Concert of Voices

Eli Pariser: “Technology is evil and moneymaking greed will be the ultimate downfall.”

Clive Thompson: “Technology is sooooo awesome, dude.”

Anil Dash, Chris Anderson, Seth Priebatsch, and Jane McGonigal: “We have a social responsibility to use the power of technology to solve big world problems.”

The last message is my favorite. Just as I appreciated Thompson’s optimism, I find it very v

Heist-like dynamics make the best networks.
Best metaphor in a while.

aluable how the speakers we viewed this week advocated not simply for the benefits of technology, but introduced a type of responsibility we as technology-users have to affect and change. With the power of networks to spark crowd-accelerated innovation coupled with the team-building and motivational affect of game dynamics, we have little right to complain about issues before actively working, using the tools at hand, to combat them.

Dash said, “We create opportunities for people to do unexpected and great things when we make networks that are more inclusive.” He pointed out that networks afford individuals who are not “well-born” or privileged to have a voice. Rural farmers can connect with world-leading visionaries if they choose the proper channels. Or, consider one of the largest networks that exists, Facebook.  Although Marc Zuckerberg, the creator, is an incredibly influential (not to mention wealthy) entrepreneur, in reality he is shy and somewhat awkward (as remembered forever by the Business Insider). Yet, the man who never really outgrew his baby face rose to the highest ranks in technological influence. His intelligence and drive notwithstanding, he had an entire network of users who loved his product, shared it with their own networks, and supported the continuance of it. He was able to spread his idea until it became bigger than any social difficulties he experienced, and people respected him for it. I also enjoyed Dash’s discussion of how, with the right network, things become transparent. Many sets of eyes equals fewer places not seen.

When Anderson said, “Giving away what you think is your biggest secret invites others into helping make it better,” I was reminded of the discussion we had on copyrights and intellectual property. Rather than “keep your cards close to your chest,” Anderson advocates free sharing of ideas that they may be improved. Of course, this concept begs questions like, “who gets the profit?”, “who gets the rights?” and so forth, but I still found his point, that only when we have entire groups of people motivated by others to do better, do things really progress in monumental and novel ways.

Priebatsch cracked me up, from his college-dropout jokes to his incredibly intellectual and inspiring discussion. While I hear his idea of the “game layer,” visualizing it is an entirely different matter and calls to mind questions regarding power and control. The game dynamics he lays out are theories of human interaction and behavior, and to harness them is to control how humans act. Priebatsch hopes to use them towards positive ends, like education, but how can we moderate these dynamics so they do not negatively affect or control our behavior? In the simplest form, do we risk compromising free will and choice in integrating and increasing proficiency these dynamics?

Finally, McGonigal. Honestly, I was offended how often her audience laughed at her propositions! You could immediately sense the audience held prejudice and distain for gaming. Yet through her discussion, I recognized the incredible space that games present for solving problems as we imagine ourselves super-powered hopeful individuals. Simulators have been used for years, from crash-testing to training astronauts, so why not implement them to solve problems? If we can create systems, where the individuals interacting within these systems are able to shake the insecurities and limitations we face in everyday life, the solutions and innovations coming from such a system go beyond imagination. I greatly respect her encouragement that we “make the future” through harnessing technology, rather than simply watch it develop. It returns to the concept of responsibility. With the tools we have, are we morally compelled or obligated to activate the networks and crowd source knowledge that lies at our fingertips, to address current crises? Such a question cannot be easily answered, but these authors take important steps, and their work is the type we need to encourage, promote, and build off of.

Gaming is rad, but if the genre is to be one of empowerment, we need to address
 the ubiquitous design of female characters as sexualized and objectified.  Show me the 5'2" 125 lb.,
love-handled character who can beat all odds, and I'll be playing for life.

A More Positive View

Globally, I appreciated and found fascinating (and comforting) Thompson’s discussion of how technology in the digital age is shaping our cognition, social spheres, and education for the better. Although I found his writing style overly anecdotal, it struck me that Thompson provided a rich, well-thought and evidenced argument for how technology—from the internet to artificial intelligences—will improve humanity, rather than how society will “cope” or “adapt” to increasing technology.

It seems, lines of technology-doubting thought emerge heavily in humanities departments. Perhaps because the studies of English, History, Literature, and so forth rely on extensive examinations of previous texts and ancient lines of thought, individuals working, learning, and writing within those environments more often recognize the value of past influences rather than future ones.

Especially after reading The Filter Bubble, Thompson’s discussion was a refreshing new look

at technology, and his conclusion, that when we face increasingly sophisticated and powerful tools for seeking answers we need to “think of harder questions” (p. 290) struck me as insightful and timely.

An element I particularly appreciated was how Thompson showed that technology plus humans was a far more powerful, valuable, and influential force than simply technology alone. From his “centaur” computer-human chess playing teams, to the January 25th Egyptian citizen revolts, technology was shown to empower humans, from acting as a thinking-extension to providing a global communication forum, rather than taking on an independent or formidable identity of its own. Speaking of the chess teams, he writes “Because Cranton and Stephen were expert at collaborating with computers, they knew when to rely on the machine’s advice” (p. 4). Same with the teenage girls protesting the beef imports, or the Shifang citizens successfully stopping the copper plant construction, Thompson seems to conclude that humans already posses the capability and courage to accomplish notable feats, they often just lack firepower. And technology offers just that.

As Thompson discussed “lifelogging,” I remembered a recent interaction. My twenty-something friend offhandedly mentioned his high school Twitter account one day, as it related to the conversation, saying he rarely checked it anymore. Curious, and motivated by the fact that we new friends but had spent a fair amount of time together, I was interested in what this social media account would reveal about him. After tracking it down, for he had forgotten the username, I scrolled through his Tweets and laughed somewhat astonishedly and reproachfully as I read snippets of sexist blunt humor, dissatisfaction for his living situation, thoughtful musings on life and God, and (my personal favorite), “See so many people with rings on their fingers these days...won’t catch me ending my life on purpose.” As you can imagine, I was slightly offended and put off by his comments, because my current conception of him was of a sweet, sarcastic but also respectful, motivated, and content human being. To my objections, he replied, “You can’t be mad at my 18-year old self!” And, of course, he was right.

