CCR 760: Diehl et al (2008) "Grassroots: Supporting the knowledge work of everyday life"

Diehl, A., Grabill, J.T., & Hart-Davidson, W. (2008). Grassroots: Supporting the knowledge work of everyday life. Technical Communication Quarterly 17(4), 413-434.

Abstract from article:

“This article introduces a simple mapping tool called Grassroots, a software product from a longitudinal study examining the use of information communication technologies and knowledge work in communities. Grassroots is an asset-based mapping tool made possible by theWeb 2.0 movement, a movement which allows for the creation of more adaptable interfaces by making data and underlying database structures more openly available via syndication and open source software. This article forwards three arguments. First is an argument about the nature of the knowledge work of everyday life, or an argument about the complex technological and rhetorical tasks necessary to solve commonplace problems through writing. Second is an argument about specific technologies and genres of community-based knowledge work, about why making maps is such an essential genre, and about why making asset maps is potentially transformative. Third is an argument about the making of Grassroots itself; a statement about how we should best express, test, and verify our theories about writing and knowledge work” (413).

Summary:

The authors report their experiences with and reasons for developing a mapping software called Grassroots, an interface comparable to Google Maps except Grassroots also works in conjunction with Web 2.0 features that permit users to design their own routes and store information. The authors draw on their research in WIDE (Writing in Digital Environments) and CACI (Capital Area Community Information) projects. These studies often included field observations, usability evaluations, and interviews with citizens working with designers for creating knowledge work. Based on their research, the authors examine how knowledge work is accomplished in the writing and using of mapping software, especially in regard to the rhetoric of mapmaking, the problems with mapping use in communities, and the potential possibilities made through Grassroots. They argue that since “the ability to create usable knowledge and meaningful action are too often assumed by planners” then, “Actual writing—work—is invisible” (419). Therefore, the authors present Grassroots as a means of making “visible the knowledge work activity that is required for common forms of civic participation” (422). Grassroots is illustrated as being an interface that is more accessible for users to accomplish their specific rhetorical and community-building needs in mapping: users can create their own maps; add photos, texts, and other media; augment information; add tags for searching; share and collaborate; etc.

Definitions:

• Knowledge work: “By knowledge work, we mean analytical activity requiring problem solving and abstract reasoning, particularly with (and through) advanced information technologies and particularly with and through acts of writing. Johnson-Eilola (2005) notes that knowledge work is also typically concerned with the production of information, as distinct from the production of material goods, and he also points out that many of us do not just work with information, we inhabit it. Thus knowledge work, or what Johnson-Eilola calls symbolic production, is the making of largely discursive performances that, quite literally, do work (pp. 3–4)” (414).
• Asset-based community development (Kretzmann & McKnight, 1993): “whereby community building is based on seeing communities as active participants of change and not passive clients (see also Turner & Pinkett, 2000)” (415).
• GIS: Geographic Information Systems (GIS) tools as they have developed are principally geospatial databases meant for experts, although their use has been transferred to public domains as well” (418).
• Web 2.0: “The Web 2.0 movement perhaps can be best described as the untethering of content and information available via the Web from the very places and pages with which we usually associated that content. That is, the information or content itself becomes the product and is created and distributed in such a way that it can be easily syndicated, repurposed, or added upon in ways quite possibly unimagined by the original content creators or distributors” (424).
• XML: “Extensible Markup Language (XML) is not a traditional coding language, but rather a set of rules and standards for creating and distributing a semantically appropriate language for content, in a way that styles can then be applied separately and that allow for the contextual granulation of larger pieces of information into more discrete, separate units” (425).
• Grassroots: “a simple tool (http://grassroots.wide.msu.edu)...based largely on Google Maps so it allows users to create map locations using addresses or by clicking on the map, and we also added the ability to draw routes on the map” (415). This way, Grassroots acts not only as a map, but as a database for storing routes and other map additions added on by users. The authors “understand Grassroots to be an asset-mapping tool, by which we mean that it is intended to enable communities to name, locate, and thereby create maps of their communities using variables of their choosing and focusing as much on capacities as deficits” (427).

