Curriculum and Instruction 604

WRITING
PORTFOLIO

MOLLY TRANEL
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Revisions:
Paper 2: As seen in the second to last paragraph, I addressed how the presence of power resulted
in Gemini using technologies, rhetorical situation, and dialogic process to analyze his position
and structure his writing accordingly.

Main Theme:
The intended audience for a writing piece determines the difficulty of the writing process,
especially if they hold power. This idea is embedded in all four papers. In my personal narrative,
writing in my journal to make sense of my situation was easy because I was the main audience.
In my observation of Gemini’s writing process, he structured his email around the expectations
of the reader, his professor. In my synthesis, the reader served as one of the three main barriers
for why writing is hard, which can also be seen in my auto-ethnography as the main reason
writing is either easy or difficult.

I learned:
This semester, I appreciated learning about the transformative power of writing. Personally, I
have always felt the positive impact of writing in my journal, as my personal narrative suggests,
but it wasn’t until writing the auto-ethnography and reading Yagelski’s work that I realized
writing is a beneficial activity regardless of the text produced. Analyzing my past and current
writing tendencies through this lens explains my interest and love for personal writing.

My enjoyment for writing for self is not always translated to other areas of writing. Specifically,
I experience difficulties when writing for institutions. However, I never understood the reasoning
behind the struggle until constructing my synthesis paper. I discovered that there is more to
writing than using the alphabetic principle to record ideas on a page. Instead, I learned that the
barriers, a combination of our histories, life experiences, audience, and (dis)abilities, that
surround a person’s everyday life also influence whether writing is easy or hard.

Lastly, throughout the semester, I conversed with my boyfriend, sister, and roommates about my
writing tasks as a way to talk through my writing process, which I found incredibly helpful. Once
my writing piece was finished, I would have them or the writing center analyze it, as a way to
gain feedback to ensure it aligned with the assignment requirements and the standards of
academia. This desire to discuss my ideas before writing and receive feedback once finished,
clearly aligns with Nystrand’s idea of dialogism and Fisher’s concept of “Reading and Feeding.”
This understanding was brought to my attention through Gemini’s observation of my writing
process, and further understood through analyzing my own writing tendencies.

My portfolio can teach:

Hopefully, what I learned from writing my portfolio can also be understood from reading it.
Across the papers, the reader can notice the external influences present in a person’s writing
process. This shows how much power teachers, audiences, and institutions have. Therefore,
walking through the analysis of my writing process, as well as Gemini’s, in light of various
theorist, would help others analyze their own writing process.
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I anticipate that the portfolio would encourage readers to name their own writing barriers, as well
as their biases, which influence how difficult/easy writing is for themselves and others. This
awareness could help teachers eliminate various barriers they place on students, while also
bringing students’ attention to the biases that surround them.

Additionally, I think the everyday writer and teacher would get a glimpse of the transformative
power associated with the simple act of writing. Which, as a result, might influence how teachers
use writing in their classroom to help students understand new content or their identity, as well
as how often an everyday writer engages in the activity.

Questions that remain:

1. When reflecting on my observation of Gemini’s writing process, I am continuously
fascinated by the influence of the word processing system on his writing. I am curious to
discover more about the consequences associated with using the system. Is it doing writers a
service by helping them align their writing to SAE, or is it hindering their creativity and
uniqueness? I would be interested in learning about writers’ view toward the system.
Additionally, since it is so embedded in writers’ lives, I often wonder if they realize the
control it has?

2. As a second grade teacher, I still need to discover ways to incorporate my newly gained
knowledge into the classroom. How do I incorporate what I have learned, while also teaching
the expectations, conventions, standards? I know withholding the SAE structure would be
detrimental to students’ development, especially considering many teachers will not have the
same understandings as they progress through the education system. Thus, I would benefit
from learning ways to practically apply these concepts to an elementary-level classroom.

