SCIENTIA
2009
The Journal of the Honors Program
About the Author
Lauren E. Tyrrell is receiving a Bachelor of Arts degree in English with minors in writing and
Spanish. While at Marywood University, Lauren has held leadership roles for The Wood Word and
several national service trips. Lauren is also a member of Lambda Iota Tau, Kappa Gamma Pi, and
Delta Epsilon Sigma and she has worked for the past three years as both the Honors Intern and a
Writing Center tutor. Following graduation, Lauren will attend graduate school for creative nonfiction
writing. She expresses much gratitude to her mentor Laurie McMillan for her willingness to direct the
thesis back in its racquet athletic stages, Christina Elvidge for her encouragement and candy, Susan
Campbell Bartoletti for her advice and writerly support, Samantha Breiner for her surefire proofreading
skills, and her family for their patience, pretzel supply, and constant love. Finally, Lauren expresses
much gratitude to all those who have supported her throughout the thesis-writing process, enduring for
the past eight months her exploration of voice development in writing. I‘m thankful to you all for your
belief in me – you truly are the foundation for my own developing voice.
189
Excuse My Excess
―Sometimes a scream is better than a thesis.‖ – Ralph Waldo Emerson
Name: Lauren E. Tyrrell
Intended Program of Study: MFA Creative Writing
Term Applying for: Fall 2009
In addition to your writing portfolio, Graduate Admissions for the MFA Program also
requires a brief essay detailing the development of your personal voice in writing. In
particular, you should focus on the role that contemporary writing conventions and trends
play in this development, thereby demonstrating your ability to flourish both artistically and
professionally. This essay should exhibit your awareness of the various ways in which your
voice has changed and should outline what factors influenced these changes, whether they be
personal or academic encounters, particularly enriching writing exercises, landmark essays in
your growth, or scholarly research. Your essay should be clear, organized, and well-developed,
and it should conform to the standards of good English. Please do not exceed three pages in
length.
 
Page One: “A Strict, Law-Abiding Citizen of the Academic Discourse Community”
About. Above. Across. After. Against. Along. Among. Around. At. Learn. The rules.
Before. Behind. Below. Beneath. Beside. Between. Mem. Orize. Down. During. Except. For.
From. Succeed. Succeed. Learn. The rules. Mem. Orize. And. You will. Succeed. And. You will.
Succeed.
As a college freshman, I could not learn enough rules and I could not memorize enough
lists. I had dozens of alphabetized prepositions waiting in my arsenal. I pored through
190
handbooks, determined to tackle once and for all every last use of the comma. I banished firstperson pronouns, exclamation marks, and adverbs from my compositions. In high school, my
obsession to write well led me to master not just grammar rules but writing conventions, too:
effective introduction tactics, smart transitional phrases, MLA citation format, and thesis
restatement.
In. Inside. Into. Inside that tight, flawless prose, my voice remained locked, each link of
the shackles hewn with rules: punctuation rules, grammar rules, writing rules. As a result I
focused more on the structure than the content of my compositions; the product, while successful
in terms of my English class grade, always lacked some ineffable quality in the imperfect, slangy
essays of my classmates. My marks were higher, but their papers had punch. However, at the
time I was too indoctrinated with the rules to dare to break them; conventions gave me the
footholds with which to succeed in writing. After all, exposing my writing to a wider audience
made me feel vulnerable; if nothing else, I figured, no one would ever be able so say, ―This girl
is a bad writer.‖ My strict adherence to conventions – both stylistic and grammatical – would
make sure of that.
“Particularly Enriching Writing
Exercise”: For this journaling
exercise, reflect upon why you
“Scholarly Research”
―The journal is a great bubbling pot where strange and diverse images
meet, merge occasionally, or bump with frightening violence into each
other. But out of all this apparent chaos come the outlines of some welldefined concepts‖ (Stewart 47).
write in the style that you do. Is there something about your style that particularly satisfies
you as a writer?
I suppose what I like most about my style is that it is correct. By correct, I mean that in my
formal, share-with-the-public writing, I don‘t ever dangle my participles, or splice my commas,
or even split my infinitives. I also eschew vague language, generalities, and hyperboles. I provide
191
evidence for all my main points, and I transition well from one paragraph to the next. In short, I
follow all the conventions for writing, and in so doing I am able to communicate effortlessly a
great deal to my readers.
Things That Are Satisfying about Following Conventions:
“Scholarly Research”
―‘It is an old observation,‘ [William Strunk, Jr.] wrote, ‗that the best writers
sometimes disregard the rules of rhetoric. When they do so, however, the
reader will usually find in the sentence some compensating merit, attained
at the cost of the violation. Unless he is certain of doing as well, he will
probably do best to follow the rules‘‖ (qtd. in Strunk and White, xvii-iii).
1. The A‘s. Oh, the A‘s.
I‘ve always earned
them. That A is for me
documented proof of
my success. If someone were to challenge my abilities as a writer, to question my
competency, I have dozens of A-earning papers lined up as evidence.
2. The confidence it gives me. Kind of like – like I‘m on something slippery but it‘s OK
because I have something to hold onto, or boots with treads on. And everyone around me
might be sliding all over the place with quote integration, transitions, and semicolon
usage, but I‘m there, right on the same slippery terrain but standing, and not because I
know anything more about ice and how to deal with it but because I‘ve got the right kind
of shoes on, so everyone thinks I‘m some kind of expert on ice – though the truth is, I‘ve
just got superior equipment.
“Personal or Academic Encounters”: A is for Aristotle
―Here you go, Lauren,‖ my professor said, returning to me my most recent essay
assignment. I stopped gnawing on my pen cap just long enough to murmur ―Thanks‖ and reach
over the edge of my desk to receive the slim, stapled stack of paper. While she continued along
the semicircle of desks distributing the rest of the graded manuscripts, I flipped through the
192
pages of my essay slowly, soaking in the many paragraphs of text that, unlike those of my
classmates, no red pen had adulterated.
While they moaned at misplaced
modifiers, dangling participles, and
underdeveloped arguments, I savored
“Scholarly Research”
―The discourse of academics is marked by terms and expressions that
represent an elaborate set of shared concepts and orientations:
alienation, authoritarian personality, the social construction of the self,
determinism,
hegemony,
equilibrium,
intentionality,
recursion,
reinforcement, and so on. This language weaves through so many
lectures and textbooks, is integral to so many learned discussions, that
it‘s easy to forget what a foreign language it can be‖ (Rose 135).
the comments that seemed to float in
the one-inch margins of my paper, those lovely words in cursive that proclaimed my aptitude:
―Great thesis!‖ ―Good examples!‖ ―Your analysis is strong here!‖ I was smiling by the time I
reached the final page which bore that coveted ―A.‖
I tucked the essay carefully into my folder to save with the rest. By the end of my college
career, I thought, I‘ll have a whole heap of perfect papers to signify my mastery of the writing
process. What more proof could anyone need of my compositional competency?
----Question number fifteen on the practice entrance examination for the private prep school
read:
Another contribution that Aristotle made to world culture was his
belief that to live a happy life a
person must be guided or ruled by
reason.
Directions: Identify the function of the
underlined portion:
A. adjective phrase
B. adverb clause
C. predicate adjective
D. adjective clause
“Scholarly Research”
―Here‘s Liz, a junior English major, at work on
a paper for a college course…Liz seems to be
editing [her sentences] as she goes along,
cleaning them up as though they were final
copy. In one of her notes she jots down the
phrase ‗is saying that not having creative work
is the….‖ She stops, thinks for a moment, and
changes ‗is the‘ to ‗causes.‘ (Later on,
explaining this change, she‘ll comment that
‗you‘re not supposed to have passive verbs.‘)
She then replaces ‗is saying‘ with ‗says,‘
apparently following her directive about
passive voice, but later changes it again,
noting that ‗says‘ is ‗too colloquial.‘ Liz pauses
after this editing and looks up—she has
forgotten what she initially was trying to
capture in her writing. ‗That happens a lot,‘ she
says‖ (Rose 573).
193
―Any ideas?‖ I asked the sixteen eighth-graders whom I was tutoring for the test. No one
volunteered an answer, so I urged, ―Well, what do we know that it isn’t?‖
One girl raised her hand and offered, ―It‘s not a predicate adjective.‖
―Great. Now – can we decide if it‘s a clause or a phrase?‖
I heard a few murmurs of ―clause,‖ so I continued, ―How do we know it‘s a clause?‖
The same girl raised her hand again. ―Because it contains a subject and predicate.‖
―Right! So, is it adjectival or adverbial?‖ I let the seven or so students who actually cared
try to puzzle it out for a moment before hinting, ―Take a look at what kind of word it modifies.‖
A boy near the back of the room shot his hand in the air.
―Ryan?‖
―Adverbial.‖
―Why do you think so?‖
“Scholarly Research”
―Is I ain’t got no money grammatical?
Answering this question requires an
understanding of what grammatical actually
means. A sentence is grammatical when
native speakers of a language accept a
given utterance or written statement as
meaningful. In English, grammaticality is
also linked very closely to word order—in
fact, to a specific word order that follows the
pattern of subject (S)-verb (V)-object (O), or
SVO. An ungrammatical sentence would be
one that does not follow the SVO word
order…
―[I ain’t got no money] follows the
standard SVO pattern, with ain’t functioning
as an auxiliary to the verb got. Every native
speaker of English understands the
intended meaning of the sentence…and the
sentence follows the standard SVO pattern
of English. It therefore meets all the
requirements of a grammatical sentence
and, indeed, is grammatical.
―Nevertheless, we would not want
students to produce such a sentence in a
typical writing assignment. Such sentences
are unacceptable because they violate the
usage conventions that govern academic
writing,
not
because
they
are
ungrammatical. They are the equivalent of
wearing cutoff jeans, a tank top, and
sandals to an elegant wedding service—
simply unacceptable‖ (Williams 321-22).
