Jay David Bolter’s Writing Space has by far been the juiciest read for me so far. The connections he makes between the history of writing – with particular attention to writing spaces – and the future of writing have long been a subject of great interest to me. As both an undergraduate and graduate student at UMD, I took several courses in Book History and New Media studies concurrently, which allowed me to think about the connections between historical media shifts and current ones. What is ironic, though, is that I never had the opportunity to read Bolter’s great book in any of those courses.
I also enjoy the insights that Bolter provides on the act of writing itself; I think that is really what makes his book so timeless. I think one his most exciting ideas about hypertext writing is when he compares linked Web pages to items in a sentence. There is a lot of potential here to begin thinking about “grammars” of connectivity in hypertext. What kinds of logic do people use when they make the decision to link one page to another? How would one describe those logics? Could one, with enough analysis and observation of various Web sites, begin to discern specific linking patterns that might vary by Web site type or genre (consumer Web sites, blogs, facebook, personal Web sites, etc.)? Would such a study be useful?
Bolter also tackles the issue of technological determinism. He argues against Walter Ong’s (and some others) notion of how “writing restructures consciousness” (19). Bolter argues that writing – in whatever form it happens to be taking at a given historical moment – does not on its own structure the way we think. Until I read this, I had always thought the opposite – that our thinking processes mirror our writing processes. Now, however, I think Bolter makes a more nuanced point: while writing does have its influence on our thinking, it does not act alone and it is a two-way street. Our thinking influences the act and form of writing, just as it influences and is influenced by other cultural phenomena.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Online Education
Having some experience with online education as an instructor for the University of Phoenix online and a tutor for smarthinking.com, I have kind of a soft spot in my heart for this new trend in education. Many detractors will argue that the intimacy and rapport that are so important in a “brick and mortar” classroom simply cannot be replicated in a completely virtual setting, which, for them, equates to a less valuable educational experience. Others worry about the learning curve of the technological apparatus itself, claiming that forcing students to learn the necessary communication skills distracts them from the content of the course. Also, there are the instructors to take into consideration. How will they be compensated? Will their work be valued the same as that of the in-person teacher? How will these instructors be trained?
Admittedly, these are all legitimate and responsible concerns, and we should be thankful of the raising of these questions.
I’d like to take this opportunity to draw on some of my experience with online learning to address some of these questions. While I have not officially been an online student, my intensive instructor training for the University of Phoenix allowed me to take the role of a student in a U of P class. For five weeks, I had to learn how to facilitate a U of P class by essentially taking a U of P class. I had certain responsibilities that I had to perform for the class each week. I had to read and respond to discussion question posed by my instructor and peers. I had to create documents and post them online for my instructor to provide feedback on. I had to learn to use the technological apparatus quickly so that I could focus more on the content of the course. It was challenging at first, but I caught on quickly – as did my peers in the course. By the time the course was over, I felt wonderfully prepared to facilitate my own course.
When I started facilitating my course – under the quiet supervision of my faculty mentor – I was able to help the students overcome the technological learning curve quickly because of my own experience being a student. I should also add because this was an introductory writing course, it was the first experience of online learning for most of my students. In fact, after a little frustration during the first week of figuring things out – with a lot of help from me and each other – things were great. Once we were all over the technological hump, we developed a great rapport because we had worked through our first problem together – and we were all amazed that we could do it considering we were reporting in from all corners of the country, never once speaking or seeing each other.
We – most of us anyway – maintained this collegiality for the duration of the ten week course. Indeed, the online discussions about the process of writing were often very engaging. Each week I would post two discussion questions meant to serve as jumping off points for the week’s discussions. Each night I would check in for about four hours and read all of the responses – both to my initial DQs and to one another – and it was very rewarding. The students brought in some material from their readings and, perhaps more importantly, from their various life experiences as we critically engaged each step of the writing process week after week.
To wrap this up then, from my perspective, the training, intimacy, rapport, and value of online education are just as meaningful and accomplishable as in-person teaching. In fact, I can honestly say that I have transferred much of what I learned from my experiences as an online educator to my in-person teaching.
Admittedly, these are all legitimate and responsible concerns, and we should be thankful of the raising of these questions.
I’d like to take this opportunity to draw on some of my experience with online learning to address some of these questions. While I have not officially been an online student, my intensive instructor training for the University of Phoenix allowed me to take the role of a student in a U of P class. For five weeks, I had to learn how to facilitate a U of P class by essentially taking a U of P class. I had certain responsibilities that I had to perform for the class each week. I had to read and respond to discussion question posed by my instructor and peers. I had to create documents and post them online for my instructor to provide feedback on. I had to learn to use the technological apparatus quickly so that I could focus more on the content of the course. It was challenging at first, but I caught on quickly – as did my peers in the course. By the time the course was over, I felt wonderfully prepared to facilitate my own course.
When I started facilitating my course – under the quiet supervision of my faculty mentor – I was able to help the students overcome the technological learning curve quickly because of my own experience being a student. I should also add because this was an introductory writing course, it was the first experience of online learning for most of my students. In fact, after a little frustration during the first week of figuring things out – with a lot of help from me and each other – things were great. Once we were all over the technological hump, we developed a great rapport because we had worked through our first problem together – and we were all amazed that we could do it considering we were reporting in from all corners of the country, never once speaking or seeing each other.
We – most of us anyway – maintained this collegiality for the duration of the ten week course. Indeed, the online discussions about the process of writing were often very engaging. Each week I would post two discussion questions meant to serve as jumping off points for the week’s discussions. Each night I would check in for about four hours and read all of the responses – both to my initial DQs and to one another – and it was very rewarding. The students brought in some material from their readings and, perhaps more importantly, from their various life experiences as we critically engaged each step of the writing process week after week.
