Research as a Living Process in and Beyond the First-year Writing Classroom

[Excerpts from a paper composed in “Issues in the Teaching of Writing” with Dr. Cathy Fleischer]

Research as a Living Process in and beyond the First-year Writing Classroom

 

My Experience

This term, I have experienced some real sticking points in the teaching of research in my WRTG 121, Researching the Public Experience, classroom. On the first day of class, I asked the students to write down five of their beliefs about research. Most students offered a mixed response – “Research is hard, but I always learn something,” “Research can be boring unless you care about the topic,” and “Research takes a lot of time, but I feel accomplished when I finish my paper” were common reactions to the prompt. Not one student had a completely positive or even entirely neutral response. Each list had one or more negative reactions to the idea of research. However, I was intrigued by the response from one student in particular who had nothing positive to say. She described research as “boring,” “a waste of time,” “tedious,” “a headache,” and “useless.”

A few weeks into the semester, I learned that this student is active in a feminist group. What was surprising though is that she participates as a journalist. She scouts out events and stories online, studies the facts, develops a perspective, and reports on the group’s blog and their social media outlets. After she explained her passion for this role during an individual conference, I excitedly blurted, “You are a researcher by choice!” She looked at me like I had lost my marbles. I much more calmly explained that I had been actively working to cultivate some pleasure in the process for her and others who had negative feelings about research, and was thrilled to know that she is already an active researcher. Although I am not certain that she left the meeting especially tickled about writing projects in our class, she did express more confidence in the charge.

Another reason why this idea of “the research paper” is of such concern to me is that when prompted to write about their semester goals for WRTG 121, an overwhelming majority, 22 of 25 students, answered to the effect that they wanted to “learn how to write a good research paper.” Their assumption seemed to be that I would be teaching them a magic writing formula that they would then be able to apply to their coursework throughout their undergraduate career. This assumption conflicts with my beliefs about research and writing in general, but I see how students who have only just left behind the five-paragraph essay might harbor this expectation. How could I possibly meet their “needs” while staying true to my ethos and the department’s course objectives?

I began to reflect on what research means to me, and realized that for much of my undergraduate experience, I viewed it as an assigned paper – one that needed to be formatted, have an arguable thesis and supporting evidence, and a respectable number of sources. Then I began to think about what a researcher does. My father’s face appeared in my head. This surprised me because he is not a “R”esearcher by any stretch of the imagination. He is a technical planner at BASF. However, I remembered how my mother has always teased him about his “stages,” even making a playful alliteration game to name his fixations on learning all about some thing. “If you are going to take the time to do something, you might as well do it all the way” is a line of his father’s that my father inherited. It was drilled into my head as a child. One way that he modeled this was in the attention he gave as a consumer. Before the internet was a part of our lives, he would exhaust all possible resources before making a purchase – calling local experts, taking everything from stereo equipment to vacuum cleaners to lawn mowers for a test drive, reading manuals and product reviews in magazines, and often even delving into the science of the thing. He would completely immerse himself in his question until he reached a place of satisfaction.

I think I can speak for most (hopefully all) composition teachers in wanting students to experience that same level of exhaustive investment in their respective coursework. This investment in the work does not evolve from memorization of citation format or understanding how to construct a heading. It does not emerge from the want of a high mark or the need to please an instructor. And full investment will not spring from learning “how to write a research paper.” When students engage in a lived process of inquiry, that is when the need-to-know becomes higher stakes – not for performance purposes, but for the sake of learning.

 

Contested Space

My exchange with my feminist journalist student highlights a genuine conflict in my classroom, and one within me as an instructor. Teaching to academic genres is not without its benefits – students must adapt to a situation, be flexible in arriving at a claim, and sustain inquiry into a single interest. It matters to introduce students to Standard American English as a code of power and professionalism. It is important to touch on formatting requirements. In the context of a first-year writing classroom, it makes good, practical sense to spend time working in the conventions of academic genres, as students will compose their ideas in for, at least, the next three years of undergraduate work.

However, given the shifting landscape of real-world writing, with particular consideration of the fact that our students are communicating in writing and for a large audience with more regularity than ever before, does sticking to “the research paper” still make sense, long term? Couldn’t writing instructors achieve the same outcomes in a more relevant genre? Many writing instructors encourage meaningful writing through topic selection. Imagine how much more meaningful the experience might be if the genre were self-selected as well. As of now, my students seem to be enjoying the process of keeping a “sustained inquiry log,” along with other research-related activities, but seem to lose momentum when it comes time to transfer their work into an academic genre.