―Because it modifies ‗was.‘ And ‗was‘ is a verb, and
adverbs modify verbs.‖ I saw several of the other students,
upon hearing Ryan‘s rationale, quickly circle choice B. They
nodded their heads as though they had finally understood every
complexity of grammar thanks to Ryan‘s straightforward logic.
―How do you know the phrase modifies ‗was?‘‖
Ryan gave me this ―no duh‖ look. ―Because it comes
before it,‖ he said. ―And modifiers come before the word they
modify. Right?‖
Fifteen pairs of eyes awaited my reply.
―Right, but…well, sometimes clauses can be tricky.
194
Because this clause is telling us more about the contribution Aristotle made, not about the
‗was.‘‖ I had lost them. They were erasing their circles without understanding why. How could
they not see that the clause was telling us, the readers, absolutely nothing about the verb – it
wasn‘t answering where? or how? or when? at all?
I sighed. ―OK, let‘s try number sixteen,‖ I said, then read, ―‗Dan reminded his classmates
that Aristotle‘s Poetics, a critical examination of tragedies, is still considered a very significant
contribution to the understanding of tragedy.‘ OK, what‘s ‗understanding‘ in this sentence?
Direct object, predicative nominative, gerund, or indirect object?‖
Ryan had his hands folded on his desk, afraid to even attempt to offer an answer.
―Come on, guys. It ends in ‗–ing,‘ we‘ve talked about this…‖ I wanted so badly to make
them see the sentence in the same way I could, diagrammed neatly on lined notebook paper, each
word snugly placed right where it belonged, even labeled with its part of speech and sentence
function.
―No one? OK. What do we know that it isn’t?‖
That same girl raised her hand. She‘ll pass the entrance exam, just as I did, and maybe
become the grammar geek of her senior class, just like I was. Such a love of grammar will make
her, too, the same strong, confident, undergraduate writer that I am now. It‘s the straight path to
success - her elimination of choices A and D from the answer pool made me confident of her
future.
We continued the review. Like it or not, they needed to learn these grammar rules; it was
essential for their passing the entrance exam.
“Particularly Enriching Writing Exercise”:
“Scholarly Research”
―Sometimes you will produce good writing [in free-writing],
but that‘s not the goal. Sometimes you will produce
garbage, but that‘s not the goal either. You may stay on
one topic, you may flip repeatedly from one to another: it
doesn‘t matter‖ (Elbow 14 in Writing with Power).
195
For this free-writing exercise, write everything you can think of about your selected topic
as it comes to mind. Do not worry about organization, structure, or even proper grammar
or punctuation – just keep writing for ten minutes without stopping. The results of this
exercise can later serve as a pool of ideas for your essay.
“Scholarly Research”
―The culturally-specific ‗conventions‘ that
define academic writing construct for
both academic and student the entire
process of understanding and presenting
knowledge…The ‗conventions‘ of the
academic writing style can therefore be
seen metaphorically as a type of ‗code‘
to be ‗cracked,‘ a form of knowledge that
students must uncover for themselves‖
(Read, Francis, and Robson 388).
Conventions are, well they are the basis of my writing I guess. I
mean, I follow them all the time. They make it easier to structure
things and it‘s easy, then, to whip up an essay when I know
exactly what I want to say and how to say it. It‘s the difference
between trying to drive someplace new with or without a good
set of directions – yea, you can get there either way, I guess, but it‘ll be a whole lot quicker and
less strenuous if you have the directions. No detours. Just straight to your destination. That‘s a
good metaphor to use, maybe…and I could even give people a taste of what happens without
conventions – that‘d be fun. Kind of like, ―See why you need conventions?‖ and then have
something indecipherable at the beginning, something that‘ll make them really scratch their
heads and wonder, and then it‘ll be kind of like, ―Got you! Now here‘s the real paper. The one
that follows conventions. Don‘t you prefer it? See why we need them?‖
OK, now, specifically, what makes conventions easier to follow? I guess first because you know
the directions – they‘re all those models that we learn at an early age. Like, five-paragraph essay
and that ICE model and even all those strategies on how to make an introduction catchy and how
to make a conclusion round everything off so nicely. That seems like a solid point. And what‘s
cool is that I can enact these conventions in my writing, like, use things like the ICE method and
probably even the five-paragraph essay and stuff to prove my point. Maybe another point could
be about how writers who use conventions really charm the readers and establish their credibility
196
because a reader can read the writer‘s paper and if everything is all grammatically flawless and
structured well, the reader will like and trust the writer. That‘s important. I mean, I know when I
read something with all misspellings I am just turned off and whatever the writer has to say, I
don‘t trust. After all, if writers can‘t take the time to spell
words properly, how do I know they‘ve taken the time to
research their argument or develop their points? Same thing
with bad organization – if everything‘s scattered all over like
some free-write, then it‘s tough to follow and you‘re like,
what is the writer even trying to say here? And you figure it‘s
“Scholarly Research”
―A panda walks into a café. He orders a
sandwich, eats it, then draws a gun and fires
two shots in the air.
―‘Why?‘ asked the confused waiter, as the
panda makes towards the exit. The panda
produces a badly punctuated wildlife manual
and tosses it over his shoulder…
―The waiter turns to the relevant entry and,
sure enough, finds an explanation.
―Panda. Large black-and-white bear-like
mammal, native to China. Eats, shoots and
leaves‖ (Truss, back cover).
probably not important because she or he didn‘t even take the time to organize it well. Plus, this
could maybe even be another point, if things aren‘t structured well, then it‘s just confusing and
even let‘s say the writer is trying to say something really important, the reader would never know
because it‘s all jumbled in a bunch of mistakes, be they grammatical or spelling or organizational
or whatever. So that‘s no good. It makes it hard for the reader to get the point; thus, it makes it
hard for the writer to get her or his point across. So, really, conventions are all about the
connection between reader and writer and easing that divide between them. It‘s the writer‘s way,
overall, of making sure the reader gets her or his message clearly and effectively. Because that is
what makes for successful writing.
―Particularly Enriching Writing Exercise”: Using your free-write as a guide, organize the
thesis, main points, and sub-points of your essay in an outline form. This outline can be
used as a type of “compositional map” when it comes to writing your paper.
Outline for ―Conventions: A Critical Component of Compositions‖
197
Thesis: Conventions are indispensable for successful composition
I.
Conventions help the writers structure their paper
a. Writers can better prove their point by following the guidelines of successful
argumentation in a paper
b. The ICE method helps writers at the smaller level of paragraph construction so
that every sentence in a paper is in support of the overall claim
II. Conventions help the readers understand the writing
a. Readers can easily read something about an unfamiliar subject or in an unfamiliar
discipline if it is written following standard conventions
b. Readers can better understand a new theory or concept if it is written
conventionally
III. Conventions make the writer look good
a. Writers who use conventions demonstrate that they are competent members of a
given discourse community
b. Writers who fail to follow conventions risk having their overall argument rejected
because scholarly audiences may not find them credible
“Landmark Essay”
Conventions: A Critical Component of Compositions
Draft I
“Scholarly Research”
Imagine you’re in a big new city for the
first time – like, Chicago or Atlanta. It’s a huge
place and you can’t tell the good side of town
―I know some very great writers, writers you love who write
beautifully and have made a great deal of money, and not
one of them sits down routinely feeling wildly enthusiastic
and confident. Not one of them writes elegant first drafts. All
right, one of them does, but we do not like her very much.
We do not think she has a rich inner life or that God likes her
or can even stand her‖ (Lamott 319).
198
from the bad but you have your map, your map that shows you where to go and how. Then, out
of nowhere, someone comes and grabs that map, runs away cackling, and you’re left on a street
whose name you don’t even know thinking, WHAT DO I DO NOW?
Draft II
―People think I can teach them style. What stuff it all is! Have something to say, and say it as
clearly as you can. That is the only secret of style.‖
In the quote above, nineteenth century English poet Matthew Arnold succinctly sums up
the significance of conventions to effective writing. His labeling of his tip as a ―secret‖ proves
apposite, particularly considering the contemporary trends to undermine that breed of classic,
comprehensible, and conventional writing which
“Scholarly Research”
―The Introduction is the beginning of the discourse, and by it
the hearer‘s mind is prepared for attention. The Narration or
Statement of Facts sets forth the events that have occurred
or might have occurred. By means of Division we make clear
what matters are agreed upon and what are contested, and
announce what points we intend to take up. Proof is the
presentation of our arguments, together with their
corroboration. Refutation is the destruction of our
adversaries‘ arguments. The Conclusion is the end of the
discourse, formed in accordance with the principles of the
art‖ (Cicero 9-11).
legendary thinkers from as long ago as Cicero
have endorsed. Though many today argue that
these conventions are stifling the development of
a writer‘s voice and limiting one‘s creative
expression, conventions are actually
indispensable for successful composition. Their importance stems primarily from their ability to
aid a writer in effectively structuring her/his argument, to appeal to the reader through the use of
a familiar form, and, finally, to establish a positive ethos for the writer.
In terms of structure, compositional conventions provide writers at all levels of ability
and experience with the guidelines for successful argumentation; this enables writers to organize
their points and defend their theories well. Many models exist to aid writers in the process; for
example, student writers often learn the acronym ICE to assist them in paragraph construction.
The ICE method leads writers clearly through the development of a paragraph, from introducing
199
the topic of the paragraph to citing evidence in support of that topic to explaining how that
evidence proves the topic and how that topic relates to the essay‘s thesis. Techniques such as
ICE instill in writers an accepted and effective form with which they can arrange their
information and analyses. In addition to ICE, other writing conventions, including the preview of
main points in the introduction and the restatement of the thesis in the conclusion, form a solid
and proven foundation on which writers can structure each sentence and paragraph with great
“Scholarly Research”
―People, especially students who‘ve done a lot of
academic reading, get an image of acceptable academic
prose that excludes concrete, subjective, personal
writing...it‘s no wonder that students try, with disastrous
effects, to imitate it by not breaking an imagined set of
‗rules‘‖ (Belanoff, Rorschach, Oberlink 11).
success.
