I had an unusual moment of self-discovery a week and a half ago when I was preparing for my graduate class on technology and pedagogy. We were discussing open source software, and I assigned an article for my class that was written by two friends, Colleen Reilly and Joe Williams (“The Price of Free Software: Labor, Ethics, and Context in Distance Education,” Computers and Composition, 23:1 (2006): 68-90.). As I sat down to read the article when I was prepping for class, I was particularly drawn to the section toward the end of the article that described the responses of faculty interviewed about their use (or lack of use) of open source learning management systems (such as Sakai or Moodle). One of the respondents that drew my interest was a community college faculty member that the authors referred to as “Shannon,” and she talked about the context in which she was teaching. She admitted that she used WebCT to offer her distance learning courses instead of an open source application, but she also mentioned that a faculty member who chose to use open source applications would probably not meet much resistance from administration or IT folks.

One of the reasons I was drawn to her comments was that I found myself wondering, “Then why aren’t you using open source?!?! Why are you still using WebCT???” But the other reason was that I realized that the responses sounded very familiar. The description of the community college sounded a lot like Mesa Community College, and her classes sounded a lot like what I taught when I was teaching at MCC.

And then I faintly remembered a brief interview I had done a few years back. I realized that Shannon was me.

What a strange, eerie sensation! Sometimes I have a moment of self-conscious awareness when I read something I wrote and published years ago and find myself questioning some of my own assumptions and conclusions. But this was a little different…I was able to suspend that self-conscious feeling because I didn’t recognize my own responses at first. I argued with my own self-reporting, questioning the pedagogical choices that I made just a few short years ago. I guess I realized that I always have something to learn.

Or perhaps I just realized that I have a really, really poor memory.

This weekend I went to Kansas City to visit my mother. I took Sam, which means that I also took all of the things that have to travel with Sam (diapers, toys, many changes of clothes, food, bottles, stroller, car seat, etc.). As I was packing, I laid everything out on the bed so that I could figure out how many bags I would have to take. Once I had everything neatly tucked into suitcases, I realized that there was one major item missing–my laptop. Although my laptop doesn’t take up much space (it’s a cute little Sony Vaio), it’s hard to travel with a baby, a stroller, and a computer that has to be removed from its carrying case in order to go through airport security. So I considered the idea of traveling without my computer.

And then I realized that I haven’t traveled without my computer in a very, very long time.

Granted, I have a Blackberry, so I can check email without my computer. And I have access to web-based tools like Google docs and Todoist, so I can work on my own stuff on my mother’s computer. But the idea of traveling without my own little laptop really freaked me out. And then I realized that I needed to do it. Plenty of students I have worked with (especially at Mesa Community College) did not have access to the kind of personal, customized technology that I have, and I thought it might be good–even if only for 72 hours–to experience what it is like to have to get work done on a computer that is not my own. My students tend to use computers available in the library or a lab, but my mom’s computer would work, too. I couldn’t download new software on her computer, and I couldn’t change her settings and configurations. I would just need to work within a “generic” space and rely on the tools available to me online.

It’s been challenging, but I’ve noticed a few patterns in my work this weekend.

First, I don’t do as much of it. I spend less time on the computer because I’m limited in what I can do. I don’t have access to my own software and desktop, so I don’t experiment as much. I don’t play around with new technologies, and I’m afraid that I’ll be taking up time that my mother needs to have on the computer. I have to share work space with someone else, which alters that amount of time that I spend in that space and the amount of connection I feel to it. (I’ll be the first to admit, though, that spending a little less time on my computer could be a good thing.)

Second, it takes longer for me to accomplish simple tasks. My mom has an unfamiliar version of Microsoft Word (yes, my own mother got Word 2007 before I did), and so inserting comments on a rather simple document took me at least twice as long as it would have on my own computer. At first I couldn’t figure out how to change the user information so that the comments were labeled with my name instead of my mom’s. And then I had to locate simple commands such as “Save as…” and “Track Changes.”

