threads

Yet,...

2nd

2nd

i can productively apply x to y in order to productively extend y to help us as we move toward z

Writing Together: An Arendtian Framework for Collaboration

Jessica Restaino

Abstract: This essay considers the long-standing challenges, in both practice and theory, to collaborative writing in the first-year classroom. I argue that Hannah Arendt’s concepts of plurality and natality are useful frameworks for thinking constructively and practically about teaching argumentative writing through collaboration. I explore these concepts in terms of foundational scholarship on written collaboration, such as Candace Spigelman’s work on writing groups and intellectual property, as well as recent considerations of evolving technological resources (Howard). Ultimately, thinking through Arendt, I offer examples from my own classroom practice, and also generate a series of questions designed to support instructors’ incorporation of collaborative writing and thinking across their own diverse contexts. My goal here is not to suggest that there is a singular “best practice,” but rather to demonstrate the ways in which Arendtian concepts can foster complex and scaffolded pedagogies of collaboration in the first-year classroom.

[In-class conversations] may well produce, from time to time, consensually derived singular texts—but singular texts always animated by a self-conscious plurality, a polyphonic chorus of voices, whose difference—as well as sameness—speaks and is heard. Hannah Arendt has said that, ‘For excellence, the presence of others is always required.’ We agree. And so, in spite of our many unanswered questions, we believe that writing toward a pedagogy of collaboration is worth our efforts, for it holds the potential for allowing, finally and fully, for the presence of others. (Lunsford and Ede 125)

In their foundational effort to explore collaborative writing, Singular Texts/Plural Authors, Andrea Lunsford and Lisa Ede reference Hannah Arendt’s notion of “plurality.” Plurality, indispensable to Arendt’s thinking, insists that our words and actions are given their greatest power by others. Action and plurality are inherently linked, for Arendt, because our “words and deeds” must occur in the presence of others to have any relevance to the human world. In fact, our contribution to the world as actors functions as a renewal, a regeneration, of the world. Accordingly, Arendt likens action to birth, which she terms “natality,” because each time we “insert ourselves into the human world,” the event is “like a second birth, in which we confirm and take upon ourselves the naked fact of our original appearance” (Arendt 176). As I have argued in my book, First Semester, I believe Arendt has much conceptually to offer our field, particularly since her thinking is hinged so closely to lived, human realities; similarly, I see the need for theory in composition studies as inseparable from its usefulness to the classroom, to teaching, and to the generation of texts.{1} In this essay, I want to acknowledge long-standing concerns about the idea of collaboration and argue that, despite even her own wary resistance to the practice, Arendt’s concepts offer a productive alternative framework for teaching the most effective kinds of collaborative thinking and writing in the first-year classroom.

does not examine whether

bod = 7

Toward a Pedagogy of Materially Engaged Listening

Christina M. LaVecchia

Abstract: As writing teachers increasingly engage students with audio media, it has become crucial to coach listening explicitly in the classroom, activities that students may otherwise approach passively. In this article I suggest that a rhetorical approach applicable to (or derived from) print texts is not enough to help students listen actively, and offer instead a materially engaged practice of listening that helps students to understand their interactions with compositions on a material level that involves bodily activity. My proposed pedagogy moves students toward a reflective awareness of their practices, encourages purposeful listening, and acknowledges the role that attention plays in listening. Such a pedagogy can help students to engage with audio compositions on their own terms, encourage them to understand listening as a dynamic practice with critical heft worthy of their time and attention, and open insights into affordances of sound that are obscured by print-centric approaches.

