Journal Reviews: Towards a Better Understanding of Why All Journal Articles Must Have a Colon and Include the Word "Toward" in the Title

In this blog post, I will discuss some pet peeves about writing, including such functions used in the very title. Why are such things true, anyway? Somewhere, I'm sure, there's been a rhetorical analysis of why these conventions have been adopted. Wherever it is, I'd like to see it.

Actually, all journal writing bothers me. In all of my training--until now--I was taught that, for example, using a phrase like "In this paper, we will discuss X" was just plain poor writing. Show, not tell. The nearest thing to coming outright in stating a purpose was the thesis statement, usually some sort of arguable point which we would then be verifying through a literary analysis (e.g., "Quentin is an archetype of all female characters in Faulkner's works"--no, don't ask me to back that statement up).

It's a different genre, I suppose. Or--is it? Is a scholarly article really all that different from a literary analysis? The purpose of both is remarkably similar. Both have their theses--whether on heresthetics and TC, or Faulkner's misogyny--they just use different sorts of evidence. Literary analysis relies heavily on the primary text, as opposed to secondary texts (i.e., other people's research) or empirical research. When, then, did the conventions break? Is this just another example of the bitter battle between English and Professional Communications departments?

Before I've finished this program, I'd like to write one TC paper in the style of a lit analysis, just to see if it can be done.

Fridays this semester are work-at-home days, and I think it's really good for me. I'm slowly learning what it means to be what Ellen Kossek would call an integrater--perhaps I'm a product of a generation trained to be ADD, but I seem to be happiest when I focus on tasks for short amounts of time and constantly switch between them. It explains why I'm a compulsive email/blog checker at work; at home, it means that I'll read a few chapters of whatever text I've been assigned, then go play a few rounds of Katamari Damacy, or take an "internal processing" nap, or even simply pull some meat out of the freezer to thaw for the night's dinner.

You can get away with this behavior at home. It's not so possible at work.

This is why I'm posting this at around 3:00 AM: I've been bouncing around between a freelance editing job and the goofing-off that similarly characterizes my online existence. Tomorrow, I can sleep in. Right now I can be productive and not feel guilty about not waking up early in the morning. I do wonder if I'm simply a product of my generation; my crowd is probably the first that grew up with the ability to use a computer for both work and play. Maybe it's a bad habit to interrupt an editing job halfway to read through web comic archives for a bit. Sometimes I wonder if I'm not diligent enough, though heaven knows I can be given enough pressure (form of: Deadlines). I wonder, though: what form will the CEOs of my generation take? One can only hope for the macbook- and beanbag-chair-laden offices of TEH FUTUAR.

...but that's not where corporations are now, is it?

Here's one for the (nonexistent) Digital Ethics and Electronic Publications center: The Church of England is suing Sony for using the Manchester Cathedral as a backdrop for a shootout between humans and aliens. Isn't that just splendid?

As a theologian, I can somewhat understand their concerns. After all, the concept of the existence of aliens doesn't really mesh with most serious Christians' views of theology, though personally, I don't think I'd have a serious crisis of faith if life on other planets were discovered. If aliens exist, they're also part of God's creation.

In this case, the theology is far outweighed by every other part of me. For one thing, the Church will undoubtedly lose respect with the gaming generation. People who take offense at this sort of thing, especially so publically, are loathsome to me. If Christians went up in arms any time anything offended them, then we'd never even be able to speak to nonbelievers. The first time somebody said "Geez," for example, we'd be washing that poor person's mouth out with soap. I mean, look at what happened to Chuck Swindoll. I know God will work good out of this, but right now, I can only see the situation as harmful to the gospel.

Then there's the question of whether Sony actually did anything unethical in the first place. I'd argue not, and I certainly hope their lawyers both (a) agree with me and (b) win. The cathedral is a historic building. It would be like the U.S. Government suing Hollywood for blowing up the White House in the movie Independence Day, or the Department of Homeland Security retroactively arresting anyone who ever intentionally crashed a plane into the World Trade Center in a flight simulation game for an act of terrorism. The game is not telling people to go on a killing spree in yon local church. It is not even stating--at least, directly--that God does not exist. It is a game, a work of fiction. Although I would not deny that there is a subtle rhetoric to any story, Sony was well within its rights to use the building. It's not like it's a trademark violation.

Heresthetics; authorship

Just read an interesting article on technical communication and heresthetics ("structuring the world so that you can win"). Essentially, TCers need to be able to maneuver through their employer's politics; it's very much not user-centered, ultimately. Can heresthetics be aligned with user-centered design? Granted, the concept can be applied to user-advocacy: if one wishes to speak for her user, one must first know how to best communicate the user's need to her employer.

A model of heresthetics has, according to Riker (qtd. by the authors), four constituents:

1. People--who are the people directly involved (upwards, lateral, downwards)? What are their values/tastes? What action can/will they take?
2. Alternatives--Person X wants one thing, and Person B wants another. Does A push on B or let B go? If A pushes, what method does A use to get beyond B? (Mentally, I see this as a flowchart).
3. Dimensions--things like time and money may also be a factor. What are these other factors?
4. What are the methods of choosing? Does the problem lie in a democratic or oligarchic setting?

Ultimately, the authors push for a non-utopian view of TC; that is, TCers tend to think that with enough knowledge of rhetoric, they can, in fact, change the world, or at least the documents they're designing. True? Perhaps--but as the authors point out, a utopian view assumes that all TCers are, in fact, inherently good and that all people are changeable. While I wish this were true, I'm enough of a Calvinist to disbelieve this.

Source: Moore, P. & Kreth, M. (2005). From wordsmith to communication strategist: Heresthetic and political maneuvering in technical commmunication. Technical Communication 52(3): 302-323.

As an aside, the authors also critiqued an article of Hart-Davidson's. Although I haven't read said article, and in fact have barely even interacted with Hart-Davidson (or Bill, as he's known here in the R&W department at Michigan State University), my emotional reaction was interesting, to say the least. In The Darker Side of the Renaissance (2003), Mignolo talks about the European conceptualization of the Book as the ultimate authority in contrast to the indigenous rhetorical traditions. I've inherited this more than I know; of course the Bible is still my personal ultimate authority, but I've found myself having a hard time disagreeing with any print materials unless I know for a fact that they are blatantly wrong. I've granted Bill authorship, for example, though I've never read his work; to see a critique thereof throws me into a bit of mental turmoil. Bill's an author, so he cannot be wrong.

It doesn't help that my background is literature, in which no such binary exists in terms of the text itself. The biggest debates even remotely similar to such issues have more to do with a question of authorship and manuscript authority (Did Shakespeare write Romeo and Juliet, or did Bacon? Is manuscript X, since it's older than Y, therefore more "correct," even though more copies of Y exist?) Then there are the cases of deliberate authorial deceit (see Danielewski's House of Leaves or Goldman's The Princess Bride, for example), but I've dealt with those elsewhere.

Slack, Miller, and Doak don't deal with this issue. Perhaps Foucalt does; I've yet to read his work, so I can't say. Perhaps they consider this unnecessary. After all, TC still hasn't shaken off positivism completely--it's the rhetor's responsibility to be as accurate as possible with the information in order to reveal truth, or as close to it as possible. But, again, this brings us back to utopianism. Do we assume that all clearly written TC products are as true and accurate as possible, given the context? (Ah, relativism creeps in.) Do we assume that the TCer/rhetor didn't use a document as a means to his own end? And do we assume that the audience cares enough to discern between what in an article they agree and disagree with?

Interesting. My aside was longer than my actual commentary. Welcome to my stream-of-consciousness.