The up-side is that some tasks really are the same on my mom’s computer–such as writing in my blog. Web-based applications that I use on a regular basis function the same regardless of where I am, and I’m finding myself thinking of new ways to incorporate these technologies into my teaching. I can’t assume that students have access to technologies that I can’t provide for them or point them to, and that makes me rethink the ways in which I use technology in my own classes. For example, I’ve spent time in previous classes teaching students how to insert comments into a Word doc, but if they don’t have the same version of Word (or any version of Word), then that time might have been better spent doing something else. I’m rethinking my entire philosophy on which technologies I use in the classroom, and I’m thinking more and more about how I can introduce my students to open source tools that might help them accomplish what they need to do.

But now–because I didn’t do as much work and it took me longer to do what I did–I’m further behind than ever. My Vaio will look like an old friend when I see it tomorrow, and I’ll have a renewed appreciation for how much I rely on it, and how much I take that access for granted. I challenge you to give it a try–live without your personal computer for 48 hours. What would change in your own work habits?

In my graduate seminar on Technology and Pedagogy last week, we read the CCCC Position Statement on Teaching, Learning, and Assessing Writing in Digital Environments. Although it was just adopted 3 1/2 years ago (in February 2004), I found myself questioning some of the assumptions and statements in the document. And I also found myself thinking about position statements more generally.

When I taught at Mesa Community College, my colleague Richard Felnagle used to adamantly resist any attempts to write mission or position statements of any kind. I’m sure that on several levels his concerns were justified–in an English department we could go round and round for months about whether to place a comma in the opening clause of the mission statement without ever accomplishing anything. The writing of mission statements can sometimes get in the way of actually doing. But there can be a purpose in clarifying the position of a group, especially when the group is as large and diverse as CCCC.

Another potential frustration of mission statements, though, is that they are often read as acontextual, even though they are, of course, written in a particular context. A statement is representative of the circumstance in which it was written–the time and place of its writing and the people who drafted it–yet position statements can be read as somewhat “timeless” documents. They do, after all, represent the positions of their respective organizations unless they are changed or repealed.

As I read the position statement on digital environments for class last Tuesday, I found myself questioning the need for such a statement. Maybe circumstances have shifted so much in the past 3-4 years that such statements are no longer necessary. Or, maybe more precisely, I’m beginning to think that the positions that we take on teaching in digital environments are also positions that we should take on teaching in general–regardless of the medium of instruction.

The CCCC position statement has some wonderful stuff to say about teaching writing, especially in the section that articulates “Assumptions” about writing digitally:

Assumptions

Courses that engage students in writing digitally may have many features, but all of them should

(a) introduce students to the epistemic (knowledge-constructing) characteristics of information technology, some of which are generic to information technology and some of which are specific to the fields in which the information technology is used;

(b) provide students with opportunities to apply digital technologies to solve substantial problems common to the academic, professional, civic, and/or personal realm of their lives;

(c) include much hands-on use of technologies;

(d) engage students in the critical evaluation of information (see American Library Association, “Information Literacy”); and

(e) prepare students to be reflective practitioners.

As I read these assumptions, though, I realized that I could consistently substitute the word “writing” for “technology/information technology/digital technologies,” and the assumptions would still ring true. The last two assumptions don’t even mention technology at all. Do we still need to separate discussions about teaching writing in general from discussions about teaching writing with technology? Can we begin to assume that writing should be taught in a technology-rich environment because that’s where writing happens? Has our focus shifted too much to the technology itself?

Just before the section on assumptions, the position statement articulates a distinction between “two literacies: a literacy of print and a literacy of the screen.” I’m not sure I agree with this clear-cut distinction. Are these literacies really so easily distinguishable? Don’t they overlap and intersect with each other (or can we even separate these literacies at all)?

Perhaps this distinction is representative of how we thought of and talked about teaching (digital) writing before, but maybe it’s time for CCCC to take another look at this position statement and rethink our stated position and assumptions.