Metadiscourse commonly is defined as “discourse about discoursing.” In its brief history, the term has appeared in several studies of text structure; however, theorists disagree concerning the functions and forms of metadiscursive structures and the role of metadiscourse in a larger theory of text linguistics. This study provides representative examples of the problems that diminish the utility of the metadiscourse theories that currently are available. It then proposes an alternative theory that locates metadiscourse within the larger context of speech act theory. The study defines metadiscourse as indicators of expositive illocutionary acts, and it then provides a taxonomy of metadiscursive functions and forms.

Collaboration between student writers appears in various guises: small groups discuss each writer's paper in turn; a pair of classmates exchange papers to read and critique; a whole class evaluates a few students* papers based on an established set of criteria; a student shares her paper with a peer tutor at a writing center. All of these situations attempt to capture and build on the energy and shared learning that occur when students work together. And yet, while both the writing center and the classroom aim for collaborative learning, each context places the students in a different relationship. In the classroom, the students work together as peers under the teacher's guidance; in the writing center, students must work to overcome the disparity of authority inherent in their given roles of tutor and tutee. The difficulty for writing tutors lies in balancing their more powerful position as tutor with the goals of peer collaboration. Thus, collaboration in writing takes different forms and requires different skills in the contexts of classroom and writing center. This paper will use a study of a high school writing center program to illustrate and explain these differences. We hope that this discussion will provide insight into how writing tutors perceive and cope with their roles in a writing center and how the collaboration that occurs in a writing center affects students as writers and as people. Kenneth Bruffee's definition of collaborative learning provides a framework for understanding the difference between classroom and writing center collaboration. In his article, "Collaborative Learning and the Conversation of Mankind,1 " Kenneth Bruffee explains that " Collaborative learning provides a social context in which normal discourse occurs: a community of knowledgeable peers" (644). Adapting Thomas Kuhn' s theories about the scientific community, Bruffee emphasizes that a group of people together determine the accepted knowledge, the "normal discourse"

The empowering of writers touches close to interests common to writing centers -no one associated with one-to-one conversation can ignore the benefits of collaboration, the reality and effects of interpretive communities, and the intellectual respect and consideration owed to students by teachers. Yet empowering writers should mean more than simply acknowledging social backgrounds and encouraging self-disclosing discussion and listening (though both activities are of course vital). It should also create opportunities and methods for students to speak powerfully in discourse appropriate to the academy.

Literary theories put forward by Stanley Fish, David Bleich, Walter Michaels, and Jonathan Culler all insist, to varying degrees, that any individual critic's view of a particular literary text is likely to be affected by certain assumptions (schemata) shared by the community of scholars to which the critic belongs. Literary interpretation, so the argument goes, is not a matter of individual perception alone; every interpretation is both a process of individual discovery and a product of shared interpretive strategies. From this reader-response perspective, then, the prior assumptions held by the interpretive community are crucial constituents of the discourse, and often, as in the case of the Canadian interpretive response, such shared assumptions form the paradigm that in time becomes the locus of critical authority. Canadian criticism, in particular that branch which focuses on prairie fiction, offers an intriguing case study of just such an interpretive community at work. Canadian literary criticism has long spoken if not with one voice then at least with a widely-shared critical intent: to further the aims of cultural nationalism by establishing a critical narrative that privileges those aspects of Canadian literature-the lonely prairie landscape, the implacable brooding force of Nature, the sense of human isolation-that are historically associated with the early Canadian pioneer experience and the process of nation-building. Once accepted, the narrative assumes paradigmatic status: it establishes a closed frame of reference marked by remarkable critical consensus. Such a state of critical concord has not gone unnoticed. In his retrospective look at the teaching of Canadian literature, John Harker explains that

The mature writer is recognized ... by his ability to create a flow of sentences, a pattern of thought that is produced, one suspects, according to the principles of yet another kind of grammara grammar, let us say, of passages. Mina ShaughnessyRichard M. Coe has developed such a grammar, one which uses a simple graphic instrument to analyze the meaningful relationships between sentences in a passage and to clarify the function of structure in discourse. Working in the tradition of Christensen s generative rhetoric, Coe presents a two-dimensional graphic matrix that effectively analyzes the logical relations between statements by mapping coordinate, subordinate, and superordinate relationships.Coe demonstrates the power of his discourse matrix by applying it to a variety of significant problems, such as how to demonstrate discourse differences between cultures (especially between Chinese and English), how to explain precisely what is bad about the structure of passages that do not work, and how best to teach structure. This new view of the structure of passages helps to articulate crucial questions about the relations between form and function, language, thought and culture, cognitive and social processes.