3. Lastly, when sifting through my ideas for my synthesis paper, I was playing with the idea
that the difficulty of writing could be analyzed loosely through Maslow’s “Hierarchy of
Needs.” First, a writer has to possess the physical and cognitive abilities needed to write.
Second, a writer must invoke the audience and control the language. Once both of these
“needs” are met, writers reach a place of power. In this tier, writers must decide how they are
going to use their position. Since the triangle is fluid, a writer could return to any tier
depending on life circumstances and social influence. I realize this is a stretch of the concept,
but an idea I was curious about.
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Auto-ethnographic Term Project

The obstacles that surround authors in everyday life are the same obstacles that surround

their writing. The authors’ location in time and space, and where they fall in society’s social

structure permeates an already difficult writing process. The three main writing barriers include:

cognition and the body, power and institutions, and the audience. Being affected by one, or a

combination, of these barriers can make writing difficult. When analyzing my writing

tendencies: for self, relationships, and institutions, in light of these barriers, the difficulty of

writing is affected by power and the audience.

Writing for Self

Historically, journaling began after my father passed away. Although I anticipated the

day for seven years, it was still difficult adjusting to my new reality. So, I turned to pen, paper,

and a quiet space, hidden away from the world, to understand my current position. Now, eleven

years later, journal writing with a focus on personal and spiritual growth is a practice that I foster

daily.

My day typically begins or ends with writing in my journal, a red leather book that holds

my deepest desires and biggest fears. And to be honest, I would not function without it. The

topics vary from day to day but follow a predictable pattern-- transcendent wonderings and

identity. Since the topics are of personal interest and self-selected, with no assignment

requirements or objectives, journaling is a life-giving habit.

Writing in my journal has always been an easy, desirable task because I hold the power--

I determine the topic and serve as the audience. I do not have to fret about conventions or what

people consider “good writing,” and there is no reason to edit or adapt my discourse to meet an

addressed audience because there is no other audience present (Ede and Lunsford 89). Its
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liberating having no expectations, to just write what is on my mind without imagining how the

audience is going to receive it (Wardle and Adler-Kassner 16). Instead, when writing for myself,

I can simply write to understand, to express, and to acknowledge; to be heard without having to

speak. It’s a safe space where no constraints, standards, or expectations are present, just me and a

blank page.

My journaling experience, when analyzed through the lens of Yagelski’s work, is rooted

in the transformative power of writing (7). In this space, writing is an ontological act. Browsing

through my entries, I notice that I often use writing to identify my place in the world, and where

I fit in relation to others (8). When journal writing, I often reflect on new concepts presented and

discussed in graduate school, goals for my relationship, core values I hold near, and lingering

questions. My reflections are used to “engage in a moment of intensive meaning-making related

to the larger process” (13). A meaning-making activity that involves where I am in this world,

while positioning myself to reach the next.

The autonomy of journal writing as a method to understand my place in the world,

combined with myself as the audience, is a liberating and essential practice, making it easy and

important.

Writing for Relationships

I enjoy fostering my close relationships through writing. It is common for me to write

notes, cards, or lengthy text messages to loved ones reminding them of their beauty. It’s how I

build community and partake in others’ life experiences. In August, I moved to Madison to

attend graduate school and work. Ever since, writing has been a mandatory practice to maintain

my relationship with my family, especially considering my mom, stepdad, three siblings, and

nieces and nephews live within a five-mile radius and see each other weekly. For this reason, I
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frequently contribute to or respond to our family’s Snapchat group as a way to preserve my

position within our family. My family’s use of Snapchat as a mode of communication aligns with

Ball and Charlton’s concept of writing as multimodal. In this case, the “mode isn’t just words but

sounds texture, movement, and all other communicative acts that contribute to the making of

meaning” (42). The multimodal aspect of Snapchat allows me to share the visual elements of my

life: my living arrangements, classroom layout, and my favorite locations in Madison, while

explaining my relationship to the elements with written or spoken words. It allows me to feel

connected to my family without having to live next door.

Writing is used to maintain my relationship with my family, as well as my friends.

Throughout the semester, I attended numerous weddings of close friends. In each case, these

events involved writing a thoughtful, sincere card to the bride and groom expressing my

appreciation for our friendship and happiness for their love. Additionally, I wrote numerous text

messages to my closest friends to ask about recent life events, plan gatherings, and check-in.

Although there is was an audience involved that received my writing, there were fewer

expectations and standards that surrounded it because my friends rarely situate themselves in a

position of power or a place of judgement. Since most of my friends are of similar social and

racial status: they look like me, write like me, and speak like me, there is no code-meshing

(Young) necessary for my message to be understood. If errors are present, I often find that

audiences within my network are willing to read beyond them, which takes the pressure off of

aligning perfectly with Standard Academic English (SAE) and, instead, emphasizes the meaning

of the message being sent.