Recently I taught an elective digital composing course at my university, the first course I had taught that was entirely focused around digital literacies. In addition to creating video, audio, and web-based compositions, I asked students in the course to interact with—or to read, listen to, view—course materials that ran the gamut from traditional print genres (book chapters, scholarly articles) to radio podcasts, video clips, and experimental new media webtexts. As I open all my courses with explicit conversations on rhetorical reading strategies and thought a rhetorical frame would be useful for students approaching nonprint modes, in the first week of class we discussed a go-to reading of mine, Karen Rosenberg’s chapter “Reading Games: Strategies for Reading Scholarly Sources,” from the open-access textbook Writing Spaces. Rosenberg frames rhetorical reading as “a set of practices designed to help us understand how texts work and to engage more deeply and fully in a conversation that extends beyond the boundaries of any particular reading” (212), and the conversations her chapter inspires are largely organized around strategies for first recognizing the rhetorical situation—identifying the intended audience, discovering the main argument, observing how the composer situates herself within a larger conversation, and so on—and then adjusting reading practices accordingly. Rosenberg grounds these rhetorical moves in suggested practices like reading the abstract, paying attention to section headings, or using the introduction to discern the structure and direction of the text.

Because Rosenberg (like many other scholars and textbook editors) frames reading as a rhetorical practice, my rationale for assigning her article in a class where only half of our “readings” would be made up of traditional print texts was my thinking, my insistence, that these ideas could travel. I thought that over the ensuing weeks my students would see connections between purposeful, rhetorically aware interactions with scholarly print texts and purposeful, rhetorically aware interactions with audio media, like podcasts from NPR.{1} But this transfer did not happen: it seemed that our rhetorical—and on reflection, medium-specific—conversations around reading in the first week of the semester were not enough to help students to critically and productively engage with audio media. For despite our discussions on active, rhetorical reading strategies, I found that students in my course had trouble making it through the length of a podcast and missed crucial details that betrayed they hadn’t paid close attention while listening. In fact, in talking with them I discovered that they were browsing the internet, even trying to read other texts, while listening to class assignments and so were tuning out what they were listening to.{2}

I discovered that semester that for my students to be successful listeners, my instruction had to go beyond rhetorical interactions with a composition; it was also necessary to help students consider the very nature of the medium as well as what listening might require of them in terms of bodily activity. And so while I agree with the prevailing wisdom that writing instructors should introduce to students the rhetorical layers of engaging with compositions like recognizing how composers reach their intended audiences or discovering a composer’s main intervention in a conversation, I argue that there is not enough in a rhetorical approach applicable to (or derived from) print texts alone to help students shift their activities and disrupt their passivity. Students also need to understand how listening is intimately connected to the materiality of audio media and therefore demands bodily interactions related to but fundamentally different from reading. In a way, my argument echoes a key concern that Jonathan Alexander and Jacqueline Rhodes express in their book On Multimodality. We have not yet sufficiently embraced multimodality on its own terms, they write, and instead limit multimedia with print-centric perspectives:

our embrace of new and multimedia for composing often ignores the unique rhetorical capabilities of different media ... [and] we often elide such considerations—consciously or not—in order to colonize the production of multimedia texts with more print-driven compositional aims, biases, and predispositions. In the process, we hamper our students' appreciation of and ability to manipulate multimedia texts. (19){3}

To impose text-centric frames onto multimodal work, as I did by coaching listening through a reading model, is to ignore the material differences, affordances, and constraints of nonprint media; and students need to understand these differences in order to engage with these compositions productively. Or, to put this all another way: a rhetorical framing influenced by print texts is a start, but unless it is paired with an awareness of the materiality of audio compositions and the bodily activities of listening—like considering one’s listening environment or what to do with one’s body while listening (e.g., walking, cleaning, sitting still)—students may have difficulty developing effective material listening practices. Such material practices are crucial for helping students pay attention to the form and affordances of the mode and for helping them to see listening as an active, dynamic practice with critical heft that is worthy of their time and attention.