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(1988). On the outside looking in: Students' analyses of professional discourse communities. Rhetoric Review: Vol. 7, No. 1, pp. 130-149.

Although many writers depend on guidelines for help in using language properly and effectively, those guidelines typically lack empirical justification and, as a result, are sometimes oversimplified or even misconceived. In this article, we illustrate this point by examining the guideline that tells writers not to use the existential, or “empty,” there. A 100,000-word survey of good writing shows that expert writers apparently ignore this guideline. Using a discourse-sensitive form of linguistic analysis, we explain why these violations of the rule occur. Expert writers use there for important linguistic and rhetorical purposes: to assert existence, to present new information, to introduce topics, and to summarize. Based on our findings, we claim that there is little justification for having a prescriptive rule against the existential there. We argue further that the methodology employed here, which relies on quantitative and qualitative analysis rather than on conventional wisdom, can and should be extended to other handbook rules.

This essay examines self-portrayal in fictional and nonfictional written discourse. The essay focuses on various treatments of self-representation in rhetorical and literary critical theory in an effort to overcome the conceptual and terminological confusion that has arisen across time and disciplinary specialties in the discussion of self-portrayal. The essay argues that two common terms for describing self-representation—ethos and persona— are often conflated but that there are good historical and conceptual grounds for maintaining a distinction between them. Such a distinction refines our critical vocabulary for analyzing the multidimensional nature of self-representation in writing.

Research Article| May 01 1988 Toward a Comprehensive Art of Written Discourse: Geoffrey of Vinsauf and the Ars Dictaminis Martin Camargo Martin Camargo Department of English, University of Missouri, Columbia, Missouri 65211. Search for other works by this author on: This Site PubMed Google Scholar Rhetorica (1988) 6 (2): 167–194. https://doi.org/10.1525/rh.1988.6.2.167 Views Icon Views Article contents Figures & tables Video Audio Supplementary Data Peer Review Share Icon Share Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Email Tools Icon Tools Cite Icon Cite Search Site Citation Martin Camargo; Toward a Comprehensive Art of Written Discourse: Geoffrey of Vinsauf and the Ars Dictaminis. Rhetorica 1 May 1988; 6 (2): 167–194. doi: https://doi.org/10.1525/rh.1988.6.2.167 Download citation file: Ris (Zotero) Reference Manager EasyBib Bookends Mendeley Papers EndNote RefWorks BibTex toolbar search Search Dropdown Menu toolbar search search input Search input auto suggest filter your search All ContentRhetorica Search Copyright 1988, The International Society for the History of Rhetoric1988 Article PDF first page preview Close Modal You do not currently have access to this content.

Classrooms filled with glassy-eyed students provide an experiential base for Alice S. Horning s new comprehensive theory about basic writers.Horning explores the theory of writing acquisition in detail. Her examination of spoken and written language and redundancy give a theoretical base to her argument that academic discourse is a separate linguistic system characterized by particular psycholinguistic features. She proposes that basic writers learn to write as other learners master a second language because for them, academic written English is a whole new language.She explores the many connections to be found in second language acquisition research to the teaching and learning of writing and gives special attention to the interlanguage hypothesis, pidginization theory, and the Monitor theory. She also addresses the role of affective factors (feelings, attitudes, emotions, and motivation) in the success or failure of writing students.

Two famous passages in Thucydides' History of the Peloponnesian War illustrate the origins of scientific writing and shed further light on the relationship between scientific writing and epideictic rhetoric. Thucydides' account of the plague in Athens in 430 B.C. uses a structure based on the Hippocratic approach, as well as “scientific” medical terminology. The report of the plague is immediately followed by Pericles' Funeral Oration. Similar themes appear in both segments, but the rhetorical strategies are markedly different. This article analyzes the juxtaposed examples of scientific and epideictic discourse by applying theories from rhetoric and sociology advanced by Perelman, Fahnestock, Havelock, and Durkheim, as well as schema theory and reader-response theories.

