Teaching With Computers: The Perks and Pitfalls of Teaching and Learning
in a Networked Composition Classroom
by Matthew T. Mroz
In her essay “Technology and Literacy: A Story about the Perils of Not Paying
Attention,” Cynthia L. Selfe notes that “technology is either boring or frightening
to most humanists; many teachers of English composition feel it antithetical
to their primary concerns and many believe it should not be allowed to take
up valuable scholarly time or the attention that could be best put to use
in teaching or the study of literacy” (Self 412). Looking around campus
it takes little time to verify Selfe’s caution about indifference to computers:
except in its uses as “a simple tool that individual faculty members can use
or ignore in their classrooms as they choose” (Self 414), computer use has
been, and for the most part still is, nascent within the humanities.
As computers increasingly become an irreplaceable part of daily life in modern
culture, however, more and more instructors attempt to carry out the task
of incorporating technology into the pedagogical techniques of their disciplines.
Over the past four months I’ve had the invaluable opportunity to get a behind-the-scenes
look at one particular attempt to integrate computers and writing instruction.
In Dr. Will Hochman’s English 101-43 (SP 2003) classroom I’ve learned much
about both the process and underlying philosophies involved in making computers
a productive classroom tool. In particular, I’ve learned the basic truth
that, despite the potential boost offered by technology, simply having computers
in the room with students is not enough to produce a positive impact on the
educational experience. One of the most significant reasons why this
is the case, I'd argue, is that Selfe’s observation about faculty might just
as easily be applied to students—anyone can be either “bored or frightened
by technology” and, one might add, distracted by it as well. This suggests
a very real problem: how do instructors equip such students with the technology-specific
literacy skills they will need to thrive in an increasingly digital world,
and at the same time justify to the public the significant investment necessary
to create computerized classroom space? The intent of this essay is
not to offer universal solutions to this problem, but rather to bring the
experiences of one particular computerized classroom, both positive and negative,
into dialogue with the numerous voices already speaking out about the role
of computers in education. By doing so, I hope to demonstrate how the
human component of the technology-education equation—the creative and adaptive
abilities of the instructor, or “humanware1” —becomes
an increasingly vital aspect of computerized pedagogy, especially as the
power of hardware and software becomes more pervasive and perhaps threatening.
Reams of books and articles published during the last two decades2
testify forcefully of the controversy raging over the impact, both positive
and negative, that the infusion of new technology into the classroom is having
upon the way students learn and teachers teach. Ultimately, however, these
many voices can be roughly divided into two camps: those attempt to forward
and perfect the difficult task of using computers as teaching instruments,
and those who will resist—many for justifiable reasons which must be recognized
and accounted for. These reasons seem to group around two main areas
of concern: 1) the qualitative difference computers make in education, and
2) the qualitative difference that computers make in the general health of
society as a whole, specifically the well-being of disadvantaged groups.
For composition instructors like myself, I’ll also add a third category of
concern that, while clearly a subset of the first two concerns, is specialized
enough to warrant separate mention: the specific impact that computers have
on writing and public discourse, and the teaching thereof. In the next
few pages I will explore some examples of these concerns in order to provide
background for discussions of my particular classroom experience to come.
Many scholars/writers/politicians/parents fall into the group of technology
doubters, who, quite reasonably, cry out for “proof” that computers are effective
educational tools before expending the effort and capital that implementing
computer programs in schools requires. Composition scholar Fred Kemp
summarizes their position thusly: “In short, we want to discover the
universal efficacy in [the] process, lay it out before the community untainted
by the debilitating quirkiness of special enthusiasms, pure in some clinical
way that asserts, unequivocally, that this thing works here, uninfluenced
by special conditions, and it will work anywhere with anyone. Guaranteed”
(Kemp, italics mine). Education is often seen today as a science rather
than an art, and so this argument and its appeal to the scientific method
carries much weight with many Americans who often distrust such “special enthusiasms,”
especially when doling out tax dollars. Unfortunately, as with so many
other human endeavors, the variables involved in any individual’s education
are too numerous and diverse to account for scientifically, as Kemp points
out. However, in his presentation at the 1994 annual meeting of the
CCCC, Kemp provides a fairly convincing argument that addresses the most
basic concerns about “proof”—at least concerning the use of computers in
the composition classroom. He observes that:
almost all people in the industrial world who do any regular writing
have come around to using a word processor. They don’t know about the
efforts of academics to prove whether writing on a computer is better or
not, or if they did know about those efforts, they would have ignored them.
