Brammer and Rees are concerned with the treatment of students’ perspective regarding the peer edition process. They begin by examining what elements of peer review are pedagogically essential to the writing process. What they determined was that peer review must focus on five basic questions:
1. Does the frequency of peer review relate to perceived value of peer review for students and writing faculty?
2. Does the perceived value of peer review relate to the use of required and/or optiorial peer review?
3. Does student self-confidence in peer review relate to perceived value of peer review?
4. Does student self-confidence in peer review relate to perceived instruction in peer review?
5. Does perceived value of peer review relate to instruction in peer review, for both students and writing faculty?
Brammer and Rees took this information and applied it to a study in a Southeastern university. The study found results that; wait for it…wait for it; they found results that proved what they were hoping to find, wow! I know that this is an overly cynical view, but any attempt to quantify something as abstract as confidence is hilarious, just look at the consumer confidence studies that circulate on the news; according them, no feels confident enough to invest, but the stock market still exists.
Ranting tangent aside, the pair’s experiment initially found that the students felt that peer review was “NOT very helpful;” however, when the authors looked over their data again, they found that by combining the average within each section, they found that students felt peer edition was “SOMEWHAT helpful.” The authors go on to say that students who are exposed to more peer editing activities become more comfortable and confident with the process. Again, the devil is in the details; of coarse the students are more comfortable and confident; training in anything will produce these results. The telling statement is that students did not claim that they enjoyed peer editing or found it to significantly improve their writing. At best, one in two students expressed “positive” responses to peer editing when questioned.
The authors close with a theory that if instructors believed in peer editing, the students would follow. I think this is a logical statement, but believing something is useful and the thing being useful are two different things. Once again, I hate to be the naysayer, but I have to agree with those crotchety sounding teachers from the beginning of the piece; peer editing can be useful, but only in limited situations, and even in these, the results will largely benefit the students who were fair to good writers to begin with.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Elizabeth Tasker and Frances Holt-Underwood: Where’s Waldina?
I am big on prefacing my statements, and I am going to do so here; these are the facts of the piece without any opinions from me. My opinions will be reserved for class discussion where I can defend myself without fear of being misunderstood.
The task of this piece is to provide an overview of feminist studies. The group of seven scholars attempted to examine 60 works and “rediscover” the female authors while maintaining an intimate participation in the process, rather than a neutral expression as is found in most historical composition.
The Tasker and Holt-Underwood begin their examination by focusing on the work of feminists in the 1970’s. The works they focus on present the idea that Western or masculine rhetoric is rooted in violent persuasion. The authors feel this trend toward violence helped to marginalized female voices. The authors go on to show that women writers in the 1980’s begin to build a foundation for feminist voice by “showing how nineteenth-century, female-authored texts contained thoughtful decisions about audience and persuasion.” This groundwork served as “a source to instruct contemporary feminist theory.” The 1990’s bring further solidification to the goal of many feminist writers to gain acceptance and validity through continued scholarship.
However, not all feminist writers embraced the quest for acceptance. Tasker and Holt-Underwood point out that Susan Biesecker attacked the then current trend which she felt was indiscriminately selecting woman writers to speak for all women and which also “reinforces elitist hierarchies, which cause the oppressed to remain silent.” Cambell retorted that any Biesecker’s attempts to rationalize the choice of one woman’s voice over another would further silence the female voice. I know I said that I would silence my opinion, but as most people know, I have a sickness. I can’t help but side with Biesecker in this debate. To choose voices without strong rational seems to me a poor choice of action; the rational could only solidify the validity of the works being promoted by feminists, and to avoid this, to me, invalidates the chosen works. Academia is elitist no matter what Cambell or anyone else thinks.
The rest of the paper goes on to examine several other areas that feminism made an impact, including cultural studies. Feminists also made various breakthroughs in methodology as well. Archival studies appeared to be the most significant because it allowed feminists, both male and female, to continue reclaiming “lost” writers and their works. The authors explain that the 21th Century continues as an open floodgate of both modern feminist works and other found works.
The task of this piece is to provide an overview of feminist studies. The group of seven scholars attempted to examine 60 works and “rediscover” the female authors while maintaining an intimate participation in the process, rather than a neutral expression as is found in most historical composition.
The Tasker and Holt-Underwood begin their examination by focusing on the work of feminists in the 1970’s. The works they focus on present the idea that Western or masculine rhetoric is rooted in violent persuasion. The authors feel this trend toward violence helped to marginalized female voices. The authors go on to show that women writers in the 1980’s begin to build a foundation for feminist voice by “showing how nineteenth-century, female-authored texts contained thoughtful decisions about audience and persuasion.” This groundwork served as “a source to instruct contemporary feminist theory.” The 1990’s bring further solidification to the goal of many feminist writers to gain acceptance and validity through continued scholarship.
However, not all feminist writers embraced the quest for acceptance. Tasker and Holt-Underwood point out that Susan Biesecker attacked the then current trend which she felt was indiscriminately selecting woman writers to speak for all women and which also “reinforces elitist hierarchies, which cause the oppressed to remain silent.” Cambell retorted that any Biesecker’s attempts to rationalize the choice of one woman’s voice over another would further silence the female voice. I know I said that I would silence my opinion, but as most people know, I have a sickness. I can’t help but side with Biesecker in this debate. To choose voices without strong rational seems to me a poor choice of action; the rational could only solidify the validity of the works being promoted by feminists, and to avoid this, to me, invalidates the chosen works. Academia is elitist no matter what Cambell or anyone else thinks.
The rest of the paper goes on to examine several other areas that feminism made an impact, including cultural studies. Feminists also made various breakthroughs in methodology as well. Archival studies appeared to be the most significant because it allowed feminists, both male and female, to continue reclaiming “lost” writers and their works. The authors explain that the 21th Century continues as an open floodgate of both modern feminist works and other found works.
Peter Kratzke: To Rewrite or Edit; that is the Question
Kratzke begins his piece by pondering the effects of technology in the classroom and the various changes it has wrought. The primary focus is on the lost art of revision. Kratzke fears that writers no longer have the same inclination to revise because technology has made the process much simpler. Writers no longer have to rewrite entire passages; instead, they only have to clean up the problems with the first draft. I think that Pete makes a good point here when he says that many students only write one draft, but I hardly think this is the fault of the technology.
As Kratzke brings Murray into his argument, I think he makes another miscalculation; it appears that for Kratzke, the only “new paper” is one that is rewritten from beginning to end. This was not Murray’s point. Murray was simply saying that each draft should have a different goal: the first draft should develop the writer’s meaning and express his ideas as clearly as possible; the writing should also be organized into a logical order. All subsequent drafts were written in order to clarify the author’s points and to add voice and other refinements. A Word document is no different from this process. As long as the writer understands his piece and his goal, each time he saves, he has created a “new” draft.