This study examined developmental differences in adolescents' and adults' use of rhetorical strategies in memos written during a role-play session. Ninth graders, twelfth graders, college juniors, and adult graduate students chose 1 of 11 roles within the context of the role-play situation and exchanged memos persuading each other to adopt a position regarding a policy for off-campus lunch privileges. Five memos written by each of 11 randomly selected participants at each grade level were categorized by t-unit on the basis of a system of 17 rhetorical strategies. Analyses determined the relationship between grade level and memo length, rhetorical strategies (in each of four initial t-units), rhetorical focus, and participants' perceptions of their audiences' “power” before and after the session. Results show that college students and adults were more likely than younger participants to focus their memos on presenting their roles and establishing a relationship with their audience. The memos of younger participants were more likely to use “assertive” or “conditional” rhetorical strategies. Across all grade levels, however, writers were more likely to focus initial memos on establishing relationships and later memos on articulating their positions.

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Writing: Philosophical Assumptions Inherent in Current Cognitive Models of Writing. Reciprocity as a Principle of Discourse. What Writers Do. M. Nystrand, A. Doyle, and M. Himley, A Critical Examination of the Doctrine of Autonomous Texts. Necessary Text Elaborations. Learning to Write: M. Himley, Genre as Generative: One Perspective on One Child's Early Writing Growth. Where do the Spaces Go? The Development of Word Segmentation in the Bissex Texts. Learning to Write by Talking about Writing: A Summary of Research on Intensive Peer Review in Expository Writing Instruction at the University of Wisconsin at Madison. References. Index.

Technical writing in English by Japanese authors is examined. It is pointed out that Japanese rhetorical structure addresses an underlying communication goal that is very different from the goal of Aristotle's persuasive discourse; Japanese technical writers also consider elements such as beauty, surprise, and easy flow as desirable measures of good writing. This fundamental difference in approaching the problem of writing often produces confusing results.< <ETX xmlns:mml="http://www.w3.org/1998/Math/MathML" xmlns:xlink="http://www.w3.org/1999/xlink">></ETX>

A review of the current literature suggests that the concept of purpose has not received sufficient theoretical or pedagogical attention. In this article, theoretical depth is provided by a discussion of four components of purpose: purpose as associated with discourse types, purpose from the writer's viewpoint, purpose as it relates to situation, and purpose from the reader's viewpoint. Research is cited, and examples from computer documentation are used to illustrate each component. Cooperation and conflict among components are examined in a sample document, and classroom applications are discussed.

We depend on language not only to write but also to conceptualize and communicate about composing. The various kinds of discourse about writing processes reveal the assumptions and values about writing held by students, researchers, and professional writers. This article discusses some metaphors used by professional writers when describing their revising activities to interviewers and suggests the implications of their use for research on writing.

Explaining difficult concepts to lay readers is an important discursive goal, and yet frequently the quality of explanatory writing is poor. One reason for this poor quality is that the discursive form itself is not well understood. Some studies have identified textual features of effective explanations; however, theoretical characterizations of explanatory discourse are either unnecessarily narrow or overly general. Consequently, this essay offers a new theory of explanatory discourse that is intended to guide analyses of and stimulate improvements in explanations designed for mass audiences. The theory defines explanatory discourse in terms of a particular goal; promoting understanding for lay readers of some phenomenon. This goal is distinguished from those of promoting awareness of new information, proving a claim, or encouraging agreement with a claim. The utility of the theory is demonstrated by showing how it (1) identifies those research literatures most relevant to improving the quality of written explanations, (2) organizes existing findings on explanatory effectiveness in a way that resolves controversies in the literature, and (3) suggests principles for pedagogy pertaining to explanatory writing.

When I speak about the move from expressive to academic discourse, I realize I am perpetuating a notion which may interfere with the proper understanding of either of these modes.That is, my statement implies that there's a one-directional movement, that academic discourse is somehow higher up on a hierarchical scale.I do not, in fact, believe that to be the case."Academic Discourse" as it occurs in practice in many undergraduate courses, may be among the least useful, least authentic forms of language use.Required term papers or critical papers often function as tests rather than as explorations.They are performances of certain required skills: use of sources, correct documentation, proper formulation of someone else's ideas.Writers are often actively discouraged from expressing their own points of view, from participating in their own reading, or indeed, from "appearing" in the paper at all.Yet if the expressive mode is truly the matrix from which other forms of discourse evolve as James Britton has claimed, then writers, in order to work successfully in academic modes, must move back and forth on the continuum from one form to the other, keeping the self always at the center.The "will to learn" which Jerome Bruner asserts is an intrinsic motive in all of us, may be stifled when rigid and formal demands prevent students from engaging in more tentative, exploratory prose."What the school imposes," say Bruner, "often fails to enlist the natural energies that sustain spontaneous learning -curiosity, a desire for competence, aspiration to emulate a model, and a deep-sensed commitment to the web of social reciprocity" (127).In the Writing Lab at the University of Iowa we try very hard to engage -or perhaps to rekindle that will to learn in our students.