That fact alone [. . .] should support what anybody who uses a computer for
writing already knows, that for most people it is easier and more productive
to write on a computer. (Kemp)
Kemp’s solution is notable, and, I think, easily digestible by the public
because of its appeal to common practice and usability. It rest upon
the psychological fact that our country garners most of its sense of value
and worth from the world of business—the “real world” where ideas and practices
must be able to withstand the exacting crucible of “market forces.” Thus,
the argument goes, if computer-based writing works in the business situation
it should be useful in all situations. Kemp’s reasoning makes a good
deal of sense; the explicit use of the predominant writing tool in “the real
world” as a part of writing instruction seems to be a very responsible response
to educational needs. However, without taking anything away from Kemp’s
argument, it is fruitful to examine the fuller implications of the general
bias behind it—the very reliance on the corporate world for its values that
lends the argument acceptability and merit.
Not a few writers and scholars have censured proponents of education technology
for allowing, in Michael Apple’s words, “powerful groups”—specifically corporations—to
redefine “our major educational goals in their own image” (Apple 173).
A vigorous critic of computer use in education, Apple would argue strongly
against the kind of persuasive move that Kemp makes in his presentation precisely
because it validates the position of influence that corporate values and concerns
often hold over American educational culture. Unchallenged, this influence
threatens to subvert, for better or for worse3,
the commonly held notion of an educational system dedicated to instilling
liberal and democratic values in its students. To address this concern,
Apple, in his essay “The New Technology,” labors to shift the debate away
from concerns about “how” educators can “establish closer ties between the
technological requirements of the larger society and our formal institutions
of education” (Apple 162). Because these “technological requirements”
are crafted almost exclusively to meet the corporate world’s needs for efficiency
and centralization, Apple instead argues that proponents and critics of technology
alike should be more interested in questions of “why” the “technological progress”
represented currently by computers is important to education—questions like
“Whose idea of progress? Progress for what? And fundamentally,
who benefits?” (Apple 161). Although somewhat dated, having been published
in 1991, Apple’s article offers important insights into the dangers of rushing
into technology—specifically the complex social problems exacerbated by unequal
access to technology training for both teachers and students—and so remains
a powerful critique.
In the decade following the publication of “The New Technology,” computers
have exploded from the corporate world and have become a fixture in popular
culture—a development which problematizes questions of “why” computers should
be used in education by removing easy alternatives to doing so. Computers
are now an indisputable fact of modern life, and increasingly the demands
placed by the public on educational institutions reflect this. The “technological
bandwagon,” as Apple rather unsympathetically calls it, has pulled off the
“information superhighway” and has parked itself at the doors of classrooms
of all levels and disciplines—often, as Todd Oppenheimer and others note,
to the fiscal disadvantage of other educational programs. It seems
to me, then, that Apple’s distinguishing between “how-to” and “why” questions
concerning computer use in the classroom, while valid perhaps for 1991, seems
to be something of a false dichotomy, or at least a moot one, in 2003.