Indeed, though listening is a familiar practice for our students, I found that students in my digital composing course had limited experience in parsing audio media in critical, analytic ways—something I was slow to realize in my early efforts to teach audio compositions. While students typically spend twelve years before coming to college learning strategies for approaching a print text (like sitting in a distraction-free space, annotating, or reading in multiple passes with varying speeds), I found that students in my digital composing course had naturalized as passive their engagements with the kinds of audio compositions (like interview clips and podcasts of Radiolab and This American Life, to name a few) that seem to appear more and more in college writing classrooms, whether or not they are courses explicitly centered on digital and/or multimodal forms of composing. For example, the first-year composition curriculum at my institution asks students to recast their research papers into a new, often multimodal, form; such an assignment is benefitted by—perhaps even necessitates—modeling through examples. And for instructors like me who are coming to listening without an explicit research background in sonic rhetorics or with limited experience teaching nonprint texts in writing classrooms, it is crucial that we continue to develop pedagogical frames for teaching listening.

To that end, I argue in this article for supporting student engagement with audio compositions through a pedagogy of materially engaged listening. This pedagogy views listening as a materially sensitive practice that involves bodies and responds to material objects. Its aims are to move students toward awareness of (and careful reflections on) their listening habits; to encourage students to listen with purpose; to acknowledge the role that attention plays in engaging with audio media; and to consider the affordances of sound. By building such a pedagogy, we can help students to engage with audio compositions on their own terms, which may not only help shift their bodily activity when listening in more effective directions but also open possible insights into affordances of sound that are obscured by print-centric approaches.

After exploring current scholarship in sonic rhetorics and listening pedagogies, I will establish that the material differences between audio and print texts call for medium-specific instruction in listening. Then I look to my digital composing class and present both my recollections of an in-class discussion about listening and also student reflections on their listening practices, which they wrote following that same discussion. Finally, I outline some suggestions for classroom practice that point students toward material engagement with audio compositions.

needs reworking to work here

Identifying Components of Meta-Awareness about Composition: Toward a Theory and Methodology for Writing Studies

Crystal VanKooten

Abstract: Recent research in writing studies has highlighted meta-awareness as valuable for student learning in courses such as first-year writing (FYW); however, meta-awareness needs to be further theorized and its components identified. In this article, I draw on a case study of six students in two FYW courses that is informed by Gregory Schraw’s model of metacognition and Anthony Giddens’s theory of practical and discursive consciousness to outline four writing/rhetorical concepts within which meta-awareness about composition is observable. These concepts include 1) process, 2) techniques, 3) rhetoric, and 4) intercomparativity, and they provide a preliminary framework for meta-awareness about composition that others might expand upon as we continue to build knowledge of how writers learn.

First-year writing (FYW) is often considered to be at the heart of writing studies. Thousands of instructors teach FYW each semester in colleges and universities across the nation, seeking to prepare students for writing they will do across the curriculum. Assessing what skills and habits students actually take and use from FYW, however, is complex. Recently, writing researchers have suggested that developing meta-awareness is one important goal for students in FYW because meta-awareness can be useful beyond the course as students write in a variety of contexts. Elizabeth Wardle, for example, argues that “meta-awareness about writing, language, and rhetorical strategies in FYC [first-year composition] may be the most important ability our courses can cultivate” (82, emphasis in original). Likewise, Rebecca Nowacek demonstrates that meta-awareness is important for integration, where students recontexualize elements within new writing situations (34). Anne Beaufort uses the closely related terminology metacognition when discussing the design of first-year writing curricula (College Writing 152; College Writing: Five Years Later); Kathleen Blake Yancey, Liane Robertson, and Kara Taczak integrate attention to metacognition into their Teaching for Transfer FYW curriculum (Writing across Contexts 137); and administrative documents such as the Council of Writing Program Administrators’ Framework for Success in Postsecondary Writing include attention to knowledge of thinking strategies (1). Meta-awareness has thus generated a buzz in relation to FYW curricula: it’s an important aspect of student learning, it’s related to processes for writing that might become generalizable beyond one assignment or one course, and it’s part of the how and the why (to go with the what) of composition.