Points of Interest with Questions:

• The authors liken “knowledge work” to “invisible work” where the value of writing, especially writing done well, is not visible (414). This reminds me of Marx’s argument in Capital about the fetishism of use value where labor becomes invisible in the commodification of products (414). Could this be a case for how much power TCers have in information design and/or an argument that TCers ought to be more ethically conscious of how design and rhetorical choices are made invisible?
• The authors see an “intersection of writing and civic activity” (415), and since they believe that some mapping interfaces “can prevent people from acting as citizens,” they explain that their goal for Grassroots is to “render visible the knowledge work activity that is required for common forms of civic participation” (422). Connecting writing with citizenship and civic participation seems very Deweyan in the sense that education, especially as adopted in the composition classroom, recognizes learning and writing as a means of civic engagement. It seems from our authors’ understanding of writing, then, that writing is understood in the field of technical communication to be (at least in some cases) grounded in democratic conceptualizations. Though researchers from both disciplines may be accepting of this theory, I’m not so convinced that many students, of FYC or techn comm, would adopt such a stance on the purposes of writing (thus, service-learning in comp comes into play). Since I’m less versed in the pedagogical practice of the tech comm classroom, I wonder: What strides are (or can be) taken in teaching tech comm that foster a more democratic conceptualization of information and interface design? Is Web 2.0 our best solution?

CCR 760: Albers (2003) "Introduction" to *Information Design*

Albers, M.J. (2003). Introduction. In Albers, M.J. & Mazur, B., Content and Complexity: Information Design in Technical Communication. Mahwah: Lawrence Erlbaum. 1-8.

In this introduction to Content and Complexity: Information Design in Technical Communication, Albers illustrates the purpose of the edited collection, offers some general and introductory definitions of “information design,” and outlines each contributing author’s projects and arguments. As part of his discussion, Albers explains how difficult it has been to define “information design,” providing what he sees as some promising definitions from five varying sources. It is within the very first definition provided that I found some compelling areas of inquiry as related to the topics of ethics and technical communication.

The quoted definition from Janice Redish emphasizes the importance of considering the user as a first priority for information design, prompting the technical communicator to ensure that (through the design) users are able to “find what they need, understand what they find, and use what they understand appropriately” (2). This definition certainly privileges the user as the most important agent in considering what information ought to be managed and how information ought to be designed and presented, but it also assumes that TCers can know what the user needs. I wonder, then, how this assumption might be complicated when considering that the clients (those folks paying technical communicators for information design) are not the end users and so the end users may not often have a say in such content management and design. I’m left wondering: How might this claim (that end users’ needs are the most important element in determining information design) conceal (or at least fail to acknowledge) the political and ethical implications of TCers being the ones who actually choose, store, organize, and design information knowledge that will eventually be accessed, received, interpreted, and applied by users?

I understand, of course, that some users may be consulted in the information design process, but I imagine that for at least some content on the web--like online dating search engines, for example, where users are given selective and predetermined criteria to choose from when searching for potential mates—most users never have a say in what information is to be managed through criteria or how that information is to be designed. I realize how impractical it would be for all end users to provide input on the information they seek, and so part of the TCer’s job might be to investigate and imagine the needs and wants of potential users. Still, I’m left with the old “chicken or the egg” dilemma. Do TCers design information based on what users need, or do users merely end up relying on what TCers design? I imagine it’s a bit of both, but I wonder to what extent. I suppose I’m concerned it might be dangerous to assume that it’s mostly end users’ needs driving good information design and not the TCers’ and/or clients’ own assumptions, experiences, and goals. Recognizing this dilemma, Albers thoughtfully suggests that information designers “must avoid their own affinities, prejudices, and jargon, while developing a design” (7). But isn’t subjectivity in any composition inevitable and wouldn’t it be more precise to just acknowledge our subjectivity instead of pretending we can avoid it?

Also in his short introduction, Albers sends me through another ethical whirl spin when he explains that information design “must be considered the practice of enabling a reader to obtain knowledge” (7), and argues that the potential problems in creating effective designs has to do with making the design invisible to the user:

The hard part for the information designer is making the design disappear. Rather than being something the reader focuses on, the design must carry the information to the reader in a clear manner while remaining out of sight….In a good design, readers can effortlessly extract the information they need without being conscious about how they gain information” (6-7).

In other words, the TCers job is to make sure s/he erases any traces for how the information was designed so as to ensure the user experiences the content as painless and least confusing as possible. This seems a worthy outcome for TCers since I imagine most users just want to grab the info they need and get the hell out of there without having to waste any time considering the processes TCers took in gathering and designing the information. And though it seems a bit goofy and impractical to confront this argument with Marxist and Freirean claims that it is detrimental to knowledge construction and to the experience of knowledge seekers when gatekeepers aren’t forthcoming about unveiling the structures that so neatly design and package the knowledge seekers seek, I can’t help but see the value in doing so. I’m not going to argue that information designers need some sort of disclosure where users get the 411 on how much information designers subjectively construct the knowledge users receive. I’ll leave this blog post as unsure about this dilemma as I was when I started. I’m left unsure (and uncomfortable) with how TCers and/or researchers in the field might proceed when considering (a) how to be more forthcoming to users about the influences of TCers’ subjectivities, and (b) how to be more transparent about how information designs construct the knowledge users seek and perceive.