Writing Program Administrators and instructors are obvious players in this space, as other decision-makers at the administrative level. However, I see equal pressure coming from disciplines outside of writing. Some form of a research paper appears in curricula across the academy. Although writing instructors seem to make efforts not to view their work as in service of other disciplines, we do work in service of our students. Our students will take classes in a variety of fields, and most will not sustain focus in writing. In this way, students’ college-career needs also become major players in the contested space – in spite of the conflict with the potential immediate, as well as long-term, benefits they might reap from learning to presenting research in more relevant ways.

Even with the potential for pushback, as a teacher of first-year writing, I find it imperative that we incorporate engaging ways of thinking about research into the classroom. In a cultural climate that relies on design and visualization in argumentation more and more heavily with each new device that is introduced, it makes sense to incorporate more visual elements into our research activity and presentation as well. An arts-based curriculum serves the purpose of engaging with research in interesting visual ways and builds on research-as-activity as the central focus of the classroom. In this environment, our students could develop a different relationship to the written piece – even if written in a more formal academic genre, it can become an account of the exciting work that was done.

 

Naming the Issue

Because this issue is multifaceted, naming becomes complex. For our purposes in this project, I think it is sufficient to call this an issue of how to cultivate optimal investment in research as a living process in and beyond the first-year writing classroom. In trying to distill genre issues with the “research paper” and in making connections between this and the negative responses to research that I collected on our first meeting, I find myself continuing to return to the juxtaposition of my students’ product-focused assumptions and the living, breathing activity of research. This could stem from my students’ past experiences of regurgitating text for the purpose of supporting assessment-pleasing argumentative essays in high school, or it could simply be a side effect of emerging from a system that is forced to value and teach heavily formatted and template-structured writing. Whatever the reason, my students are in dire need of a re-enchantment with the self-sponsored learning that is the essence of true research.

 

Bibliographic Essay

It was encouraging to discover that I am not alone in questioning the validity of “the research paper” as a set genre. In fact, its concept has been disputed since at least 1982 when Richard Larson critiqued use of the term “research paper” as a cross-disciplinary genre as one that is void of substantive identity. He describes teaching “the research paper” as a “form of writing in the department of English [as] not defensible” and suggests that calling it such is misleading to students. He writes in support of research as activity, and relies on James Kinneavy’s support of the assertion that the procedure-less and informal concept of “research paper” has no place in any field of discourse, rather that rhetorical forms of presentation and the activity and/or products of research are distinct entities.

Larson’s article helped me clarify why I am bothered by the term. The fact that the article was published in 1982 makes me wonder why the term is still kicked around, and as I gave this further consideration, I realized that I am hearing it more from my students than my colleagues. This leads me to think that the issue is somehow rooted in the ways that writing is assessed in secondary education, particularly through the standard 5-paragraph essay. The understanding that a “research paper” is some kind of formulaic construction of an argument and supporting facts fails the pursuit of inquiry. To teach research as a living process that supports self-sponsorship and cultivates the necessary habits of mind to engage in the activities of research, we must separate the distinct entities of activity and product.

On the other hand, Douglass Brent argues in support of teaching “the research paper” in writing programs. He admits the genre is “blurry and often badly defined,” (34) and spends the first six pages of “The research paper and why we should still care” clearing the air and attempting to establish boundaries around the oft-ambiguous term. He scaffolds his assertion that source-based writing should be the focus of a writing program with activity theory and the findings of writing studies and information literacy scholarship. He does a fine job of defending the inclusion of source-based writing in the first-year writing classroom. I would argue however, that source-based writing is not really in question by Larson and others in the field who eschew “the research paper.”

Brent’s argument for teaching the genre is thin, and despite the significant space dedicated to defining “the research paper,” he never offers a point-at-able definition or any firm concept of the genre that he is defending. Despite this, Brent does some solid work in support of source-based writing in really explicit ways. Brent invokes William Perry and Bruce Ballinger in ways that clarify aspects of my issue, presenting the research paper as a genre that grants exposure to “unresolved dilemmas” (40). This makes sense. The attention to research as strategy seems to fit well with the unresolved-ness that I have been grappling with in my own research and teaching. It is in the digging for information and wrestling with connections that new knowledge is made.