Meta-awareness, however, needs to be further theorized for writing studies. One reason this is so is that the definitions we do have are broad—too “fuzzy,” to use Brianna M. Scott and Matthew Levy’s word—to be as useful as they might be in research or teaching. Often, meta-awareness is discussed as a general ability to reflect on one’s own thinking, and rarely do we indicate specific components that might constitute a more (or less) robust meta-awareness. Rafaella Negretti, for example, defines metacognitive awareness as “learners’ awareness of their thinking/learning strategies” (145), a general definition referring to all cognition and learning. Wardle gets more specific for writers in particular, describing meta-awareness about writing as students’ ability to “analyze assignments, see similarities and differences across assignments, discern what was being required of them, and determine what they needed to do in response” (76-77). Even so, Wardle’s definition remains within the mind of the writer, where writerly actions such as discerning and determining aren’t easily observed or distinguished. Our definitions thus remain fuzzy because the field lacks a framework for identifying specific components of meta-awareness relating to writing in particular, and the writing-related metacognitive moves we do attempt to describe aren’t easily seen or heard in classrooms or research sites. The inability to fully describe and observe meta-awareness is a problem that reaches beyond FYW, affecting our ability to study and assess the transfer of writing knowledge, as well. Several writing researchers have pointed out a likely connection between meta-awareness and transfer (see DePalma; Elon Statement; Gorzelsky et al.; Nowacek; Wardle; Yancey, Robertson, and Taczak), but looking for evidence of transfer becomes even more difficult without empirical concepts to observe meta-awareness.

In this article, I begin to build a more specific theory of meta-awareness about composition using qualitative methods. Drawing on a case study of six students in two FYW courses that is informed by educational psychologist Gregory Schraw’s two-part model of metacognitive awareness and sociologist Anthony Giddens’s theory of practical and discursive consciousness, I map out four writing/rhetorical concepts through which specific metacognitive moves can be observed. These concepts include 1) process, 2) techniques, 3) rhetoric, and 4) intercomparativity. As students in the case study began to discursively express developing knowledge related to these four concepts, metacognitive moves for composition became observable. The four concepts thus provide a preliminary framework for meta-awareness about composition that others might use and expand upon as we continue to build knowledge of how first-year writers learn.

because of the way x defined y, z happened: plus, I REPAIR THE DAMAGE

An Unnecessary Divorce: Integrating the Study of Affect and Emotion in New Media

Julie D. Nelson

Abstract: Rhetoric and composition scholars’ almost exclusive reliance on Brian Massumi’s definition of affect has spurred a theoretical and practical divorce between “affect” and “emotion” in our field. This article returns to Lynn Worsham’s Going Postal and argues that to fully scrutinize and respond to what she calls “pedagogic violence,” affects and emotions must be theorized in tandem, especially as violent rhetorics increasingly spread through new media. Through a close reading of Massumi’s work, consideration of alternate affect theories, and discussion of Aristotle’s systematic theory of emotions, I illustrate how inseparable affects are from emotions. I examine the affects and emotions at work in a contemporary example of pedagogic violence—police brutality toward African Americans—and suggest new media not just contributes to but also disrupts violent rhetorics, damaging emotional educations, and negative affective relations, which I explore through a brief analysis of Twitter.

Following the murder of nine people during a Bible study in Charleston, SC, President Obama, repeating Martin Luther King, Jr., said, “we must be concerned not merely with who murdered them, but about the system, the way of life, the philosophy which produced the murderers.” Nearly two decades ago, Lynn Worsham called this system “pedagogic violence”{1} and described how our schooling in emotion contributes to an increase in seemingly random violence, through the “hidden curriculum” of emotions like grief, bitterness, rage, apathy, and shame that are embedded in our social, economic, and familial structures (216). It is this system and philosophy that produces someone like Dylann Roof, the man who, after nearly an hour of Bible study in the basement of a historic Black church, killed three men and six women during a moment of prayer. His alleged online manifesto{2} asserted he had “no choice.” The manifesto details Roof’s education in white supremacy, and the “event that truly awakened” him: the Trayvon Martin case. After reading the Wikipedia article about the case, Roof googled “black on White crime,” and he wrote, “I have never been the same since that day,” since he found the website of a prominent white supremacist group. Eventually he realized, “Someone has to have the bravery to take it to the real world, and I guess that has to be me.” Roof’s manifesto reveals a deranged logic for justifying his killing spree but also a grim journey from everyday Internet searches to racist ideologies to violence.