I find Kratzke’s attempt to pinpoint the problem with student writing to be much more interesting. Rather than quibble about standardized test scores, he focuses on the fact that none of the test record growth, even with all of the focus on composition instruction. He examines various possibilities, but finally settles on a likely possibility: students are being asked to learn too many things at the same time, an imposition that was not placed on their forebears.
Kratzke’s ultimate solution is to learn to write by rewriting. The learning takes place by rewriting a draft with an air of competition: “Can I make this paragraph sound better than the previous version?” I have no problem with this theory, but I find it just as plausible that students can be taught to rewrite through editing on the electronic page. As many educators will point out, what works for some does not work for all. Perhaps the best solution is to present both options for students to choose from, but I even as I write this, I am envisioning those same students mentioned above who only write one draft.
As Kratzke brings Murray into his argument, I think he makes another miscalculation; it appears that for Kratzke, the only “new paper” is one that is rewritten from beginning to end. This was not Murray’s point. Murray was simply saying that each draft should have a different goal: the first draft should develop the writer’s meaning and express his ideas as clearly as possible; the writing should also be organized into a logical order. All subsequent drafts were written in order to clarify the author’s points and to add voice and other refinements. A Word document is no different from this process. As long as the writer understands his piece and his goal, each time he saves, he has created a “new” draft.
I find Kratzke’s attempt to pinpoint the problem with student writing to be much more interesting. Rather than quibble about standardized test scores, he focuses on the fact that none of the test record growth, even with all of the focus on composition instruction. He examines various possibilities, but finally settles on a likely possibility: students are being asked to learn too many things at the same time, an imposition that was not placed on their forebears.
Kratzke’s ultimate solution is to learn to write by rewriting. The learning takes place by rewriting a draft with an air of competition: “Can I make this paragraph sound better than the previous version?” I have no problem with this theory, but I find it just as plausible that students can be taught to rewrite through editing on the electronic page. As many educators will point out, what works for some does not work for all. Perhaps the best solution is to present both options for students to choose from, but I even as I write this, I am envisioning those same students mentioned above who only write one draft.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
David Bartholomae: Where is the Bloodshed? Where is the Carnage?
When it was finally disclosed, the argument between Peter Elbow and David Bartholomae was less explosive than I had hoped for. As someone who had never heard of the debate, I was hoping for an epic clash of ideas that forced asunder the very foundations of composition; what we learned from Emily was that Bartholomae simply doesn’t believe that one can divest themselves of their cultural baggage, writing for the academy should sound like it, and that language should be scrutinized with a cynical eye rather being immediately embraced.
The first example over cultural influences mirrors Shaynee’s scholar, Patricia Bizzell. Essentially both of these theorists believe that all people are inherently comprised of their experiences. There knowledge is limited their discourse communities of birth, school, and neighborhood. What Bartholomae goes on to point out is that writers must intimately understand the forces that make up their ideas about everything in order to pick and choose which beliefs to maintain and which to drop. However, no one can simply write without the influences of their mother culture.
Bartholomae comes across at his most arrogant with the idea that writing should sound academic, but practically speaking, there should be rules. Elbow was cited by Emily as stating that writing should take the form that the writer desires without the “academicese” that is expected by most scholarly authorities. I think that Emily explained the ideas well when she said, “You’re in school, write like it.” Academia is its own discourse community, and therefore, should have its own jargon. I see no reason why the expectation to write using theses terms shouldn’t be upheld (as long as the writer understands them as Graff desires). One would not enter a barrio without a good understanding of the local slang, so why should one expect to write for the academic institution without as fair a grasp of the language?
Bartholomae’s cynicism of language makes perfect sense as long as one believe that words can concepts should not be used unless the uses knows exactly what he or she means. Conversely, one should be cynical of another’s words until he or she is sure of the author’s meaning and accuracy of language. Once again, these ideas do not sound all that extremist; in fact, they sound pretty practical.
The first example over cultural influences mirrors Shaynee’s scholar, Patricia Bizzell. Essentially both of these theorists believe that all people are inherently comprised of their experiences. There knowledge is limited their discourse communities of birth, school, and neighborhood. What Bartholomae goes on to point out is that writers must intimately understand the forces that make up their ideas about everything in order to pick and choose which beliefs to maintain and which to drop. However, no one can simply write without the influences of their mother culture.
Bartholomae comes across at his most arrogant with the idea that writing should sound academic, but practically speaking, there should be rules. Elbow was cited by Emily as stating that writing should take the form that the writer desires without the “academicese” that is expected by most scholarly authorities. I think that Emily explained the ideas well when she said, “You’re in school, write like it.” Academia is its own discourse community, and therefore, should have its own jargon. I see no reason why the expectation to write using theses terms shouldn’t be upheld (as long as the writer understands them as Graff desires). One would not enter a barrio without a good understanding of the local slang, so why should one expect to write for the academic institution without as fair a grasp of the language?
Bartholomae’s cynicism of language makes perfect sense as long as one believe that words can concepts should not be used unless the uses knows exactly what he or she means. Conversely, one should be cynical of another’s words until he or she is sure of the author’s meaning and accuracy of language. Once again, these ideas do not sound all that extremist; in fact, they sound pretty practical.
Patricia Bizzell: Shakespeare’s Little Parrot
As Shaynee pointed out at the beginning of her presentation, Bizzell’s ideas combine several of the ideas that previous compositionists and rhetoricians have already stated. What stands out about Bizzell for me, and what I believe will be on the ever-looming midterm, is Bizzell’s idea of “additive” versus “holistic” teaching.
For Bizzell, the process of writing must begin with a reevaluation of our idea of thinking. She states that teachers believe that students come to the classroom with ideas that they desire to express to the class, and that the teacher’s job is to teach the skill through with the students’ ideas can be presented. Bizzell calls this skills-based teaching additive; as Shaynee pointed out, the ideas they may think they are bringing to the classroom are either incomplete or misinformed. The students do not only lack the skills need to express their ideas, they also lack the skills to interpret their own culture into a real understanding of who they are.