Robert Yagelski draws on the ideas of Barbara Couture in his discussion of writing as the “truth seeking practice … within which we see purpose … in participating together in writing the world” (8). Although he is not focused solely on writing research in his “A Thousand Writers Writing,” this sentiment is central to the discussion. If students understand that they are “writing the world” as active participants in the world, there is a shift in agency and authority. Students, as researchers, should no longer feel a need to merely look to the experts for information to report or quotes to support a thesis that is heavily influenced by the existing literature. They should be empowered to consider what has been written, collect their own information via observation and engagement with the subject of interest, and generate their own theories that support, further develop, or point to gaps in scholarship. They are no longer trapped by formulaic expression or the ideas of others, but are free to explore through their own framework and present research that is meaningful beyond a self-selected topic.

In addition to referencing Couture, Yagelski explores some interesting ideas about writing as a way of being, as something separate from the generated text. He suggests that an ontology of writing is necessary because through writing, writers enact a sense of being in the world around them, and that this is how writing becomes a transformative experience. In this way, writing can become a truth-seeking practice, rather than simply an activity critiqued for adherence to convention. Again, while this approach is not explicitly concerned with research as an activity, it is exactly how we should be framing the research quest for our students. We should sponsor the transformative ways of truth-seeking, rather than a formulaic slotting in of decontextualized sources to support a prematurely-authored thesis statement. Yagelski talks about writing as a “way of being and transforming the world” (8). The fruits of research activity should be transformative.

In “Traces of the Familiar” Wendy Sharer adds depth to the idea of researcher as selector. She suggests “that, rather than turning away from or hesitating to reveal how research is connected with lived, and often affective, experiences, researchers should seek out these experiences and make them known in a spirit of enthusiasm” (54). She refers, of course, not to first-year students, but to researchers in professional settings. However, I see no reason to withhold the idea of research as an extension of personal narrative from our undergraduate students. It is this very connection that sparks investment in inquiry, and we should invite students to embody this “spirit of enthusiasm.”

Sharer is interested in the roots of research, not only in the ancestral sense (as this article centers on pursuing family history as subject), but also in the writer’s presence in the work. She challenges notions that the personal anecdotes and motivations that lead scholars into their respective work is trivial or unscholarly, and seeks to embrace these inspirations as part of the process and product. Inspired by JoAnn Campbell, she casts the researcher as “never a disinterested, objective observer of fact, but always a selector of objects and interpreter of tales” (53). This is such an empowering sentiment for our students, and adds sizable momentum to Yagelski’s “writing the world.”

Sharer argues that the “location of the teller, the impetus of her investigation, and her vested interest in the tale” all become relevant to the life of the written research account (53). This invitation to become part of a living, breathing process of self-sponsored learning casts research as a thrilling activity – one separate from, but critical to, the generation of a written research account. Sharer’s call to “raise the scholarly standing of the affective domain in research” opens a door to our students – one that cultivates full investment in and engagement with the want for answers. Her invitation can be accepted with an eager anticipation and sense of wonder, which, according to my students’ beliefs about research, is not a typical affective response to a research prompt.

Susan Walsh, Barbara Bickel, and Carl Leggo push this affective domain in research even further as they incorporate arts and contemplative practice into research and pedagogy. Interestingly, they do not directly implicate the teaching of research at the first-year composition level, but the first-year writing classroom has a place in the discussion of collaborative culture and cultivating habits of mind to sustain research. Many researchers begin their relationship with writing about research at this level, for one. But even more importantly, the skills and habits of mind required to explore research from a perspective that utilizes “contemplative and artistic practices … to inform ways of being, knowing, and not knowing in the world” has possibilities for transfer to other coursework and well beyond college into work and personal life (1).

Although the written research samples presented by Walsh, Bickel, and Leggo and their collaborators are more creative than the conservative figures in the rhetoric and composition world might readily embrace, they draw on principles of art in ways that could be useful in the writing classroom. One such example is Suzi Gablik’s “connective aesthetic” which is described as “a paradigmatic shift … from consumer-based aesthetics, to that of an … aesthetic that is concerned with maintaining a deeply connected relationship to society” (5). This “porous and relational” connection moves “beyond the solid and individualistic,” as it requires a rhetorical style of listening and viewing but also “calls us to attend to both self and other with respect, compassion, and care” (5). The connective aesthetic, when applied to written research accounts, would soften the edges of a pedagogy steeped in Western Rhetoric and academic genre, I think.

