In this article, we describe writing center clients’ “idea” of the writing center based on interviews with 26 writing center users and qualitative coding of interview transcripts. Participants’ constructs of the writing center provide a lens to better understand how they perceive writing as an activity, the “writing culture” of the institution, the role of the writing center in their writing processes, and, ultimately, if they see writing centers in the way we would expect them to. The tensions we derived from our data are (1) between who and what tutors are and offer: discipline-specific expertise (including the disciplines of writing) versus generalist expertise, and (2) between how tutoring should occur: tutors as collaborative partners in students’ writing processes versus tutors as “another set of eyes” to give relatively quick feedback. Additionally, we offer our findings in a 2 x 2 matrix, a common visualization tool to productively illuminate the nuances, tensions, perspectives, and points of view in ways that can further writing center theory and practice. Our findings suggest that writing centers might respond to these tensions by expanding their “ideas” about who they are and what they do within their institutions.

Writing center scholars have adopted Pratt’s (1991) “contact zone” metaphor to describe the diversity of consultants and students in writing centers, but this literature has largely overlooked the perspectives of multilingual students. Through surveys, interviews, and session data, we found that while multilingual students described rich linguistic identities, they also experienced tension and instability as language users. Students often framed their considerable language assets as deficiencies in academic writing contexts. They faced additional tension between instructor expectations and their own understanding of assignment goals. Students frequently sought native-like language competency from consultants and expected them to serve as informants about academic writing conventions—goals that often conflicted with writing center values and practices. This research suggests writing centers need to move from “clashing” to “collaboration” to understand and support multilingual students’ writing processes and goals within the context of U.S. higher education.

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While resilience often defines writing center survival strategies, resistance offers a familiar stance in relation to dominant classroom and institutional practices. However, both resilience and resistance are indexed to a perceived “normal,” and violations of normativity have consequences not always imagined in individual tutoring sessions or theoretical discussions.

Whether we are building on a knowledge network of who and what has come before or are showing the gaps and spaces that our work fills, citing sources is at the core of intellectual work. For The Writing Center Journal ( WCJ ), a previous study found that 81% of works cited appeared only once, and the remaining set of references refer largely to insider sources, limiting the field's uptake in research and scholarship outside of writing center studies. This follow-up survey and interview study investigates more closely the social scene of citation and finds that in a field as relatively young as writing center studies, WCJ authors' allegiances to any particular body of knowledge do not necessarily overlap, thus precluding true disciplinary formation. Still, writing centers might represent anti-disciplinary spaces in their practices, their research, and their core beliefs, offering potential collaborations with other on-campus partners outside of disciplinary structures. Knowledge making in writing centers, then, potentially offers a new model of academic and

This article traces authorship and citation patterns in The Writing Center Journal ( WCJ) from 1980 to 2009, a data set that consists of 241 WCJ articles containing 4,095 total citations. What these data demonstrate is that WCJ has been dominated by single-authored articles that are citing sources that largely appear just once -except for Stephen North's "The Idea of a Writing Center," which appears in nearly every third article's list of works cited -and that the most frequent source for citations is WCJ itself. This inward gaze is an indication of a tight-knit genealogy, an unpromising present that does not quite seem healthy for the biodiversity of future generations, as well as a missed opportunity to oifer writing centers as sites of intellectual engagement to composition studies as whole.

Originally published in a 1984 issue of College English, Stephen North’s article “The Idea of a Writing Center” has over the years been much cited in writing center scholarship. Even so, this scholarship as a whole did not proceed to gain much presence in CE and other broadly-oriented composition journals. Reconsidering North’s piece, the authors argue for greater attention now to writing centers as sites for potentially valuable scholarly inquiry.

Who doesn't love a good story?A tale of triumph or woe, of frustration or longawaited success.Such classic narratives are familiar to us all, and versions of them occur in the writing center with relative frequency.These stories we tell -whether of current successes or challenges, passed from veteran tutors to newbies, from directors to faculty and back again -teach us about our work, helping us to reflect on it and improve it.These stories are filled with compelling characters and recurring plots: the frustrated first-year student; the instructor's cryptic comments; the first scientific paper written for a major professor; the challenging task of figuring out the genre of the dissertation.These stock scenarios are familiar to us because they have all taken place in the relatively patterned institutions that host our writing centers, and these persistent patterns represent a script of sorts, one we can easily follow, whether we're the actors themselves or the audience listening to someone else's writing center stories.Patterns, of course, do get disrupted.In many ways, writing centers are in the business of disrupting patterns, working with writers to develop new approaches to writing tasks and changed relationships to their academic work.Those of us who work in writing centers must also be prepared to have our patterns disrupted, to hear how writers are really engaging with their texts: the English Language Learner who is not asking for proofreading assistance but who instead wants to know whether the evidence she presents in her argument is convincing; the chemistry student who comes in with a laboratory report, a genre often associated with arcane language and fill-in-the-blank templates, and turns the conversation quickly to her excitement over the research she is doing and the ways she might convey the essence of that research to a general reader; the returning student enrolled in an