Today, in order to remain relevant and credible in a computerized society,
composition educators must address these issues as one: we must teach students
how to use technology to their best advantage within the writing process,
while at the same time not “neglect[ing] to teach students how to pay critical
attention to the issues generated by technology use” (Selfe 429). Returning
to Cynthia Selfe’s article on “The Perils of Not Paying Attention,” she forwards
interesting strategies for doing just that. Citing Donna Haraway’s
concept of “situated knowledges-approach,” Selfe advocates a method for addressing
“the complex linkages among technology, literacy, poverty, and race” that
is very different from the philosophies of both Kemp and Apple, in that it
looks to the “local and specific” rather than the constructed values of larger
society. We, as educators, must be “paying attention,” and teaching
students to “pay attention” to the:
deep and penetrating knowledge of the specific colleges and universities
in which they work; the particular families, communities, cultures within
which we live and form our own understanding of the world; the individual
students, teachers, administrators, board members, politicians, and parents
whose lives touch ours. (Selfe 429).
And by doing so, we can build for ourselves and our students “a ‘more adequate,
richer, better account of the world; that makes it possible to ‘live in it
well and in critical, reflexive relation to our own as well as others’ practices’”
(Selfe 429). Within a traditional classroom, following Selfe’s approach
means being self-aware and being a sensitive observer of the particular needs
of students; however, within a technology classroom, things are more complicated.
When using computers as a pedagogical tool, we cannot merely serve as academic
guides, standing between “local and specific” students and the subject matter
being taught. We must also become “humanware”: liaisons between those
same students and a wider digital world that just happens to overlap with
our field of expertise at many undefinable points—and imposing, yet exciting,
task to say the least.
In the spirit of Selfe’s approach, I will now switch gears and become “local
and specific” myself as I begin discussing Dr. Hochman’s class and how he
addresses the broad concerns outlined above, as well as some specific “issues
generated by technology use” in composition—all while striving to be that
“humanware” liaison between the physical technology and a group of 19 students
with diverse backgrounds and interests. First, however, a brief word
about methodologies. Data for this analysis has been derived from three
sources: 1) a brief survey concerning the use of technology in the classroom
and its impact (15 out of 16 students present for the survey responding)4
; 2) letters written by all 19 students in which they evaluate the course
and their experiences with it5 (letters were
sealed until after grades were posted to encourage candor); 3) lastly, I
have drawn upon my experiences as a participant-observer in the class.
The remainder of this essay will be organized around two major focal points
found within these sources. First, the general impact of computer use
within the class will be discussed. This includes many surface details
about student interactions with the machines and the class environment that
tend to draw much (often negative) attention within their responses, but
do not seem to have a major impact on their learning experience. Conversely,
this discussion will also address some important metacognitive aspects of
computer-based writing that, although crucial to the work of the class, seem
to be largely invisible to this particular group of students. Secondly,
I will talk about the enormously positive impact that computers had on the
class’s communication structure due to the professor’s use of a class web
page, a distributed email list, and in-class chat.
The question of the “general impact” that computers had on the learning
experience of these English 101-43 students is somewhat problematic due to
somewhat conflicting evidence from the various data sources. For example,
when responding to a survey question that asked students to focus specifically
on the overall impact of computers on the class, a significant minority of
students (7 out of 15) painted a bleak picture in which computers were at
best an innocuous extravagance, and at worst a disruption. Yet when
asked to write about their general response to the class, 17 students out
of 19 praised at least some aspect of the class’s technological interaction
as being highly beneficial, and many gave high marks to several technological
components of the class. Why the discrepancy? First, one must
consider the psychological angle: when one is asked to measure the overall
impact of something specific (as the survey did), it is very easy for even
the most well-intentioned respondent to be overly critical. In regards
to 101-43 this is especially true, thanks, perhaps, to many the required class
readings that were intended to prepare students to think critically about
computers and their impact. Alternatively, when asked to comment on
the most significant of many factors influencing the class (as the letter
did), respondents naturally are more likely to focus on those aspects that
are most positive and most negative. Using this logic, therefore, one
can gather that while computer use in English 101-43 had both positive and
negative elements, in the wider context of the entire course, most students
found the positive elements to be significant and the negative elements somewhat
more trivial. Of course, this approach by no means frees us from considering
the complaints about computers registered by the survey; and, in fact, examining
some of the major complaints symptomatically reveals some interesting resonances
with larger critical concerns about computer use.