More than just simplifying the writing
process, conventions likewise simplify the reading
process for the intended audience of the written
work. Primarily, conventions offer to the readers a sense of comfort that eases their struggle with
subjects that may be new or unfamiliar to them. For example, writing conventions enable a
historian to understand an article about astronomy or an athlete to enjoy a literary critique
because, though the training and disciplines of the respective readers differ, the conventions of
the writing eases that tension. Furthermore, conventions allow writing to cross the boundaries of
academic disciplines and reduce the difficulty of comprehending a new concept or idea within a
given field. If, for example, a medical doctor is introducing a new treatment plan in a medical
journal, her audience members – even if they are, like the writer, medical doctors – will better
understand the piece if it adheres to the established standards of the doctor‘s discourse
community. Thus, whether helping readers to grasp an article about an issue outside of the
audience‘s area of expertise or on an innovative topic within that audience‘s discipline, writing
conventions enable those readers to approach the piece with confidence because most recognize,
if not the subject area or topic, at least the form. This familiarity appeals to readers by providing
200
them with a steppingstone to approach the new material successfully.
Finally, conventions prove vital components
“Scholarly Research”
of a written work in that they help to create a positive
ethos for the writer. The use of standard writing
conventions by the author is significant to the
establishment of ethos because this rhetorical appeal
signals to readers the writer‘s credibility and
―The third paragraph of the body should contain the
weakest argument, weakest example, weakest illustration,
or an obvious follow up to the second paragraph in the
body. The first sentence of this paragraph should include
the reverse hook which ties in with the transitional hook at
the end of the second paragraph. The topic for this
paragraph should be in the first or second sentence. This
topic should relate to the thesis statement in the
introductory paragraph. The last sentence in this
paragraph should include a transitional concluding hook
that signals the reader that this is the final major point
being made in this paper. This hook also leads into the
last, or concluding, paragraph‖ (Livermore).
expertise. The writer can exhibit these qualities
straightaway by writing her essay in a standard, recognizable form and employing the standard
rules of English grammar and spelling. Readers, who will immediately notice a sense of
familiarity and ease if these conventions are present, will trust the writer because she has
established for them her competence in the field. Conversely, if a writer fails to adhere to
conventions, readers will feel a disconnection between their expectations and what the writer has
delivered. They may doubt the writer‘s credibility and question her arguments and evidence
because she has failed to demonstrate her ethos. For these reasons, it is essential that writers
follow conventions in order to establish their ethos, a rhetorical appeal which can ultimately
determine whether or not the audience will believe the message of the writer.
“Scholarly Research”
―Clearly college classrooms and
writing
classrooms, in particular, provide a unique
(sometimes troubling) atmosphere for students. If
(and that‘s a big if) the goal of writing classrooms
is to help students to not only coherently articulate
an argument, but also to get them to see writing
as a powerful tool for discovery – we need to ask
how they can accomplish such a goal if they are
mouthing a forced and borrowed voice?‖
(Brennan 4).
Considering that they assist both the writer and
the reader of a piece in these aforementioned ways of
easing the writing process, easing the reading process,
and establishing ethos, writing conventions stand out as
critical components for successful composition. Though
many contemporary writers and writing pedagogies urge a break from tradition, such an action
201
would be detrimental to the written word in that both the writers and the readers would need to
struggle in order to, respectively, compose and understand. Surely this type of struggle is
contrary to Matthew Arnold‘s eloquent advice to say what must be said ―as clearly as [one] can.‖
Indeed, adhering to writing conventions fulfills Arnold‘s recommendation, proving that a
devotion to conventions truly is ―the only secret‖ of successful composition.
“Personal or Academic Encounters”: Lunch Date
To: Lauren
From: Kristen
Hey, you free for lunch on Thursday? Lets meet in the caf at 1. Hope
your classes are going well! ~Kristen
--To: Kristen
From: Lauren
Dear Kristen,
Unfortunately, I am unable to meet you for lunch at 1:00 p.m. on
Thursday. I have class from 11:30 a.m. until 1:00 p.m., and then a
rather difficult Spanish examination at 2:00 p.m., the preparation for
which I must sacrifice my lunch hour. Let us reschedule this
rendezvous forthwith.
Thank you for your courtesy in inquiring about the progress of my
classes; thus far, my semester has been quite successful. I do hope
you are enjoying your courses. I greatly anticipate meeting with you
to discuss the various happenings in our lives both on- and offcampus.
202
Sincerely,
Lauren
“Particularly Enriching Writing Exercise”: Now that you have examined aspects of your
style that you feel fulfill your needs as a writer, reflect in your journal about what, if any,
aspects of that style frustrate you at times.
I could wallpaper a whole house with the pages of white paper upon which my black,
“Scholarly Research”
―When asked about advice she would give…, one
student responds: ‗See that there is a greater
purpose in writing than completing the
assignment. Try to get something and give
something when you write.‘ This idea, that a
student might ‗get something‘ other than a grade
and that there might be a ‗greater purpose in
writing than completing the assignment,‘
represents the most significant paradigm
shift…When students begin to see writing as a
transaction, an exchange in which they can ‗get
and give,‘ they begin to see a larger purpose for
their writing. They have their first glimmerings of
audience; they begin to understand that they are
writing for flesh-and-blood human beings, readers
who want them to bring their interests into a
course, not simply teachers who are poised with
red pens, ready to evaluate what they don‘t know‖
(Sommers and Saltz 139).
double-spaced, twelve-point Times New Roman text
marches in flawless grammatical construction. A: ―Nice
work.‖ A: Good job!‖ A: ―Great analysis, and excellent
use of detail.‖ A: ―Perfect, as usual.‖ A, A, A, A: Nice,
good, great, excellent. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect.
I like those A‘s. I like the tiny sentences connected
with semicolons and complex clauses linked with
coordinating conjunctions. I like striding into an essay
feeling confident about my modus operandi. I like starting with a clean-cut thesis and arguing it
out with however many main points are appropriate to the page requirement. It‘s a predictable
path that I‘ve never stumbled upon until for some reason right now when I fear my words,
however proper, however strategically strung together, are void of something grander than their
context and their definitions. My words are empty although my papers are perfect.
Perfect: I hate the harsh clash of consonants at the end of that word. It echoes the harsh
clash of motives I feel every time I choose to cookie-cutter out my essay and earn that ―A‖ rather
than risk failure with something I truly mean, something I shape myself.
 
203
Page Two: “I Split an Infinitive and Nobody Died”
Near. Of. Off. On. Onto. Out.
Out with the rules.
And out with convention because by college my frustration seethed and all those rules,
those rules I had learned and memorized and applied without exception, they had to go out.
Outside. Over. Past. I started small: splitting infinitives, fragmenting sentences. I loved the risk,
the not knowing, the excitement of experimentation. Gaining confidence with my lawlessness, I
produced some screamingoutloud compositions that charged my writing with power, angst, and
true freedom of expression. Yet, though gripping, though charged for the first time with my voice,
though overturning tabletops rather than just kicking wooden legs, my writing lacked control. I
had fluctuated from commanding every character to absolving myself of any obligation to
standard and comprehensible discourse. Throughtoscrewyoutoward.
“Scholarly Research”
―A symbol of everything old and stodgy, sentence
diagramming is attributed to an 1877 book by Alonzo Reed
and Brainerd Kellogg, two professors at Brooklyn
Polytechnic Institute who believed that grammar instruction
had become too far removed from the practice of writing,
and that students would better understand how to structure
sentences if they could see them drawn, almost like
architectural plans‖ (Zernike).
“Particularly Enriching Writing Exercise”:
Feeling disconnected from your prose? Try
diagramming a sentence or two of your writing in
order to reacquaint yourself personally with each
individual part of the sentence(s) – this will allow you to appreciate more fully the
coherence that you as the writer provide to each selection of words.
204
“Personal and Academic Encounters”: Splits and Screams
During a course in my sophomore year of college, the professor allocated a week of class
time to be used for one-on-one writing conferences with her to discuss the most recent essay
assignment. So, on my designated date and time, I arrived at her office bearing a nearly
completed draft. It was good, good enough to be handed in and graded without discussing it with
her for fifteen solid minutes, but I sat across from her at the desk and meekly surrendered my
paper to her inspection.
―Do you have any questions?‖ she asked me as she scanned the pages. ―Are you having
any problems?‖
I shifted in my seat. Well, I wanted to say, I feel as if I‘m choking on intractable globs of
claims, evidence, and analysis. My mind feels trapped within a parenthetical citation, stifled by
the amalgamating arcs of mirror-image parentheses. I can restate my thesis in my sleep. I think
quotation marks are ugly. I used the word ―thus‖ twice on one page. I can‘t do this anymore.
I realized that I was gripping the armrests of the chair.
She waited for me to answer.
I folded my hands in my lap and crossed one leg over the other,
as though I were completely at ease with discussing compositional
issues. ―Well, we could look at this sentence. See, I‘m splitting the
“Scholarly Research”
―Our attitude toward split infinitives
is the same as our attitude toward
ending
sentences
with
a
preposition: we don‘t understand
why anyone would care, since we
can think of no way in which either
affects
anyone‘s
ability
to
communicate written meaning‖
(Belanoff, Rorschach, Oberlink
133)
infinitive, but I think the sentence sounds weird when I move the adverb.‖
―It sounds weird?‖ she asked, trying to clarify my vague assertion.
You see, I wanted to say, I‘m not supposed to split infinitives, and I know I‘m not
supposed to split them, but before me lies this verbal that I swear I can hear screaming, ―Split
me, split me, SPLIT ME!‖
205
Instead, I shrugged.