This "From the Editors" segment, positioned in the text as a foreword, is in many ways a coda, concluding six years of our work together, twelve issues of this publication culled from 191 submissions from the field's many talented, dedicated teachers and scholars.In our initial "From the Editors" contribution (23.1), we quite literally looked forward -to a new look for the journal, to the authors and articles awaiting us, and to all we would learn about the field of writing centers, working on the inside of its knowledge-making process.True to our writing center roots and historical interests, however, we quickly looked back.Way back.By our second issue (23.2), we offered highlights from 100 years of writing center history, sampling from the work of Fred Newton Scott, E. L. Holcomb, Mickey Harris

The use of visual representation to learn science can be traced to Louis Agassiz, Harvard Professor of Zoology, in the mid-19th century. In Agassiz's approach, students were to study nature through carefully observing, drawing and then thinking about what the observations might add up to. However, implementation of Agassiz's student-centered approach has struggled with the conflict between science as a form of developing “mental discipline” in which mastery of scientific facts is the goal and science learning as a socially situated activity with an emphasis on the process of learning, not merely its products. Present-day attempts to have students draw to learn science often succumb to these same conflicts, limiting their full realization.

“Branding” a university in an effort to attract student applicants and alumni dollars is increasingly commonplace. The history of the Dartmouth Writing Clinic attests to the ways student writers represent an institution’s brand and provides a troubling picture of a world in which under-prepared students are branded out of existence.

The history of writing to learn college science is tied to the development of laboratory methods. Such student-centered learning was widely hailed in the 1890s as student enrollments increased dramatically and a backlash grew against lecture and recitation methods. However, as the author shows using archival examples from Dartmouth College, Amherst College, and the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, science educators have too often relied on reductive measures of students' grasp of content rather than the kind of argument about scientific findings that is the stuff of real scientific writing and of real science. Although some contemporary science educators continue to tout the value of writing to learn science, the laboratory report or research article itself is a genre that dominates student activities but still largely suffers from the ills of its predecessors. Ultimately, the author calls for a renewed focus on laboratory writing, for both science education and writing studies, to fulfill the promise of previous reform efforts.

The history of the writing-center movement at two-year colleges appears to be a fairly brief one. Evidence suggests that it may be time to reconsider that notion.

Tracing the literature on writing conferences during four tension points in higher-education enrollments--the 1890s, the 1930s, the 1950s, and the 1970s--the author suggests that conferences have been championed primarily at those moments when students were both more numerous and more diverse, an urge countered, however, by faculty working conditions. Looking at the present, then, he argues that the need for conferencing and the pressures that preclude extensive one-to-one work seem an amalgam of these earlier eras and continue to threaten the teaching-learning ideal that conferences represent.

Recently, we've been thumbing through back issues of WCJ in preparation for another project.

On a blusteiy morning, the two of us sat together in Neal's office on the MIT campus-back issues, manuscripts, announcements, subscriber lists, and budget sheets strewn about-editing our first issue.Up until now, our meetings have consisted of frequent phone calls and even more frequent email messages (most of which with attachments).Thus, we feel grateful to be able to do this work face -to -face, and we feel grateful to the WCJ editors, all 10 of them (3 pairs, a trio, and our one beloved lone wolf, Dave Healy), who have shaped the Journal over the past 2,2, years.We are especially thankful, of course, to Joan Mullin and Al DeCiccio, not only for their inspired vision of the directions writing centers might be taking-two of our favorite issues in this regard being the "Where are We Going?Where Have We Been?" issue ( 2,0.2, , Spring/Summer 2000) and the international issue (22.2,Spring/Summer 2002)-but also for their advice and assistance during this transition period.If you've been receiving WQ J for awhile, one of the first things you'll see about our inaugural issue is a new look.In its 22 -year history, WCJ has undergone three different design changes.We wanted to introduce a fourth, updating the look of the journal to reflect its seriousness as an academic publication but also to increase its accessibility and attractiveness.

Like many in our field, I rose up “through the ranks” to my present position as a director of the Writing Center at a small, private college of pharmacy and health sciences. My career path started while I was pursuing an M.A. in English, where I tutored in the university’s Writing Center. Then, when I was back in school to complete a doctorate in education, I once again was given the opportunity to tutor in the university’s Writing Center, and, eventually, to study that Center as the subject of my dissertation. I graduated in the spring of 1996, and by the fall of that year I was hired by my current college to start its Writing Center. Four years later, I am a faculty member in the School of Arts and Sciences and hold administrative responsibility for the entire writing program, as well as for a new initiative on first-year student experience. What a smooth path that narrative above seems to indicate, a path of increasing professional opportunities, from “novice” to “expert,” from tutor to director, from student to faculty member, a “transformation” of sorts that is easily the script that we would write for many in our field. But here is another way of telling that story: My first writing center job came during my second semester of pursuing an M.A. in English/Creative Writing and a high school teaching credential. I would have preferred to be a TA and teach composition in the classroom, but most of my fellow graduate students were experienced teachers and gained the coveted TA positions. Instead, I tutored in the university’s Writing Center for $7 per hour, a rate that did not change in the three years that I worked there. I worked primarily with basic writing students, who came to the Writing Center as a course requirement and who were made to sift through a grammar/usage workbook, completing exercises on modals and subject/verb agreement and nouns and antecedents (which still happens, though now these exercises are computer Sherwood, Steve. “How to Survive the Hard Times.” The Writing Lab Newsletter 17.10 (1993): 4-8.