If is one thing contemporary observers of American literary studies agree upon, it is New must finally be transcended. William Cain, for example, protests New Critics' identification of with close reading of classic literary texts. It is not 'close reading' is itself misconceived, he argues, rather case for it has always been made at expense of other important things. Because New Critics won their case so convincingly, these other things have long been excluded from literary establishment. A list of costs resulting from institutionalization of New in 1950s, according to Cain, would include the rejection of other methods and other kinds of texts; misguided attempt to define (and thus defend) teaching of literature as, above all, 'close reading'; skepticism shown towards literary theory; and refusal to see other disciplines as having relevance for 'literary' criticism (New Criticism 1111-12). Criticism, in short, has become formalistic, to use an old critical buzz-word. Even deconstruction, as Cain correctly observes, is more an intensified continuation of tradition of formalistic close reading than a new, expansive kind of Fortunately, says Cain, there have been signs in recent years New Critical reign is at last coming to an end. The most important of these signs is the revival of 'history' as an instrument for criticism. This revival is result of work of certain critics and theorists-Cain mentions Foucault, Said, and Jameson-who have shown that 'history' does not have to imply-as it did for scholars New Critics attacked in 1930s-a narrow and naive review of sources, backgrounds, and influences. Rather, history now means the formation of an archive, building up of a rich, detailed, and complex discursive field. The ground for criticism, from this point of view, is not classic literary text, but inter-textual configurations and arrangements; 'criticism' thus entails study of power, political uses of language, and orders of discourse (New Criticism 1116-17). This reconstitution of ground for will produce, presumably, an analogous transformation of practice of close reading and expand domain of to include methods, texts, and disciplines suppressed by New Criticism. These developments, needless to say, win Cain's seal of approval.

Most Freshman English programs conceive of themselves as providing some form of introduction to university level discourse. The expectation is that students will leave English I (or whatever its designation) with the requisite reading and writing skills to enter a new discourse community, the world of the academy. Just what that means, however, is invariably in contention. Even within our own discipline, the acts of reading and writing have become the subject of much controversy. A recent review in College English gives some indication of one of the current divisions within the profession about exactly what we teach people when we teach them to read: Despite the recent wrangle and heated debates among the various camps of literary criticism, there are quite a few of us-most,

The situation of women in the modern world is clearly a major concern of Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar (see Allen 160-78 and Whittier 12746). Less obvious is how the book might embody a feminist aesthetic, that is, how it might define, as a solution to the sociological and psychological problems of women, a language and an art competent to secure women, especially the female writer, against male domination. In her essay on “Women’s Literature,” Elizabeth Janeway suggests that to be distinct from men’s literature women’s literature must constitute “an equally significant report from another, equally significant, area of existence” (344-45). Hence, some of the major themes of women’s literature: madness, powerlessness, betrayal and victimization. Though not exclusively feminine, nonetheless these situations frequently arise from the situation of women as women (Janeway 346). Equally important to women’s literature, however, is a unique literary language and form. Marjorie Perloff’s “‘A Ritual for Being Born Twice,’” for example, focuses in Laingian terms on The Bell Jar’s “attempt to heal the fracture between inner self and false-self . . . so that a real and viable identity can come into existence” (102). It touches on many female issues. The title itself expresses a female motif. But it does not establish a specifically feminist context. As Erica Jong puts it, “the reason a woman has greater problems becoming an artist is because she has greater problems becoming a self” (qtd. in Reardon 136), which means not just integrating the masked self and the genuine self, but also, as Joan Reardon explains in her analysis of Jong, “in coming to terms with her own body,” expressing herself in her “own diction . . . images and symbols” (136). In her introduction to The New Feminist Criticism, and in her two contributions to the volume, Elaine Showalter describes how, in recent years, attention has shifted from the treatment of women in male fic-