My professor read the sentence. Glanced at me. ―I think you should just keep it split,‖ she
said, almost as a dare.
I looked up, startled by her recommendation, wondering if screams are audible to the
reader as well as to the writer. ―Yea? OK,‖ I agreed, and my foot tapped excitedly against the leg
of my chair. Just like that, this sentence had become my favorite one in the entire essay.
---Another writing assignment later that semester brought more trouble, no doubt due to my
choice to argue that a writer should experiment with her writing in order to convey her message
most effectively. Yet, in spite of this renegade thesis, I had three pages of carefully crafted
arguments packed into complete paradigms of proper paragraph formation, all adhered with
smooth transitions and helpful recapitulations – yes, I had a law-abiding paper, a model citizen
of the conventional writing community, and my topic was, of all things, taking risks to get one‘s
point across. I had done it again – I had followed all the rules, like I was on autopilot, spitting out
all the structure and conventions without even meaning to.
In an in-class peer review session I posed my problems to a classmate, who said the essay
sounded fine to him.
Can‘t you hear it screaming? I wanted to ask him. Can‘t you hear the words bursting with
everything that they can‘t express, almost splitting at the serifs with every comma, colon, and
apostrophe that binds them to meaning-cutting conventions?
Instead, I thanked him for his help and handed in the draft, requesting an opportunity to
revise. My professor, however, had a different idea: ―Play,‖ she advised. ―You‘ve earned an A
already for completely fulfilling all criteria. Now forget about the grade and don‘t worry about
206
the results. Do something crazy.‖
Play.
“Scholarly Research”
That night until delicious early morning hours I typed and rewrote
and backspacedbackspacedbackspaced and snacked on pretzels and reread,
revised, and finally pressed ―Print‖ with the sort of satisfaction I hadn‘t felt
since splitting that infinitive. As I watched the pages emerging from my
―When
[students]
can
escape the notion that
writing is only a means of
showing a teacher what
they have learned…then
they can begin to explore
how different roles for
themselves as writers might
enhance other parts of their
lives‖ (Brooke 10).
DeskJet I grinned at this disaster, my essay: half italicized, single-spaced, cramped with
onomatopoeia and personal anecdotes, slangy, rambling — and completely oozing me.
Screw the A. This liberation would have been worth it even without that good-grade
guarantee.
“Particularly Enriching Writing Exercise”: To prepare for your next essay assignment,
brainstorm the types of rhetorical techniques that will be particularly effective for your
intended audience. If you experience difficulty with this exercise, try placing yourself in one
of your reader’s shoes and imagine how you would be most effectively persuaded.
My intended audience, yea, a bunch of academic snobs who want a thesis smacking them in the
face. A thesis all summed up into one neat sentence, as though that‘s possible, as though it‘s
possible to encapsulate this whole compositional MOVEMENT that I am experiencing into one
goddamn sentence with maybe a semicolon to give me a littlebitta word-count leeway, but even
that‘s probably pushing it. Maybe theses need to have
only one independent clause and max one subordinate
clause to count. Who makes up those rules anyways.
The thing is, if I were my own audience, I know that as
“Scholarly Research”
―The structures of identity thus come about
through the self‘s changing patterns of compliance
and resistance to the social roles that are assigned
the individual. The problem of identity formation is
a problem of working out patterns which allow a
satisfactory interaction between the roles we
embrace, the roles we comply with while merely
tolerating them, and the roles we reject‖ (Brooke
22).
207
soon as I read a thesis statement in a paper about not following conventions, I‘d be like, well,
way to make a convincing argument. It shouldn‘t have a thesis. It shouldn‘t have ANYTHING
that anyone would expect because the whole point is that those expectations are stupid and
they‘re crushing people‘s voices.
Conventions are crushing, like we need anything else prohibiting us from saying what we mean
and feel and want to say. We have the snotty standards of the discourse community to contend
with. And professors who say with a bewildered sigh that this could have all been said in a fiveparagraph essay. And ourselves, the prescriptive grammarian in each of our heads that urges us
not to bother with all that experimenting stuff. It‘ll just make this assignment take longer to
complete, plus who knows if it‘ll be accepted or even understood, and then, yea, we‘ll have
ourselves in a big mess indeed. It‘s just so much, we urge ourselves, to just do it like everyone
else is. You know, all we do is say, OK, this is my main argument, let me pound out a few
paragraphs in support of it and bam! it‘s done, like presto change-o! But anymore, the fact is that
that type of writing seems meaningless to me, empty as a conch shell.
What would convince me that conventions aren‘t necessary is something that follows no
conventions, something that‘s allovertheplace and inyourface and at parts has you thinking what
in hell is going on here and at other parts makes you think you‘ve got it, oh yeah like you‘re the
“Scholarly Research”
―I am not arguing here that one should discourage dramatic writing or
efforts to write in impassioned ways about a topic. What I am attempting
to point to is the tacit privileging of a specific genre and the implied
message to students that they should resist the temptation to learn to
write traditional academic prose. Personal growth issues evolve into
personal power issues, and the hallmark of personal power (at least for
voicists like Elbow, Coles, Macrorie, and others) becomes the discovery
and practice of personal voice in writing. By extension, the student is
encouraged not to join the ranks of the academic elite who write vacuous,
empty prose but to acquire power by promoting their unique selves‖
(Bowden 184).
master sleuth, before ripping the rug out
from beneath your gettingcomfortable
feet so that you stumble and trip on dusty
old hardwood again, clamoring for a hand
to help you back up, but there‘s no hand
so when you finally do rise, you know
208
exactly how you did it and what it meant to you in that moment, you know you know youknow
because you‘ve been there and made it through. And that’s what my essay needs to be.
The key is to carefully craft it. I need to show a few important things, like that words
and sentences are still readable and still meaningful even when they‘re not arranged
conventionally. That sometimes a little dab of wild prose can be way more convincing than
paragraphs of perfection. That a writer‘s voice is a HUMAN VOICE, A HUMAN VOICE not
some robotic flat tone that spews out words in a perfectly syntactical order. They need to know
it‘s me, Lauren, writing it. Me, Lauren, fearless splitter of infinitives. And I‘ve got a whole lot to
say:
Yea.
“Particularly Enriching Writing Exercise”: For this pre-writing exercise, spend five
minutes free-writing about your specific goal for the essay you are working on. Is it to
inform, challenge, or instruct? To analyze, satirize, or criticize? Establishing the purpose
early on will enable you to shape your prose around it with maximum success.
209
there will be no punctuation and no
transitions and you will still understand
because you must you must be able to feel
“Scholarly Research”
―In free writing a person frequently finds that
his pen or typewriter seems to have taken over
the job of writing and he is sitting there
watching the words go down on the paper. A
writer should do whatever he can to help bring
about this state‖ (Macrorie 158).
the screams screaming screams within you the screams of repression
the screams of suppression the screams of hatehateHATING the
commas quotations and question marks that litter your words that
try to tame your words but oh just let them free to roam like
elephants thrashing through tall grasses stomping and free and
trunks waving and tremendous trumpet noises flying freely from
trunks just unleash it hear it feel it scream it scream it scream
without exclamation marks and just with unbridled words and
naked voice ringing at last for once with meaning
“Landmark Essay”
“Scholarly Research”
I split an infinitive and nobody died - that I know of, anyways.
―The secret of productive word
play is simple: Let yourself go‖
(Macrorie 238).
No prescriptive grammarian assassins stooped in the shadowy corners of my home, waiting with
black-inked Times New Roman knives. No five-paragraph essay four-cornered me in any
abandoned alleyway.
210
I had feared the world of words would stand syntactically still, but, in fact, I split the infinitive,
saved the file, and went to sleep without once wincing from grammatical pangs or misusage
misgivings. I earned an A on my essay – no angry red ink encircled that spot on page three,
paragraph seven, sentence four where the splitting occurred. No one asked me what the hell I
was thinking. The only screams I heard did not channel shock, anger, or even splitting pain, but
rather freedom
expression
and me.
I might just splice a comma next.
Splitting and splicing:
it’s like ripping off those dead,
tissuey layers of skin until
the reddened flesh
lies vulnerable,
exposed,
compelling.
Like scraping off all those otherwises, those neverthelesses, those whereupons and
wheretofores and screaming. Like shedding thuses and therebys, consequentlys
“Scholarly Research”
―In written text there is no literal
voice; writing is marks strung out
across a page. Oral features like
stress and intonation may be keyed
or suggested through word order,
underlining, or italics, but voice in
writing can only be metaphoric in
nature‖ (Bowden 185).
and ergos into one conclusive heap.
Like screwing all those verbal caveats, those transitory
demarcations. The flesh, the words, they wait, saturated with
meaning and the growing anticipation of being screamed at last by a
writer who finally revealed her voice through slashing, splitting,
and splicing off the trappings of conventions.
211
Matthew Arnold had it right: ―Have something to say, and say it as clearly as you can. That is the
only secret of style.‖ Sometimes the clearest way to acknowledge that I‘m so obsessed with
obeying the rules that my message becomes buried beneath the rubble of superficially perfect yet
ultimately meaningless constructions is through screaming,
I WANT TO WILDLY WRITE WITH WORDS I MEAN!
I WANT TO WILDLY WRITE WITH WORDS I MEAN!
I WANT TO WILDLY WRITE WITH WORDS I MEAN!
Sometimes I need sentences that exceed the expected maximum length, sentences that stretch
and ramble and flex their verbal muscles as a threat to just try and cut it down to accepted size,
Sometimes I want fragments.
“Scholarly Research”
Fragments like electric shocks.
Like little kicks in the shins that recapture your attention.