Shaynee writes in her Précis that students “must understand their personal culture and societal culture as well as the beliefs of those cultures” if them to become “sophisticated writers.” This whole “know thy self” adage takes on a new meaning in Bizzell’ context; not only must know where they come from to understand who they are, they must also understand who they are in order to express themselves to others. In holistic teacher then, the role of the teacher is not only as an instructor in the skills of writing, but also in the self evaluation of WHO each student is based on their background. Shaynee stated in her presentation that once a student knows who he or she is, the teacher can then expose the student to unknown cultures and discourse communities though literature. This combination of skills-based teaching and personal awareness is what Bizzell desires in teachers who are doing more than just rehashing the skills of writing.
For Bizzell, the process of writing must begin with a reevaluation of our idea of thinking. She states that teachers believe that students come to the classroom with ideas that they desire to express to the class, and that the teacher’s job is to teach the skill through with the students’ ideas can be presented. Bizzell calls this skills-based teaching additive; as Shaynee pointed out, the ideas they may think they are bringing to the classroom are either incomplete or misinformed. The students do not only lack the skills need to express their ideas, they also lack the skills to interpret their own culture into a real understanding of who they are.
Shaynee writes in her Précis that students “must understand their personal culture and societal culture as well as the beliefs of those cultures” if them to become “sophisticated writers.” This whole “know thy self” adage takes on a new meaning in Bizzell’ context; not only must know where they come from to understand who they are, they must also understand who they are in order to express themselves to others. In holistic teacher then, the role of the teacher is not only as an instructor in the skills of writing, but also in the self evaluation of WHO each student is based on their background. Shaynee stated in her presentation that once a student knows who he or she is, the teacher can then expose the student to unknown cultures and discourse communities though literature. This combination of skills-based teaching and personal awareness is what Bizzell desires in teachers who are doing more than just rehashing the skills of writing.
Gerald Graff: Them’s Fight'en Words
The fact that Graff publically disagreed in print with the New Critics in the 1960’s and 1970’s is enough to make him a person worth studying; however, what I like even more than a throwdown with an emerging juggernaut of criticism is his focus on argument as a basis of writing and of teaching in general.
While the idea of argument has an immediately negative connotation attached to it for most people, Scott points out that this negative feeling is self inflicted by our culture’s lack of experience arguing in an organized fashion. This concept makes perfect sense and can be support by a myriad of simple examples. How many students openly argue with their teachers, at any level, about what is being taught? I know from my own experience that skepticism is rarely expressed in the classroom unless it is the product of a student that simply wishes to be obstinate for the sake of doing so. The classroom is not the only place where Scott’s idea regarding Graff’s theory can be seen. When was the last time you (I am speaking to anyone here) have participated in an argument that had 1. a purpose and 2. did not escalate into a yelling and/or punching match? For me this is a rare occasion, even though I love to debate; the people I argue with end up yelling at me, or they feel I a bully and/or complete jerk. No one wants to be proven incorrect, and conversely, no one wants to be the person pointing out another’s faults.
Graff uses this simple idea to point out the flaws in our education system. As Scott tells us, we, as teachers and adults, should “teach the conflicts” in order to teach our students HOW to argue, so their fears about arguing incorrectly can be alleviated. The genre that Scott mentioned which seemed the most applicable to the classroom is cultural conflict. Most literature is rife with cultural statements that differ from those of the students; why not allow the students an opportunity to scrutinize the values being expressed and argue between each other which statements are valuable and which are not. Scott went on to point out that for Graff, this was not only an easy question to answer, but an obligation to our civic duty to our students. Here I think Scott brings our presentations full circle to our first example in Kinneavy. Both expressed a desire to empower young people as they entered the world, and we should be the facilitators of that empowerment.
While the idea of argument has an immediately negative connotation attached to it for most people, Scott points out that this negative feeling is self inflicted by our culture’s lack of experience arguing in an organized fashion. This concept makes perfect sense and can be support by a myriad of simple examples. How many students openly argue with their teachers, at any level, about what is being taught? I know from my own experience that skepticism is rarely expressed in the classroom unless it is the product of a student that simply wishes to be obstinate for the sake of doing so. The classroom is not the only place where Scott’s idea regarding Graff’s theory can be seen. When was the last time you (I am speaking to anyone here) have participated in an argument that had 1. a purpose and 2. did not escalate into a yelling and/or punching match? For me this is a rare occasion, even though I love to debate; the people I argue with end up yelling at me, or they feel I a bully and/or complete jerk. No one wants to be proven incorrect, and conversely, no one wants to be the person pointing out another’s faults.
Graff uses this simple idea to point out the flaws in our education system. As Scott tells us, we, as teachers and adults, should “teach the conflicts” in order to teach our students HOW to argue, so their fears about arguing incorrectly can be alleviated. The genre that Scott mentioned which seemed the most applicable to the classroom is cultural conflict. Most literature is rife with cultural statements that differ from those of the students; why not allow the students an opportunity to scrutinize the values being expressed and argue between each other which statements are valuable and which are not. Scott went on to point out that for Graff, this was not only an easy question to answer, but an obligation to our civic duty to our students. Here I think Scott brings our presentations full circle to our first example in Kinneavy. Both expressed a desire to empower young people as they entered the world, and we should be the facilitators of that empowerment.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Donald Murray: It’s All in Your Head, Man
I enjoyed researching Donald Murray because I was lucky enough to land a guy whose theory makes sense to me. Murray’s legacy is one of giving. His teaching style was based on listening first and then adjusting his ideas to fit the needs of this students, or in the case of most of his texts, teachers. As a failure of the high school system, Murray understood the flaws of the system, and he spent the majority of his life trying to fix them. For forty years Murray attended meetings with teachers, wrote down their fears, problems, and anxieties, and he wrote books to try and help them teach. The most awe-inspiring piece I read during this research was not anything Murray wrote; the piece that made me actually want to read about this man was his memorial page on Poynter Online. People from around the world poured their hearts out while they described how this teacher whom many had never met changed their lives. His methods might appear simplistic and a little out there, but I find most of his advice to be right on.
To expand upon his advice is to introduce his contribution to composition theory. Murray’s theory can be summed up in one word: vision or more precisely pre-vision, vision, and re-vision. While writing should be organic and full of surprises, it should also be focused with an end product in mind. I like to think of this theory as product driven, but process oriented. By vision, Murray did not mean that every line or phrase should be planned out. What he meant was that a writer should not write until he or she knows WHAT they intend to write about. This may come as a slap in the face to those familiar with organized prewriting, which Murray found perfectly acceptable if one was presented with an immediate task, but Murray found internal dialogue to be more effective than aimless scribbling. He called his idea “rehearsal,” and in this state a writer organizes his thoughts, makes arguments, and searches for support, all without the aid of a pen or keyboard.
