Using 21st century technology to discuss 20th century technology

Isn't there a single word that expresses the use of a thing while discussing it? If anyone knows, please share. Of course, this may all be in my imagination and the word doesn't really exist. If not, we should make one up and submit it to Oxford and Webster's. Anyway, I have to be honest here--I really ended up chuckling a bit to myself when reading Moran's "Technology and the Teaching of Writing" and a smaller bit with Anson's "Distant Voices: Teaching and Writing in a Culture of Technology." Not that there wasn't something to learn here. By all means, there was a great deal to ponder, the foremost (in my mind) being the gap and marginalization as well as the mindless automation that technology can promote. No, I was just amused by the fact that almost by the time a book comes out in print, any essay contained therein dealing with technology is bound to be outdated. Poor Charles even knew what he was getting himself into by apologizing upfront about his taxonomy--he made no assumptions here that his essay would be timeless, and it wasn't. Which brings me to my point--although Chuck effectively points out the role technology plays in the higher visibility of our society's wealth gap, so much of the content is ridiculously outdated through no fault of his. He could not have foreseen the cell phone craze and the infiltration of social networking sites. As crazy as this sounds, many high school students (at least the ones I come into contact with daily) do not use a personal email account anymore--they have no need with the advent of Facebook and text messaging. And, even if most still use email accounts, the English only thing is passe. As far as online research, I am apt to think this is the norm in most colleges and universities with the easy access to a host of databases. Many high school libraries now have their own webpages with links to various databases that students can access on and off campus. Doesn't this encourage online research? Again, even this little snippet on page 220 puts this essay into the archives.

Now I know Chuckie means well, but I must disagree with him when he says he distrusts Susan Stan and Terence G. Collins when they posit "that if basic writing programs could only get access to enough technology, their students' transitions into the academic world would be easier and faster" (217). I truly believe that computers do promote a faster and easier transition, especially for reluctant student writers. I say this because this was me--I was that reluctant student writer with little confidence. When I first returned to those hallowed halls at HACC after a 13-year hiatus, technology was my friend and savior. Perhaps some would say technology did me a disservice--I can compose in a number of places, but I must be in front of a computer when I write.

So back to his concern with access--this remains a concern I think for most educators, at least those of us at the secondary level. We may want to incorporate technology into our curriculum and may even be encouraged to do so, but even within a more privileged school district there are students who do not have access at home. Some might say this is not an issue--that student can use the resources at school. True, but what if this student does not have study hall at all or at least not every day and must leave for work when school lets out? Can a teacher then expect the same from all students when there is this huge gap? Although I am fortunate to be employed by a district heavily committed to using technology, I know there are schools that don't even have adequate ventilation and lavatories, let alone access to technology. What happens to those students who do manage to graduate? Will they need technology "remediation" so that they can function as expected at institutes of higher learning? I do agree that although writers have been advantaged by technology, access has disadvantaged.

Chris flippantly provides a futuristic scenario that's not so futuristic. Jennifer would be all over YouTube for those rock vids! Again, the outdatedness of this article tended to overshadow the true message. I, too, am concerned about where the quality of education is heading, but mostly in what I see as the automation of teaching, not the access to technology. I can see where financial concerns drive education, and unfortunately that means students may become mere products on an assembly line, with no engagement with those who are responsible for positioning the parts or adding the upgrades. Yes, I have taken those online courses because they were more flexible to fit my schedule, literature included, but I would not recommend them. Nothing can take the place of a flesh and blood teacher or professor with whom a student can converse and build a relationship. With a math course, I don't see this as being so crucial, but the humanities do not lend themselves well to this type of teaching and learning. Community is important, and learning without community is a form of automation. We need to discuss and share ideas and perspectives. We are not merely empty vessels ready for filling in the assembly line. The question is: Are we interested in producing robots or students who can be integral to the proper functioning of a democratic society?

P.S. Maybe I'm a little senstive here, but did anyone sense the snobbery by his inclusion of these journal entries? Couldn't this message have been conveyed using a more down to earth scenario rather than Switzerland?

Who ever decided that language could be scientifically measured?