Perhaps the most prevalent type of complaint, appearing in almost all responses,
stems from the physical impact that the type of computer hardware used in
101-43’s lab had on the learning environment. Held in an a “traditional”
computer lab with 5 rows of desktop PCs with 19” CRT (cathode-ray tube) monitors
divided by a center aisle, 101-43’s classroom space left much to be desired
from the standpoint of a composition course. Battling noise from the
fan-laden desktops, students spread out across the large room often struggled
to hear the professor and their fellow students, making class discussion—an
important aspect to any composition class—something of a laborious process.
In addition, the large CRT’s positioned directly in front of each student’s
face not only made the establishment of all-important rapport between teacher
and student more difficult, according to many responses, they also served
as cover for surreptitious email checking and solitaire playing. Given
that SCSU is also blessed with laptop labs in which equivalent or superior
levels of technology are packaged in enormously less intrusive ways, the rather
large impact that the types of technology used in the classroom can make
on educational process becomes painfully clear. Given this undeniable
fact, criticism and concerns raised by Michael Apple, Cynthia Selfe, and numerous
others concerning the dangers involved in unequal funding of computer initiatives
becomes all the more poignant. Clearly, not all schools have the resources
available for wireless laptop labs, and many schools, especially those in
poorer districts and those serving traditionally disadvantaged groups, often
must make due with equipment that is incompatible with the educational goals
of the class that uses it—if they have any equipment at all. Of course
these technological disadvantages are not insurmountable, as the experience
of 101-43 shows. Acting in his “humanware” role, the professor continuously
worked to interact with the class in a way which kept attention focused on
the course’s learning objectives—often teaching in a way which used the temptation
of the screen as an advantage, such as through web-based outlines, articles
that students could access through their own computers, or in-class chat
sessions; or, alternatively, by gathering students at the front of the class
away from the screens when necessary. While dealing with these types
of challenges was a continuous and certainly up-hill battle, the student’s
portfolios and reflective writings demonstrate that, despite distractions,
the learning goals of the course were reached—an accomplishment that owes
much to the ways that the instructor helped the class avoid the potential
pitfalls outlined above.
As significant as the complaints of some students concerning the shortcomings
of the classroom space are, perhaps even more interesting are the things that
students aren’t saying about the impact of computers. Specifically,
it is surprising that most of the students don’t overtly recognize the tremendous
impact that the 101-43’s emphasis on computers have on their individual writing
processes—contrary to what we might expect based upon Kemp’s arguments about
“proof.” While a few students do mention how typing their essays was
helpful, what is missing is broader metacognitive recognition that writing
using a computer is a fundamentally different process than writing by hand.
Research suggests that writing can and should be thought of as a technology
in and of itself that provides certain cognitive advantages over verbal communication.
Walter Ong demonstrates in his descriptively titled essay “Writing is a Technology
that Restructures Thought” that the process of literacy acquisition alters
the way human beings conceive of the world by introduction semiotic associations,
and thereby promoting abstract reasoning. Yet the technology writing
itself is also continuously dependent upon various other technologies, particularly
the ever-changing technologies of media and distribution that control how
writing is accessed and displayed. These media technologies certainly
in turn exert their own influence over the cognitive process involved in writing.
Indeed, as computer pioneer Alan C. Kay explains:
It is not what is in front of us that counts in our books, televisions,
and computers but what gets into our heads and why we want to learn it.
Yet as Marshall H. McLuhan, the philosopher of communications, has pointed
out, the form is much of what does get into our heads; we become what we behold.