Once the writer has carried the internal dialogue as far as it can go, he receives a signal. Murray found through his own empirical research that there are eight basic signals one might receive. I only briefly outlined them during my presentation, so here they are with a little more detail. Some of the signals deal with putting ideas into a pattern, others deal with altering one’s perspective or lens, still others affect the writer by answering a question he didn’t even know he was asking.
1. Genre – the writer uses literary traditions to understand life
2. Point of View – what perspective will the writer take?
3. Voice – The language of the internal dialogue might reveal attitude
4. News – What does the reader need or want to know?
5. Line – One line from internal dialogue or rough notes that moves them
6. Image – Sometimes static, sometimes moving—the image inspires
7. Pattern – Not an outline, but the entire piece of writing becomes the image
8. Problem – Writer might find that an answer is not their focus, but the problem
After the writer receives the signal to write, he begins with a vision of what the final product should resemble, but the path can have surprises; as the draft progresses, the writer may change his mind or find new ideas to add to those that have already been established. In this vision or drafting stage the writer’s responsibilities entail placing the lines the information into a sequence that anticipates and answers the reader’s questions and serving the reader with a satisfying amount of information that makes the writer’s meaning clear.
Like many other processes of writing, the last deals with editing or re-vision. Here the writer must add voice as he “tunes the language of the draft so that the music of the words support and reinforce the meaning.” The writer must become the reader’s advocate and makes sure that any “exceptions to tradition clarify the meaning.”
For further reading, here are a few links I used in my research including the Poynter Online.
Janice Harayda (one of Murray’s students) remembers the man
http://oneminutebookreviews.wordpress.com/2007/01/01/donald-m-murray-1924-2006/
“Anatomy of a high school dropout” by Jeanne Jacoby Smith
http://www.worldandi.com/public/1998/july/smith.cfm
“Write Before Writing” by Donald Murray
http://wserver.crc.losrios.edu/~morales/Readings/Murray,%20Donald%20-%20Write%20Before%20Writing.pdf
Poynter Online
http://poynter.org/article_feedback/article_feedback_list.asp?user=&id=115922#17458
To expand upon his advice is to introduce his contribution to composition theory. Murray’s theory can be summed up in one word: vision or more precisely pre-vision, vision, and re-vision. While writing should be organic and full of surprises, it should also be focused with an end product in mind. I like to think of this theory as product driven, but process oriented. By vision, Murray did not mean that every line or phrase should be planned out. What he meant was that a writer should not write until he or she knows WHAT they intend to write about. This may come as a slap in the face to those familiar with organized prewriting, which Murray found perfectly acceptable if one was presented with an immediate task, but Murray found internal dialogue to be more effective than aimless scribbling. He called his idea “rehearsal,” and in this state a writer organizes his thoughts, makes arguments, and searches for support, all without the aid of a pen or keyboard.
Once the writer has carried the internal dialogue as far as it can go, he receives a signal. Murray found through his own empirical research that there are eight basic signals one might receive. I only briefly outlined them during my presentation, so here they are with a little more detail. Some of the signals deal with putting ideas into a pattern, others deal with altering one’s perspective or lens, still others affect the writer by answering a question he didn’t even know he was asking.
1. Genre – the writer uses literary traditions to understand life
2. Point of View – what perspective will the writer take?
3. Voice – The language of the internal dialogue might reveal attitude
4. News – What does the reader need or want to know?
5. Line – One line from internal dialogue or rough notes that moves them
6. Image – Sometimes static, sometimes moving—the image inspires
7. Pattern – Not an outline, but the entire piece of writing becomes the image
8. Problem – Writer might find that an answer is not their focus, but the problem
After the writer receives the signal to write, he begins with a vision of what the final product should resemble, but the path can have surprises; as the draft progresses, the writer may change his mind or find new ideas to add to those that have already been established. In this vision or drafting stage the writer’s responsibilities entail placing the lines the information into a sequence that anticipates and answers the reader’s questions and serving the reader with a satisfying amount of information that makes the writer’s meaning clear.
Like many other processes of writing, the last deals with editing or re-vision. Here the writer must add voice as he “tunes the language of the draft so that the music of the words support and reinforce the meaning.” The writer must become the reader’s advocate and makes sure that any “exceptions to tradition clarify the meaning.”
For further reading, here are a few links I used in my research including the Poynter Online.
Janice Harayda (one of Murray’s students) remembers the man
http://oneminutebookreviews.wordpress.com/2007/01/01/donald-m-murray-1924-2006/
“Anatomy of a high school dropout” by Jeanne Jacoby Smith
http://www.worldandi.com/public/1998/july/smith.cfm
“Write Before Writing” by Donald Murray
http://wserver.crc.losrios.edu/~morales/Readings/Murray,%20Donald%20-%20Write%20Before%20Writing.pdf
Poynter Online
http://poynter.org/article_feedback/article_feedback_list.asp?user=&id=115922#17458
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Walter Ong: Virtual Space, the Final Frontier?
Eric’s grasp of Ong was impressive, but his ability to tie his scholar to an entire discourse community that stretched over hundreds of years was even more so. Accolades aside, Eric’s primary focus was setting Ong up as a link between the history of the theory of composition and the history of actual composition. I find that our discussions are often weighted down by intangible and abstract theories; it was nice to hear about some ideas about composition based in real history.
Eric established at the beginning of his presentation that a clarification on the importance orality was Ong’s major contribution. The reading by Ong was effective as far as immediately intimating us with his view. The culture before the written word had no cultural memory in the terms that we think of it. As Ong stated in his talk, there was literally no where to look things up; if an idea or event was forgotten, as they eventually are, it was gone forever. This truth influenced Ong’s dissertation subject, Peter Remus, into pondering the effect of the printed word. Remus, and Ong to a degree later, looked at how the printed would could be broken down into twos. This process could possibly be repeated over and over in order to simplify a written idea to its basic truths. The problem, as we learned in the question and answer stage of the evening, is the possibility of syllogisms.
Another interesting idea that came out of the presentation was Ong’s idea of interface. This concept dealt with the linear progression of language from its beginning in orality to its current end in electronic print. Ong believes that this progression to the electronically printed word will be important, but Eric, to his credit, carefully pointed out that Ong is vague in his guess as to how this importance will be manifested. I am always grateful when a teacher in any capacity says that an answer is unsure if their research did not uncover an definitive answer; my experience is that many teachers will go ahead and guess. Instead of careening into this pitfall, Eric turned to one of Ong’s friends McLuhan. McLuhan said that electronic language is so important that it may herald a complete shift in the progression of language back to the oral; in other words, our spoken language might become our written language. Idk if Im rede 4 it. R U?