Bertoff takes off her gloves when she asks, "Is Teaching Still Possible?" No, Ann, you were not cheerful, even when you said you would be. Provocative? Definitely. Engaging? Absolutely. Cheerful? Not only was Ann not full of cheer, I was not full of cheer when I finished her essay. It's sad, but true: Not only have English and composition teachers given in to the pleas of psycholinguists, but some have been brainwashed into thinking writing instruction is all about grammar and the holy five-paragraph essay. Just yesterday I heard teachers lamenting the fact that students do not retain all the grammar they have been taught over the years. "But I have to reteach grammar--some students do not know the difference between an adverb and an adjective" was the response to a district directive to use time wisely and not teach what the students already know so that there is more time for common assessment, the latest buzz words in my realm of education. The latest professional development days have been dedicated as to the why and the how of common assessment. I can appreciate the why, but the how is another sad story. Common assessment seems all fine and dandy when it comes to math or science since they are both so linear in teaching and assessing. But English and writing instruction can never be so neat and tidy. Math and science teachers can opt to use multiple-choice tests to test their students' knowledge (I'm not saying they work well), but what knowledge of English and writing does that sort of assessment actually test? Why must we try to scientifically measure something so intimate, so crucial to our development as humans? Or to measure something that "is an instrument for controlling our becoming"? English teachers are now being forced to develop a common assessment for fairly diverse instruction--the solution, it seems, is the five-paragraph essay. Will these breed Engfish? Without a doubt. Will they contain "roadsigns pointing in the wrong direction"? You can bet on it. Perhaps we can whisk students away the minute they are born and begin instructing them in grammar and drown them in exhortations of the elements of good writing while keeping them away from any undesirable influences so that when they actually begin writing, it will be perfect in every way.

Haefner's essay, "Democracy, Pedagogy, and the Personal Essay" caught my attention this week as I was trying to decide what to read. Because we (those of us at the 11th and 12th grade level) teach the college essay to the college bound (I break the rules, though; I teach it to my level 3 students. Shhh, don't tell anyone.) and so often the application request is to submit a personal essay, I thought this particular reading may apply. Of course, Haefner does not discuss the personal essay in this context, but it has made me question the validity of the personal essay as a means to measure a student's worthiness for an institution of higher learning. If essays cannot be without ideology, can they be responsible in some cases for an applicant's rejection? Could some applicants be at a disadvantage? Is it a matter of investigating the admissions officers to discover their leanings? Okay, back to Haefner's real intention in this text--his discussion on the democracy of personal essays made some sense, but his arguments for collaboration verged on ludicrous in my humble opinion. Come on, a collaborative "personal" essay? They are no longer personal if they are collaborative. Moot point, Joel.

I loved Ann George's unstuffy and unhaughty writing style as it served more as a personal journey and inquiry for her than a "this is how you should do it" piece. I, too, appreciate Freire's intentions, but I have often wondered myself how some of his pedagogical ideas would apply not only to white, middle-class students, but to students in the United States in general. Freire was on a clear mission under the pressure of Brazilian oppression, but can we draw a parallel in any way? George asks some great questions here. I, too, strive for some sort of critical pedagogy in my teaching, but, of course, as a high school teacher, I must maintain structure and follow my district's curriculum--you could say many of us teach within a paradox. However, George on page 108 captures my pedagogical intention when she discusses the values that Hairston claims we all share: respect for difference, fairness, a forum for the free exchange of ideas. Interestingly, in a recent assignment asking for a vivid description of the classroom, a few students fondly mention my role in instilling these particular values. Now that's something that brings me cheer.

Today's Featured Authors: Rose, Trimbur, and George and Trimbur

Sometimes I wonder just how researchers come up with methods to test their subjects for certain aptitudes, intelligences, qualities, traits, field dependence/independence--you name it. Since I am not an expert in cognition, I cannot speak in great specifics here, but Witkin and company's logic just wasn't there for me. Did anyone see the absurdity here before Mike Rose? Rods and degrees? Embedded figures? I can see how these might provide some insight into a person's tendencies and personality, but to equate them somehow to intelligence is a real stretch. And, then to further make assumptions about literacy using Piaget verged on ridiculous.