Since Worsham’s “Going Postal” was published, pedagogic violence seems to have only proliferated. “[S]eemingly random acts of unmotivated savagery” continue across the U.S., but the role that media play in schooling us in emotion has changed the way we learn about, participate in, and respond to these acts of savagery (Worsham 214). Today in the U.S., nearly two-thirds of people own smartphones and even more use social networking sites—an almost tenfold increase in the last decade.{3} Citizen-reporters who share cell phone videos and instantaneous Twitter reporting have changed the way we encounter “going postal.” The result seems to encourage a more collective way of national grieving, yet rapidly updating media, with posts often expressed and consumed in isolation, can make emotions seem “free-floating and impersonal,” as Fredric Jameson has called feeling in the postmodern age (16). In these digital platforms, condemnations of violence and prayers for the dead circulate, though seemingly detached from their producers and recipients. Rhetoric and composition scholars have worked hard to respond to Worsham’s claim that “our most urgent political and pedagogical task remains the fundamental reeducation of emotion” (216). Following the work of a burgeoning interdisciplinary study of emotion,{4} scholars have redefined emotion’s role in our field (Brand; McLeod; Jacobs and Micciche), studied the impacts of specific emotions (Schell; Jacobs; Lynch; Bouson), and reread emotions in classical/historical texts (Gross; Engbers; Walker), but the mediation of emotions and its role in shaping our affective relations and (re)education has not been adequately addressed.

When affect theory became popular in the field in the early 2000s, it seemed to promise a better way of explaining feelings and emotions in new media because, as Byron Hawk claims, “affect moves us toward relations among bodies, which is critical to understanding (discourse in) network culture. Like language, new media make new affections and new relations possible” (843). However, despite great hopes for affect theory’s contributions to rhetoric and composition, it was never fully absorbed and it is still often considered “impractical theory talk,” which Jenny Edbauer Rice has detailed (Metaphysical 135). This lack of integration, I contend, stems from scholars in the field defining affect primarily as precognitive, impersonal, and unstructured. This definition, which is often attributed to Brian Massumi, would seem to have little to offer a discipline chiefly concerned with intentional communication and persuasion. In this article, I argue that scholars’ almost exclusive reliance on Massumi’s definition of affect has propelled a theoretical and practical divorce between “affect” and “emotion,” creating two rich but disconnected bodies of scholarship in our field. If we are concerned with “the system, the way of life, the philosophy” that produced someone like Roof, we need a better understanding of how pedagogic violence is perpetuated in new media. Theorizing affects and emotions in tandem elucidates how these violent rhetorics circulate and reproduce. After reviewing how affect has been defined in rhetoric and composition and conducting a close reading of Massumi’s writing on affect, I consider additional renderings of affect that make its rhetorical work more visible, including its cyclical relationship with emotion. Through analysis of police brutality and African American schooling in fear, I argue that affective theories of accumulation, contagion, and rearticulation, combined with Aristotle’s systematic theory of fear, provide a fuller, more complex explication of a contemporary example of pedagogic violence. Despite being distinct concepts with unique capacities, “affect” and “emotion” are both central in the way media shape our feelings, experiences, and worldviews. Finally, I turn to what has been called “Black Twitter” to discuss how new media—with its own affects and potentials—can function as a way to disrupt pedagogic violence.