Eric established at the beginning of his presentation that a clarification on the importance orality was Ong’s major contribution. The reading by Ong was effective as far as immediately intimating us with his view. The culture before the written word had no cultural memory in the terms that we think of it. As Ong stated in his talk, there was literally no where to look things up; if an idea or event was forgotten, as they eventually are, it was gone forever. This truth influenced Ong’s dissertation subject, Peter Remus, into pondering the effect of the printed word. Remus, and Ong to a degree later, looked at how the printed would could be broken down into twos. This process could possibly be repeated over and over in order to simplify a written idea to its basic truths. The problem, as we learned in the question and answer stage of the evening, is the possibility of syllogisms.
Another interesting idea that came out of the presentation was Ong’s idea of interface. This concept dealt with the linear progression of language from its beginning in orality to its current end in electronic print. Ong believes that this progression to the electronically printed word will be important, but Eric, to his credit, carefully pointed out that Ong is vague in his guess as to how this importance will be manifested. I am always grateful when a teacher in any capacity says that an answer is unsure if their research did not uncover an definitive answer; my experience is that many teachers will go ahead and guess. Instead of careening into this pitfall, Eric turned to one of Ong’s friends McLuhan. McLuhan said that electronic language is so important that it may herald a complete shift in the progression of language back to the oral; in other words, our spoken language might become our written language. Idk if Im rede 4 it. R U?
Andrea Lunsford: Stop, Collaborate, and Listen
Nancy’s presentation focused primarily on Lunsford’s attempt to “rediscover” woman writers of the past and her emphasis on collaborative writing in the academic world. It seemed as though Lunsford wished to empower all writers through research in these two areas.
Nancy’s first major focus dealt with why reclaiming women writers was important. I believe that Nancy was trying to show how Lunsford associated the rhetorical canon of memory with the socially constructed idea of our historical memory regarding composition. By reclaiming these lost bits of living memory, our historical body of composition would have a part of its memory retuned, which would create a more complete history of us to look back upon. Nancy tied this idea of claiming lost writers to Lunsford’s abhorrence of discrimination in general. While I don’t think it was stressed enough, it sounds as though Lunsford would be an excellent resource for research into several issues of multiculturalism. I hope this was the connection she was trying to make; after rereading this post it seems poorly worded. As always, feel free to comment and set me strait.
The other point Nancy was driving at was Lunsford’s desire for collaboration. The benefits of collaboration in composition are obvious, but Nancy’s presentation pointed the discussion toward an area I did not expect. It had never really occurred to me that one might wish to write a collaborative dissertation, but apparently there have been cases, and Lunsford is in agreement. While Nancy mentioned one or two cases, I would be interested to hear the exact reasons why such proposals were rejected, rather than just our speculation; this seems like a genuinely interesting proposition that I would imagine universities on the left fringe would be eager to embrace. In a related matter, Nancy also mentioned Lunsford’s outspoken opposition to maintaining the status quo in several areas of education including the teaching of composition and higher education’s standardized tests. One of the questions I plan to ask next Tuesday is in regards to Lunsford’s challenge to the GRE.
I found the historical connections in the presentation to most interesting, but there were a few areas of discussion that could have been made more clear including a reference to our written assignment within the presentation and some more information about what exactly Lunsford found wrong or incomplete in the list of topics at the very end of the presentation: the same list that contained the GRE. I am sure these question will be addressed in Tuesday’s class.
Nancy’s first major focus dealt with why reclaiming women writers was important. I believe that Nancy was trying to show how Lunsford associated the rhetorical canon of memory with the socially constructed idea of our historical memory regarding composition. By reclaiming these lost bits of living memory, our historical body of composition would have a part of its memory retuned, which would create a more complete history of us to look back upon. Nancy tied this idea of claiming lost writers to Lunsford’s abhorrence of discrimination in general. While I don’t think it was stressed enough, it sounds as though Lunsford would be an excellent resource for research into several issues of multiculturalism. I hope this was the connection she was trying to make; after rereading this post it seems poorly worded. As always, feel free to comment and set me strait.
The other point Nancy was driving at was Lunsford’s desire for collaboration. The benefits of collaboration in composition are obvious, but Nancy’s presentation pointed the discussion toward an area I did not expect. It had never really occurred to me that one might wish to write a collaborative dissertation, but apparently there have been cases, and Lunsford is in agreement. While Nancy mentioned one or two cases, I would be interested to hear the exact reasons why such proposals were rejected, rather than just our speculation; this seems like a genuinely interesting proposition that I would imagine universities on the left fringe would be eager to embrace. In a related matter, Nancy also mentioned Lunsford’s outspoken opposition to maintaining the status quo in several areas of education including the teaching of composition and higher education’s standardized tests. One of the questions I plan to ask next Tuesday is in regards to Lunsford’s challenge to the GRE.
I found the historical connections in the presentation to most interesting, but there were a few areas of discussion that could have been made more clear including a reference to our written assignment within the presentation and some more information about what exactly Lunsford found wrong or incomplete in the list of topics at the very end of the presentation: the same list that contained the GRE. I am sure these question will be addressed in Tuesday’s class.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Elbow: A Now Perspective Channeled by Mr. Rogers
Because I began with a physical note on Kinneavy, I am drawn, pun always intended, to do the same with Elbow. Was anyone else channeling Mr. Rogers? There were two times during Elbow’s narration that he paused, and I would have bet a considerable sum of money that his next words were going to invite me and his legions of watchers to “be his neighbor.” Irrelevant comparison aside, Elbow’s methodical explanation of his writing theory was fairly easy to follow, and his personal anecdotes presented nice examples for Tim’s notes.
My understanding of Elbow has always been that of a nutty, far-out expressionist; that is not a medical term. As an undergraduate, I was required to read his ideas on the importance of what Tim referred to as “the mess.” This type of writing has never appealed to me; I am a product of the search for product. I appreciate the process, and I know it is an integral component of reaching the product, but the knowledge of a definite goal established at the outset of any writing assignment seems only logical. Because of this early view of Elbow and his theory of composition, I was less than enthusiastic to listen to a forty minute presentation on the man, but I’m glad I heard it.
Tim’s presentation of Elbow has altered my previous view. I appreciated Tim’s emphasis on Elbow’s empirical approach to process. This is something I can buy into. Based on the presentation, it is clear that Elbow does have a purpose at the outset of his “mess” writing; his purpose is to locate a logical purpose given the topic he has been assigned or decided to write about. When I think of an assignment, the first this I imagine is the final product: the points I will make, the examples I will draw on, even the cheesy puns I can work in. Elbows idea is just the opposite; however, where I thought he was using his prewriting as an elementary system of organizing his thoughts, what Tim’s presentation made clear was that Elbow is consciously decided what he knows and feels about a given topic, then he chooses among these ideas to locate what will make up his final product. While his theory does not match up with my own, I can appreciate and respect his process. Thanks for the clarification Tim.