Rose's problems with Witkin's construct do seem rather obvious. I agree with Rose that test results often provide a means for educators (and theorists) to label and assume rather than attempting to teach writing in a new or different way. Why is it that many educators and theorists alike cannot accept the fact that a one-size-fits all approach has no basis in reality? Just how can a pedagogy rely on cognitive reductionism? It seems obvious to me that, although humans show similarities and patterns in cognition, our brains just do not function exactly the same way. Students are not one-dimensional, and nor should this be our approach to teaching writing. Ask two people to perform a simple task such as making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and, though the end result will look and taste similar if the same ingredients are used, the means to the end will have differed. Something as simple as making a PBJ reveals differences from something as minute as how one holds the knife to something as crucial as the amount of peanut butter and jelly used. And, as Rose points out, if these people are told they are being judged on their process and the end product, as with the tests of Witkins, et al, it will change the results. However, when Mike Rose appears to see no difference in the cognition between literate and illiterate people, I just cannot wholeheartedly agree. True, some poor writers resist “developing that facility out of anger or fear or as an act of identity”—boy have I seen that at work this week—but if the facility has not been nurtured and encouraged all along, I think a handicap develops. I equate this to learning a foreign language. Studies and experience have shown that the younger the better at learning a foreign language—one will actually develop the ability to create the sounds consistent with that language; younger students are able to become more fluent and sound more like a native speaker, which I parallel to readability and voice in writing. If someone has not been exposed to the written word at an early stage in their brain development, then it would seem that those cerebral connections may not work as well.

Trimbur had me a little confused at first, but I think I have him pegged—he seems to be in the collaborative learning corner, but only if students/and teachers use it properly. I do see where his perspectives and discussion of the two lines of criticism of collaborative learning have merit, from stifling individual voice and enforcing conformity to analyzing its contribution to learning, with too much emphasis placed on the accepted “canon” and what students are supposed to take away from the collaboration. True, there are times that teachers use collaborative learning as part of their required “LFS” curriculum with no thought as to knowledge which would result from it. Or, they use it as a means to “occupy” their students for lack of something equally as beneficial. On the other hand, I would just hope that a teacher who reads this will not err on the side of caution and decide not to incorporate collaborative learning. As a continuing student myself, I see the pedagogical value in collaborative learning. And, as long as there is a common goal rather than an undemocratic drive for a common consensus, there is no reason to believe that individual voice would be lost. I have seen firsthand as a teacher the value in collaborative learning—right now my students are working on reflective essays (sort of a memoir) and I provide time for them to bounce ideas off of each other. I have asked for some feedback from them—they appreciate and are excited about the collaborative effort in creating their essays. I do, of course, agree with Trimbur when he suggests that using collaborative learning to discuss literature and come to a conclusion does put a limit on individual interpretation. But, being able to discuss literature in a group setting allows for an exchange of ideas which promotes learning and understanding as long as having the “right” answer is not the goal.
To go back to Rose through George and Timbur, incorporating cultural studies into composition pedagogy seems to be a solution or one of the solutions to the problems Rose addresses in “Narrowing the Mind and Page: Remedial Writers and Cognitive Reductionism.” Those opposed to cultural studies are likely the ones who continue to teach as they had been taught, using the canon as the word of God and insisting students use a specific process when they compose. As George and Trimbur (or at least I think it was them—my head is beginning to spin) discuss, students often read reluctantly for school and read something “fun” for themselves. Students need and want to be able to connect with what they are reading and writing, and what better way to do this than through cultural studies. Obviously, teachers need to tread carefully here unless they teach at Milton Hershey or some similar type of academic world where the needs of the students far outweigh the needs and desires of the powers that be.