Oh my.

Johnson-Eilola (2005) *Datacloud: Toward a New Theory of Online Work"

Johnson-Eilola, Johndan. Toward a New Theory of Online Work. Cresskill, New Jersey: Hampton Press, Inc., 2005. Print.

Authors as Symbolic-Analytic Workers

People in this type of work identify, rearrange, circulate, abstract, and broker information in response to specific, concrete situations. They work with information and symbols to produce reports, plans, and proposals. They also tend to work online, either communicating with peers (they rarely have direct supervision) or manipulating symbols. (28)

Johndan Johnson-Eilola’s description quoted above is in reference to “symbolic-analytic workers”—those folks working under titles such as “investment banker, research scientist, lawyer, management consultant, strategic planner, and architect” (28). I imagine for individuals researching in the field of comp/rhet—like me—this passage can be read synonymously as the work of writers writing. We too “identify, rearrange, circulate, abstract, and broker information in response to specific, concrete situations.” We too “work with information and symbols to produce reports, plans, and proposals” among other genres of writing. We too “tend to work online either communicating with peers…or manipulating symbols” through various avenues of collaboration, most times without “direct supervision” or explicit direction or guidance from our mentors or superiors. For me, writers—whether we’re novice students writing in first year comp or we’re seasoned professors writing for publication—can be seen as “symbolic-analytic workers.” While I imagine for compositionists this analogy may not be all that surprising, I was struck by imagining this analogy, mostly because I personally hadn’t ever given much attention to analyzing the role of digital technology when it came to “academic writing.” Of course, I considered the possible limitations of generic formats such as Word when it comes to composing (which the author nicely criticizes on page 105 as too linear for the ‘clouds of data’ strategically negotiated and creatively assembled by today’s digital worker), and I’d considered how much technology impacted our research practices, but I guess I just hadn’t given much credit to (nor really acknowledged the potential possibilities of) digital technology when it came to our writing formats and practices. I was realizing the limitations of writing genres, but I wasn’t realizing any real alternatives for transforming them.

Johnson-Eilola, a teacher of writing and innovator of transformative approaches to genres for writing, (see Johnson-Eilola and Selber’s “Plagiarism, Originality, Assemblage,” which I need to revisit since now buying into Johnson-Eilola’s argument here) apparently makes similar connections as mine as is apparent with his likening of symbolic-analytic workers to rhetoricians. His emphasis, though, remains on the intersection of technology and rhetoric: “we might think of symbolic-analytic workers as technical rhetoricians or rhetorical technologists” (29). When it comes to the modern understanding of the term “rhetoricians,” it’s now a bit challenging for me to separate the two terms “rhetoric” and “technology,” especially when it comes to writing (which, as I can’t seem to stress enough, surprised the hell out of me).

If ya’ll are interested—as I am now—in learning about some of the ways that Johnson-Eilola has implemented a transformed approach to writing genres in the writing classroom, you might want to check out his article from Computers and Composition, “Plagiarism, Originality, Assemblage,” that he co-authored with Selber. We read this in Becky’s authorship class and I plan to revisit it since now buying into many of Johnson-Eilola’s arguments in Datacloud. See my blog below to read the summary I wrote on this text last semester.

CCR 760: Dias, Freedman, Medway, and Pare (1999) *Worlds Apart*

Dias, Patrick, Aviva Freedman, Peter Medway, and Anthony Pare. Worlds Apart: Acting and Writing in Academic and Workplace Contexts. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, 1999.

Chapter 1: “Introduction: Researching Writing at School and at Work

Reading Notes (scroll to end for my questions)

· Research question driving this book: “What are the relationships between writing as it is elicited in the university and writing as it is generated in the workplace? A particular stress we give to that question is: how and to what extent can we speak of writing in school settings as preparation for writing at work?” (3).

· A fantastic take on writing! They “acknowledge that writing is not a single clearly deniable skill acquired once and for all; that writing is shaped fundamentally by its sociocultural context; that writing is often more than transcription or communication, and that, certainly in school, writing functions as a way of learning and knowing (and not just a way of demonstrating learning and knowing); that the functions of writing carry widely—from making discoveries to impacting knowledge, from persuading to asserting status, from establishing credibility to negotiating power; that there is considerable variation in strategy—by individual and by task or context; that, in some settings, composing is an intensely collaborative activity, involving intricate layers of responding and revising, each with its own complex political and social dimensions. Writing, in other words, is a very complex act; to understand what is being accomplished in writing in any social setting requires lengthy in-depth observation and analysis” (4).