"has nothing to say about"

Introduction: Writing with Emotion

I begin with quotations from the final reflection essays of two students in my community-based learning course, Writing With the Community. In their essays, students were to reflect on the writing project they produced in collaboration with their assigned community partner. I highlight these reflections because each student connected their writing projects to their emotional experiences.{1} Julia, assigned by the community organization to write a newsletter story about an innovative literacy program for socially isolated immigrant families, explained how “writing with emotion” was both a conscious aim in communicating with her audience and potentially in conflict with the “truth” of her story:

In writing this piece, I considered my audience and felt as if it was most important to try and engage the pathos of the audience, to tug at their heartstrings. Writing this story was an emotional experience for me, too. I felt as though I really connected with the families I observed and talked with, and I wanted to do more for them. I tried to balance this writing with emotion with trying to stick to the truth of what I was trying to report so the story might be received and understood in a more honest way. (Julia 2015)

Lucas, too, articulated “conflicting” emotional experiences while writing his profile story of Dolores, a Central American immigrant and single mother supporting three small children while attending school for her education certificate:

One of the biggest challenges I had in completing my profile story about Dolores was coping with and understanding the emotions that came out when writing about our conversations. I felt conflicting emotions while writing this story, as both an “outsider” (an ethnographer) and an “insider” (the person of an immigrant household). It bothered me that I felt as though I was hiding my identity and my emotional responses for the purposes of being an “academic.” I am uneasy about the story I have written because it evoked such strong emotions. (Lucas 2015)

These student reflections suggest much to unpack and consider, as the students articulate concerns I will return to throughout this article. Briefly, though, their essays reveal two key points worth underscoring: first, both students draw a clear connection between their writing and their emotional experiences; second, both articulate their sense of discomfort or uncertainty about what to do with that emotion in writing their piece.

In this article, I propose that we take up Megan Boler’s call for a “pedagogy of discomfort”: a purposeful way of examining uncomfortable emotions we (and our students) might otherwise resist or deflect, such as “defensive anger, fear of change, fears of losing our personal and cultural identities,” as well as guilt and the discomfort produced when we are forced to question our beliefs and assumptions (Boler 176). To this list, I would add other emotions experienced and expressed by the students in Writing With the Community, including embarrassment or shame, unease, and empathy—emotions that students often experience in community-engagement courses. Instead of understanding student emotion as something to suppress or redirect, I make a case for emotion as a pedagogical strategy by outlining three ways we might enact a pedagogy of discomfort in community-based writing courses: scaffolding emotions to support students’ experiences with community partners; encouraging students to inhabit what Boler calls a more “ambiguous self”—one that breaks with inscribed habits and beliefs; and foregrounding an understanding of emotion as a form of critical inquiry.

In the last two decades community service learning in college-level composition has been hailed as revolutionary for both faculty and students and as transformative for composition studies; yet while this work has provided us with models and strategies for rethinking our pedagogies as opportunities to connect the classroom and the community, emotion has not figured prominently in this scholarship either as a practical element of consideration or a rhetorical strategy.{2} There has been excellent scholarship recently on teaching and writing in collaboration with community partnerships, and on a wide range of topics including literacy development, service learning and social change, diversity dialogues, and writing transfer. However, community-based writing theory and pedagogy, like our broader field of composition studies, has yet to consider emotion as a powerful medium for critical inquiry and action in community-engaged writing courses.{3} In this essay, I bring together these two threads—emotion in composition and community engagement—as I further connect emotion in community-based writing to social justice theory.