Like a strobe light beating – you can hear the electrical droning –
―You don‘t have to write in a straight line
that runs right at your reader. You can
shoot words off on a diagonal, a little off
target, and expect the reader to see where
the bull‘s-eye really is. …You may turn
upside down what you say. Exaggerate.
You may say exactly the opposite of what
you mean‖ (Macrorie 250).
and your eyes keep adjusting, squinting, refocusing.
Pay attention.
Like the rapping of the teacher‘s ruler at your desk.
“Scholarly Research”
―When people hear a voice in writing, what they
most likely hear is a tone conveyed through an
aggregate
of
small
discourse
features
characteristic of the writer’s public persona. (For
example, in writing I commonly use parentheses to
suggest an ironic perspective on my own
discourse…)‖ (Fulwiler 219).
(Do fragments count towards the minimum sentence
requirement for a proper paragraph? (Do extra long
sentences count twice towards that requirement? (If not I
won‘t bother making them. (You know, because I
212
wouldn‘t want to say something the way I think it should
be said if doing so is going to impede my sentence
count.))))
We‘ve been taught to design every aspect of the structure of every essay we write as though
we‘re going on some discomfited first date with our readers. Are my intentions clear? Do they
know where we‘re headed tonight, and at what time I‘ll get them home? No, I want spontaneity,
life –
I want to swing by their houses without calling, duck into places uninvited, pull
them to me as though to slow dance before breaking down to boogie.
I don‘t want these brushing fingertips, these holding hands –
I prefer the intimacy of peeling open my mind, and yours, too, and seeing what
charges, impulses, ideas they share, see what arcs span across the flapping skin of
our scalps and which remain rigid, disconnected, buzzing with confusion. Let‘s
extrapolate and compare.
I want to write with you,
to you,
in you so
you can hear my screams and join
in with your own.
I won‘t have you back by midnight. I may not have you back at all and we‘ll just drive around
Kerouacing and barbarically yawping ‘til tomorrow. It‘ll be great to hear your voice. And mine.
Because for me these screams yawps and latenight drives are the meaningful evocative flesh that
my split infinitive exposed, this is what I want you to hear –
213
not some sentence-level stuffing packed with celery, onions, parenthetical citations, not claims or
evidence or analysis, or introductions and certainly not conclusions, just my voice, my voice
screaming, as I bare myself to you, not screaming with pain, though, with joy – the joy of
liberation.
Scalpel?
Now, doctor?
Yes. I‘m going in for the splice.
“Personal or Academic Encounters”: “I dig this chick’s voice”
ENGL 311: Poetry
Midterm Examination
Directions for #1-3: Define each of the
following literary devices with a short
sentence or phrase.
1. Alliteration:
Alliteration is the repetition of a consonant
sound at the beginning of words in a
sentence or phrase.
2. Personification:
Personification is the endowment of
humanlike characteristics to an inanimate
object.
3. Voice:
DEFINEVOICE THE PROFESSOR
“Scholarly Research”
―Becky: From Silence to Autonomous Voice
―Writing teachers often describe learning to write as either a process of
finding a ‗voice‘ or a process of taking on the conventions of a given
discourse community…[For example, one student, Becky] had mastered
the requirements of school writing, but she was essentially voiceless and
silent in that writing‖ (Brooke 118).
―In an interview, Becky told me how she had learned to identify ‗what
teachers wanted‘ to please those in authority…Becky‘s accommodating,
compliant behavior had stunted her development as a writer and as a
person‖ (119).
―…Becky needed to ground her writing in her own life experience
rather than surmount it. She needed to find her own authority and to
separate herself from total compliance with external authority…As Becky‘s
[peer workshop] group pushed her continually to expand and experiment
with her writing, writing became a genuine source of exploration and
reflection on her experience‖ (120).
―During the first half of the semester, [Becky‘s writing teacher] Robert‘s
written and oral responses continued to encourage her to write and
revise…Near the end of the semester…Becky now resisted his advice‖
(123).
―Becky resisted his suggestions, saying that she liked [her essay] the
way it was and that he was confused. But she also resisted because to
adopt his suggestions, to impose more coherence, to make her writing
more ‗reader-based‘ would result in a conceptualization of her experience
according to another person‘s view, according to the view of an authority
figure. And it would force her to return to the compliant ‗good girl‘ stance
she was just beginning to shed. She resisted creating tidy, ‗reader-based‘
prose when it implied giving up ownership of that text and imposing
traditional forms in place of her own. At the beginning of the semester
Becky wanted the instructor to be the authority figure who would evaluate
her writing and tell her she was ‗good enough,‘ but by the end, despite her
continued need for approval…she resisted his attempt to help organize
and impose closure on her text.
―Becky‘s need as a developing writer to claim control over her own
language and experience was in conflict with the need to produce polished
academic prose by the end of the semester. As her sense of ownership
over her writing grew, she was unwilling to retreat to her earlier strategies
of merely satisfying the demands of the teacher-authority‖ (Brooke 124).
214
ASKS AS THOUGH A SENTENCE OR TWO WOULD CUT IT. VOICE is the movement,
the creation, the soul inside the writer bleedingwritihingscreaming on the paper,
bleedingwritingscreamingcryingdying until someone comes and reads and says AH-HA I know
you I feel you I see you I see you in myself and know that you are there, here, everywhere.
VOICE is me talking to you, is the moment after when you start hearing and start listening and
sucking it, absorbing it in, rolling in it. It‘s the moment I press you against the wall against me
against each other – you‘re framed, now – confront you with me, me with you though I don‘t
know you in the sense of going out to lunch together but rather in the sense of someday
somewhere I‘ll know that you‘ll know that we had this moment – that moment, and it‘s during
that confrontation you‘ll know it and say, ―I dig this chick‘s voice,‖ because you were there, you
are here now, with the writer, with me.
“Particularly Enriching Writing Exercise”: Many writers often undergo periods of
frustration with words and language. In an informal journal entry, describe what types of
frustration you are facing or have faced with your writing.
it‘sgottensothatiquestioneventappingth
“Scholarly Research”
―The primary purpose of punctuation is to ensure the clarity and readability
of writing. Punctuation clarifies sentence structure, separating some words
and grouping others. It adds meaning to written words and guides the
understanding of readers as they move through sentences‖ (Gibaldi 80).
espacebarbetweenwordswhybotherwh
ybotherwithlinebreaksorpagebreaksw
hynotjustfillblanksheetsofpotentialwit
hmyownhandwritingmyownscreamingwhowantstoreadwillfindawayandtheyaretheonlyoneslist
eningtheonlyoneswhomattertome
exceptiwanttoreachmorepeoplethan myself andaselectedfew
exceptIthinkIhave Something. To. Say. thatgoesbeyond myself
exceptifnoonecanunderstandwhatI‘msayingit‘sreallyofnouseatall
(ifatreefallsdownandnobodoyhearsitcrashintothebrushesandfoliagebeneathit,doesitmakeanoiseatall?)
Ihavetothinkofmy audience.Andofmyintention.
215
Andthosetwoaspects,theyhavetohavetohavetocollide
orelseit‘llallbeaheapof vainwords
thatnoonecanunderstand.
 
Page Three: “I require no wavy lines”
Under, up, upon.
Once upon a time, I would have reverted to those rules I had exalted for so long and lived
happilyeverafter with my claimsevidenceanalysis and subordinating conjunctions. But that time
was outside, over, past, impossible to return to. Now, also lost were my written whiplashes of
wild anarchy and fetterless fervor, which, while screaming with self, acknowledged neither the
piece’s message nor its intended audience. With. Within. Without: time to work with some rules
without some others, all within the context of each writing task. By empowering myself as the
final arbiter rather than allowing my fluctuating passions – my love/hate relationship with rules
– to determine each essay’s destiny, I developed at last a voice that I could control: turn the
volume UP! or down; adjust the tone from snarky to reflective, from I-love-you-madly to get-thehell-outta-my-way, from academically persuasive to creatively compelling. My choice; my voice.
“Particularly Enriching Writing Exercise”:
Create a “collage about you as a writer and
how you write…You are introducing that
“Scholarly Research”
―A ‗collage‘ in the original sense, as coined by artists, is a picture
produced…by gluing actual objects on the canvas…A written collage
consists of separate, disconnected bits of writing rather than one
continuous piece‖ (Elbow and Belanoff 14).
side of yourself to [your teacher and your classmates] and also helping them learn about
how writing is for different people” (Elbow and Belanoff 14).
I used to always write hot and edit cool.
The result was some really cold writing that was edited really, really well.
Then I wrote hot. And edited hotter. And then broiled the whole thing on high.
216
I think I burned a few readers (I won‘t even tell you how many trays of cookies I scorched).
I still write hot. As for the editing process – well, it depends on the temperature outside. And
how many layers my readers are wearing. And if they need, say, warm chicken soup or freezeyour-brain milkshakes so thick they clog up the straw.
----I spend an abnormal amount of time choosing greeting cards for people. In general I find
“Scholarly Research”
―There‘s only one way to write a word, but
an infinite number of ways to speak it.
Speech can call on great subtleties of
intonation—melody, stress, rhythm, volume,
and so on—all of which carry messages that
are absent when words sit silently on the
page. And yet some written language makes
us hear a voice from the silent page, and
thereby captures in writing all those
subtleties of the actual human voice‖ (Elbow
and Belanoff 171).
that their preprinted messages say exactly what I want to say,
but in a way that I don‘t want to say it at all.
So, I buy blank ones with some generic picture that I
hope the card‘s recipient will enjoy looking at and then
agonize over the words to write inside, which in early drafts
include long sentiments, dazzling metaphors, and a complete exposure of my deepest, most
innermost expressions for whatever the occasion entails – gratitude, appreciation, condolences,
congratulations, or very happy birthday wishes.
Inevitably, though, when I copy it into the card itself, I reduce the message to an eighth of
its original size, smushing it all into one brief, bursting parcel of me: ―I love you always, Poppy.