· Writing based on the social theory of writing: “[Writing] is not discrete clearly definable skill learned once and for all; moreover, both in school and at work, writing is seldom the product of isolated individuals but rather and seldom obviously, the outcome of continuing collaboration, of interactions that involve other people and other texts. Writing practices are closely linked to their sociocultural contexts, and writing strategies vary with individual and situation” (9-10).

· History of composition as related to their text:

o >1960s: writing was teaching rhetorical structures; modeling and imitation privileged; student experiences central to content; no research/investigation

o 1970s: student population changes so teaching changes too

§ focus on writing as a process: invention, writing, and revision are key

§ WAC helps make all disciplines responsible for students learning to write

§ New Criticism (writing as stagnant) switches to New Critical (writing as context-specific)

o 1980s: genre theory helps folks to see writing as social, context-specific, not autonomous, and discipline-specific

· The study

o Investigated 8 settings (4 academic, 4 workplace), comparing among location and among discipline, asking “what functions did the writing perform” and “how do sociocultural settings shape writing practices” (11). Used “a multiple-case study approach” focused on participant perspectives (12). Gathered the following data: inventory of genres, document histories, document criteria, ethnographic observations, interviews, and participant validation (12-13). Data analysis consisted of textual analyses, analyses of oral discourse, and sociolinguistic analyses (13-14). They aspire to help “develop appropriate programs to help facilitate the transition between the two environments [academic and workplace settings]” (14-15).

Quotes ‘n’ Questions o’ Concern:

The authors point out in their introduction that—historically, in the field of rhetoric and composition—genre theories and social theories of writing led folks across the disciplines to consider writing as a social, collaborative activity dependent upon cultural discourse conventions specific to particular communities and readership. They further imply the extreme (dis)advantage facing writers who can(not) conform to such conventions: they acknowledge that “texts must often stay within strict guidelines (stylistic, legal, procedural) and the consequences of ignoring those rules can be severe” (9). Just a paragraph later, the authors summarize their views of writing by explaining that “[Writing] is not a discrete clearly definable skill learned once and for all; moreover, both in school and at work, writing is seldom the product of isolated individuals but rather and seldom obviously, the outcome of continuing collaboration, of interactions that involve other people and other texts. Writing practices are closely linked to their sociocultural contexts, and writing strategies vary with individual and situation” (9-10).

What strikes me about these two passages is how, taken together, they present an unfortunate position for novice writers: we composition folks understand that writing experiences and processes will be unique for each writer, especially considering the combination of historical, cultural, political, and social forces impacting the rhetorical situation; at the same time, however, we also understand that writers must conform to very specific writing conventions and genres if they are to gain entrance within certain academic communities (and, furthermore, we composition teachers are often gatekeepers to such communities). I wonder, then, to what extent has the field worked to challenge such fixed and communal formats in accordance with the recognition that writing is a fluid and individual phenomenon?

Sure, we tell our students that the five-paragraph essay limits creative possibilities, that they should explore alternative organizational schemes and take some chances, yet most of us don’t hesitate to conform to the writing conventions of the journal we’re submitting to, all the while taking few rhetorical risks since we strive for every advantage for eventual publication. I know I’m being general, and I’m sure many of us take risks when writing for academia (otherwise things would look the same as they did fifty years ago…and, they don’t). I also recognize that to some extent public documents might serve readership if there are similar formats and processes adhered to. I also know this topic happens to a personal area of frustration for me, so I’m sure I’m coming on strong. Still, I’d love to hear what folks have to say about this topic. Here are questions I’ve often wondered, questions that this text re-invited into my imagination: How much space does textual formatting leave for change in knowledge-production? How might genres limit creativity? How might novices and/or outsiders be at a disadvantage when (and if) format trumps content? How are we putting students at a disadvantage if we don’t explicitly teach them genre conventions of their discipline? How are we putting students at a disadvantage if we do?

Last note: These questions of concern are obviously related to our recent discussions of how to situate technical communication as a rhetorical activity and how to design our tech writing classes to promote student creativity as well as foster individuals’ attention to ethics and critical reflection, all while remembering that focusing on such transformative skills may contradict the demands and professional constraints in students’ future employment (i.e., when their job privileges their formatted accuracy over their rhetorical attention to creative solutions and social justice). It remains unanswerable for me, then, just how we go about negotiating this dilemma. It appears, though, that the authors hope to provide at least some insight into solving the tensions between academic approaches and practices and workplace approaches and practices.