Understanding the rhetorical situation as porous is to insert oneself into the situation – no longer is there a self vs. them mentality in the delivery of a research account. The student-author’s concern shifts from the (what is sometimes understood as a manipulative) set of audience appeals, to an honest attention to the research question followed by a sharing out of findings that implicate the self along with the reader. The goal is no longer to persuade the reader to subscribe to your theory and findings. A writing pedagogy informed by connective aesthetic could still support the teaching of traditional academic genre conventions. However, through this lens, the drafting of a written research account can now become an extension of the “ways of being, knowing, and not knowing in the world” and part of the living process of research. The student-author can become an empathic, inquiring being, immersed in both knowing and not knowing.

This scholarship also connects to the ideas of Alfonso Montuori who proposes “Creative Inquiry” as a solution to what he perceives to be two polarized views of education – traditional education is cast as “Reproductive” (source of knowledge as outside of the knower) and what he calls alternative programs are dubbed “Narcissistic” (source of knowledge as primarily inside of the knower). He asserts that a synthesis of the inner and outside knowledge is what both makes “the academic transformative and grounds the transformative in the academic” (5). He is interested in ways of incorporating feeling into a Western tradition that privileges logic and rationale and “either/or.” His Creative Inquiry approach seeks to complicate and do away with polarizing dichotomies and usher in sustained, evolving curiosities.

Montuori suggests that “Creative Inquiry involves engaging the unknown, the messy, the complicated, the complex, and attempting to understand and make sense of it” (3).Though he does not explicitly speak to the teaching of research, but rather, a more systemic perspective of education, Montuori’s philosophies about “creative inquiry” fold neatly into the more fluid approaches to research that I have been seeking. It almost seems to leave room for student-driven genre selection, but certainly makes way for cultivating independent connection-making, which can be the biggest challenge in facilitating 25 separate projects in group meetings, as is typical of the first-year composition classroom experience. The blending of what the reader intuitively or experientially already knows with a collection of literature and data seems to create the ideal conditions for a Creative Inquiry experience.

In the same spirit of Montouri’s Creative Inquiry, Four Arrows offers guidance for alternative dissertations in The Authentic Dissertation. The book relies heavily on Indigenous voices to showcase ways of making the research experience meaningful and vital. This book incites thought about practical ways to present research activity (and the end product, regardless of genre) as part of a living, breathing process. The samples reflect four key characteristics: “honor[ing] the centrality of the researcher’s voice, experience, creativity and authority, focus[ing] more on questions than methodologies, reveal[ing] virtues, and regard[ing] people’s version of reality” (7).

The centrality of authorship inspires ways of caring for the work that may not be as readily realized in conversations about conventions and the science of methodology. Four Arrows also draws on four Indigenous principles of knowing, research, and representation to influence his perspective on alternative research genres: “the sacredness of space and place; the purpose of research is to benefit the community; and the spiritual awareness that everything is connected; and that knowledge must incorporate the mysterious” (5). Although he writes for graduate level students, the concepts surrounding identity and the sense of place and belonging in the work seems to be perfectly appropriate to introduce in the first-year classroom. I am interested in the ways that students can utilize their felt sense, ancestral history, and community connections in their work in WRTG 121.

In the same vein, Valerie Malhotra Benz and Jeremy Shapiro synthesize critical theory, phenomenology, hermeneutics and Buddhism to shed light on epistemology and logic within ten cultures of inquiry, including ethnography, action research, feminist research, and critical social science. Touted as an “innovative introduction to research in the social sciences,” Mindful Inquiry in Social Research proposes “mindful inquiry” as a solution to the various crises of scholars engaging in research, and relies on self-awareness as a guide to personally meaningful and culturally relevant research. While it can be problematic to secularize mindful practice, there is much to gain from allowing meditative and contemplative activities to inform pedagogy, particularly in the teaching of writing. Benz and Shapiro focus on tapping into the self as well as the present moment to garner deeper insight in data collection and analysis and in theory development. Once again, the book does not attend to undergraduate research specifically, but once again, the activities that were written for graduate students could easily be modified to suit the needs of a first-year writing classroom.

These ideas of explicitly connecting lived and embodied experiences and felt sense to the activity of research emerges in every piece of scholarship that I have encountered on my quest to answer the question of how to cultivate optimal investment in research as a living process in and beyond the first-year writing classroom. The contemplative approach that has also been apparent serves to cultivate the very habits that the Council of Writing Program Administrators, National Council of Teachers of English, and the National Writing Project have set forth as part of the Framework for Success in Postsecondary Writing: curiosity, openness, engagement, creativity, persistence, responsibility, flexibility, and metacognition. An arts-based approach only scaffolds these habits further, and heightens possibilities for first-year writing students to find re-enchantment with the living process of self-sponsored learning that is the activity of research.