Let me just first apologize to Chris. I had every intention of blogging last night, but, alas, Murphy’s Law reared its ugly head and it didn’t happen. I had it all planned out so I would not be trying to create knowledge (i.e. understand) with little time to spare. Everything from dense readings needing a substantial dictionary (no pocket size here, folks!) to an emotional daughter who is still dealing with the deaths of her friends needing someone to lash out at fell into place according to the evil plan. It was not a pretty night, to say the least. So anyway, here I am posting a blog and trying to make sense of my world in a social-epistemic way, or so I think I am.
Berlin fulfills every expectation of a sophomoric reader like me—I dare say he even surpassed my expectations in that I could not make it through the first paragraph without consulting a dictionary and taking copious notes. His statement that “a rhetoric can never be innocent” certainly seems to reiterate what Julie has declared time and time again: composition is always persuasive, no matter the intended purpose. Ideology seeps forth, even from what appears to be a simple compilation of analyses and syntheses. Berlin does make his position perfectly clear: he is not a fan of Flower and Hayes and their pursuit of a scientific explanation for a writer’s purpose—his unquestioned goals—as we discussed last week. But, aren’t there unquestioned goals inherent in any type of rhetoric? Can we really ascertain all of our goals when we compose and weigh them to determine whether they are self-serving? And, there seems to be no love between Berlin and die hard expressionistic proponents. His description certainly fits nicely into modernism. Curiously, I wonder: Did modernism influence expressionistic rhetoric or vice versa? Or, were they created from the same mold? And you know how it can be when you come across a word you have never seen before and then all of a sudden it is everywhere? I came upon the word bowdlerized and, of course, I had to look it up. I decided it was a very cool word to know. Then, lo and behold, I check my email this morning and my word of the day is—you guessed it—bowdlerize. Interestingly, Dr. Thomas Bowdler edited not only Shakespeare because the original wasn’t suitable for the delicate sensibilities of women and children.” He also found it necessary to edit the Old Testament. What a guy. Anyway, apparently social-epistemic rhetoric is where it’s at. Is this partly because the followers have accepted the fact that text is ideological in and of itself? Ever since I was introduced to social constructivism, I am a devout believer. Berlin makes some great points about rhetoric having an historicist orientation. What else can it be? His forms of false consciousness ring so true for today’s students. As a matter of fact, my daughter and I just had a conversation the other day specifically about the “absence of democratic practices in all areas of experience.” Not that we were discussing Berlin’s essay, of course. She was on her soapbox about the fact that today’s education system (for lack of a better term) does not force (allow?)students to learn from their mistakes and accomplishments; in other words, they are denied opportunities to practice self-discipline and self-organization and instead structure is forced upon them so that they are not really ready for the real world and the consequences of their actions. I’m not sure I have explained myself well here, so I can explain later if necessary. And, it seems to me that these forms of false consciousness have fed the consumerism that has made a shambles of our economy. But I digress…
In a previous reading, there was discussion of the fact that society is not static and neither should writing instruction. Maybe it was Berlin, but I just cannot put my finger on it now. Anyway, our approach to teaching writing must fit the times in which we live and I agree with Berlin and Shor that social-epistemic allows for social changes.
In confusion, we pretty much covered Emig last week, but her theory seems to fit with Berlin. I’m not sure where Burnham lies, but I must say that some of bell hooks ideology rubs me the wrong way, which has pushed me away from expressivist views. Although it has tried to run the opposite direction of current-traditional, there seems to be the message that we must stay far away from current-traditional, but in essence it becomes just as "bad" as what it is running away from.

Looking forward to our class discussion tonight!

Tobin is the man! Okay, so is Murray.