To wrap this up then, from my perspective, the training, intimacy, rapport, and value of online education are just as meaningful and accomplishable as in-person teaching. In fact, I can honestly say that I have transferred much of what I learned from my experiences as an online educator to my in-person teaching.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Narratives: Little and Master
I found Inman's discussion of Lyodard's concept of the narrative fascinating. So many of us do measure ourselves against some kind of master narrative - like the traditional American dream. In doing so, we often find it difficult to measure up to this Mythic measure of success, and we also sometimes fail to think critically about what the consequences - both good and bad - of that kind of success are. Those who stumble on the path or become occupied in some specific aspect of life along the way are often marginalized, left in the dust of those who push forward towards syncing up with the great master narrative, comforting themselves with the knowledge that they have yet to stumble; they are still making headway toward success.
I think Inman's use of the post-modern little narrative in understanding the community of computers and composition really a healthy move. He is right in saying that the community should not be understood in monolithic terms; it is entirely too diverse and complicated for this kind of definition. Looking at the community as a network of small units allows us to see individual contributions to the community as the success stories they really are. I also think Inman is right when he acknowledges that to use a master narrative as a comparative measure of worth in computers in writing is unrealistic. The community is too broad and expansive for anything to really measure up this kind of narrative. It seems that any attempts to do so might only result in research that is so diffuse that it would lose any value to any specific area of computers and composition. Using little narratives as the measuring stick encourages people to do research on the things they are interested in. Little narratives allow for one's research to have a place to be noticed, a place where it can really make a difference no matter how specific it might be. I think this kind of dynamic and interactive approach to a scholarly community will result in a kind of authentic success that will really do the community and its participants
I think Inman's use of the post-modern little narrative in understanding the community of computers and composition really a healthy move. He is right in saying that the community should not be understood in monolithic terms; it is entirely too diverse and complicated for this kind of definition. Looking at the community as a network of small units allows us to see individual contributions to the community as the success stories they really are. I also think Inman is right when he acknowledges that to use a master narrative as a comparative measure of worth in computers in writing is unrealistic. The community is too broad and expansive for anything to really measure up this kind of narrative. It seems that any attempts to do so might only result in research that is so diffuse that it would lose any value to any specific area of computers and composition. Using little narratives as the measuring stick encourages people to do research on the things they are interested in. Little narratives allow for one's research to have a place to be noticed, a place where it can really make a difference no matter how specific it might be. I think this kind of dynamic and interactive approach to a scholarly community will result in a kind of authentic success that will really do the community and its participants
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
The Database and the Essay
Johndan Johnson-Eiola's utterly fascinating and complicated article "The Database and the Essay" explores the notions of information collection and connectivity as they occur in the economic sphere and the academic classroom. She argues that "we can't separate writing from the economic sphere" (212). Increasingly even the smallest pieces of information have monetary value attached to them. Many of us no longer buy music, for example, in collections, opting instead to purchase music by the song. Many academic publishers are cracking down on reprints of their intellectual property, even if these reprints are intended for educational purposes. According to Eiola, some publishers have even gone so far as to say "'you need to seek permission to quote even a single word from one of our texts'" (204).
This value associated with the smallest bits of information has huge implications for those of use in the business of writing - teaching, practicing, or otherwise. I think Eiola is right on the mark as she argues that we really do need bring the issue of economic value of intellectual property to the forefront in writing classrooms. The pervasive flow of information in our day-to-day lives makes it increasingly important for citizens to have a keen understanding of managing it all. A knowledge of the value attached to individual pieces of information will play an essential role in the in collections of information that emerge in our daily lives - Web sites, News, Databases, etc. As, Eiola notes, while the creation of original knowledge will continue to have value, the manipulation and collection of existing information towards useful ends will warrant increasing value, perhaps to the point of outshining the creation of original information.
If it seems like I am wandering here towards no particular point, it's because I don't quite have a lucid understanding of this "information" yet. All I know is that when I read this essay, all kinds of lights lit up in my head, all kinds of interesting connections to other cultural phenomena sprung to the forefront of my mind like random electrical sparks. I know that Eiola is on to something, but I struggle to hold that "something" firmly enough to have a good look at it. Perhaps the real value of here essay is in the little details that spark flashes of understanding in my mind as I read.
Perhaps I'll read more and gather more of these lucid flashes so that I might generate a larger dataset to arrange, rearrange and interpret, reinterpret, etc.
This value associated with the smallest bits of information has huge implications for those of use in the business of writing - teaching, practicing, or otherwise. I think Eiola is right on the mark as she argues that we really do need bring the issue of economic value of intellectual property to the forefront in writing classrooms. The pervasive flow of information in our day-to-day lives makes it increasingly important for citizens to have a keen understanding of managing it all. A knowledge of the value attached to individual pieces of information will play an essential role in the in collections of information that emerge in our daily lives - Web sites, News, Databases, etc. As, Eiola notes, while the creation of original knowledge will continue to have value, the manipulation and collection of existing information towards useful ends will warrant increasing value, perhaps to the point of outshining the creation of original information.
If it seems like I am wandering here towards no particular point, it's because I don't quite have a lucid understanding of this "information" yet. All I know is that when I read this essay, all kinds of lights lit up in my head, all kinds of interesting connections to other cultural phenomena sprung to the forefront of my mind like random electrical sparks. I know that Eiola is on to something, but I struggle to hold that "something" firmly enough to have a good look at it. Perhaps the real value of here essay is in the little details that spark flashes of understanding in my mind as I read.
Perhaps I'll read more and gather more of these lucid flashes so that I might generate a larger dataset to arrange, rearrange and interpret, reinterpret, etc.
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