As human beings, we should have the right to permeability, to change. That version of my friend was one that no longer existed, although remnants of his fieryness and snark certainly lived on, elements I had come to appreciate. But the fact I could, through some snooping, pull up a laundry list of Tweets written by his overly-confident-jock-high-school-rebellious-self speaks to an unfortunate aspect of technology and the Internet. If less forgotten does not equal more remembered (p. 33), the Internet has an uncanny knack for remembering that which should, in time, perhaps be forgotten.

A conversation often sidestepped in
discussion on Artificial Intelligences...

Of course, technology will never be “natural,” but I think that as it continues to progress, it will amplify natural elements of humanity (like brain power, courage, etc.), rather than disrupt natural orders like time passing and old versions of ourselves being remade to the present. Thompson writes, “The future of public thinking hinges on our ability to create tools that bring out our best” (p. 76) The wide array of technological benefits, from increasing the production of writing to uniting marginalized individuals around social causes to strengthening connection and weak ties through ambient awareness all point towards a powerful future with possibility. We have the brains, technology might just provide the firepower and processing ability we need to reach an even greater potential.

The Ethics of Online

Reading Wysocki & Johndan Johnson-Eilola’s text the second-time through (thankfully, this text marks the final of pieces I read ahead of time, in my unfortunate habit of reading wrong assignments), this jumped out:

“Importantly, if we value this search engine—which is in effect the front end to a database—

if we value this as a form of writing, then we can then begin to argue that the sorts of choices one makes in writing the database—for example, what categories to include, what to exclude; which category to put first; etc.—we can start to argue that these choices involve responsibilities to the reader and to society, just as we now do in other, more traditional forms of writing.” (p. 220, emphasis added)

In the margin, I scribbled ethos. In Advanced Composition, Kate Ryan devoted the second
portion of the semester to studying this concept, which I self-defined as, “Both the process and product of constructing, as a writer, the trustworthiness of your character as it reveals in your text and the exigency of the text’s situation.” In light of reading The Filter Bubble, I am questioning whether or not we should (or even can) demand an ethos from web-writers equal to that of traditional print writers. How do we justify rigorous expectations from authors of scientific journals, yet allow code writers to make their own rules—rules which do not always favor the at-large mission of furthering public knowledge? The debate comes back to a "great power/great responsibility" situation, just like we initially discussed regarding rhetors and the persuasive power of speech.

When Kohl wrote, “…from this point of view, it is only about the structural and thematic organization of the texts and not about the process of writing,” (p. 173) I recognized that he was differentiating between what “makes” a thing. Is it the process or the product? Most teachers and professors ban Wikipedia use in their students' composition, because of its supposed unreliability; that is, the finished product is an unstable text not trustworthy to cite. Yet, observing the process of a page on Wikipedia can reveal great amounts of knowledge regarding identity construction, how history adjusts according to interpretation and time, and how multiple writers create and negotiate text in social spaces. The end-product becomes a by-product for the rich process, Kohl seems to say, urging for the developmental history of a page to become the focal point of attention. Kohl further points out the changing nature of texts—from the dissolution of author and recipient (p. 170) to time becoming a dimension of the text (p. 174), the stable, static, hardcover books is the romantic remnant of a writing past gone by. 

 I am recognizing more and more the value of students' blogging, just like we do right here, right now. Text was never stable, and the interwebz only reveal, increasingly, its dynamic movement and change. Writing a blog allows the student to reflect on the temporarily and contingent nature of their text, as well as reflect on its change and metamorphosis over time. We are, in effect, creating textual timelines of our thought processes throughout the class. How cool is that? It's incredible.

But returning to ethos, how are we to transfer over expectations for credibility from the print world to the digital one? Are the same criterion for honesty and trustworthiness applicable? What is the importance or implications of a web writer’s ethos? The speed of developing technology dashes along at a quicker pace than public and scholarly response to these questions, and I think we should more actively attend to issues of online ethos.

The glare from my process reflection is bright...

Well, this project was difficult. As I brainstormed ideas and attempted to pin down concepts, I struggled between creating form and content. See, I have always learned to prioritize content over form. Writing traditionally, I develop ideas, research, write outlines, and then lay it all down on the page, the form emerging as a final, somewhat non-chosen, step.

While attempting to create the infographic, my mind spun with numerous ideas regarding form. Layouts, colors, charts, shapes, and fonts buzzed around in my head, rather than ideas for actual content. It seemed every time I landed on an idea, the form possibilities would take over and push me in the direction of another one.  I had ninety-nine ideas, but content wasn't one; I was thinking so greatly on what it would look like, I could not decide what it would be about. The two, of course, are inextricably linked. Yet this dual-developing, trying to draft a form and content that are cohesive, not redundant, but complimentary and filling each other’s shortcomings, was like trying to speak two different languages simultaneously. I am so very native in English, it seems my default for thinking. I rarely think or imagine in images as some do, and so it follows that conceptualizing with a foreign tongue would prove difficult.

Another aspect that frustrated me was exactly that—the multiplicity of form ideas, compared to fewer content ideas. I was imagining banners, dreaming of icons and Venn diagrams, hypothesizing adding Gifs and sound bytes, and wishing I knew how to write parallax code. My abilities once again favored writing, and my technological prowess stood no chance at meeting the breadth of my ideas. I spent a good portion of the brainstorming session wishing that digital rhetorics was taught earlier on, in high school or middle school, so that my brain had time to develop this two-tiered invention process, where I can think in form as simply as I think in content. I see great potential in fields where the physical appearance of thing speaks as loudly a message, or louder, as its explicit text. Form has always been a major player in the meaning-making sphere; we are just coming to notice it even more now.

As Friday drew near, I eventually settled on an earlier idea for the infographic that I knew I could create with less brain-ache, albeit my perfectionist drive to create the "best" would suffer. I read that smokers’ brains come to associate positive vibes with the color and look of a cigarette pack, and I had also read the timeline of bodily processes post-quitting, and thought they would make an interesting combination. Further, I feel that many stop-smoking campaigns focus on the negative aspects of continuing, rather than the positive aspects of quitting. Make someone stressed about their blood pressure, and their immediate stress-response will be to light up. But show the positive compound-effect of quitting, that every day without a cigarette adds more to their life, and smokers can respond with optimism and motivation. While putting the graphic together, I found myself considering aspects like font more than ever before. What mood does this convey? Does it feel proud, professional, comforting, ominous?  What does the angle of a line change?  Also, it is safe to say I spent a large portion of the invention process being 1.) disappointed that Google did not have the graphics I sought, and 2.) using Ctrl + arrow keys to shift everything around in micro-movements, until it all fit together. Like the finesse of final editing, you strive for balance and readability, and while the process may seem agonizing at times, it is crucial for reader experience.