Happy Birthday!‖
----There are many nights when I go to bed after writing and can‘t sleep so I get up and write
some more – just for another half-hour, I say – and it stretches into an hour and I might as well
boil water for tea and the words keep spilling out, they don‘t care about class at nine tomorrow
morning, they laugh when I squint at the computer screen through my wary eyes, they taunt me
with ―You lightweight!‖ when I flick off the light switch to lie down at last.
217
I never dreamed I‘d be so intimately familiar with what three in the morning feels like –
its absolute stillness, the whole house hanging between the breaths of my sleeping family
members, the rare murmur of a car‘s engine outside or a train shattering across the tracks down
the road.
I breathe deeply in those moments and hear everything I can‘t hear when the TV‘s turned
on so that I can catch the weather before work, when Dave Matthews is blasting from my stereo,
when Beth is shouting that we have no clean hand towels upstairs so can someone please throw a
load into the washer already.
I can hear myself. Unworried about my readers and how they‘ll judge me. Unconcerned
with impressing them with some wild style I put on for show. Unafraid to reveal my voice.
“Personal or Academic Encounters”: Quotations and Relationships
During another writing conference, my professor pulled a writing handbook
A WRITING HANDBOOK? IS SHE KIDDING?
from her desk drawer so that we could look up the rule
regarding whether a colon goes inside or outside of
quotation marks,
“Scholarly Research”
―If the structure of your sentence requires a
semicolon or a colon that is not part of the
quoted material, it belongs outside the quotation
marks‖ (Belanoff, Rorschach, and Oberlink 115).
WHO THE HELL CARES?
since I used such a construction in my essay and since neither of us could exactly remember the
edicts of prestigious prescriptive grammarians on the subject.
SOME THINGS AREN’T WORTH THE MENTAL SPACE.
We skimmed through the text of the handbook together until she located on page fifty-three the
bulleted rule we wanted. ―Outside,‖ she determined, pointing her finger at the spot for me to
218
verify.
right.
In the final draft of my paper, I placed the colon on the outside of the quotation marks. There
was no point in not doing in that way.
----I worked on my senior honors thesis for seven solid months. The thesis and I were, in all
respects, dating – in fact, to date, it‘s the longest committed relationship I‘ve ever been in. We
spent our weekends together – we stole late hours from weekday nights – we woke each other up
to get to know each other some more, just a little bit more,
“Personal and Academic Encounters”
prying into each other‘s selves with every letter produced.
I was in love. I dreamed about Thesis. I talked to
everyone about Thesis, and everyone asked me how Thesis
―Speaking of voice (pun!), I am so confused I
don‘t even know if voice is what I mean
anymore…do you think it can incorporate like, an
experimental nature…mostly what I‘m reading is,
how it mimics an actual human voice…so I don‘t
know if voice is right for my purposes…or if I just
haven‘t read enough yet.‖
was doing.
―How‘s the Thesis, Lauren?‖
―Great, five pages done this weekend!‖ Five pages, I‘d say, as though Thesis had picked
me up at 8 one night, shared popcorn with me at a movie theatre, and brought me to an all-night
diner for gravy fries before kissing me goodnight at the door.
Other times were dark, with angst-driven emails to my
“Personal and Academic
Encounters”
―I‘m happy to be alive today!!!!!
Translation:
Finished.
My.
Draftdraftdraftdraft! I may go yell out a
window.‖
―Congratulations!
Hope
you‘re
celebrating! Can‘t wait to see you
tomorrow! (you can yell out my
window).‖
thesis director:
―I hate it right now.‖ (She said it‘s natural to hate it. She
said I‘d probably hate it again before the whole thing was over.
But I had fallen – hard – back in love and at that moment further
strife seemed inconceivable.)
219
She and I met on Tuesday mornings to discuss Thesis, reviewing the week‘s activities
like two teenagers analyzing every detail of a date:
―I did really well incorporating the personal aspects and excerpts from my own writing.
But the research is giving me trouble…‖
―Still working on the research this week. It‘s gotten easier to incorporate. But the
subtitles are a disaster…‖
―I revised some of the personal elements. Subtitles, done! The framework is working
nicely. Any idea of a source for this section…?‖
The truth is, it was constant – constant – LOVE. HATE. NEGOTIATE. Here I was,
aiming to show to the world that strange world behind the writing process, behind the
shakyunsteadyandsososcary development of a writer‘s voice. I‘m grabbing a scalpel and opening
up a writer‘s sacred space, I‘m pushing the boundaries, and yet every time I‘d fall back on what I
needed to make every mind-boggling moment comprehensible:
Subtitles.
White space.
Punctuation.
It was like, in order to blow my reader‘s mind, I needed to put their mind at ease. Trust
me – this part may be confusing, I explain with every convention-saluting sentence, but just stick
with me and you‘ll understand. Just hold on to me, the conventions, for your handlebars and I‘ll
ease you through the crazy potholed path ahead, and man will you learn from the ride – and you
may even let go of the handlebars along the way.
Particularly Enriching Writing Exercise: For this Facebook Chain Note, we ask you to
220
explore your experience as a writer. THE RULES: SHARE YOUR WRITER SECRETS-WRITE OR WRONG! TAG LOTS OF OTHER WRITERS SO THEY CAN SPILL
SOME INK (OR CLICK SOME KEYS), TOO!
(I’m a sucker for procrastination techniques. I’ll take the bait.)
1. FAVE FORM OF PUNCTUATION
The meaningful kind that helps a reader (as compared to the stodgy kind that frustrates
the writers)
2. DIAGRAMMING SENTENCES--HOT OR NOT
―Hot‖ when used to prove how ―not‖ it really is
3. POETRY, CNF, FICTION, OR ACADEMIC WRITING
Yes, please
4. FAVE WRITER ROLE MODEL
I’ve always admired whoever pumped out ―Lather. Rinse. Repeat.‖
5. PETER ELBOW--HERO OR VILLAIN
Elbow is my homeboy
6. WRITE TO BE READ ALOUD OR TO BE READ SILENTLY
Sometimes to be read screamingoutloud. Sometimes to be read as the slightest whisper.
But always aloud, with a human voice
7. FAVE MUSIC WHILE WRITING
Jazz
8. FAVE SNACK TO MUNCH ON WHILE WRITING
Pretzel snaps – and pencaps.
9. FAVE PLACE TO WRITE
221
Got to get my butt just right on this one cushion on our couch
10. FAVE FORM OF PROCRASTINATION
Eating the aforementioned snaps, completing lengthy Facebook surveys about writing
preferences, noticing (but doing nothing about) undusted household surfaces and
appliances
11. BIGGEST UNWELCOME DISTRACTION
The desire to settle for ―Eh, that’s good enough I guess‖ – and that blasted ringing
telephone in the midst of a stellar paragraph
12. WRITING CONVENTION YOU HATE THE MOST
The one about not breaking any conventions in writing
13. GRAMMAR RULE YOU DIDN'T KNOW YOU WERE BREAKING FOR YEARS
AND YEARS
That little-known and often overlooked rule that says that all rules are actually guidelines
14. GRAMMAR RULE YOU STILL DON'T KNOW SO YOU AVOID USING IT
The distinction between dashes routinely evades me
15. GRAMMAR CHECK AND SPELL CHECK ON OR OFF
I require no wavy lines to know exactly which rules I’m breaking
Particularly Enriching Writing Exercise: “Choose one of your papers that you would like
to revise by changing the voice. It could be a finished paper, it could be a draft, or it could
be a long fragment from your private writing or freewriting” (Elbow and Belanoff 186).
Could it be all three – the finished paper, the draft, the long fragment? Because I‘ve devoted a lot
of time – a lot of paper – to experimenting with voices that weren‘t my own, forcing false
222
inflections like fleeting seasonal fashions instead of sticking with the one thing that lay within
me the whole time. I drowned out the sound of myself with stiff prose burdened by conventions
and shrieks that flirted with tastelessness – I jumped from wearing three formless bulky sweaters
to a magenta minidress and heels.
And frankly, I‘m more of a pajama pants type of girl.
That‘s not the metaphor I want, though. Voice
isn‘t some strange garb that we can peel on and off – no,
it‘s more of something always there, but that only
sometimes gets heard clearly. It‘s like one of those Casio
“Scholarly Research”
―Sometimes stance or persona can be
substituted for voice; other times, it is style or
tone…Voice is a metaphor—a very powerful one.
Metaphors, by their very nature, enable us to talk
about abstract concepts…that are difficult if not
impossible to talk about in any other
way…Despite the concreteness of production—
you take a pen or computer and produce tangible
text—composing text is as abstract and
mysterious as love, war, or argument‖ (Bowden
285).
keyboards that has two-hundred different settings to choose from: honky-tonk piano or stringed
orchestra or a choir saying ―ooh‖ or a banjo strum. Yet when you listen to it, you know it‘s none
of those – there is no honky-tonk piano or orchestra or choir or banjo, just a keyboard that has
the capability to generate similar sounds. And something‘s missing, when the keyboard plays in
a style that‘s not its own. Something like, authenticity, sincerity, truth – like what you hear when
you hear a for-real piano, a stringed orchestra, a multipart choir, a banjo. ―Casio,‖ you want to
say, ―stop trying so hard to be someone you‘re not – you sound just fine as the keyboard that you
are.‖ That‘s the state I want to be in. I want
“Scholarly Research”
―Real self. Real voice. I am on slippery ground here. There are layers
and layers…Our less than real voices usually help us to deal with
pressures we feel from some audiences and situations, and protect
the deeper layers of self…Most of us, even though we don‘t sound as
false and slick as salesmen and hyped-up announcers, neglect this
power of real voice. Our speech may be lively and fluent and sound
just like us; we don‘t lack voice…But we seldom use the power of our
real voice, and we know it because of the surprising difference we
feel on the few occasions when we do—when we get power into our
words‖ (Elbow 293-5).
to stop imitating other instruments and
settle with the one I‘ve got: my writing
voice, without the flourishes of academic
haughtiness or the squeal of nails-againstthe-blackboard. Though I can use those
elements sometimes, to add a little pizzazz – Casio shouldn‘t ignore all of its special functions,
223
after all. The gist is to use them only to strengthen your writing – and to make sure the main
melody is always played in your own key.