There has been an increase in recent work (mainly from the field of organizational psychology) connecting social justice theory to emotion, with scholars arguing for a more sustained integration of justice and emotion through a focus on the interplay of affect and cognition. Perhaps because this scholarship is not concerned with theoretical models for writing studies, this connection between emotion and social justice has been underexamined by composition scholars. One exception is Shari Stenberg who, following the work of feminist scholars in composition-pedagogy such as Lutz (1988) and Worsham (1998), reexamines emotion as a source for social change and argues that “emotion serves as a key site of investigation for those of us interested in connections between pedagogy and social change” (349). While I find Stenberg’s link between emotion and social change a helpful starting point, her focus is on how students respond with emotion to texts in the composition classroom, rather than how they write with emotion. I push Stenberg’s claims a step further, as I contend that this call to reconsider emotion as a central part of how students experience themselves and the world holds particular relevance for community-based writing classes, where students’ emotion is often inseparable from their desire to help change unfair and inequitable social conditions. Using my course as an example, I show that emotion was part of how students gained knowledge about the community organization, the individuals they were interviewing and writing about for the organization, and the larger social issues and structures these individuals and organizations were navigating. In so doing, I argue that emotional experiences are more than just a significant feature of the students’ education process in community-based writing courses; emotions reflect students’ identities within social situations and provide a means through which students might analyze social discourses and power relations.{4}

jan muyot's blog

http://jansresearchjournal.blogspot.com/search?updated-max=2017-03-17T23:11:00-07:00&max-results=7

example of a short and sweet annotation

great example of an annotation 

book chapter

kristy b's

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U9HY3HwE4sQ

link

sean t's

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MCDfs9fS2Ak&feature=youtu.be

link

5-12

5-12

jordan's pres

jordan's pres

key terms
counterargument
controversy/debate
font big enough and not too much
timing
projecting voice
important doesn't equal the mere recognition that something is important, but showing how that something played an important role in instantiating your purpose and in the context of your paper with examples and quotes and a reading of those quotes with highlights and pointers and emphases and so on

5-8, with "lates"

5-8, with "lates"

5-8

5-8

sean's pres

sean's pres

5-8

click here for the final pres sign in sheet

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Ovk_p4yEL6tjSrETwrbp3Kr77CWoIPYHRN0HOwnYV1I/edit

Allie Baracani	May 8	10:10
2. Julia Miravalle	May 8	10:15
3. Karina Castro	May 8	10:20
4. Sean Texter	May 8	10:25
5. Jordan Price 6. Ricardo Ugarte	May 8	10:30 10:35
7. Gurleen Mangat 8. Monae Freeman	May 8	10:40 10:45

move, gap, collocation

approx 36 things an "a" paper did

(1) find what they need (2) understand what they find (3) act appropriately when they find what they need

sensitivity to context

how would the actual being in new york affect the presentation of information versus being somewhere else? what changes as a result of you having to present there?

for Cynthia again

1. why someone else who is similarly participating in the something bigger or the social movement would be interested in reading more into your topic; they say=something bigger, hopefully connected to some larger research program; you're writing with your hands behind your back and setting yourself up for casting the something bigger as having something wrong with it
2. motive for asking RG, not your motive, why someone who's participating in the something bigger would have a cause to ask that same question themselves. why there's a need to ask that question 
3. the RQ itself

for Cynthia

1. that you agree with the other 10 sources and a few reasons why came to that conclusion with them. ideally, you'd want to show that, while all 11 of you came to the same conclusion, that you came to the same conclusion slightly differently 
2. how there isn't consensus in the field on this issue. here, i'll want to get a sense of your stance on the issue is (the 11 of you) and how it differs from other stances
3. here you'll want to make a gesture to try and understand why someone else would think that position, or why it would be publicly persuasive, why others would agree with them, plus a few reasons why people would do this. but then at the end of the day, you'd want to conclude again with a reason why it really makes sense for the answer to be your answer for this reason, or maybe because of a contextual difference 

5-3

5-3: best explanation of re-purposing or final presentation yet

as you can see in this whiteboard, the key is different senses of place and purpose. for instance, a good presentation would give me a good sense of