Regarding number one, I was stoked on creating an infographic showing the steps of basic fly fishing casts, but could find little art on the subject to aid my graphic. Of course, were I a design-ninja I could have simply sketched something, but of course, I am a writer. In one way, the rhetorical situation was one that asked writers to become graphic designers, and thus I was bound by Google's search results (cue discussion on Filter Bubbles.)  The rhetorical situation also heavily involved technology, and thus when my computer froze up and refused to run Power Point at normal speed, I was constrained.  Thankfully, the library has speedy computers, but they also kick you out at 8:00 p.m. on Friday nights, did you know that?  I didn't.

In the future, I will start my intense thinking/mental drafting process much earlier. And, I will choose something that passionately interests me, something that I geek out about. Creativity takes excitement, at least that’s my opinion. This project honed my practice of stress-working, but also my belief that the digital realm of writing is rich with possibility for meaning-making.

If I had more time, I would change subjects, probably following through on the casting diagram, or perhaps something entirely different. With these projects, I can burrow down deep and pull out my perfectionist and creative side, and sometimes make magic. But, my inspiration was absent, and even though I called and beckoned and whined and demanded, it did not show its lovely face.  I have been considering how we beckon imagination...or is it un-beckonable?

Of course, the struggle is always good. It drove me nearly crazy to feel I had the abilities but lacked the inspiration, but also pushed me to consider how it is we come by those ideas.  Perhaps they often arise unpredictable, and when they strike, we better be ready.  But less unpredictable, I think we need to train our minds to think in both content and form-- to consider how an idea looks alongside what it means; to consider ideas from a visual perspective.  We need better, more multiple ways of seeing, so that when we create, the layered-content/form process will come naturally, and with less struggle.

I know even more now how digital designers face incredibly complex work, how the form will speak for itself if the writer does not intend it to speak something else, and that to better my sketching skills is to better my communication and meaning-making skills, who would have thought. (-:

Warning, this may get (I N F O) G R A P H I C

Also, here's a more complicated version, with the URLs working.

One more thing...here are my main sources for y'all who want 'em.
http://whyquit.com/whyquit/A_Benefits_Time_Table.html
http://www.healthline.com/health-slideshow/quit-smoking-timeline#1
http://www.webmd.com/smoking-cessation/features/surviving-without-smoke

Photo Essay Proposal

…I am not entirely sure what I will do here. Image and text are two very complex and meaning-rich discourses, each with an attitude of its own, and sometimes it seems, a will of their own too. Combining the two in a manner cohesive enough to create fluidity and enriched meaning, but notso cohesive so the text/image act as redundant counterparts seems a bit like asking two intelligent, strong-willed, creative, and somewhat-mischievous children to play together. Let’s just say supervision will be required.

I am not entirely sure what will happen, not because I lack vision for what I want to do, but because it seems anytime we bring two modes together, something happens in the collision of modalities—meaning unexpectedly creates itself. So, I have a plan, but I am also quite prepared for the essay to create rhetorical forces of its own, as it presents different modes in conversation with each other. Who knows what they might have to say?

Research Question:
Wysocki demonstrated how our world, and thus our writing and media, have traded particularities for abstracts, and learned to devalue the “particular and the messy.” Yet, anyone who switches on daytime television will find a jackpot of soap operas revealing the messiness of personal life, for everyone to see. So, we do not live in a culture devoid of recognizing particularities and “imperfections,” but we limit them to specific times and places. In light of this, I aim to investigate what qualifiers are currently used to determine something is “too” personal or particular, and what do these “TMI-indicators” reveal about values and epistemologies? You could categorize my research question as epistemologically-based, but I believe the end result will also merge into discourses of feminist theory.

What I don’t know, that I would like to, is how can we integrate the “particular and the messy” without becoming overly explicit, or unnecessarily self-focused? How can academics begin to integrate themselves into their pieces as more than abstract authors? Since language at its core is abstraction, is it capable of portraying the non-abstract, and if so, how? If we all held different ideas of concepts in our heads, we would certainly find difficulty in communicating, so how can we balance accepting/recognizing specificities while also maintaining general understandings needed for human communication that will always be mediated?

I feel a question that the epistemological/teaching field has yet to answer, lies in regard to measuring the “Quality” (and if you know Pirsig, you know what I mean) associated with exposing these particulars. How can we get students talking and writing about their non-abstract selves, without getting long strings of gushing self-referential prose that does not successfully inspect or shed light on greater issues?

Methods:
I intend to include, throughout my essay, pictures of bodily aspects usually photo-shopped out—from moles to stretch marks to scars to wrinkles. I hope to utilize the strength of up-close images as a metaphor for examining subverted aspects of our thought processes and evaluation processes, just as these elements of bodies are often subjugated or sidestepped. I intend to spend a good amount of time looking at similar photo essays approaching this topic. Mining the comments on online articles is an excellent way to understand the different perspectives people take, especially when you encounter fiery objection. I am sure Wysocki and I will become close friends throughout this process, and New Media also offers a nice bibliography of related texts that will be mined. Also, besides the usual Academic Search Complete/Artemis/CompPile searches, I would love to take pictures of these “flaws” and talk to people about their own views of the particulars of their bodies. There are also some good pieces critically analyzing the “nude” as an art form, and whether that is a positive step towards non-objectification or not, a discussion I find fascinating and helpful. I also would like to find instances where writers shared particulars of their lives and it worked well rhetorically, verses when it went south, and why.

Speculations on Resulting Text:
Going back to the beginning, I am not entirely sure what this finished project will look like. It will probably be on pages, with writing and photos. That’s two things for sure. I am toying with the idea of creating two versions—a nice digital copy to submit online, and a “raw” copy that is hand-written, with the pictures taped onto the pages, representing more of a body with character than an abstract document with letters. But we will see. I think, I hope, it will cover a wide variety of topics, but unite them back around the struggle of “what gets priority in visual texts” and finding balance between unhelpful self-exposing and beneficial revealing of our particulars. I think it will look like a conversation of, in making meaning and communicating, where should the personal arise in a manner that furthers knowledge for all?