I want to revise and play the notes this time as the keyboard that I am.
“Landmark Essay”
Love, Hate, Negotiate
There‘s a very particular position in which I like to write: banged-up laptop supported on
the wide arm of the couch, my hands poised over its keyboard; legs curled to my left; slippered
feet tucked under a decorative floral pillow. Light: on. Jazz: on. Pretzels: very close at hand. Pen:
chewed between sentences. Or phrases. Or even words, if there‘s much deliberation. Notes,
books, and articles: when necessary, spread on available couch space. Mind: somewhere, usually
focused on the blinking cursor, anticipating every character yet to come or pondering every one
already there – no matter how I pledge to edit cool once I‘m through the piece, I can never resist
rereading and revising in the heat of composition.
Voice: a two-part answer. My speaking one waits
stagnant for some interruption to require it – usually the
phone ringing, at which point I ahem-ahem before
“Scholarly Research”
―I‘ve ‗found‘ my voice, then, just where it ought to
have been, in the body-warmed breath escaping
my lungs and throat. Forced by the exigence of
physical disease to embrace my self in the flesh,
I couldn‘t write bodiless prose. The voice is the
creature of the body that produces it‖ (Mairs
399).
answering with a croak, ―Hello?‖ My writing one, nowadays, sings, sometimes in the softest
hum and other times operatically – fortissimo, in fact. The range is quite exquisite, really, and the
singing quite preferable to the angsty screams and almost imperceptible whispers of my past.
Here in gray flannel pants and my hair banana-clipped off my face, here beneath the light
of the lamp that I always observe I should dust, here atop the neutral-colored cushions of the
living room couch, here I stroke the raised dashes on the F and J keys while considering the topic
224
or the title or the time that it‘s due, contemplating what I have thus far (even if it‘s just a line or
two of wiggling ideas) and how I can shape that into a product to be proud of. Here I ponder the
choices surrounding every word, every letter, and every comma in my paper:
Should I write in the first person?
Should I use the five-paragraph essay format?
Do I need a thesis? Do I have one? Want one?
Are there more pretzels?
Will the reader understand if I…?
How would it affect the piece if I…?
Should I ignore that rule about quotation marks?
Is that the phone? Ahem-ahem. ―Hello?‖
The answer to each of these questions shapes the content that will follow. Yes to the fiveparagraph essay? Let me develop three main arguments, then. Yes to ignoring the rule about
quotation marks? I‘ll backspace them away and reread to ensure
“Scholarly Research”
―The development of an authentic
voice is a natural consequence of selfdiscovery. As you begin to find out
who you are and what you think and to
be comfortable with the person you
are, you learn to trust your own voice
in writing‖ (Stewart 2).
it‘s still understandable without them. Yes to the pretzels? Looks
like I can endure another hour or so of work. Each choice creates a
tributary stream into the overall composition, one that will affect
the success of the essay, one that in later revisions I can levee or
leave freeflowing in. I love the potential locked in every decision. I love the voice released in
every choice. I love making the appropriate adjustments in my timbre as I transfer that singing
into lines of written words.
I adjust the angle of the laptop‘s screen, musing over a semicolon or a thesis, a transition
or an apostrophe. What am I trying to convey here? How can I best express it? Sometimes I slip
225
in curse words to embody frustration. Sometimes I nix quotation marks to blur the boundary
between what is thought and what is said. Sometimes I run-on a sentence to build excitement, or
fragmentize to Shock. And. Awe. Other times, I write tidy sentences with cheerful punctuation. I
provide evidence and I analyze and I capitalize appropriately. The point is, I try not to make
these decisions based only upon the conventions and expectations of my discourse community;
instead, I incorporate my particular needs for each particular essay at the particular time that I‘m
writing it as well.
Right now it‘s cozy on the couch with Coltrane‘s jazz and
pretzel snaps.
“Scholarly Research”
(You want some? I‘m willing to share.)
The light‘s on. The lamp‘s dusty. The pillow‘s positioned
atop my feet. And the singing? I‘d say it‘s strong tonight. Must
be because I have something pretty important to say, not timidly
―I am also convinced that the more you
know about your craft, the freer you
can be from it. My interpretation of
freedom has nothing to do with sloppy
or careless technique that is a
caricature of freedom. To me real
freedom arrives when the artist‘s
creative instinct can function without
limitation and without consciousness
of technical means‖ (Peterdi, qtd. in
Macrorie 263).
or aggressively but in a rhythm that I can hear and, with proper negotiations of those rules I love
and hate, that I can portray vividly in my writing.
“Personal or Academic Encounters”: The Events Leading Up to February 27
A complete draft of my senior honors thesis was due on February 27. The funny part is that in
the middle of January, I thought I had it all together and all figured out.
I wrote this stellar introduction that launched readers into my project by
tracing the development of my voice in writing through the use of a
memorized list of prepositions. But then I decided that passage could be
used as the conclusion instead – really, it would be a great wrap-up, I
226
decided, of the whole shebang. But then I realized – four days, in fact,
before my February 27 deadline, that it would be best to divide up that
―preposition piece‖ (as I had begun to term it) as short introductory
passages to each section of my thesis. They‘d be great to signal to readers
what was ahead.
I had an entire crate full of borrowed books, printed-out articles, and earmarked
journal pages. In fact, in December, my access to utilize my university library‘s
interlibrary loaning system was denied because I had too many books out for too
long. With so many sources, I had pages and pages of notes; dozens of colored
tabs peeked out from the stacks, designated specific passages to use within my
paper. Yet, when I sat down to incorporate the research, I was stuck. How do I
weave strands of everyone else into my own self-made tapestry? My director had
the simple answer: Don‘t weave - just let them be. So I sprinkled text boxes
throughout the pages, carefully placing each byte of academic research next to the
part of my prose to which it correlated the best. Would readers understand?
In a very early draft, I had this personal narrative about telling somebody
that I wanted to start a relationship with him. I edited it out in January –
―Way too personal,‖ I decided. Then, a week before the approaching
deadline, I realized it said exactly what I wanted to say and demonstrated
exactly what I wanted it to demonstrate. I reconfigured it as the conclusion
for the third part of my thesis, but then saw that really, it could wrap up
the whole damn thing, so well did it recount the three phases of voice
development and examine the implications of a writer‘s voice on a
227
practical level.
(And how am I going to do documentation for this research that is planted
throughout my paper? My director suggested MLA. Is that hypocritical? Am I
allowed to openly ridicule sentence diagrams and then seek the Modern Language
Association for my parenthetical citations?)
What if, my director suggested, you made it all like a writing handbook,
and as you go through the handbook your voice is developing?
Yes! I exclaimed. I can list all the different exercises, and do them, and
those would make up all the different parts of the thesis! I was so excited.
The idea was absolutely perfect.
---
Dr. McMillan: I know we talked about my using the whole "writing
exercise book" type of set-up/exigency (love that word!!), but when I was
working on it, it just wasn't clicking - I tried to find some examples online
that would help me develop writing prompts, but then the whole thing felt
too contrived to me for some reason. So, I was brainstorming for other
options and I came up with a sort of thing like how grad schools make you
write all these silly, "how have you developed as a writer" type of things
and I thought, maybe a prompt like that would work, and it would force
the writer to examine her development…?
―Riddle me this, Danny.‖
―Yes?‖
228
―So, there‘s going to be this part of my thesis that‘s like, I‘m talking about my
thesis within the thesis itself. You follow?‖
―Yes.‖
―So, the two ideas for working with it are, I can make it like a big TIME OUT
moment and be like, ‗OK, everyone, the jig is up, this isn‘t really a graduate
application, this is my honors thesis, duh.‘‖
―OK…‖
―Or I can keep playing the grad school application essay card and be like, ‗Well,
one example of my writing is my honors thesis, and this is what I did for it, blah
blah blah.‘‖
He exhaled as he thought. ―I really don‘t think you‘re one to make a scene.‖
I laughed. ―Agreed.‖
―And this Facebook chain letter on writing, it‘s totally material for your
thesis.‖
―Right. Sure,‖ I say without enthusiasm. I secretly suspect that the entire
English department is taking bets to see how many of the wild suggestions
that they feed me will actually end up in my honors thesis. Sorry,
everyone, but I am not incorporating Facebook. I probably just lost
someone five bucks, but whatever. Facebook is banned from my prose.
Though a few days before that deadline, as I reflected on how to reveal my
writerly habits, that stupid chain letter was flashing as the best possible
method. I decided to give it a try.
Which brings us to February 27, and the paper that I
“Scholarly Research”
―When readers hear a voice in a piece of writing,
they are often more drawn to read it—and that
audible voice often makes the words easier to
understand‖ (Elbow 176)
229
submitted that day. The whole thing, I found, was one massive negotiation: when to use
conventions (amen, MLA!) and when to break the rules (is there even a rule about Facebook
usage in a senior honors thesis? I hope not.); when to help my readers (you like those subtitles,
don‘t you?) and when to confuse the hell out of them (sorry about that smushed-up super tiny
text back in the second section).
Reflecting upon the one-thousand changes that I‘ve made in my thesis, I guess the most profound
one was made early on in the research stage, when I stopped seeing a disregard for writing
conventions as the apex of compositional ability. Instead, I realized that writers need different
voices for different situations; that an academic tone can be just as effective and appropriate as a
creative one; and that true voice is not a frozen concept, but rather a fluid notion with the
capability to adjust itself appropriately to audience and its purpose.