As with Klayton’s presentation, I hate to write my opinions in only the form of praise, which is what I expect from the rest of you when I speak, only praise. What I would have enjoyed to hear more about was Elbow’s take on his arch nemesis. This argument has permeated so many of our class discussions, I wanted to hear more.
My understanding of Elbow has always been that of a nutty, far-out expressionist; that is not a medical term. As an undergraduate, I was required to read his ideas on the importance of what Tim referred to as “the mess.” This type of writing has never appealed to me; I am a product of the search for product. I appreciate the process, and I know it is an integral component of reaching the product, but the knowledge of a definite goal established at the outset of any writing assignment seems only logical. Because of this early view of Elbow and his theory of composition, I was less than enthusiastic to listen to a forty minute presentation on the man, but I’m glad I heard it.
Tim’s presentation of Elbow has altered my previous view. I appreciated Tim’s emphasis on Elbow’s empirical approach to process. This is something I can buy into. Based on the presentation, it is clear that Elbow does have a purpose at the outset of his “mess” writing; his purpose is to locate a logical purpose given the topic he has been assigned or decided to write about. When I think of an assignment, the first this I imagine is the final product: the points I will make, the examples I will draw on, even the cheesy puns I can work in. Elbows idea is just the opposite; however, where I thought he was using his prewriting as an elementary system of organizing his thoughts, what Tim’s presentation made clear was that Elbow is consciously decided what he knows and feels about a given topic, then he chooses among these ideas to locate what will make up his final product. While his theory does not match up with my own, I can appreciate and respect his process. Thanks for the clarification Tim.
As with Klayton’s presentation, I hate to write my opinions in only the form of praise, which is what I expect from the rest of you when I speak, only praise. What I would have enjoyed to hear more about was Elbow’s take on his arch nemesis. This argument has permeated so many of our class discussions, I wanted to hear more.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Kinneavy – I Picture Him in a White Suit with a Book in Either Hand
I know this will sound strange, and very probably it will sound inane, but the one statement that struck me about Klayton’s presentation was the fact that there was no picture of this monolithic man in the world of composition. I tried to ponder the effects of his work and his general place in the greater context of composition studies based on what I was presented with, but my mind kept kicking this idea back: “What does this guy look like?” The result of this completely trivial questioning was my mind’s creation of a fictional character that represented Klayton’s description: I picture Kinneavy as a Biblical figure in a white suit with a book raised in either hand trying to reunite the Red Sea of Composition and Rhetoric.
My odd imagery aside, I think that any man who attempts to create a unified theory of any realm of composition is noble, and based upon the context described by Klayton and added to by Dr. Souder, Kinneavy was attempting to patch a fairly extensive rift. I was intrigued enough about Klayton’s description of A Theory of Discourse that I had my wife to the library and checked out a copy; he takes care of me. The format is, as Klayton proposed, deceptively simple. The book is essentially an outline of his theory, which breaks down the various forms of discourse, and it presents a web explaining how each form overlaps.
As far as the presentation, I enjoyed Klayton’s impassioned attempt to relate Kinneavy’s life and influence to practical history. It is one thing to watch someone pontificate their various views of an abstract concept, but to see a complex theory explored in its relation to real history is an enjoyable experience. Because no review of a performative act can be critiqued with praise alone, I would point to a matter that would have made the understanding of the presentation slightly easier. I would have liked to see Klayton’s initial points regarding Kinneavy in text; I know this sounds elementary, but I like follow a speaker’s logic more clearly if I can read what they are describing, and while the second half of the presentation was supported by a visual chart I could follow, the fist half would have been further clarified.
My odd imagery aside, I think that any man who attempts to create a unified theory of any realm of composition is noble, and based upon the context described by Klayton and added to by Dr. Souder, Kinneavy was attempting to patch a fairly extensive rift. I was intrigued enough about Klayton’s description of A Theory of Discourse that I had my wife to the library and checked out a copy; he takes care of me. The format is, as Klayton proposed, deceptively simple. The book is essentially an outline of his theory, which breaks down the various forms of discourse, and it presents a web explaining how each form overlaps.
As far as the presentation, I enjoyed Klayton’s impassioned attempt to relate Kinneavy’s life and influence to practical history. It is one thing to watch someone pontificate their various views of an abstract concept, but to see a complex theory explored in its relation to real history is an enjoyable experience. Because no review of a performative act can be critiqued with praise alone, I would point to a matter that would have made the understanding of the presentation slightly easier. I would have liked to see Klayton’s initial points regarding Kinneavy in text; I know this sounds elementary, but I like follow a speaker’s logic more clearly if I can read what they are describing, and while the second half of the presentation was supported by a visual chart I could follow, the fist half would have been further clarified.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Paul Matsuda: History as a Rhetorical Narrative – GO, MATSUDA, GO!
Paul Matsuda’s work was informative and relatively interesting, but most noteworthy of all—it was largely unbiased toward one school of thought as being the TRUTH. Matsuda’s primary purpose was to examine the historical definitions of current-traditional rhetoric, process, and post-process and how they apply to second language composition. I don’t think that Matsuda did all that great of a job tying in the relevance of second language composition, but his work defining a small part of composition history was very helpful.
Matsuda’s concept of paradigm comparisons has been the most unbiased and useful of all the readings I have completed in this course so far. The first clue I had that this article would be interesting was Matsuda’s statement of history in his second paragraph; he begins by staying that “the version of history that I choose to tell...” (66). With only part of a sentence, Matsuda speaks volumes about his understanding of history: it is shadowed, revisable, and a rhetorical tool for any smart enough to use it. He goes on to apply this concept with his first examination of the history of composition: “Popular lore among proponents of the process movement has it that process pedagogy arose…as a reaction to the dominance of a product-centered pedagogy, which has come to be known as current-traditional rhetoric” (67). Matsuda uses this example to show the either/or structure of perceived composition theory. Those in favor of the process pedagogy point to the past as a completely organized group of theorists that worked in absolute opposition to the current theory. He uses the insightful analogy of drawing a generalized caricature of the past to use as a defenseless punching bag and a supposed catalyst for the “new” movement, which is also perceived as being uniformed. Matsuda uses this caricature idea again when describing the supposed move from process to post-process pedagogy.