Twice this week I sat down to read for class, only covering a bit of ground, when my husband somehow assumed it was an invitation to chat. I tried to ignore his conversational advances, but eventually I had to move to another room. He didn’t get the hint and followed me. Grrr! (This is my best attempt at a written growl.) Last night, I again sat down to make my way through some readings, and he wants to play a guessing game. Even when I asked to be left alone, he would only do it if I answered one more question! I don’t know about everyone who reads these essays, but it really takes all of my concentration for some of these essays. And, I mistakenly read Tobin and Murray first and found myself facing the prospect of whether to read Ede and Lunsford or Flower and Hayes. I started with Ede and Lunsford, but I just could not comprehend the whole audience addressed and audience invoked thing and gave up at the third page. I mean, I get the idea that audience is important and that as writers we must sometimes fictionalize our audience, but that’s where it ended. So, it was Flower and Hayes by default.
First, let me just say I love Tobin’s candidness, honesty, and forthright writing style. Like Tobin, one of my criticisms has been the idealization of the results of many of the theorists who have written about how process writing has dramatically changed their composition instruction and results. They make it seem so easy and my attempts at the same have not been as fruitful. But Tobin has allowed me to realize I have to find my own style of teaching composition, incorporating some Atwell, Murray, and Elbow, but also staying within my comfort zone—far away from the strict formats of yesteryear, of course. Tobin brought back some of those (painful?) memories from junior high and high school when everything we did had to follow a very strict format, from the specified number and color of notecards to the number of words required for each assigned paper. Although I only remember writing about four “big” papers during all four years of high school, I do remember those tedious grammar lessons and the insistence that we submit an outline for our paper along with the paper, which I always did after I completed the paper. Oh, I would pretend to have one, but it always changed before I handed it in. It all seems so silly now when I look back on it. And, as Tobin reminisces, we never peer reviewed or workshopped or read our essays during class, let alone discuss how writers find their ideas or that writer’s block was a normal thing. We had to know what we were writing before we wrote it. We were not encouraged to let our writing take us to another place or to generate new meaning. I struggled to write, struggled to put my thoughts on paper. The grammar lessons and strict procedures provided nothing to help me become a proficient writer and confident writer. Because I have some relative freedom this semester with one class I am teaching, I am trying to guide my students down a different path from whence I came. I am having my students share their writing in class, some reluctantly. I want to provide them opportunities to generate meaning as they write. I want them to take ownership. So far, I am really excited about what is taking place. A few whom I had dismissed as only basic writers are stepping up to the challenge, producing some interesting and engaging pieces. And, I would like to think that the effort I make to respond to my students' writing and the respect I show them at what they are trying to do is beginning to pay off.
Okay, now onto Linda Flower—who I know can be excruciatingly dense—and John Hayes and their essay, “A Cognitive Process Theory of Writing.” I am a little annoyed that they misstated Britton’s answer to the question of what guides a writer’s decisions as he writes. I don’t see where he says that syntactic and lexical choices guide the process—he actually says, “It is tempting to think of writing as a process of making linguistic choices form one’s repertoire of syntactic structures and lexical items.” He uses the word tempting and then asks how it happens. Am I missing something here? Anyway, Flower and Hayes do provide some logical answers when it comes to answering this question. Interestingly, they discuss how children “possess the skills necessary to generate ideas, but lack the kind of monitor which tells them to “keep using” that skill and generate a little more. Couldn’t this be related to brain development itself? I’m thinking of an article I read in TIME magazine wherein a study was conducted on the brains of three or four brothers as they reached the age of 25 or so. The scientists involved in the study concluded that full brain development doesn’t happen till we hit 25, which explains the stupid decisions kids make and the stupid things they do. Could this fact also contribute to the composition process? Maybe this explains why my own writing and love of writing did not develop till later. I must admit, I laughed at the idea of using thinking aloud protocols to study the process of writing. First, reality is lacking. There is no way we can honestly verbalize all the things we are thinking about as we write. And, even though the tape recorder would be “unobtrusive,” we would still be aware we are being recorded. That’s like writing a “real” letter to someone knowing that others would be reading and analyzing it. It just isn’t the real world.
Although I would agree with their answers to the question posed, I firmly believe that a writer’s relationship with the text is a huge factor in the writing process and the decisions we make. Is it a love affair or are we simply tolerating a co-worker or family member? Think about it. If we are sincerely interested and passionate about our subject, then we will likely approach it in a loving way. We will nurture and caress it. If it is something we must do, whether it is a school assignment or something we are to generate in the workplace, then our approach will likely be standoffish and cold. We will invest less of ourselves in it, thus changing our process and the decisions we make.

An Educational Trip to Composition-ville

Initially I could not figure out why Britton found it necessary to discuss the differences between literary and non-literary discourse (especially in light of the quote provided at the beginning of his essay; however, I so appreciated his distinction between a love letter and love poem—I certainly had never considered the use of one or the other in court), but thankfully it all came together in the end, as I figured out (somewhat—I never really feel comfortable with my synthesis) the method to Britton’s madness in “Spectator Role and the Beginnings of Writing.” Once I got through it, I realized he really needed to dive into all those subtitles in order to fully provide the rationale behind his argument: writers cannot be taught to write—they must learn to write. Sure there are principals, guidelines, and formulas that we learn as children (centering and chaining, to name a few), but what it all comes down to the need to put our thoughts and ideas into words, to express ourselves. And once we learn to express ourselves, we can venture towards either end of the continuum that connects verbal transaction to creation of a verbal object. It all sort of came together for me as I thought about my own desires as a young child of wanting to express myself. It seems to start with one’s name, doesn't it? I remember wanting very badly to write my own name, my identity as a person, not just a child who didn’t matter. Once I could write my name, I wanted to be able to write in cursive for that seemed to be the ultimate format to express oneself. After all, that was how all the “big people” around me wrote and I very much wanted to be like them. Reading about Clare (no doubt a British girl—they always sound so much better than us Americans) reminded me of some writing I produced in kindergarten. I was not nearly as precocious as Clare, but I remember being very proud of the chocolate chip cookie recipe I produced, no matter that my required oven temperature was 5000 degrees. I knew of a formula by which I could express myself, and my writing followed that formula, that of a recipe for a very favorite food. And, as I look back on other instances where I wanted to express myself during those early formative years, no one had taught me grammar. As Hartwell points out in “Grammar, Grammars, and the Teaching of Grammar,” as native English speakers we already inherently know our grammar rules. The problem lies with unfamiliarity of nomenclature for purposes of discussion, word selection, sentence combining, and those details that provide the finishing touches to a text. Because I had read this essay for Dr. Wilson’s English 470 and included it in a paper discussing this very topic, within the confines of composition-ville are the grammarians who constantly rebut each others’ arguments and rationale. Hartwell’s biggest critic, Martha Kolln seemed to back off from her original stance in the grammar department, taking an important cue from the NCTE when it called for an end to formal grammar and replacing it with “instrumental grammar.” Seriously, even though I’m a certified nerd and love discussing grammar now (I know—it’s a sickness), I could not stand grammar instruction as an elementary and secondary student, especially since it almost always was out of context. I can't even say I really even learned anything but the basics.