• why and how you made major decisions about what to include and exclude when you were working with the academic journals and purposing them for the genre of the literature review. that is, i'd want to know how and why you lifted certain quotes rather than others and why you talked about those quotes in the way you did, what you decided to emphasize and why, what you considered more important for your purposes and why, plus how those decisions about what was important or worth emphasizing might reflect back on the genre of the literature review or your sense of what's important to public health academically
• then, it's the same thing, but a re-purposing into another format or genre, and to a different audience, with a different purpose in mind. so i'd want to know, were you, say, talking to a school's guidance counselor or at a rehab facility, what parts of your literature review because irrelevant and why; what you would choose to highlight in that counselor's office that you would not highlight at an academic conference and why; what different quotes you would pick for him how you would read them differently and why. specifically in terms of that last example, too, i'd want to know
• why you chose that genre or format to re-purpose the literature review to (say, a brochure), what other options you felt like you had to select from and why, plus how you would both sell that information as conveyed in the brochure to the counselor, and how you would instruct her to use it, or how you'd want it to be used by that population and why, plus what intended effect you'd imagine those design decisions to have, how you'd know if those effects were taking place, and why you feel like the document as you designed it is going to be useful for the population its aimed for, and maybe even how significantly the knowledge changed from its original context in the journal article to its use down on the ground by middle schoolers

abstract + keywords

1. Briefly state the purpose, rationale, and scope of the research

1. Explain how the problem was studied

1. Results: Present major findings (how your results is valuable)

1. Interpretation: Describe the meaning and significance

1. the keywords, search terms

3 requirements of the intro again

title page is the first page

abstract is the second

the intro ought to be composed of three parts: (a) the stable context, or the sense of ongoing conversation in the field of public health today. here, you could use the berridge (2016) but you could also use some section from another article's introduction or conclusion, purposing that history or context in order to give your topic a way of fitting in with something bigger that's going on. remember, the key here is also to make sure that another researcher in the field would be interested in your topic. the key words and phrases here are

• interested
• distinction between topic and field
• ongoing conversation and 
• something bigger that's going on now in public health

then there's (b) the gap, where you detail what the motive is for asking your research question is, that is, not in the sense that you just find it interesting, but why the field of public health in general or, more realistically, the sub-field of whatever you're doing actually has overlooked or misrepresented or discussed wrongly etc. some aspect of your topic. i would put this in the second paragraph of the intro but it's not required. but, if i were writing this paper, the intro would be two paragraphs. one for (a) and the other for (b), but in the second paragraph i would also put (c): that is, the research question itself. i would embed that question towards the end and put it in a single bullet point.

another sequence

1. basic overview of your topic, why you chose it, why it's important, why you chose that one rather than another
2. condensing from the journals 
3. condensing in revision
4. what my site looks like (site = counselor ; 
5. format + format decisions 
6. how you want the kids to use it
7. re-purposing for the public 
8. ???

5-1

be sure you sign up for a final presentation

http://publichealthpanicattackz.blogspot.com/2017/04/sign-in-sheet.html

paper with pg #s

1. title page
2. abstract (left indented) + keywords (keywords are centered)
3. intro (3 things) approx 1 pg. + sense of a bigger conversation <--hot your topic fits in or participates + motive to ask RQ + RQ
4. methods/SS (2 things) approx 1pg. 
5. results 
6. results 
7. results 
8. results 
9. discussion (3 things) approx 1pg. 
10. conclusion approx 1/2 pg.
11. references

another sequence

1. brief overview of topic in general. maybe why you chose it or why you were interested in in
2. 3 most important things about my project in an academic context <--research articles to lit review
3. <--research articles to lit review (problems with moving info from the research article to the lit review) good sense what happened when you tried to move info out of the the research article and into the genre of the lit review
4. <--research articles to lit review
5. professional site, public what that audience is composed of their needs expectations
6. document how i would design it the major decisions i'd make things i;d need and how that a=document would be purposed to meet that audience's expectations 
7.  problems with the translation
8.  problems x2 with the translation

whenever you run into a major problem just start to talk about difficult decisions you had to make in the writing process