When writing to conserve relationships, the topics typically include gratitude, praise, or

notification. They serve as a way to compliment people and maintain or advance relationships.
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Since I enjoy sharing kind words, possess the necessary physical and cognitive abilities (Emig),

and have trusting friendships that care more about the message than the grammar, writing to

maintain relationships is pleasurable. And, not only is this type of writing pleasurable, it is

necessary. It is well-known that positive, life-giving relationships are critical to one’s happiness

and success, and I foster these relationships through the use of writing, in all of its modes. Thus,

writing in this capacity is meant to strengthen and support my close relationships, which as a

result fulfills my need for love and belonging.

Writing for Institutions

Unfortunately, writing is not always liberating and audience-free, especially as a graduate

student and working teacher. I often find that writing for an audience outside of my intimate

network, such as for work or school, involves a significant time commitment and a strenuous

thought process because it requires audience-empathy (placing myself in their position), using

that knowledge to edit and revise, all while playing by the “rules of the system” (Keynard 211),

which as a United States born citizen, who grew up speaking and writing SAE, is still difficult.

I came to recognize the pressure associated with writing for an audience connected to

power when reading Gemini’s observation of my writing process. He noted, “Molly would

repeat that she was writing to a mother about her child…and it helped to keep her audience in

mind…to make sure that it was appropriate.” In this case, the parent held the power because she

had the authority to discuss my response with administration, who in return controls the salary I

earn, which I depend on to live. This requires writing to be intentional, precise, and controlled.

This idea of critically analyzing the structure and language used when writing for

institutions is successfully done with the help of dialogue, either independently or

collaboratively. Since many of the writing topics in academic and professional writing are given,
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instead of chosen, I often find myself engaging in conversation with close colleagues or family

members to receive advice on how to respond. Typically, my background knowledge or

experience related to the prompt is subjacent to my audience. So, I use dialogism as a way to

ensure that my thoughts are logical and coherent (Nystrand).

For this reason, it is common for me to converse with my boyfriend, sister, or roommates

about an upcoming writing task. This idea of thinking and talking about writing, that does not

involve putting words on paper, helps me process through writing’s cognitive aspect (Bazerman

and Tinburg 75). Usually, I share the assignment’s criteria, the “rough draft” as it is structured in

my head, and supporting details that I deem important. We then talk through the points,

negotiating what is important, true, and relevant. Once I have a strong sense of my structure and

outline, I begin to write and edit, periodically checking-in with my “advisors” to gain further

insight and constructive feedback. Basically, I consult others to ensure I invoke (Ede and

Lunsford) the audience and control the dominant code to show that I belong and to secure my

position at work and school.

As seen, writing for institutions is hard, requiring diligent effort and a tactical approach.

So, why do it? In my family, there is a “belief that learning to write well can help lead to success

later in life” (Schaffner 11). Meaning, upward mobility is achieved by attending college, earning

a degree(s), and securing a well-paid job. So, although writing in this capacity is strenuous,

laborious, and demanding, I must anticipate the needs and biases of a powerful audience because

my future depends on it, making it essential to my life goals.

There are a multitude of barriers that contribute to writing’s layered complexity, and for

me the main barriers involve audience and power. When the audience controls the power and

topic-selection, writing is hard. However, when writing for self and relationships, writing is
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easy-- I am in control and there are no expectations or criteria. Regardless of the audience and

power, writing matters. It matters because it allows me the space to become my truest self,

maintain and strengthen my closest relationships, and accomplish my goals. Through writing, I

give meaning to all aspects of my life.

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Synthesis

The obstacles that surround authors in everyday life are the same obstacles that surround

their writing. The authors’ location in time and space, and where they fall in society’s social

structure permeates an already difficult writing process. The three main writing barriers include:

cognition and the body, power and institutions, and the audience. Being affected by one, or a

combination, of these barriers makes writing laborious.

Barrier One: Cognition and the Body

The first barrier many people encounter when writing involves the physical body. If a

body lacks fully functioning abilities, writing becomes physically and cognitively challenging.