What he is really saying is that the movements in theory during the history of composition are never uniform or completely accepted by everyone working in the field. There is never a secret meeting where the English teachers of the world join together to vote on this year’s theory. Instead, change comes slowly, and for some it doesn’t come at all. The other important idea that I don’t think can be stressed enough is that theories, at least good theories, are not dropped altogether; they are altered, added to, enhanced. Current-traditional rhetoric values prescriptive grammatical structure. This idea is altered by the process pedagogy, which realigns the focus of composition toward the steps taken to compose. Can the prescriptive grammar rules be dropped? They cannot be dropped if the composer wants his writing to be understood by other speakers of English. From the theory of process, the enhancement is furthered by the addition post-process and its emphasis on the specific types of processes: expressionism, cognitive, and social. Matsuda quotes T. Kent’s writing for a more complete understanding: “[M]any authors represented in this collection – endors[e] the fundamental idea that no codifiable or generalizable writing process exists or could exist” (74). I could not agree more. Writing is a process, but there are multiple options for a compositionist to choose from. I close this entry with my favorite quote from this line, which is attributed to Pullman, “[T]he history of the writing process movement is not so much a history as a rhetorical narrative” (71). I think I would go so far as to say that this statement is true of most, if not all histories.
Matsuda’s concept of paradigm comparisons has been the most unbiased and useful of all the readings I have completed in this course so far. The first clue I had that this article would be interesting was Matsuda’s statement of history in his second paragraph; he begins by staying that “the version of history that I choose to tell...” (66). With only part of a sentence, Matsuda speaks volumes about his understanding of history: it is shadowed, revisable, and a rhetorical tool for any smart enough to use it. He goes on to apply this concept with his first examination of the history of composition: “Popular lore among proponents of the process movement has it that process pedagogy arose…as a reaction to the dominance of a product-centered pedagogy, which has come to be known as current-traditional rhetoric” (67). Matsuda uses this example to show the either/or structure of perceived composition theory. Those in favor of the process pedagogy point to the past as a completely organized group of theorists that worked in absolute opposition to the current theory. He uses the insightful analogy of drawing a generalized caricature of the past to use as a defenseless punching bag and a supposed catalyst for the “new” movement, which is also perceived as being uniformed. Matsuda uses this caricature idea again when describing the supposed move from process to post-process pedagogy.
What he is really saying is that the movements in theory during the history of composition are never uniform or completely accepted by everyone working in the field. There is never a secret meeting where the English teachers of the world join together to vote on this year’s theory. Instead, change comes slowly, and for some it doesn’t come at all. The other important idea that I don’t think can be stressed enough is that theories, at least good theories, are not dropped altogether; they are altered, added to, enhanced. Current-traditional rhetoric values prescriptive grammatical structure. This idea is altered by the process pedagogy, which realigns the focus of composition toward the steps taken to compose. Can the prescriptive grammar rules be dropped? They cannot be dropped if the composer wants his writing to be understood by other speakers of English. From the theory of process, the enhancement is furthered by the addition post-process and its emphasis on the specific types of processes: expressionism, cognitive, and social. Matsuda quotes T. Kent’s writing for a more complete understanding: “[M]any authors represented in this collection – endors[e] the fundamental idea that no codifiable or generalizable writing process exists or could exist” (74). I could not agree more. Writing is a process, but there are multiple options for a compositionist to choose from. I close this entry with my favorite quote from this line, which is attributed to Pullman, “[T]he history of the writing process movement is not so much a history as a rhetorical narrative” (71). I think I would go so far as to say that this statement is true of most, if not all histories.
Tim McGee and Patricia Ericsson: David versus a Goliath That Wasn’t Asking for It
Wow, two for two this week. While I think that McGee and Ericsson should closely read Matsuda’s work, I still found this article to thought provoking. As it has been pointed out again and again, technology is the giant that rules most of our lives. Its application cannot be avoided by anyone who participates in any interaction with the modern world. Educators are no different. They are, in fact, likely to be forced into contact by multiple forms of new technology because their job is partially based on passing their skills, knowledge, and experience, through the means mostly easily received by their students, and students are technology junkies.
However, McGee and Ericsson are not concerned with all technology; they are focused only on the possible effects of grammar and style checkers in Microsoft’s Word program or MSGC for short. This is an intriguing thought. It is, as they write, almost an invisible participant in our world. It outnumbers teachers by a staggering number, and it exists as an integral tool of the modern classroom.
The first of the authors’ questions I enjoyed dealt with the ubiquitous nature of the program and its possible link to the atrophy of many students’ ability to self correct. I agree that “we need to dig around in software before using it” (465). We need to share with our students that the program can be turned off in the beginning stages of writing. By simply turning on the computer and obeying the ever present green and red lines, our students are unplugging their minds from a part of the writing process. They are using the grammar checker as a crutch instead of a last resort.
The second question that struck me as important was that of the quality of MSGC. As their research went on to show, with little doubt, MSGC is flawed. The program cannot distinguish between several complicated style rules. The example that the authors cite is passive versus active voice. I must admit, I was skeptical that the MSGC was so inadequate in this area, so I tried it myself, and “Bill was left by the side of the road” does receive a prompting to rewrite as “The side of the road left Bill” (459). While this is a definite problem, I believe that even a student with limited knowledge of English should be able to tell that this is an error.
In contrast to my earlier approval of the article, I found a few ideas that I didn’t care for. While I was attempting a little empirical research with the passive voice, I came across a line that did not sit well with my inner cynic. The authors state that MSGC cannot “take into account current thinking on the grammar itself, good rhetorical theory, or pedagogical considerations” (459). I think what the authors meant was the program did not take into account THEIR ideas of grammar and “good” rhetorical theory. This idea was only reinforced by McGee and Ericsson’s comparison to authors of current-traditional rhetoric textbooks and the authors of MSGC: “Baugh and Cable remarked that ‘most of these books were the work of men with no special qualification for the thing they attempted to do’” (456). There is no support given to these claims, nor do McGee and Ericsson go beyond writing that “almost all of [the writers] are computational linguists” (457). If there is more to support these claims, this article would have been the place to voice them. What the authors are attempting to do here is exactly what Matsuda cautioned against; they are creating a history that supports the idea of a negative theory upon which to counter the new, positive theory. In other words, their comparison implies that writers with a background in composition structure will go out their way to avoid or are too inexperienced to focus on rhetoric or process based composition. I am not usually one to find myself defending multibillion dollar corporations, but I think that here Microsoft either hasn’t designed a sophisticated program yet that can perform the function of critically analyzing rhetorical structure, or Microsoft has not found a way to do so cheaply.
