divided into three sections: “Guidelines for Creating Your Voice”, “Guidelines for Constructing Sentences”, and “Guidelines for Selecting Words” (257). While a reader can rightly guess that Anderson will advise writers to consider audiences, they should note that he recommends that authors write in ways that make them feel comfortable. He also covers the style behind business and professional writing (avoiding “to-be” verbs [265], placing modifiers next to nouns [264]), and offers lists and diagrams that can help writers with their diction.

This chapter is not the only one that addresses style and tone, as the chapters on particular document genres also discuss these items. For example, the section on correspondence begins by advising that readers take a “you-attitude” to the language in those documents; through this you-attitude writers are supposed to emphasize the recipients of their letters, memos, and emails as the subjects of their sentences.

Document design

Chapter 13, situated within Part V on Visual Elements, provides instruction on document design. In it Anderson advises that readers consider making grids for their documents (375) while also paying attention to how they group items in the document to establish focus. Contrast and repetition are mentioned as beneficial for designing a document for attractiveness and usability.

More specific information on the designs of particular technical documents can be found in the “Superstructures” part of the textbook (523).

Document genres and types of writing

Part VIII of the textbook contains a four chapters and a Writer’s Reference Guide on various document genres. These genres are referred to as “superstructures” (523). The superstructures that Anderson explains are:

  • Letters
  • Memos
  • E-mails
  • Reports
  • Proposals

There is no uniform approach Anderson takes to covering the different genres. The formats for each genre are generally discussed in Writer’s Tutorials, which have diagrams of example documents and short outlines (the superstructures) that list the different parts necessary to each document. There is a lot of material on reports, like a page on reports that offers a short outline (541), eight additional pages of sample outlines and reports for readers to look at, and a sixty-page Writer’s Reference Guide that goes into detail about the ways to write three specific kinds of reports: Empirical reports, feasibility reports, and progress reports (557).

Visuals and oral communication

Anderson places the textbook’s chapters on visual elements after its chapters on textual elements. He also states that, when writing technically, one is supposed to be “replacing, supplementing, or reinforcing [their] words with visual presentations” (327). Such chapter ordering and quotes seem to imply that visuals are not quite as essential to technical documents as text.

There are Writer’s Tutorials on designing slideshows (464), employing graphics, creating graphs (thankfully using Microsoft Excel and not Word [344]), and designing grids for formatting documents. There is also a handy Writer’s Reference Guide on “creating”:

  • Tables
  • Graphs
  • Images
  • Charts.

Not every guide offers much information on “creating” these visuals, however; the guides are more useful for writers who need assistance with formatting tables, and not necessarily making visuals from scratch.

Oral communication is covered in detail in Part VII, “Applications of the Reader-Centered Approach” (437). Its chapter on teamwork covers strategies for listening well, promoting discussion and debate, and using social technologies for communication (451); it also includes a segment that discusses potential ways to handle cultural and gender issues while working in a team (454). A chapter on oral presentations discusses preferred speaking styles, keeping organization for a spoken presentation simple, coping with questions and interruptions, and dealing with presentation anxiety.

Research and writing technologies

Chapter 6, “Conducting Reader-Centered Research” (151), extensively covers research. In it are sections on planning research, information literacy, and ways to consider the legal ramifications of citing certain sources.

The book lacks a chapter straightforwardly dedicated to writing with technology. However, many of the tutorials and guides scattered throughout the book mention how certain programs can help writers create visuals and format texts, and there is a chapter on creating web pages (437).

Textbook Analysis: Technical Writing: A Practical Guide

Pfeiffer, W. S. (2003). Technical Writing: A Practical Guide (5th ed.). Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice Hall.

“[T]his book stresses one simple principle: you learn to write best by doing as much writing as possible” (Pfeiffer, 2003, p. v).

Introduction (viii-xiii)

What makes Pfeiffer’s (2003) Technical Writing: A Practical Guide unique is its emphasis on the real-world workplace and its awareness of international communication. Its core features include a focus on process and product in which students are taught “planning, drafting and editing” to “get the job done,” an ABC (Abstract, Body, Conclusion) format for all documents, and a fictional company called McDuff, Inc. as a realistic context for workplace discussion (p. viii).

The 5th edition’s new features include “Collaboration at Work” exercises, international assignments in each chapter, and new (now dated) information about website design, e-mailing, research, and style/usage. The book also includes a writing handbook.

Writing Process (1.1)          

The general overview of the writing process is provided in the first section of the book, emphasizing a very common and straight-forward planning, drafting, and revising process. Pfeiffer uses familiar writing projects like English class essays and papers from general studies courses to get students to apply the concepts of purpose, prior knowledge, audience, evaluative criteria, and graphic support (p. 5). He then transitions into how those concepts apply to technical writing, outlining several types of documents from memos to feasibility studies to websites. The chapter examines in-depth how to analyze your readers, how to draft in several different formats, and how to work in groups.