Since writing is multimodal (Ball and Charlton), and involves “the hand, eye, and brain” (Emig

98), the body must contain many functioning parts to grasp and use the alphabetic principle.

Furthermore, some of the materials needed for literacy do not fit an individual’s body or

mind (Miller). Although technology has made writing more accessible, people’s bodies still must

be able to control the given tools, whether it is an iPad, computer, or pencil and paper. Thus, not

only does a successful writer’s brain need to possess complex mental processes, s/he must also

draw “upon the physical…aspects of the composing process” (Bazerman 75).

If a person is able-bodied with cognition, one would then argue that s/he is capable of

writing. However, the mere color of a person’s skin may present another barrier. As Huber and

Cueva lay out, racial microaggressions that occur every day have a lasting impact on Chicanas’

“body, mind, and spirit,” presenting them with another obstacle that they must overcome, for no

other reason than their appearance. Herrington displays Francois reality, “I realized that my skin

color was starting to be a factor in my new society” (280). Thus, a person’s skin color, as well as

their physical and cognitive (dis)abilities, make writing hard.

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Barrier Two: Power and Institutions

Since the United States operates under a free market system, there is a “belief that

learning to write well can help lead to success later in life” (Schaffner 11, seen in Byrd 2 as

literacy myth). From this view, being a good citizen and “moving up” (Vieira 119) involves

contributing to the country’s economic development in a valuable way, typically through the use

of literacy (Brandt 166). Thus, making literacy an economic resource to be mined from people

and used to support the interest of institutions. Therefore, “to be successful” in writing, and

ultimately life, one must play by the established “rules of the system” (Keynard 211).

These rules require assimilating to the dominate code of the Standard Academic English

(SAE) established by schools and other institutions (Bartholomae). It is necessary for the basic

writer to adapt to the “standard” code because “a person who does not control the dominant code

of literacy in a society that generates more writing than any society in history is likely to be

pitched against more obstacles” (Shaugnessy 13). Meaning, if a writer’s home language or

dialect does not imitate SAE, they will encounter continuous barriers if they reject the standards,

as Lozada mentioned in her poetry slam: “Like Totally Whatever.”

Pritchard synthesizes this idea of hegemony by stating, “Given the prevalence of

normativity in the United States and within its institutions, including schools, entering the school

also means entering into literacy normativity and environments of normative regulation,

policing, and surveillance” (59). This normativity maintains literacy’s White property (Marotta,

Vieira et al) status because to deviate from the standard or normative form results in errors. As

Cintrón shares, “the good intentions of schooling…were bent until they conformed to massive

social and historical forces” (103). Therefore, the same schools that strive to empower students

from marginalization actually perpetuate it by promoting upward mobility through SAE.

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Barrier Three: Reader

Since the institutions create the standards by which writing is assessed, they influence

what the readers accept as “good” writing, making writing controlled. Standards create anxiety

for all writers but are increasingly strenuous for non-native English speakers, especially if the

reader is not willing to negotiate the meaning of the text with the author (Young). Thus, the

construction of “standards” impacts the way readers evaluate a person’s writing. As a result, “the

native English-speaking community wields a lot of power in setting the terms in which texts are

read and judged” (Cannaagrajah 43) because of the Nation’s history. And, some groups of

people, like Native Americans, Japanese Americans, and custodians, choose to resist this

assimilation to the English language norms because of the distrust associated with it (Jackson,

Shimabukuro, Marotta). Therefore, the histories of the Americas invoke upon many readers an

unconscious bias for “good” writing that does not always coincide with the experiences of the

writer, thus creating an extra barrier to choose between assimilation and personal identity.

Additionally, writers must consider the audience’s biases when writing, especially if

readers are not willing to read beyond the mistakes. Therefore, “Writers who wish to be read

must often adapt their discourse to meet the needs and expectations of an addressed audience”

(Ede and Lunsford 89). To be effective, “all writers must learn to study expectations for writing

within specific contexts” by imagining their audience, addressing their needs, and considering

the purpose of their writing (Wardle and Adler-Kassner 16).