Only 643 words! A new record, for certain.

Marginalia...are students discouraged from "thinking outside the box?"

Remember back when I accidentally read Wysocki, when I should have read Wysocki/Johnson-Eilola? Apparently my syllabus-reading skills took a turn for the worse earlier on this semester. In any case, I wrote this on Multiple Media then:

“"Each aspect...involves choice" (p. 132). To me, that fragmented quote encapsulates the entire text. As I went through the examples, I was struck by how traditional academic essay formats reflect the very tenets which "rational" meaning making teaches. Unchanging lines of simple, identical text void of color or diversity do not compel the reader to consider the context of the piece. Instead, the reader receives the unconscious message that context is irrelevant, and only the non-physical ideas, the concepts or theories addressed within matter. Even margins imply that the text's meaning is easily encapsulated, existing as a stand-alone entity and not worthy of critical analysis on the situatedness of the piece. The format of parallel lines, each page mirroring the others, makes the reader disregard materiality and temporality. We become lost in the lofty ideas, and forget to make connections, to consider the author's narrative paradigm and contextual intent-- we forget the author breathes, hurts, longs, laughs, and most importantly, wants.”

I hold these same ideas in mind now. Bernhardt does a nice job demonstrating the rhetorical effectiveness of visual layout within text. The physical arrangement of text can point towards certain sections, appeal to wide audiences, compact information, and purposefully guide the reader through a piece of writing. Bernhardt ends by encouraging students and teachers to study and experiment with visual text, and explore the potentials and capability for creativity and effective communication therein. I believe Bernhardt’s mission is valid, but equally important is the notion of exclusion—where is the visual purposefully ignored or subverted? Like my commentary on Wysocki, we can learn and see incredible implicit messages if we look at places where we usually overlook—blank margins, for example.

If punctuation is “illustrations without pictures” (p. 283),

...because I have always wanted to post this, but lacked
the proper textual environment.

then these small symbols are equally important in creating textual meaning, yet too often overlooked. For example, where are all the exclamations in academic writing? Isn’t anyone excited about all this knowledge? Or would such an “overt” display of excitement betray emotion, which would supposedly reveal fallibility or weakness? Also, if effective punctuation creates a “harmonious interrelation between punctuation and words” (p. 289) then what happens when we purposefully break this convention? Surely I am not the only person who often wants to write with repeated ellipses…because you see, nearly every thought I have and sentence I write is not so encapsulated and contained….but rather, one leads to the other...no one thought contained or disconnected from the next...yet many of my “in-between thoughts”…those between one and the other…are left unwritten.
 The very conventions we take as “normal,” ”universal,” or “obvious” were chosen and created with a purpose, even if that purpose was to subvert critical analyzation of the choosing. Wysocki notes how the acts we take to move through a text speak volume about the relationship of the textual elements therein, as well as the relationship between reader and text that the text asks or expects through its layout. It is important that we recognize the implicit value a period (rather than an exclamation mark!) implies, not so that we can go on rampages of punctuation-less writing (which is very confusing, simply read A Pickle for the Knowing Ones or Plain Truth in a Homespun Dress by Timothy Dexter, an autobiography written without punctuation) but simply so that we can see the subconscious binds which constrain our language. Then, after seeing we can choose whether to keep or to disregard...whether to operate within the existing conventions or push outside of them...whether it is important to call to attention such conventions or let them be...a question which will inevitably shape the type of writings we create.

Process Reflection: Layered Texts

The story of this video began as a conversation with my younger sister, the end result of which was our sarcastic ridicule of overt displays of “masculinity.” Socially, we have constructed certain attributes as “manly,” but these attributes are, at their core, arbitrary. Something is regarded “masculine” largely because culture constructed it as such.

The story looks like me rounding up roommates, sisters, friends, to interview. I found that nearly every woman I spoke with had ideas regarding her part, especially once I gave a few “primer” ideas. The ladies infused my script with a life of their own, a passion that made me laugh and appreciate the camaraderie.  Coordinating is a huge effort of film, especially once you start involving other people. When the writer composes, they can find other voices to add to the conversation simply by searching a database. In video, the composer needs physical access to the additional voices and sources, showing how much more the image/video is embodied.

The writing process was similar to the introduction video in that I storyboarded for a while before making my shots. Video is highly interconnected; it is impossible to splice up and manipulate the specifics like language. Therefore, I knew I needed to get quality takes that maintained the vibe I wanted throughout. Rather than writing and composing from words, in putting together a video the artists combines large pieces of already-compiled information. Therefore, it is already “written” in some aspects, before the author begins to string the videos together. Working with multiple characters differentiated it from my introduction video, and I had to apply extra measures, like evening out the volume for all subjects so one was not louder than the others, to create a fluid text. I also had to coordinate tones, and put “interviews” next to each other that fit well in regards to subject, length, energy, etc.

I did not do my original idea, which was a satirical infomercial regarding writing “opportunities” for women, because I realized the project would require more time and effort than I could budget. So, an element of the rhetorical situation was a college-level class, in which I had other demands on my time, and video is a very time-consuming medium. I also chose not to create anything that did not entertain on some level, because the rhetorical situation seemed asking for something witty and humorous. I also felt the need for a social critique, something that exposed constituents of society that we too often take for granted. The rhetorical situation asked my video to imply both a question and an answer, and gender construction is a rich site for both.

In the future, I would have liked to include more subjects. The diversity of character enriched the film; I love the idea of collaborative writing, and video is an excellent platform for that type of work. As a writer and thinker, I have begun to see the possibilities of video manifested in the limitations of text. This would make an awesome film short, I have found myself thinking about writing projects. Video, interviews, do not allow us to be bodiless subjects, and I see great potential in that physical presence. Our narratives become visible by the very presence of our bodies, and viewers cannot ignore the text’s situatedness.

Affirmed habits and “things I didn’t know before” include:

· The graphic design lab iMacs = awesome.

· Working ahead on contacting people to help you = good.

· Shooting in different types of light = bad.