Rhetoric and Persuasion (1.2, 3.14)

Though “rhetoric” is not a term used heavily, if at all, chapter 1.2 addresses the rhetorical situation by examining audience concerns, ethics, and globalism through the fictional McDuff, Inc. The chapter briefly outlines company culture, “the search for quality” (customer first, teamwork, freedom, long-term thought), and strategies for communicating internationally (p. 44).

Here, students also receive a detailed history of McDuff, Inc., a very large company specializing in security systems, hotel management, and landscaping, run by former U.S. Army engineer Rob McDuff. Included is the layout of all company jobs and the degrees needed to earn them (p. 50-51). Finally, a “Communication Challenge” at McDuff, Inc. is used to implement the ethics guidelines of being honest, not harming, keeping commitments, and being independent (p. 62-63, 66).

Chapter 3.14 belongs in this category because breaks down persuasive techniques to entice employers in the resume and cover letter.

Style and Tone (3.15)

One slim, final chapter differentiates style and tone: style refers to the individuality of writer’s choices, and tone refers to the more specific attitude of the writer. Students also gain advice on how to write clear sentences, be concise, be accurate in wording, use active voice, and use nonsexist language (p. 593).

Document Design (1.3, 1.4)

These two chapters provide overviews of organization and page design. In 1.3, students learn three principles of organization (“write different parts for different readers”; “emphasize beginnings and endings”; “repeat key points”) and the Technical Writing trademark ABC format for all documents: Abstract (the “big picture” for decision makers), Body (details for all readers), and Conclusion (wrap-up leading to next step) (75, 77-80).

1.4 offers instruction on how to use computers in the writing process and major page design concepts like white space, headings, and lists, and choices like font and color. This chapter stresses primarily creating “clear, readable, and visually interesting documents” (102).

Document Genres and Types of Writing (2.5-2.10)

Part two is devoted entirely to outlining patterns of organization for 1) process descriptions and instructions, 2) letters, memos, and electronic communication, 3) informal reports, 4) formal reports, and 5) proposals and feasibility studies. Each primary genre is broken down into several parts to enrich the ABC format.

In 2.5, “Patterns of Organization,” several different structures are generally outlined: argument, definition, description, classification/division, and comparison/contrast. The following chapters detail the guidelines for the more specific document formats listed above. Pfeiffer provides multiple examples that from McDuff, Inc. and more generalized templates (p. 243-257). These samples and templates are the purple pages of the book. Here, the McDuff corporation takes a fuller shape, forming the audience and purpose for the genres of writing.

Other, smaller genres outlined include positive, neutral, and negative letters, problem analyses, progress reports, lab reports, title pages, table of contents, executive summary, illustrations, discussion sections, appendices, etc.

Visuals and Oral Communication (3.11, 3.12)

Here, Pfeiffer (2003) details the concepts of graphics (3.11) and oral communication (3.12). The former provides examples of every kind of chart imaginable and provides options and reasons for choosing specific fonts and color. Pfeiffer also explains how graphics can be misused and distorted while emphasizing that graphics are expected in the workplace. Again, every visual from pie chart to centric organization chart to cover page image are related to McDuff, Inc (p. 445). Learners are given countless options.

The oral communication chapter focuses on major guidelines for preparation and delivery, overcoming nervousness, graphics, running effective meetings. Included is McDuff, Inc. sample transparencies (p. 481).

Research and Writing Technologies (3.13, Appendix A and B)

3.13 details several modes of research and several methods of attaining information like online catalogs, the web, and the library. There are also convenient sections for plagiarism and varieties of source documentation, in which the author-date system and writing abstracts receive special attention.

Appendices A and B describe online technical documents (of which they list four: help files, web-based documents, online books, and computer-based training) and website design (p. 621).  We only get a broad overview of these issues through dated anecdotes about workers at McDuff, Inc. John has a feeling that “creating a Web page on our intranet site”  will be different than his college presentation on “Surfing the Internet” that he filled with “lots of animated surfer graphics” (p. 628).

Conclusions

This book, though outdated for the current professional writing classroom, offers a compelling, unique, and practical context for learning. The ABC format functions like “the rhetorical situation” applicable to many documents, and McDuff, Inc. gives students imaginative scenarios within which they can make creative choices. The most recent edition’s description no longer mentions McDuff, Inc., so perhaps the company has been nixed. However, I do think the rationale for this textbook could be carried over to an English 304 syllabus: letting a given company like Microsoft or Mylan provide the context within which the class functions. Such an imaginative framework would be a difficult undertaking, but I bet students would come to class with a developed frame-of-reference for the lessons and therefore the ability to delve deeper into the material, much like this text allows.