The number of barriers each individual endures is unique, dependent upon each person’s

body and histories. Thus, there is no singular reason why writing is hard, but a multitude of

barriers that contributes to its layered complexity. It is hard because it requires an individual to
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overcome these barriers, to understand his or her own context relative to society, and then

communicate a clear and concise idea to an audience that endures its own barriers.
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Think-Aloud Protocol

He sat there, his back straight and arms at a 90-degree angle, staring intently at his

computer propped up on a few books, creating an environment to promote success. His writing

task: email his professor for clarification about serving as his academic advisor because he heard

from his peers that she is retiring. Although he wanted the message to sound urgent, he did not

want to appear over-eager. Loosely following the composing process laid out by Flower and

Hayes mentioned in Bartholomae’s Inventing the University, Gemini’s writing process unfolded

in “three distinct activities: ‘planning or goal-setting,’ ‘translating,’ and ‘reviewing’” (629).

After he clearly established the email’s goal, he began to write. He wrote, then deleted,

wrote some more, and again deleted. He revised with the audience in mind, ensuring that he was

clearly articulating his question without confusion. His intention was to get his point across

without needing further clarification. He was conserving his energy as a writer, while also

considering and predicting the amount of energy his professor would need to exert to receive the

message. As Schaughnessy argues, “It has to do with the writer’s relationship to his audience,

with what might be called the economics of energy in the writing situation” (11). In this case,

Gemini wants to be seen as an established writer by consuming the littlest amount of energy

from his professor to understand his question.

Additionally, through his revision process, Gemini displays Wardle and Kassner’s idea of

writing as an activity and subject of study. In this case, Gemini participated in both. He wrote as

an activity to accomplish his goal, but he also studied his writing to ensure it met certain criteria.

Thus, his process aligned with the idea that “all writers must learn to study expectations for

writing with specific contexts and participate in those to some degree” (16). As Gemini stated, he

wanted his email to “sound academic, and not informal.” He structured and restructured his
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writing in a way that met the perceived context. He followed specific expectations, placed on

himself and by the culture of academia, which required him to edit certain elements of his

message to align with the setting.

To accomplish his goal, he wrote, “I am wondering if you’re still taking advisees?” As he

typed, the word advisees was underlined red- an indication of an error. Although advisees is a

word in his vocabulary, it was not accepted by the word processor. Wanting to align with

‘correct’ word choice, he chose to rephrase his sentence to read, “I am wondering if you’re still

taking on students as an advisor?” A revision that displays his desire to avoid error when writing.

Yancey explains that digital technology has increased the audiences in which people write for,

and I would argue that this audience goes beyond the online platforms that she mentions to

include the pre-existing processing system (5). The mere existence of the processing system has

resulted in writing that adheres to a specific audience with generalized expectations of grammar,

syntax, and word choice.

Furthermore, Gemini paid attention to the “sound” of his writing by softly speaking the

words aloud as he typed. His desire to listen to his writing coincides with Ball and Charlton’s

concept of writing as multimodal. In this case, Gemini’s writing is both linguistic, aural, and

visual (42). Gemini’s action shows that a finished written product integrates speaking and

listening, dialogism that can be done individually. Therefore, this action loosely fits with what

Fisher calls “Reading and Feeding,” however his process happened internally (21). Instead of

reading his work aloud to another person, he read it aloud to himself. Then “feeding” himself

using what he has learned through his years of education. Considering he is enrolled in a PhD

program, it is possible that he has been through the “reading and feeding” process enough to be

able to imitate the scenario on his own.

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Since Gemini’s audience was a professor at the university which he attends, the professor

inherently held the power. This resulted in him getting nervous about using the word “advisees,”

for fear of deviating from the Standard Academic English and appearing unqualified for

sponsorship (Brandt). Thus, when deciding how to structure the email, and whether or not to

conform to the word processing suggestion, he considered his rhetorical situation: a student

writing for clarification to a professor in academia. This resulted in the intentional

implementation of the self-dialogic process as a way to receive immediate feedback on his

syntax and structure. Showing, power is often subconsciously and consciously embedded into

writing decisions, decisions that involve the writer understanding his/her position in relation to

the perceived, and unintended, audience and proceeding accordingly, in order to have the

message viewed and acknowledged.

The composition process of Gemini’s writing clearly included the “three distinct phases.”