Teaching Strategies

Because I have been researching research in tandem with teaching research, my reading has directly impacted the goings-on in my classroom. So if I speak in terms of “we did this” or “we are working on that” it is because the things that I have been reading have been so mind-changing that I have modified much of what I had originally planned for the semester.

In dealing with my particular issue in my current WRTG121 classroom, I find myself relying upon reframing and renaming – we are working on “sustained inquiry projects” (not research papers), and we are “inhabiting stance” (rather than arguing). The works of Larson, Yagelski, and Montuori have inspired these language choices. I am not convinced that tossing out scholarly research genres entirely is the best move for students who, for better or worse, expect to emerge from this class understanding how to write about research in various disciplines. So for as much as I’d love to toss out the formatted “research paper” in favor of another, and for many more relevant, genre, I pick up on an anxiety in students about generating scholarly work for other classes that compels me to keep the more formal research presentation on my syllabus. However, I am still interested in other ways to teach research as an activity.

That said, I am having great success in presenting research as an activity of sustained inquiry. We began the semester with a scaled-down version of Derek Mueller’s “Worknets” project, which pushes the students to spend time contemplating the lived research process behind a published work of their choice – digging around for connections to popular culture and other scholarly influences, examining the bibliographic information, and noticing the semantic decisions of the author. That project continues to serve as great reference point for us this semester. I really appreciate the way it has set my students up to view scholarly sources as part of a conversation between real people, living in real(ish) time. Consequently, the students seem to appreciate their selected sources on their own topics as representative of the same wrestling and moments of inquiry, self doubt and discovery that they are experiencing. It seems to have improved their relationships with their sources and reading and writing in general, which is thrilling.

While working on this first project, the students spent time arriving at their initial research questions by way of contemplative practices such as mindful eating and some felt sense exploration. Sondra Perl’s Felt Sense inspired my initial strategies to guide students to meaningful writing about research – tapping into genuine interests via intuition, embodied response, and prior knowledge. This reading inspired activities that helped students to slow down and hold their finger to their own pulse, letting instinct help to guide their initial topic choices and their lines of inquiry. All of the groundwork in positioning the students to pay attention to things like intuition and intrigue seems to have been helpful in guiding the class to independently pursue genuine personal wonderings in their research – the “questions that keep them up at night.” In this “issues” project, I have continued to seek direction in inspiring hunger in the quest as we move through literature reviews and primary research, as this can sometimes feel like straining (and maybe that is okay, too). However, the meaningful questions and want for answers seems to carry the students through even the more tedious research tasks.

Incorporating the arts into the classroom is another strategy for engagement and investment. I was able to do this in most explicitly in ending this course with a multimodal crafting project, which has been informed by Jody Shipka’s approach to object oriented ontology and collection as composition. Her ideas about remediating collections of objects fits into the teaching of research in some interesting ways – particularly given the parallels between hacking and reconstructing objects as a structural narrative and research as the cobbling of deconstructed sources and collected data. Furthermore, the concept of collection as composition knits so tightly to Wendy Sharer’s empowering depiction of the researcher as “always a selector of objects and interpreter of tales” (53) that an “objectified stance” feels like a natural extension of the research activity.

Not only are my students thinking about fresh ways to craft their research project into an objectified stance (a crafted, 3D representation of their inhabited theory, post research activity) for the Celebration of Student Writing, but thinking about Shipka’s “evocative objects” activity has also guided us to having a good time recognizing themes in our data. Through attaching meaning to objects and viewing them as a collection (and metaphor for our collections of primary research), my students are generating interesting questions/conclusions, ranging from “what counts as an original thought?” to “what counts as meaning?” to the role of the observer and how our research, like art, serves as a mirror in so many ways. Our multimodal project has bookended the research experience with a new layer of wonder. We began 121 motivated by the spirit of vivacious curiosity; we end aiming to spark that same curiosity in our audience at the Celebration of Student Writing.

I am interested in incorporating more arts-based and embodied pedagogy and contemplative practice as classroom activities to reinforce the living process of research. In this way, “A/r/tography as Living Inquiry Through Art and Text” is another piece that has connected so many dots for me. Springgay, Irwin, and Wilson present art-based research as a methodology – as a mode of inquiry and a method of representation. The authors privilege “concepts [as] flexible, dynamic, and intersubjective locations through which close analysis renders new understandings and meanings” over more traditional methods/methodologies (898). Most interesting to me, though, is the idea of relational aesthetic inquiry – which opens the door to a process that is multimodal and sensory and plays well with Gablik’s connective aesthetic.