· Entering the editing process with a plan, but prepared to toss the whole thing out = good.

· Music can change the entire tone; like an entire stylistic re-write.

· The editing aspect constitutes as much of “composing” as shooting the original video.

Working with video, in many ways, seems like working with layers of text simultaneously. There is the “text” of lighting, of sound, of transitions, music, subject, dialogue, captions, and so forth. It shows bodies, it shows situatedness and subject-object interaction…video may be the ideal medium for exposing and resisting “masculine” conventions that can constrain language.

b o d i e s

While reading Jamieson’s perfectly-written text, which encapsulates the greater part of what I feel and think about women, writing, rationality, and the public discourse, I kept hearing Andrea Nye from Words of Power and the Power of Words in my head.  She writes:

"I believe all human communication, including logic, is motivated…people when they speak or write always want something and hope for something with passion and concern, even when part of that passion and concern is to deny it…The discussion of a man in authority with a woman who sets herself up to refute his pronouncements is always on his terms, and likely to end up only in one way: with the reaffirmation of his power." (Nye 442-443)

The most insidious system of power is rarely brazen, blasting, or ruling by the sword, but rather the

one that doesn’t call its own name, and instead masquerades around as normality and universality.  Traditionalist men created a construct of public discourse which did not explicitly exclude women from entering the debate, and therefore could not be immediately recognized as bias and sexist.  Yet, to participate in “manly” speech, the highest regarded and expected form of discourse, women needed to deny their femininity, and ultimately, humanity.  To participate in the “manly” conversation, one needed to deny their feelings, their intuition, their desire for intimacy, relationships, and peace.  Some women overcame, pushed their way into a system designed to exclude and oust their presence, but all their “success” accomplished was reinforcing the system that existed to subvert them. 

Handbags, anyone?

People like to say that sexism is a “thing of the past,” that women have equal rights now, and can pursue any job or career without barriers.  I have even heard the argument that men are reverse-biased, that prejudice has been turned upon the man, and women “get away” with too much.  Those arguments notwithstanding, we need to recognize that the very basis of western thought and public discourse, “rationalism,” still exists on man’s territory, and we play by his rules.  If I can say anything without frustration, it will be regarding the power of narrative.  Jamieson opens a door, considering new technology (media) as an opportunity for women to alter the disadvantages of “professional discourse,” through the narrative style with which they have become familiar.  Video shows the relationship between a subject and their space, shows imperfections, shows bodies rather than just minds.  At our core, we are storytelling creatures; television and video offer outlets for this form to emerge.  I had never considered the implications of new technology on gender roles, and her discussion of television has me now considering how the surge in multiple media will continue to affect our constructions of gendered and power-driven language.

“Before they can bring centuries of acculturation to television, women must overcome their socially reinforced fear of public speech; they must then abandon the “manly” style they adopted in order to deliver socially acceptable public discourse.” (Jamieson, 808)

Sometimes, oftentimes, I have a hard time sticking up for myself when doing so will let someone else down.  I have felt too many heavy-set footprints from letting people walk over me, but still have a hard time recognizing how to stop it.  Jamieson offers the idea that women are socially trained to be submissive, letting others assert their aggressive tendencies, while we remain passive, because to speak up or speak out would be “bitchy,” “dominant,” “impulsive,” “improper,” and a whole slew of words which all mean “not gentle.”  Sociologically, women are less likely to negotiate higher pay grades, because a men bartering for higher salaries they are seen as assertive, but when women negotiate they are considered pushy or smug.  At its core, negotiation is negotiation, but we interpret it differently depending on sex.  Yet, the idea that a willingness to be trodden upon is trained means it is not innate, not “natural,” and can be untrained.

Wysocki does some incredible work.  This:

“We can create aesthetic experiences…for each other where we use the expected social constructions of form just enough to hold onto what audiences expect, but where we can then also make visible the limitation of the forms we have been asked to grow into but, if we are to be safe and fully respected, cannot.” (Wysocki 172)

This is genius.  Wysocki is not saying, “Death to all images! Death to all text!”  But rather encourages us to turn the conventions on themselves.  Rather than blind reinforcement of preexisting power, we can follow cultural expectations and restrictions for images and writing just enough to be accepted into the discourse, but push, bend, and resist the rules enough to create self-reflective writing and images which call their own cultural assumptions and strictures out.  We can reveal the limitations of the form while still working within that form, and it might be the most powerful demonstration of all.

Her consideration of Kant’s argument regarding universality makes absolute sense in today’s culture.  Society has constructed the “perfect” ameliorated female body type, to have access to a universal principle of “female beauty.”  But when we seek out the actual relationship, the site of interaction, the day-to-day peculiarities and specificities of the female form, it is far less universal.  I have freckles, round hips, cellulite in places I rarely look.  My skin sheds itself, my hairs escape while also insisting on tangling, getting dirty, drying out.  My stomach is not flat, my teeth sit in a uniquely not-straight configuration, I have dimples on my lower back and scars from chicken pox.  My hips and thighs have coursing stretch marks whose texture remind me of a topographical map, telling the story of my growth.  My body is a collection of perfect specifications, my body has been through everything I have, and tells a story my brain cannot.

But what lies the next level down?  Wysocki writes, “This desire for abstract formality we have

learned…separates us from our histories and places, and hence from each other” (Wysocki 169).  I want to venture that our fear of intimacy pushes us into discourses that allow isolation.  We live in a culture that asks us not to be bodies—to make our bodies be nothing more than vehicles to tote our brains around.  What is so terrifying about being human?  The fallibility?  Were Aristotle, Plato, Kant, etc. dreadfully fearful of their innate weaknesses?  Principles and abstractions allow us to shirk particulars; the concept (rather than the person) cannot be broken.  Is it so violating to recognize that, in the end, we are all decomposing bodies, falling apart at the seams, slowly, minute by minute?  You might see me as a student who speaks up in discussion, or always writes lengthy blogs with multisyllabic words.  Maybe you see me as intelligent, funny, or intense.  Which could be true, but also, underneath all this academic prose, maybe I am a tired woman.  Maybe an ex is making my life hard, maybe I have sore arms because I have not lifted in months and just started and it hurts like hell, maybe I am lonely, or hungry, or maybe today is the best day I have had in a long time.  Maybe they are all true, simultaneously.  I guess what I am trying to say is, academic discourse could attain so much more were we honest with ourselves and others.