This special double issue of College English in some ways illustrates what its essays are about, possibly the resistance, as Freud said about analysis, against the uncovering of resistances (Analysis 239). This first issue begins where a Freudian approach to pedagogy necessarily starts, with the Freudian concept of resistance-four essays, by Barbara Johnson and Marjorie Garber, Patricia Donahue and Ellen Quandahl, Patrick McGee, and Robert Brooke, dealing with blockages theoretical and practical to reading and to teaching. The second issue, with essays by Gregory Ulmer, Gregory Jay, and Ronald Schleifer, moves beyond to explore Freud's concept of the as it bears on the role of the teacher (the subject who is supposed to know), the student, learning, teaching, reading, and so on. The essays of both issues argue that the to reading and teaching is also the force that makes them possibleparticularly that reading and teaching must in an important sense fail before they succeed. This claim arises in relation to Freud's discussion of the to therapy and Paul de Man's resistance to and from specific comparisons of the classroom and the therapy session. The course of these essays will move from (1) a consideration of and its place in a Freudian approach to pedagogy, (2) to a theory of the subject for a Freudian account of student/teacher interaction, and (3) to a theory of Freudian discourse as a communication model. All of these essays, but especially those in the second issue, then move toward another consideration-the ideological critique of what teachers teach and how they teach it. These special issues of College English also illustrate the they are talking about in that a few contributors bowed out early-schedules busier than

In a recent Festschrift for Edward P. J. Corbett, Andrea A. Lunsford and Lisa S. Ede look dispassionately at the issues we now concern ourselves with in historical rhetoric, evaluate them, and conclude forcefully that much of Aristotle's work has been reduced to the unrecognizable.I They assert that much of the secondary work in Aristotle depends on misunderstandings that can occur when commentators ignore the fundamental connections among Aristotle's writings (41). Later in the same essay, in citing William Grimaldi's complex interconnections among Aristotle's works, Lunsford and Ede say, rational man of Aristotle's rhetoric is not a automaton, but a languageusing animal who unites reason and emotion in discourse with others. Aristotle (and indeed, Plato and Isocrates as well) studied the power of the mind to gain meaning from the world and to share that meaning with others (43). The Aristotle as logic-chopping that Lunsford and Ede have named for us represents the inadequate and sometimes even wrong interpretation that a significant number of rhetorical scholars rely on in their presentations of classical rhetoric. The explication of Aristotle as automaton also provides us with a critique of the state of some scholarly work on classical rhetoric in American rhetoric and composition during the last twenty years. This formulaic view of rhetoric, which emerges eventually as a pattern, relies on reducing the intertwining theories that make up classical rhetoric and replacing them with simple categories. This kind of reductivism, a version of classical rhetoric that writers of the Heritage School (Welch 120) often use, hinders complex interpretation, such as the work of Walter Ong and James Kinneavy, and deprives classical rhetoric of its strength and its attractiveness. The Heritage School presentation of classical rhetoric primarily as a series of rules, dicta, and

The purpose of this study was to investigate the covert linguistic behavior of two groups of subjects, one classified as above-average users of language, the other as below-average users. It was hypothesized that the remedial group would manifest higher levels of subvocal motor activity than the above-average group during stimulated tasks, but that during pausing episodes that occur during writing the remedial group would manifest lower levels of subvocal activity than its counterpart. During each task, covert linguistic behavior was measured continuously by three electromyographs and was analyzed to determine physiological changes. The results confirm the hypotheses and suggest a lower level of cognitive activity on the part of the remedial group. Given that pausing episodes have come to be recognized as important periods of discourse planning, failure to utilize pauses for planning might account for qualitative differences in the writing of the two groups.

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the writer's audience. Writing involves moving material from the inside the outside. We need only consult a few recent composition texts see how this inner/outer metaphor shapes the language we use talk about teaching writing. We tell students that the writer's mind is a kind of a box-a storehouse or reservoir, a pool of thoughts, filled with tremendous reserves draw upon. We speak of student writers opening the lid of the mind in order free what is stored inside. As teachers of writing, we want help students tap these sources, sift through your memory, and dredge up ideas. We want help students overcome writer's block, to unlock your mind and release information.' To make this happen, we talk about brainstorming, in which we make a frontal assault open the stronghold of the mind. And when this happens, we call the effect linguistic fluency, the flowing outward of inner speech from the reservoir of the mind. The dualism of this inner/outer metaphor, moreover, permeates much of the discourse of composition studies. Writing, many teachers, researchers, and theorists assume, begins inside, in the inner speech of private verbal thought, and is only gradually transformed into the outer written speech of public text. We habitually think of the process of composing as a movement from monologue, where writers address primarily themselves, dialogue, where writers address others. In this view composing transforms what is inside the writer's head into an external text that can stand by itself. Composing, that is, converts the associative, idiosyncratic, self-referential language that writers use talk themselves into autonomous texts that supply the interpretive contexts, logical connections, and explicit meanings readers expect of public discourse. James Britton's expressive and transactional functions, Janet Emig's reflexive and extensive modes of writing, and Linda Flower's writer-based and reader-based prose, however they may differ in conception and formulation, all assume the polarity of private and public language and an inner-to-outer directionality in composing, a movement, as Flower puts it, from thinking in code