This “living inquiry” is not so concerned with attaching a “what does this look like?” piece as a sort of parenthetical representational addendum to a written text, but instead fosters “an active participation of doing and meaning making within research texts [as] a rupture that opens up new ways of conceiving of research as enactive space of living inquiry” (899). I am still thinking of ways to incorporate “rendering” (“theoretical spaces through which to explore artistic ways of knowing and being research” [899]) as an avenue for engagement in my research classroom.

Perl and Oren Ergas have inspired organic and sensory approaches to research activity in the classroom. Ergas addresses presuppositions that students come to us conditioned to concentrate and offers ways of addressing “tendencies of the mind to lure us away from the present moment” in negative ways (1). Both of these scholars seem to agree that our role as educators is not necessarily to teach students “how” to think, but to guide them in engaging with what is already being thought and embodied within and around them. This combination inspires structured, guided writing time with prompts that tap into the wandering mind and felt connections to the field of inquiry. These in class activities can easily be tied into research processes as topic-seeking support and modeling for question development.

Another strategy that holds promise for cultivating investment in research would be to adapt Sharer’s ideas to first-year writing curriculum offering the option of embarking on a genealogy/community-oriented research journey – if not as a main course project, then perhaps as an identity-establishing, auto-ethnographic precursor to topic selection or as a model of primary research methods. Since this could potentially dredge up pain for some of our student population, it seems best to extend this as an option for research, rather than designate it as a required project. However, it sounds like an easy buy-in for students who do not harbor negative connections to their place of origin.

There is ample existing scholarship surrounding ways to break the more formal, academic written research account. Unless I learn differently from my plans to interview instructors in other disciplines, I do not have an interest in abandoning the more traditional, academic-article style of research presentation. I think it makes sense to continue to support students’ comfort level with academic conventions while encouraging the spirit of research as an activity – one that is self-driven, wonder-filled, and sometimes satisfying, but other times ever-evolving. I am interested in striking a balance in the approach to research – one that privileges creative inquiry, while also teaching students how to maneuver in academic discourse.

Works Cited

Arrows, Four. The Authentic Dissertation. New York: Routeledge, 2008. Print.

Brent, Douglass. “The research paper and why we should still care.” Writing Program Administration 37.1 (2013): 33+. Academic OneFile. Web. 22 Feb. 2016.

Ergas, Oren. “Educating the Wandering Mind: Pedagogical Mechanisms of Mindfulness for a Curricular Blindspot.” Journal of Transformative Education (2015): 1-22. Web. 13 Feb. 2016.

Larson, Richard L. “The “Research Paper” in the Writing Course: A Non-form of Writing”. College English 44.8 (1982): 811–816. Web. 25 Feb. 2016.

Malhotra Bentz, Valerie, and Jeremy J. Shapiro. Mindful Inquiry in Social Research. Thousand Oaks: SAGE publications, 1998. Print.

Montuori, Alfonso. “The quest for a new education: from oppositional identities to creative inquiry.” ReVision 28.3 (2006): 4+. General OneFile. Web. 26 Feb. 2016.

Mueller, Derek N. “Mapping the Resourcefulness of Sources: A Worknet Pedagogy.” Composition Forum. N.p., 2015. Web. 24 Feb. 2016. <http://compositionforum.com/issue/32/mapping.php>.

Perl, Sondra. Felt Sense: Writing with the Body. Portsmouth: Boynton/Cook Publishers, Inc., 2004. Print.

Sharer, Wendy B. “Traces of the Familiar.” Beyond the Archives: Research as a Lived Process. Ed. Gesa E. Kirsch and Liz Rohan. Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 2008. 47-55. Print.

Springgay, Stephanie, Rita L. Irwin, and Sylvia W. Kind. “A/r/tography as Living Inquiry Through Art and Text.” Qualitative Inquiry 11 (2005): 897-912. Print.

Walsh, Susan, Barbara Bickel, and Carl Leggo. Arts-based and Contemplative Practices in Research and Teaching: Honoring Presence. New York: Routledge, 2015. Print.

Yagelski, Robert P. “A Thousand Writers Writing: Seeking Change Through the Radical Practice of Writing as a Way of Being”. English Education 42.1 (2009): 6–28. Web. 25 Feb. 2016.

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