Thus, showing that the three phases are interdependent, each one contributing to the other. New

ideas inform new goals, which in turn create new criteria for reviewing. All done while

maintaining a structure that is appropriate for specific contexts and using the littlest amount of

energy needed to convey and receive the message. In effect, the writing process is circular,

always being reconstructed and evaluated based on internal and external factors, opposed to

linear.
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Writing Narrative

It happened on April 8, 2009, my birthday to be exact, when my mom sat me down to

explain that I had a card waiting for me. A card that had no address, no stamp, no seal, just my

name. It wasn’t dropped off at the house but had remained there since my dad’s passing. It was a

card that he had written prior to his death and entrusted to my mom. The card was written from

the perspective of heaven, a bird’s eye view of what he anticipated Earth would look like from

above. Written on the blank space of the card was a paragraph filled with pain, joy, and belief,

ending with words of encouragement and signing off with “Love ya from heaven, Dad.” The

same writing that is etched into the necklace that I wear around my neck to frequently remind me

of his transcendental presence. A reminder of why I write.

Death was both the beginning and the end of this story. It was a cold, dreary November

day when my principal walked into my classroom and softly told me to pack up my belongings.

She insisted on taking me home to be with my family. I anticipated this day for seven years; I

knew it was only a matter of time until the cancer would conquer. That day, my fear became my

reality as my family gathered around my father lying on the couch, singing popular church

hymns, and sharing stories while praying for a peaceful death.

Being the youngest of four children with a loving and supportive family, I was

encouraged to talk through and navigate my grief in multiple capacities. I spoke with a child

counselor, attended grief management classes with other students in my school who lost parents,

and confided in my older sister. Of all of these opportunities to work through my emotions, I still

felt lost, torn, and confused about the experience.

It was in the months following my father’s departure that my writing career began. Not a

career that was a product of a traditional learning structure but the result of a lived experience
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that contributed to my passion for writing and the written word. I turned to pen, paper, and a

quiet space, hidden away from the world. Reflecting back and reading through past journal

entries, I am amazed, but almost embarrassed by the unfiltered rawness in my emotions. I

acknowledge that without the safe space, my confusion, disbelief, and anger would still be living

dangerously inside my head. In one entry, I shared, “As I do with everything when I am confused

and need clarification, I write. So, here I find myself-- pencil to paper--nagain.” I turned to

writing to understand the world around me, make sense of the new relationship my mom was

forming with another man other than my father, and understand the faith that was given to me at

Baptism.

What was God’s plan in all of this, I frequently found myself exploring. If omniscient

and omnipotent, why allow suffering and death and why me and my family? I grappled with

these questions, entry by entry, day by day, year by year. And, unfortunately, after years of

writing, I still do not hold all the answers to my questions. But, slowly, over time, I have written

myself to a place of peace about the unknown. I have started to rise from the ashes I was laying

in.

The transformative and connective power of writing is transcendental. Not only did my

frequent journal writing help me sift through my emotions, it is the same action that keeps me

connected to my Father to this day. To my surprise, I received another card on my Confirmation

day, and another on my high school graduation. How many cards I have waiting, I’m not sure,

but I anticipate one for marriage and one for baby. I look forward to reading the knowledge and

love he shares through his familiar script, a sense of comfort from his sloppy but thoughtfully

written words.
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What started out as a suggestion from my mom during a difficult conversation became

my method to understanding my emotions. Eventually, it morphed into my way of

communicating between the space of heaven and earth. For many years following my dad’s

death, my journal entries began with “Dear Dad,” and continued by catching up and

summarizing recent life events. I explained, questioned, debriefed, and reflected. I shared doubts,

fears, and insecurities because I was certain he couldn’t tell anyone. As I explained in my

journal, “I write because it’s the only way to escape from the pain and to let everything out,

knowing no one will find out.” It was the security of telling my secrets with absolute certainty

that they would never be shared, and I wanted desperately to get my thoughts out of my head.

Ten years later, and I still write, though the subject isn’t the same. I write to understand,

to express, and to acknowledge; to be heard without having to speak. It’s addictive, the way the

words flow and the rhythm sounds. I often wonder what people would think if they read them,

the three journals I have created over time. I would encourage them to look beyond the words,

syntax, craft, and structure, to notice; like the Phoenix, I rise.