Universalities and generalities are boring, and only support the powers that be.  We need to show, through our compositions and our self presentations, “the particular and the messy” (168).  

Also, if you have a bit, check out Emma Watson's killer speech on feminism:

Audio/Visual Project

Enjoy...and don't take yourselves too seriously.

    

Stay close, this is about to get tricky...

There is no unfiltered reality.

Doug spoke these words a few weeks back, and they stuck with me.  If I attempt to unite Mishra, Wolf, and McCloud, it would be around the principle of mediation.  Everything is filtered, affected, changed, and situated; all knowledge depends on the reader, society, culture, and certainly numerous unknown factors to reach its actualization.   We live in a messy world, but excitement lies in the prospect of slowly unraveling one tangle at a time, going around in circles and through loops, until perhaps we unravel and understand just enough to wield it.  Reading these three authors I recognize there will always be more—more situations to analyze, more texts, more technologies, more people, etc.   Wisdom is not a status of complete comprehension and mastery, but rather the constant state of mindfulness and attention; someone who has seen enough to know that something new always hides around the bend, out of sight until you get there.  In conjunction, Mishra quotes: “We are most revealed in what we do not scrutinize” (p. 141).  So let’s do some looking.

On Mishra:

At this, my mind did a double-take: “While pictorial subject

matter is alien to written discourse, and requires a reduction to make it amenable to analysis, written subject matter can be iterated without any “gap” within the textual surface that analyzes it.” (p. 140).

What does it imply, that our analysis of image is almost always verbal?  Can we really “get at” the core of rhetorical images if our criticism always brings the pictorial back into the realm of language?  Are we losing another form of analysis?  I cannot say what, or how, just that when attempting to understand something, we can constrain it through the forms of comprehension we choose.  Wolf would seem to reinforce this, through the conversation on simulators.  “Computers that automatically inspect events are limited by the expectations of programmers.  Such systems can selectively suppress information or obscure unusual phenomena.” (p. 121).  If we consider our minds a form of simulator, reproducing and recreating the world “out there” for us “in here,” then certain aspects of our processing process (yes, no typo) can unknowingly constrain us, just like lines of code which expect a result can unwittingly filter out information not fitting its expectation.  Language comes with its own set of restrictions (and naturally, great benefits), and I wonder if we shouldn’t be practicing other forms of analyzing alongside the verbal. 

*Checks syllabus…sees photo essay.*  Perfect, that’s exactly what I mean.

McCloud writes, “Communication is only effective when we understand the forms that communication can take.” (p. 198).  So many languages circulate out there, from the language of technology to computer code to subtractive color to medical lingo.  And every language is weighted, bringing its own set of biases and assumptions to the conversation, implicit in its very constructions and jargon.  McCloud talks about the communication wall, that all expression is an attempt to reconcile the truth that we cannot communicate mind-to-mind.  So we create these different languages to attempt to communicate, such as the graphic novel.  But once an art or discourse is in motion, it often takes on its own life, and just like a simulator or computer code, starts acting somewhat on its own, outside our realm of control.

Which is "authentic?"  This...

And this is where we should pay attention—where, in our battle to communicate, something slipped our notice and became implicit, like a genre convention, an unspoken rule, an implied value, etc.   Anytime we make motions to communicate, we enter the abstract world that Wolf discusses, where words, images, simulations, etc. become approximations of “reality.”  Sometimes this approximation can be labeled “inauthentic” as in the case of color-coded anatomical diagrams, but what actually constitutes “authenticity?”  Is it the extent to which something reflects the experience, or the extent to which it reflects the current purpose, conventions, and social/academic situation?  

...or this?

Mishra throws a word out too often—“misconceptions.”  All these students have these awful misconceptions, I keep hearing in the text.  But then, Mishra seems to prove the opposite—that these "misconceptions” were gained through common imagery.  Can one really label something a “misconception” then, if it is a direct result of interacting with and observing, the result of experiencing?  What’s at stake is the master “concept,” what constitutes “reality.”  And as long as we keep viewing “reality” as a fixed nature we seek out, time and time again we will fall short, our codes unable to process the vast variety of experience that is.    

Crushin' on McCloud...

Last semester, I took Linda Karell’s Studies in Literary Genres, in which we read, researched, and wrote on graphic novels. As we studied McCloud, I soon knew that Understanding Comics is one of the most profound theory books to hit our generation. I was swept away by all that went on in the graphics, underneath my very nose, working rhetorical magic entirely unbeknownst to me. I was awestruck by the complexity of it all, the focus and intention comic artists poured into their medium, and the profound capacity of comics to portray what simple written word never could.

I was poised— immensely impressed by the graphic genre, and spinning with all these great, deep, profound thoughts— then my roommates started making fun of me. While they sat,

studying molecular biology or fretting over bio-geo-engineering, I read Stitches, attentively analyzing its washed greys and blacks, the paint bleeding off the page, and the predominant silence throughout the graphic novel. These “comics” were more than Sunday funnies, more than colorful newspapers I recycle into wrapping paper—they were a sophisticated art, intricately designed and purposed to convey meaning, working within multiple dimensions to communicate numerous messages. But soon, too soon, my roommates teased me that my homework was all “reading comics,” or “another hard night of Batman.” They spoke with humor, of course, but also with naiveté, with implicit bias.

All my attempts to defend the genre’s complexity and depth were overpowered by their jesting, and I soon stopped my efforts to advocate for the craft, and took the teasing good-naturedly. I know, poor me. But my story of literary martyrdom isn’t the point. What is, is how McCloud points out the self-conscious nature of comic writers.

“For much of the century, the word “comics” has had such negative connotations that many of comics’ devoted practitioners have preferred to be known as “illustrators,” “commercial artists,” or at best, “cartoonists”! And so, comics’ low self-esteem is self-perpetuating! The historical perspective necessary to counteract comics’ negative image is obscured by that negativity.” (p. 18).