The role of the reader in how the meaning of a text is formed has been a nearly obsessive concern of recent critical thought. Books and articles abound taking one stand or the other on the question of where meaning lies: in the text, in the reader, in the intentions of the author, in the intertext, in the practices of interpretive communities, and so on. For the most part, such talk tends to be seen as a kind of elegant diversion-the stuff of graduate seminars and doctoral thesessomewhat removed from the more practical tasks of teaching our students to read intelligently and to write with conviction. And certainly things seem to go on pretty much as they always have in most classes on literature-that is, texts get assigned to be read and papers to be written, students plow more or less dutifully through both, some haggling over meanings and grades takes place, and students and teachers alike go home at the end of the term, having done Shakespeare, or the Seventeenth Century, or the Modern Novel, or even Literary Theory. The writings of Jacques Derrida and Wolfgang Iser and Stanley Fish haven't changed that, and I doubt that any theory of reading ever will. But while theories of reader-response or deconstruction may seem to have had little effect on the practice of teaching literature, they do hold much in common with how many of us try to teach writing. The reasons for this are fairly plain. The meanings of most texts read in literature classes really are pretty stable-not because they hold some sort of intrinsic fixed messages, but simply because they are familiar texts that we, as a community of readers at the university, have long agreed on how to go about interpreting. This isn't the case, though, when we read student writing. Then we are faced with texts that are both new to us and whose meanings have often not yet been fixed even in the minds of their authors. In a freshman writing class the instability of meaning is a fact of life, not a point of critical debate. Nowhere else is the importance of a reader's expectations, of interpretive codes, shown more clearly. Where we look for analysis, our students often appeal to emotion; where we expect example, they call on popular sentiment, what everybody knows. The problem is not that our students are dumb, but that they're not yet members of the club-they don't know the sorts of things we as academics look for when we read. And so one way of looking at our task as teachers of writing is to see it as helping our students to confront the kinds of talk that go on at the university, to think about the values and assumptions that underlie such discourse. Joseph Harris teaches writing at Temple University.

Writing is written within and for discourse communities, whose values, traditions, and beliefs condition the writer s own values and influence both the process of composition and the products issuing from that process.To understand how writers compose and revise within the business and industry community Broadhead and Freed examine the revision practices of proposal writers in a management-consulting firm. They describe the writers motives and intentions in changing a text. This study provides a firmly based theory of composing and revising that will enable business writers to achieve a balanced perspective by focusing on the ends as well as the means of composingthat is, by focusing on the interplay of product and process.

The teaching of paragraphs needs a revolution. Classroom instruction offers patterns and precepts which cannot be applied to the ordinary process of writing and which, moreover, are unsupported by current resg arch. Researchers English like Braddock, Meade and Ellis, and Knoblauch report findings which directly contradict the textbooks' platitudes:' paragraphs admired professional writing do not necessarily contain topic sentences, they rarely follow prescribed patterns, and they seem essentially accidental, invented as the writer composes. We have found that textbooks do not heed these warnings. Students perceive a strange disjunction between the paragraphs they read and those they are asked to write class. Too often the latter are miniature five-element themes-introductory and concluding sentences, with three intervening sentences connected by therefore and in addition. We believe that paragraphing is best presented to student writers as an important signaling system, based on signals of two sorts, visual and substantive. To readers, the strip of indented white space separating paragraphs indicates both connection and discontinuity. It heightens their attention. To the writer, marking paragraphs offers opportunity for manipulating the reader's focus. Strategically paragraphed prose not only streamlines a message but also molds and shapes it to achieve the writer's purpose. We shall argue for a reader-oriented theory of the paragraph.2 In order to paragraph effectively, a writer needs to know, not the five, ten, fifteen, or twenty most common paragraph patterns that current theories enumerate, but how indentions affect the reader's perception of prose discourse. Knowing how readers perceive prose, the writer can arrange his text to mesh with their perception. Our argument proposes (and, we hope, proves) two main theses: 1. Paragraphs depend for their effectiveness on the exploitation of psycho-

The argument of this book is that the earliest tradition of Western rhetoric, the classical perspective of Aristotle and Cicero, continues to have the greatest impact on writing instruction--albeit an unconscious impact. This occurs despite the fact that modern rhetoric no longer accepts either the views of mind, language, and world underlying ancient theory or the concepts about discourse, knowledge, and communication presented in that theory. As a result, teachers are depending on ideas as outmoded as they are unreflectively accepted. Knoblauch and Brannon maintain that the two traditions are fundamentally incompatible in their assumptions and concepts, so that writing teachers must make choices between them if their teaching is to be purposeful and consistent. They suggest that the modern tradition offers a richer basis for instruction, and they show what teaching from that perspective looks like and how it differs from traditional teaching.