And, after several months of these negotiations, there was a point in the wee hours of February
26 in which I put down my pretzel snaps and realized that I had, at last, completed my project. I
saved the document to my computer‘s desktop and, smiling, went to sleep.
 
“Personal or Academic Encounters”: Expectations
―Clear‖: Check.
―Organized‖: Check.
―Well-developed‖: Check, to a fault.
―Standards of good English‖: ―Good‖ is pretty subjective, so check.
―Three pages in length‖: Negotiations necessary. I hope it‘s something we can talk about.
 
Page Four (The Excess): “What Exactly We Can Do”
230
In his car, I am fiddling with everything within fiddling range: the silky pink fringe of my
scarf, the pennies in the pocket of my gray dress coat, the beige seatbelt strap that affixes me
firmly not only to the passenger seat of his car but to this weighty moment as well, pinning me to
the scene like some Prufrockian dead bug mounted in an insect exhibition.
The truth is—, I think. Or, What I mean to say is—. How about, I want you to know that I
treasure our friendship and hope that we can take it to the next—. Maybe, I’ve been wondering if
you feel the same way that I do about—. Are there rules, I wonder, for how to tell your best
friend that you‘ve been uselessly suppressing a crush on him for months, and suspect that he‘s
been doing the same with you? What exactly is the conventional protocol for broaching this
almost taboo topic?
―I want to ask you something,‖ I begin.
―Yea?‖ He glances at me.
―Yea.‖ The difficulty now lies in getting these words just right. Should I begin with, say,
a direct address followed by a conditional clause? Or I could opt for an interrogative followed by
a direct address, or even nix the direct address since, seeing as he‘s the only other person in the
car, it‘s a bit unnecessary. I could also jump straight into a declarative, with an implicit
interrogative in pursuit.
I prefer the direct address, really. It‘s just more personal.
At a red light, he reaches out to lower the volume on the car‘s stereo. He releases the
brake when the light changes to green and I wonder as we continue down the road how I can
ever amass and assemble ten-thousand shooting words and thoughts into one coherent query.
I rewrite mentally, rashly: Do you feel the lightningy, glitteringly, static-crackling, snap
and pop of the electricity between us at times?
231
I imagine lunging over the emergency brake and ripping a kiss right off his unsuspecting
lips: I’m not waiting any longer for this moment to occur for it to unfold like careful origami and
lie flat and bare so we can see its shape without any fancy misleading designs – I’m not waiting
any longer let’s look at it boldfaced now and see what we have and what exactly we can do with
what’s there, okay?
―What did you want to ask me?‖ he finally says because I haven‘t spoken and we‘re
already on Euclid Avenue, just six blocks from my house.
It occurs to me that I should just e-mail him tonight, compose a beautiful message from
the comfort of my desk that I can edit ad infinitum and send when I‘ve approved its faultlessness
and he‘ll respond in similar fashion and we‘ll know, and that will be that.
It occurs to me that I can close my eyes and scream, ―ILIKEYOUILIKEYOUILIKEYOU‖ until his credulous ears pick up the spaces between the words and he can quiet me down
enough to offer some, hopefully positive, reply.
I sigh and make my selection, stuttering out in alliterative syllabic smash, ―I was
wondering what we are.‖
―Well,‖ he says, and shifting the car into park after he turns into my driveway, ―that‘s
something we should talk about.‖
232
Works Cited
Belanoff, Pat, Betsy Rorschach, and Mia Oberlink. The Right Handbook. 2nd ed. Portsmouth,
NH: Boynton/Cook, 1993.
Bowden, Darsie. "The Rise of a Metaphor: 'Voice' in Composition Pedagogy." Rhetoric Review
14 (1995): 173-88. JSTOR. Marywood University, Scranton. 10 Oct. 2008
<www.jstor.org>.
Brennan, Ann. ―Hello up there – Can you hear me?‖. Seton Hall U, 2008.
Brooke, Robert. Writing and Sense of Self. Urbana: National Council of Teachers of English,
1991.
Cicero. Rhetorica ad Herennium. New York: Loeb Classical Library, 1954.
Elbow, Peter. "Reconsiderations: Voice in Writing Again: Embracing Contradictions." National
Council of Teachers of English 70 (2007): 168-88.
Elbow, Peter, and Pat Belanoff. Being a Writer. Boston: McGraw-Hill, 2003.
Fulwiler, Toby. "Looking and Listening for My Voice." College Composition and
Communication 41 (1990): 214-20. JSTOR. Marywood University, Scranton. 10 Oct.
2008 <www.jstor.org>.
Gibaldi, Joseph. MLA Handbook for Writers of Research Papers. 6th ed. New York: Modern
Language Association of America, 2003.
Lamott, Anne. "Shitty First Drafts." On Writing: A Process Reader. Ed. Wendy Bishop. Boston:
McGraw-Hill, 2004. 319-322.
Livermore, Harry. "The Five-Paragraph Essay." Guide to Grammar and Writing. Capital
Community College. 22 Jan. 2009
<http://grammar.ccc.commnet.edu/GRAMMAR/five_par.htm>.
233
Macrorie, Ken. Telling Writing. 3rd ed. Rochelle Park: Hayden Book Co., 1980.
Mairs, Nancy. "Carnal Acts." Available Means: An Anthology of Women's Rhetoric(s). Ed. Joy
Ritchie. New York: University of Pittsburgh P, 2001. 392-400. Rpt. of Carnal Acts:
Essays. Boston: Beacon P, 1995. 81-96.
Read, Barbara, Becky Francis, and Jocelyn Robson. "'Playing Safe': Undergraduate Essay
Writing and the Presentation of the Student 'Voice'" British Journal of Sociology of
Education 22 (2001): 387-99. JSTOR. Marywood University, Scranton. 13 Sept. 2008
<www.jstor.org>.
Rose, Mike. "The Discourse of Academics." On Writing: A Process Reader. Ed. Wendy Bishop.
Boston: McGraw-Hill, 2004. 135-37.
Sommers, Nancy, and Laura Saltz. "The Novice as Expert: Writing the Freshman Year." College
Composition and Communication 56 (2004): 124-49. JSTOR. Marywood University,
Scranton. 7 Oct. 2008 <www.jstor.org>.
Stewart, Donald C. The Authentic Voice. Dubuque: W. C. Brown Co., 1972.
Strunk, Jr., William, and E. B. White. The Elements of Style. 4th ed. New York: Longman,
2000.
Truss, Lynne. Eats, Shoots and Leaves: The Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation. New
York: Gotham Books, 2004.
Williams, James D. "Grammar and Usage." Concepts in Composition. Ed. Irene L. Clark.
Mahwah: L. Erlbaum Associates, 2003. 313-37.
Zernike, Kate. "Modifying the Subject." The New York Times 7 Nov. 2004. Nytimes. 7 Nov.
2004. 7 Feb. 2009
<http://www.nytimes.com/2004/11/07/education/edlife/117ZER.html?_r=2>.
234
Bibliography
Bishop, Wendy, ed. On Writing: A Process Reader. Boston: McGraw-Hill, 2004.
Bryant, Lizbeth A. Voice as Process. Portsmouth: Boynton/Cook, 2005.
Butler, Paul G. Out of Style: Reanimating Stylistic Study in Composition and Rhetoric. Logan:
Utah State UP, 2008.
Clark, Irene L., ed. Concepts in Composition. Mahwah: L. Erlbaum Associates, 2003. 313-37.
Curtis, Marcia, and Anne Herrington. "Writing Development in the College Years: By Whose
Definition?" College Composition and Communication 53 (2003): 69-90. JSTOR.
Marywood University, Scranton. 7 Oct. 2008 <www.jstor.org>.
Elbow, Peter. "Coming to See Myself as a Vernacular Intellectual: Remarks at the 2007 CCCC
General Session on Receiving the Exemplar Award." College Composition and
Communication 59 (2008): 519-24.
Elbow, Peter. Writing with Power. 2nd ed. New York: Oxford UP, 1998.
Elbow, Peter, ed. Landmark Essays on Voice and Writing. Vol. 4. Davis: Hermagoras P, 1994.
Elbow, Peter, and Pat Belanoff. A Community of Writers. 3rd ed. New York: McGraw-Hill,
2000.
Hashimoto, I. "Voice as Juice: Some Reservations about Evangelic Composition." College
Composition and Communication 38 (1987): 70-80. JSTOR. Marywood University,
Scranton. 7 Oct. 2008 <www.jstor.org>.
Lamm, Nomy. "It's a Big Fat Revolution." Available Means: An Anthology of Women's
Rhetoric(s). Ed. Joy Ritchie. New York: University of Pittsburgh P, 2001. 454-61. Rpt. of
Listen Up: Voices of the Next Feminist Revolution. Seattle: Seal P, 1995. 85-94.
Lindemann, Erika. A Rhetoric for Writing Teachers. 4th ed. New York: Oxford UP, 2001.
235
Miller, Susan, ed. The Norton Book of Composition Studies. Castle House: W.W. Norton, 2009.
Schwartz, Mimi. "Who Am I in This Story?: The Power of Voice in Creative Nonfiction."
Writing on the Edge 12 (2001): 27-30.
Sloan, Mary M., ed. Moving Borders: Three Decades of Innovative Writing by Woman. Jersey
City: Talisman House, 1998.
White, Ed. "My Five-Paragraph-Theme Theme." College Composition and Communication 593
(2008): 524-25.
Villanueva, Victor, ed. Cross-Talk in Comp Theory. 2nd ed. Urban: National Council of
Teachers of English, 2003.
Yancey, Kathleen B., ed. Voices on Voice. Urbana: National Council of Teachers of English,
1994.
Zinsser, William K. On Writing Well. 6th ed. New York: Quill, 2001.