However, McGee and Ericsson are not concerned with all technology; they are focused only on the possible effects of grammar and style checkers in Microsoft’s Word program or MSGC for short. This is an intriguing thought. It is, as they write, almost an invisible participant in our world. It outnumbers teachers by a staggering number, and it exists as an integral tool of the modern classroom.
The first of the authors’ questions I enjoyed dealt with the ubiquitous nature of the program and its possible link to the atrophy of many students’ ability to self correct. I agree that “we need to dig around in software before using it” (465). We need to share with our students that the program can be turned off in the beginning stages of writing. By simply turning on the computer and obeying the ever present green and red lines, our students are unplugging their minds from a part of the writing process. They are using the grammar checker as a crutch instead of a last resort.
The second question that struck me as important was that of the quality of MSGC. As their research went on to show, with little doubt, MSGC is flawed. The program cannot distinguish between several complicated style rules. The example that the authors cite is passive versus active voice. I must admit, I was skeptical that the MSGC was so inadequate in this area, so I tried it myself, and “Bill was left by the side of the road” does receive a prompting to rewrite as “The side of the road left Bill” (459). While this is a definite problem, I believe that even a student with limited knowledge of English should be able to tell that this is an error.
In contrast to my earlier approval of the article, I found a few ideas that I didn’t care for. While I was attempting a little empirical research with the passive voice, I came across a line that did not sit well with my inner cynic. The authors state that MSGC cannot “take into account current thinking on the grammar itself, good rhetorical theory, or pedagogical considerations” (459). I think what the authors meant was the program did not take into account THEIR ideas of grammar and “good” rhetorical theory. This idea was only reinforced by McGee and Ericsson’s comparison to authors of current-traditional rhetoric textbooks and the authors of MSGC: “Baugh and Cable remarked that ‘most of these books were the work of men with no special qualification for the thing they attempted to do’” (456). There is no support given to these claims, nor do McGee and Ericsson go beyond writing that “almost all of [the writers] are computational linguists” (457). If there is more to support these claims, this article would have been the place to voice them. What the authors are attempting to do here is exactly what Matsuda cautioned against; they are creating a history that supports the idea of a negative theory upon which to counter the new, positive theory. In other words, their comparison implies that writers with a background in composition structure will go out their way to avoid or are too inexperienced to focus on rhetoric or process based composition. I am not usually one to find myself defending multibillion dollar corporations, but I think that here Microsoft either hasn’t designed a sophisticated program yet that can perform the function of critically analyzing rhetorical structure, or Microsoft has not found a way to do so cheaply.
Michelle Sidler: Says Composition on the Box, but the Content is Lacking
The article on biotechnology was the least interesting of the three this week. This sounds strange to me, even as I write this sentence, because I am a science fiction nut. However, the topic was supposed to focus on composition and its connection to emerging biotechnology, which I found to be a tenuous connection at best.
Sidler begins with an idea very similar to the focus of McGee and Ericsson’s article on Microsoft Word grammar checkers: technology is the major motivating factor in determining how educational resources are used and how industry as a whole focuses its energy and money. But where McGee and Ericsson focused directly on the effects of technology on composition, Sidler is all over the place. For the first seven of thirteen pages, she focuses on the history of the genome project, its ethical dilemmas, and its impact on the manner in which employers hire and universities design programs. The only topic that is even close to affecting composition is Sidler’s allusion to the idea that the scientists working on the genome project are influenced by “Anglo-American epistemology” (132). Even this minor connection to composition only relates the idea that a few rhetorical concepts like metaphor may be employed to help non-scientists understand what the actual scientists are creating. The metaphor that Sidler uses throughout the article compares the genome project to the Book of Life.
She goes back to more practical connections between technology and composition by “recognizing the inherently rhetorical function of multimedia software” and the possibility that “video will be the next networked media for classroom technologies” (137). I have no argument with Sidler on these points. There is no doubt that multimedia influences the choices students make in their writing and probably in their cognitive logic. I also agree that visual rhetoric will be the next big technological watershed in the teaching and presentation of composition. My problem with these points is they have very little to do with biotechnology, which is supposedly the primary focus.
At best this article serves as a warning that “something” is coming that will change the way composition is studied, learned, and taught. Sidler alludes to multimedia possibly being implanted into the viewer, thereby erasing our current ideas of media. This new technology might eliminate the middle man in the transaction of information from a sender and receiver; the transaction would be like osmosis. I use the words “possibly” and “might” because that is all Sidler gives me to work with. Biotechnology might very well be used to grow encyclopedia entries out of one’s hand when desired, or it could be used to alter one of a human’s eyes into a digital camera that captures every image one sees and transfers them to a component implanted into the brain for editing, then the edited data could be projected back onto the page for publication; the possibility is just as likely.
Sidler begins with an idea very similar to the focus of McGee and Ericsson’s article on Microsoft Word grammar checkers: technology is the major motivating factor in determining how educational resources are used and how industry as a whole focuses its energy and money. But where McGee and Ericsson focused directly on the effects of technology on composition, Sidler is all over the place. For the first seven of thirteen pages, she focuses on the history of the genome project, its ethical dilemmas, and its impact on the manner in which employers hire and universities design programs. The only topic that is even close to affecting composition is Sidler’s allusion to the idea that the scientists working on the genome project are influenced by “Anglo-American epistemology” (132). Even this minor connection to composition only relates the idea that a few rhetorical concepts like metaphor may be employed to help non-scientists understand what the actual scientists are creating. The metaphor that Sidler uses throughout the article compares the genome project to the Book of Life.
She goes back to more practical connections between technology and composition by “recognizing the inherently rhetorical function of multimedia software” and the possibility that “video will be the next networked media for classroom technologies” (137). I have no argument with Sidler on these points. There is no doubt that multimedia influences the choices students make in their writing and probably in their cognitive logic. I also agree that visual rhetoric will be the next big technological watershed in the teaching and presentation of composition. My problem with these points is they have very little to do with biotechnology, which is supposedly the primary focus.
At best this article serves as a warning that “something” is coming that will change the way composition is studied, learned, and taught. Sidler alludes to multimedia possibly being implanted into the viewer, thereby erasing our current ideas of media. This new technology might eliminate the middle man in the transaction of information from a sender and receiver; the transaction would be like osmosis. I use the words “possibly” and “might” because that is all Sidler gives me to work with. Biotechnology might very well be used to grow encyclopedia entries out of one’s hand when desired, or it could be used to alter one of a human’s eyes into a digital camera that captures every image one sees and transfers them to a component implanted into the brain for editing, then the edited data could be projected back onto the page for publication; the possibility is just as likely.
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