Intuitively all users of language understand whether a unit of discourse is cohesive, whether it makes sense. Markels seeks to formalize some of this innate knowledge about discourse by describing some of the textual cues that contribute to cohesion in particular types of English paragraphs. Focusing on expository paragraphs, she investigates the semantic relations among nouns necessary to create noun chains and the syntactic information necessary to invest those chains with Other researchers have investigated cohesion only as a semantic phenomenon, but by pursuing this new approach, Markels gives equal weight to syntax. She points out that while noun chains establish semantic consistency only the interaction of those chains with syntactic information that thematizes them can create Markels identifies and describes four common patterns through which paragraphs achieve cohesion or unity. In describing these cohesion patterns, she also identifies paragraph structures based on semantic and syntactic relationships that produce cohesion.

Historically considered, the concept of the topic sentence seems to be related to the concept of the topoi in classical rhetoric-in the sense of a topos or topic as subject matter treated in a speech or a portion of a discourse, as a method of reasoning about a subject, and as a place or heading from which arguments are drawn. All of these senses of the word seem to have been maintained in the kind of advice given by 19th-century textbook writers about methods of constructing paragraphs. In order to construct a paragraph, the advice goes, the writer should embody the main idea of the paragraph (its subject) in a topic sentence. Then, drawing upon a list of commonplace methods of reasoning about the subject (in the form of headings, such as comparison, contrast, and cause and effect, that label relationships), the writer should develop the central idea contained in the topic sentence into a unified and coherent paragraph. This connection between the topic sentence and the classical topoi is eminently suggestive, but however interesting it may be, the fact is that as an independent concept the topic sentence did not begin to emerge until the mid-19th century. It first appeared in Alexander Bain's discussion of the paragraph in 1866, and it attained fuller development in the late 19th and early 20th century. But the 19th-century conception of the topic sentence has come under considerable attack in recent years because of its deductive origins and because one kind of research has revealed that many contemporary professional writers do not use topic sentences in their writing. I would like to argue, however, that in some kinds of writing the topic sentence can be a valuable rhetorical strategy because it can help writers to organize their ideas and it can help readers to follow the logical development of the writer's ideas. As a means of developing my argument, I would like to look briefly at the origin and development of the concept of the topic sentence, consider the criticisms that have been made of the topic sentence in the 20th century, and then, drawing upon readability research that discusses the topic sentence and schema theory, argue that this kind of research supports the value of using topic sentences in expository prose.

As a concept of rhetoric in technical writing, relevance involves an awareness of time. The report deals with the past; the manual, with the present; the proposal, with the future. To be considered relevant, however, all the modes of technical writing must relate to the present reality of the audience. Writers must recognize this need not only as it influences grammar and style but also as it affects larger concerns of organization and tone. Realizing that the temporal classification of modem reports, manuals, and proposals correlates with Aristotle's designation of forensic, epideictic, and deliberative discourse, technical writers can discover a body of rhetorical theory on which to base choices about selection, arrangement, and presentation of subject matter.

Two parallels between scientific and literary discourse are the aesthetic appeal they both make and their shared use of metaphor. Essays by Stephen Jay Gould on the science of form demonstrate these parallels. In one, Gould acts as a reader of scientific discourse, in the other as a writer. In both essays, Gould demonstrates the imaginative qualities science and literature share.