How often does this same attitude manifest in our use of digital rhetorics?  When do we find ourselves changing technological terms to sound more academic? “I uhhh…need to go write a discussion post, not you know, a blog, because uhhh….blogs obviously aren’t amazing tools we can use to participate in virtual, multi-modal conversations.  Obviously.”  The

Guts, pluck...always pushing social/literary conventions.

shame or self-consciousness we let be associated with digital writing, or any labels we accept that define the craft as less than pure art, only work against its mainstream acceptance and progression. The graphic novel genre, like many other forms of digital rhetoric, is revolutionary. It allows messages to be conveyed not only in content, but in form. We see what the author means, and enter into a rich interactive conversation with the text, as we lend it time, space, closure, and meaning. Over and over again, McCloud shows the power of compactness in graphics—much can be communicated in a single panel, like on page 99 where McCloud steps outside the his panel frame. Think just a second about the connotations of him moving outside the panel, and your mind should explode to questions of reality/fiction overlap, authority, genre expectations, innovation, postmodernism, and so forth. A single line drawn differently can drastically change an entire panel’s meaning.

Finally, I find it ironic that graphic novels get tossed aside as “mere comics,” something

childish and not intellectually stimulating or worth academic attention, when in fact the genre can affect their reader without the reader even being aware, making graphics a sly, smart, and sophisticated art—a “sleeper” sitting there quietly, not making a big show, but quietly working on your brain beyond your comprehension. Traditional critics attack rhetoric, saying it’s dishonest and manipulative, using pretty language or well-constructed prose to win over the reader.

The irony is, that the graphic novel works this same “manipulation,” but in spades.  An intensity of information affects the reader, making them think, feel, respond, and engage as their eyes scan the pages, but without texts like McCloud’s, we would likely not even consider what happens when our mind passes between the gutter. The rhetorical work of graphic, which walks around in "childish" clothing, actually works in powerful, almost secretive ways-- partly because few have taken to unearthing its inner workings.  A quiet strength, working beyond our levels of recognition.  The genre that is demeaned as being immature or simple may very well be even more complex, powerful, and able to toy with the reader—even more a deserved recipient of critical reading, attentive analysis, and integration into academic literary canons.

Without a Vaccum in Sight

That, I believe, is the purpose of Anne Wysocki and her colleagues (who are curiously omitted from the introduction): to reveal the situatedness of text, technology, and media, and through opening context-relations and bringing them to the forefront of consciousness and analysis, to empower writers and readers with agency to affect those situations.

She writes, “…agency and structure are interdependent.  We have agency, that is, insofar as we recognize how we are positioned by and hence can work with and within our particular historically-situated and contingent material structures…” (p. 10)  Wysocki draws a direct line between knowledge/understanding/awareness and the ability to act/change/affect.  We already know how to perform these types of analysis, she says, we just need to apply them purposefully and thoughtfully to “new media.”

In a word, awareness seems the mission.  “…our compositions only ever work within and as

Things that seem "neutral:" left to right,
horizontal  text. This would not be quite as funny,
 if you read/wrote using ancient Chinese characters
which often oriented vertically on the page.

part of other, already existing, structures and practices” Wysocki writes, adding that in order to find openings for change (and thus agency), we must be “attentive to what is old and hanging on (and hanging on, especially, quietly, in places that do not call attention to themselves.)” (p. 8)  Noticeably, Wysocki does not prescribe what those changes might be.  Yet the silence between her words, in which no obvious personal political/social agenda lies, has an agentive force of its own.  The reader or student recognizes that once they achieve this attentiveness, practicing the craft of analyzing texts for how they betray their relevant situation, the choice of what and how to change becomes their own.

I hear Wysocki encouraging professors to teach their students not what to think, but how to think. She hints at the implications of this empowerment, by discussing the notion of responsibility in writing. “Technologies are not responsible for texts,”  she writes, “we are, within the limitations of what different technologies afford.” (p. 19)  Later, again she includes: “I hope we teach a generosity towards the positions that others produce…and that through our readings we can help each other achieve positions that are the most responsibly produced we can.” (p. 23)  Power and control entwine and propagate themselves in language, constantly reinforcing messages of capitalism, the literate elite, consumerism, and so forth.  Unraveling those messages and examining their contents gives the reader power.  This potential of power, the ability to recognize and change situations through discourse, must also come with checks and balances, and thus the discussion of responsibility.  What does responsibility look like in rhetoric?  A conversation too long for here, but a worthy one none the less.

Materiality...

Another beauty of Writing New Media is the discussion of embodiment, materiality.  Wysocki expertly shows how texts, and our manners of producing them, become material products of their lived environments, situated within specific historical junctions.  Too often we regard writing (and the authority it carries thereof) as non-physical and use its perceived bodiless-ness to justify drawing lines between the academic/personal, rational/emotional, even male/female.  She writes of “materiality effacement,” when texts work to not show their physical nature.  These are the ones to watch out for, the ones that will carry rich meaning.  We do this “material defacement” to politicians, doctors, academics, too.  When you read that Obama might smoke, the public goes, “what?”  Prominent figures are built up as bodiless, ruling symbols excluded from the infirmities of physical nature—something on which we can depend, seemingly exempt from human fallibilities.   

Connected, connected, Wysocki breathes throughout her text—everything is always jointed, laced in, dependant and contingent on something else.  There is no text in a vacuum, no intention-less writing.  Everything is always written at the stake of something else.  Thus asking, “who’s power and control is at stake in this text?” becomes a highly valuable form of analyzing.

Finally, I cannot conclude without an respectful nod to her discussion of identity.  If we are

"New technologies are always designed out of existing technologies
and out of existing material economies, patterns, and habits...
 our compositions only ever work within and  as part of other, already
existing, structures and practices." (p. 8)

seeking after anything, in all our explorations of knowledge, our writing and our discussion, the reason we put astronauts on the moon and decipher quantum physics, and argue about rhetoric and ways of knowing, is it not to discover ourselves?  Wysocki stages the analysis of “new media” as a mirror, revealing the disposition and location of our being (as both a noun and verb) in that moment.  Quoting Stuart Hall, “we therefore occupy our identities very retrospectively: having produced them, we then know who we are.” (p. 20)  Quite perfectly, she brings a discussion of the self in line with a commentary on knowledge as a whole: there is no static, unified self that precedes our work, and through working we discover it, but rather: “the work makes visible to us what and where we are at that time.”  From here, we can “try on” positions, constantly moving in this dynamic relationship, until we find satisfaction.