Curiously paralleling the opposing grammar gangs who cannot agree on the inclusion of grammar instruction or the type of grammar instruction (grammars 1 through 5—who would have thought we could entertain so many variations of grammar?) within their grammar society are the composition communities wherein some members cannot accept the fact “fluent knowledge makers” can belong to more than one such community and that their society depends upon that very notion. North’s anthropological approach makes sense: Social construction comes into play here—just as our world constantly changes and shifts, so must, too, our modes of inquiry. Can we ever find a large piece of common ground that Google Earth will display as unchanged in five years?

A bit of a risk

Okay, so I have recklessly decided not to type this in Word first--only because somehow it stifles my thoughts. Hopefully I won't lose anything, or you might see me sporting some rather large bald spots.

Unfortunately I read the selection by Kinneavy, "The Basic Aims of Discourse" before "A Brief History of Rhetoric and Composition." Why, you might ask? I had skimmed it, and figured I would really digest it when I had a chance to print out a hard copy (for some reason, I prefer not to read anything substantial on my computer screen). So anyway, I struggled through Kinneavy, took a break and proceeded to read Berlin's "Contemporary Composition: The Major Pedagogical Theories." Assuming my brain could use a break from theory and writing gurus, I stopped midway and read (not skimmed) "A Brief History." Should have started there first! The history lesson and background information provided a boon to my understanding--and I use that word loosely--of Kinneavy and Berlin. Because I teach speech, I gleaned a good deal of information I intend to share with my students this semester. And, I now understand why the "canon" has held such an esteemed place in high schools. Thank you, NCTE, for some common sense when it comes to teaching English!

Okay, now on to the dense scholarly stuff (where is Harry Potter when you need him?). So, did anyone else have some difficulty with Kinneavy's table and chart? The continuum makes sense, and I think I understand what HIS aim was, but it was a struggle. And, it didn't help that his triangle had four sides. Who does this??? If I wasn't confused before (trust me, I was--this is only for sake of conversation), then the four-sided triangle would have done me in. And, if for argument's sake I was still in the discourse game understanding every play, his comparison of language to a windowpane would have been the nails in the coffin. "I may use a chunk of it to chase away an intruder"? Is that a chunk of the brick or the windowpane? So, basically we need to eat a balanced diet, right?

Then we have Berlin. Again, some very dense stuff. It seems to me that I was taught writing mostly by teachers of the Current-Traditional school (I wonder if this somehow corresponds to the teacher lounge which emitted plumes of cigarette smoke with every entry and exit), but that I fall into the New Rhetoric realm. That is not to say, though, that Current-Traditional isn't alive and well in some corners of the universe. I see shades of it even in the 30-year-old teacher with whom I share a room. I saw a great deal of it in my co-op when I student taught not that long ago. But, to really be able to identify these different schools of writing instruction, I need examples--and plenty of them. Can anyone help? Can't wait to discuss this with my classmates!

This quote from James Michener and sent by Pat Donaldson of the Capital Area Writing Project to National Writing Project Fellows seems to fit Berlin's position: "Writing is an exploration. You start from nothing and learn as you go."