ly to students, but create an impression for some that the techniques are purely activities for fun, trivial interludes that don't contribute substantially to a finished paper. In addition, some teachers fear the freedom these techniques allow students and believe more controlled instruction is needed. On the other hand, structured heuristics such as Burke's Pentad and Young, Becker, and Pike's Tagmemic Grid provide systems to guide inquiry, but often are so abstract, acontextual and complex that they are difficult for students to apply and sometimes seem to intrude on rather than to aid the composing process. I Aware of problems with both approaches and having little time to present them fully, a majority of us, I would guess, take the middle road and briefly introduce students to invention techniques before quickly moving on to other concerns.2 Problems in reconciling free and structured heuristics have appeared in several articles.3 In the end, a number of theorists say that structure and freedom, reason and intuition, consciousness and unconsciousness aren't mutually exclusive: Each school of heuristics contains elements of the other. For example, free writing theorists Ken Macrorie and Peter Elbow advocate that after students use automatic or stream-of-consciousness writing, they should consciously seek patterns in their free writing-or in Elbow's words, an emerging center of gravity (20), which can then be used to generate and organize more discourse. And structuralist Richard Young points out the guiding, not dictating nature of heuristics. Young emphasizes that systematic heuristics do not always work consciously: Although more or less systematic, a heuristic search is not wholly conscious or mechanical; intuition, relevant knowledge, and skill are also necessary. A heuristic is an explicit strategy for effective guessing ( 135). Since the two approaches contain aspects of each other, there should be pedagogies that integrate both heuristics. But how? I believe a way of addressing the problem of how teachers can integrate free and structured inquiry effectively can be found in the classical progymnasmata, exercises designed to train the classical student in the art of inventio. While the classical tradition may suggest a rhetoric that is unduly prescriptive to some

(1986). Intertextuality and the discourse community. Rhetoric Review: Vol. 5, No. 1, pp. 34-47.

Research Article| August 01 1986 Alexander Richardson's Puritan Theory of Discourse John C. Adams John C. Adams Dept. of Speech Communication & Theatre Arts, Texas A&M University, College Station, Texas 77843-4234 USA Search for other works by this author on: This Site PubMed Google Scholar Rhetorica (1986) 4 (3): 255–274. https://doi.org/10.1525/rh.1986.4.3.255 Views Icon Views Article contents Figures & tables Video Audio Supplementary Data Peer Review Share Icon Share Facebook Twitter LinkedIn MailTo Tools Icon Tools Get Permissions Cite Icon Cite Search Site Citation John C. Adams; Alexander Richardson's Puritan Theory of Discourse. Rhetorica 1 August 1986; 4 (3): 255–274. doi: https://doi.org/10.1525/rh.1986.4.3.255 Download citation file: Ris (Zotero) Reference Manager EasyBib Bookends Mendeley Papers EndNote RefWorks BibTex toolbar search Search Dropdown Menu toolbar search search input Search input auto suggest filter your search All ContentRhetorica Search This content is only available via PDF. Copyright 1986, The International Society for The History of Rhetoric1986 Article PDF first page preview Close Modal You do not currently have access to this content.

The current job market favors young technical writers who are skilled in the way of the computer both as a subject of writing and as a production tool. In the technical writing classroom students can be exposed to this important technology through assignments that include computerized instruction, word processing, text analysis, artificial intelligence, and communications.

Presented here is a brief report of a study along with an extensive criticism of this and other studies that use contrived tasks for investigating children's humor and writing. The original study had hoped to anwer questions related to how child-produced humor might vary with the sex and age of the intended audience, how writing would figure in child-produced humor, and any relationships that might exist between production of and talk about humor. Two middle-class fourth-grade classrooms were told a contrived story and asked to produce something funny for some sick children. Children in one class produced something for two sick children, both male, one in first and one in eighth grade. The other class produced something for two sick children, both female, one in first and one in eighth grade. Productions (N = 136) were collected and analyzed. Of the fourth graders, 9 were then interviewed about their conceptions of humor and of their productions. Children's productions did vary according to the age and sex of the intended audience. There were no particular relationships between the humor of variability of the productions and the talk about humor. The major criticism in this and similar studies is that the data are flawed. Despite efforts in the opposite direction, the contrived task produced a confused pragmatic context. Once the pragmatics were distorted, the data no longer represented the phenomena of interest—humor and writing. Without extensive observations and interviews, there is little evidence that these findings represent what the chosen variables make them appear to represent. An argument is thus made for increased sensitivity to what phenomena research data actually represent.

This study explored the collaborative writing processes of a group of computer software company executives. In particular, the study focused on the year-long process that led to the writing of a vital company document. Research methods used included participant/observations, open-ended interviews, and Discourse-Based Interviews. A detailed analysis of the executive collaborative process posits a model that describes the reciprocal relationship between writing and the organizational context. The study shows the following: (1) how the organizational context influences (a) writers' conceptions of their rhetorical situations, and (b) their collaborative writing behavior; and (2) how the rhetorical activities influence the structure of the organization.