Popular culture may say we “are,” we “exist,” and we apply ourselves to problems and situations the way one might apply a layer of paint, or a piece of clothing. But rhetoric views the self as amorphous, constantly changing in response to the environment and the texts with which we engage.  So be aware of that change—become (verb) intentionally.

On Situatedness and Margin Tats

Note: apparently, this semester I lack syllabus "literacy."  I recently realized I read both Wysocki and Johnson-Eilola rather than the piece Wysocki & Johnson-Eilola.  Having just finished reading their joint production (quite enriched by previously reading them singularly), this stands out: 

"...we could describe literacy not as a monolithic term but as a cloud of sometimes contradictory nexus points among different positions. Literacy can be seen not as a skill but a process of situating and resituating representations in social places" (p. 367).  Nicely put. I think the accepted standard of alphabetical language and books as the core measure of communication works detrimentally to delimit what exactly we can learn, value, etc.  I also appreciated W/JE's conversion of power in play, and the ability to control society through making one form of communication accepted as "neutral."  Motivated ideologies which masquerade as neutral wield invisible weapons causing people to blindly accept them as the norm, never questioning their authority or omnipotence.  What could we learn if we did not treat language as the essential underpinning of all understanding?

Well, those were some involved readings.  My mind oscillates between recognizing streams of connection between all three pieces, and identifying the distinctive voices and messages each offers.  I feel like the above abstract person...only not quite so puckered-up.  Since all discourse is truly conversation, what follows is a scattered collection of my responses, or what you would experience were you to approach me in the International Coffee Traders right now, and ask the always-dangerous question: "what did you think of the readings?"

On Fisher, this stood out: 
"The actualization of the rational world paradigm...depends on a form of society that permits, if not requires, participation of qualified persons in public decision-making.  It further demands a citizenry that shares a common language, general adherence to the values of the states, information relevant to the questions that confront the community to be arbitrated by argument, and an understanding of argumentative issues and the various forms of reasoning and their appropriate assessment" (p. 378).  Advocates of the rational world paradigm will argue that the narrative paradigm (and homo rhetoricus) is too "situated" to be valid.  That is, because "truth" in that worldview is dependent on the environment, remains constantly relevant, and does not exist as a separate omnipotent entity, it cannot therefore possibly be a stable way of viewing knowledge or interaction.  But, as Fisher notes, even the rational world paradigm is highly situated and contingent on specific social structures to survive and function. The rational world paradigm needs a social context-- a group of intermingling narratives, in order to exist.  HAH!  Narrative paradigm: 1; rational paradigm: 0.

Also, as Fisher writes on narrative: "...stories we tell ourselves and each other to establish a meaningful life world...stories means to give order to human experience and to induce others to dwell in them to establish ways of living in common..." (p.381)  I recently finished a piece by Jana Sequoya called How(!) is an Indian? in which she discussed the inclusion of Native American literature into destroy meaning only gained through narrative interaction, it seems the latter cannot be right.  If through one lens, both paradigms can exist, but through the other, only one can survive, it seems obvious that we accept the paradigm with the least collateral damage, that allows the greatest amount of meaning making.  

our American literature canon.  In her text, she discusses how, as traditionally oral narratives are translated into written, consumable, text for the general public, meaning is inevitably lost.  How can a translator or editor effectively integrate war drums, or dancing, or color, or the scent of burning herbs, into a written "reproduction" of an oral narrative?  As I hear Fisher's argument about the rational versus narrative paradigm, it seems that the rational world paradigm would argue that the Native American stories should be translated for the enrichment of literature, the furthering of cultural knowledge, all that jazz.  But in doing so, the translation process inevitably destroys the original meaning of the stories, which can only be conveyed in their narrative context.  Seeing how the  narrative world paradigm "does not so much deny what has gone before as it subsumes it" (p. 376), but the rational world paradigm can 

Thoughts on Wysocki: 
"Each aspect...involves choice" (p. 132).  To me, that fragmented quote encapsulates the entire text.  As I went through the examples, I was struck by how traditional academic essay formats reflect the very tenets which "rational" meaning making teaches.  Unchanging lines of simple, identical text void of color or diversity do not compel the reader to consider the context of the piece.  Instead, the reader receives the unconscious message that context is irrelevant, and only the non-physical ideas, the concepts or theories addressed within matter.  Even margins imply that the text's meaning is easily encapsulated, existing as a stand-alone entity and not worthy of critical analysis on the situatedness of the piece.  The format of parallel lines, each page mirroring the others, makes the reader disregard materiality and temporality.  We become lost in the lofty ideas, and forget to make connections, to consider the author's narrative paradigm and contextual intent-- we forget the author breathes, hurts, longs, laughs, and importantly, wants. 

The opposite of this subtle indoctrination is easily witnessed in the Johnson-Eilola piece.  While they made compelling points and asked evocative questions about authorship, consumerism, and our "rights" to ideas (can we even have "intellectual property" if all knowledge is simply reconstruction?), I want to instead note the hilarious and meaningful difference that Doug's margin notes made.  When Doug assigns an article, I implicitly read trustingly.  Presumably, he would not assign something he absolutely disagreed with, or thought was bullshit.  Doug is the equivalent of Robin Williams' "rip it out!" and while I read critically, I generally assume that our assigned texts have a good meaning.  But, Johnson and Eilola's margins were tattooed with responses like, "Exceptionally poor transition" or, responding to a point, "not really."  Others include, "NO: IN ORDER TO earn money. That's what he's missing throughout here," or my personal favorite, "Hypertext is linear text - BAH!"  My reading experience was affected by Doug's constant interaction with the piece.  The text no longer stood stable and apart, an entity simply "being," but became a moving, changing, piece of writing as his words inevitably changed its meaning.  Whatever the "rationalists" wanted to convey through traditional essay format of nicely encapsulated knowledge was blasted to bits by the interactive, relational act of picking up a pen and marking those margins.  

Almost in agreement, Johnson and Eilola write: "...Texts no longer function as discrete objects, but as contingent, fragmented objects in circulation, as elements within constantly configured and shifting networks" (p. 208).

Hardly the response I get...if only people recognized how I'm changing the Interwebs as they know it.

I cannot conclude this nicely, but will note that my recognition of blogging as changing the fabric of search engines, even by just billionth of amounts, is pretty freaking awesome.