The form of the carrier of information is not neutral; it both dictates the
kind of information conveyed and affects thinking processes. (Kay 152)
If, as Kay (through McLuhan) asserts, the type of media technology used
is significant for the act of “reading,” how much more significant must medium
be for the act of writing? Would it not “dictate” the way information
can be encoded, just as it influences the ways it can be decoded? I’d
argue that it certainly does. And in fact, in his essay “From Pencils
to Pixels: The Stages of Literacy Technology,” Dennis Baron traces the development
of the various technologies used in writing, as well as some of the impact
each “stage” has had upon the thinking process behind writing. Judging
from the works of Baron, Sven Birkerts (“Hypertext: Of Mouse and Man”), and
Nicholas Negroponte (Being Digital), perhaps the most important difference
between writing with computers and with other technologies is the ephemeral
quality of digitized text. As Negroponte emphasizes, “The best way to
appreciate the merits and consequences of being digital is to reflect on
the difference between bits and atoms” (Negroponte). Until a digitized
document is printed, it exists only as bits, a binary code that is even further
removed into the recesses’ of Ong’s realm of abstraction than mere alphanumeric
symbols. In such a state, texts lack the psychological authority that
tangible existence might lend: they can be updated, revised, removed, or even
more sinister, corrupted—often without notice to users who may rely upon
the integrity of a previously accessed version. This is a phenomenon
that understandably worries someone like Birkerts, who has written an entire
volume, The Gutenberg Elegies, mourning what he sees as the imminent demise
of the printed word in favor of the digital word. In the chapter entitled
“Hypertext: Of Mouse and Man,” Birkets notes, “The page is flat, opaque.
The screen is of indeterminate depth—the word floats on the surface like a
leaf on a river. Phenomenologically, that [digitized] word is less absolute.
The leaf on the river is not the leaf plucked out and held in the hand” (Birkerts
156, italics mine). At the same time, however, digitized texts have
a distinct advantage over their “atomized” cousins: they have the ability
to form nonsequential “hypertext6 ” links within
themselves, with other digitized texts, or with any other digitized multimedia
object (graphics, audio or video clips). Given these seemingly inescapable
differences in the nature of computerized writing, the question remains: why
don't more writers recognize this impact of computers in this area?
The answer to this is twofold. First, one must once again consider psychology.
As Selfe notes, it is a natural impulse in humans to desire technology to
be as transparent as possible, even to the point of invisibility (Selfe 413),
and so it is especially understandable that some might ignore the impact
of technology on something so personal and internal as the cognitive processes
involved in writing. Secondly, and perhaps more germane to the composition
classroom experience, one must remember that the power of computers becomes
most visible in the basic text-composition process during the revision stage.
While poet Adreienne Rich might understand that “Re-vision—the act of looking
back, of seeing with fresh eyes, of entering an old text from a new
critical direction [. . .] is an act of survival” (Rich 629), few writers
fully understand revision as such a dramatic metacognitive act, even if they
revise their writing thoroughly and often. Still, despite the relative
low profile that computer use appears to present in this area, there remains
important ways in which an instructor can serve as an intermediary between
students and technology. Beyond instructing writers on the basics of
word processor formatting and editing techniques, instructors must work with
them to ensure that resist the negative effects of hypertext—the temptations
to shift text of an essay around to the detriment of sequential logic, and
to revise locally in specific areas of an essay without regard for internal
coherence—by emphasizing the importance of structure and thesis-driven argument
to the writing process. In 101-43, this was accomplished on a class-wide
basis through the use of “idea structures.” Writers were required to
create an idea structure—an introduction paragraph with thesis, and outline
of supporting evidence, and a conclusion—as the first step for every essay.
Then, these documents were presented to the class in digital form for group
workshop. In these sessions, each writer, with the help of the instructor,
myself, and their peers, was shown the basics of good argument and structure
before the actually composing process even began.
A second major area of focus found within the responses of 101-43 students
is the overwhelmingly positive reaction to the opportunities for enhanced
communication and information distribution made possible by the use of technology.
Specifically, the professor’s use of a class web page, a distributed email
list, and a series of in-class online chats met with particular accolades
from a majority of students7. While each
of these applications has a special convenience or fun factor associated
with them that students obviously enjoy, each also serves as an important
pedagogical tool for writing instruction. In addition, the web page,
email list, and chat experiences all demonstrate perhaps the most unique
and powerful aspect of computerized teaching and learning: the ability to
reshape the boundaries and structure of the learning space, both in the classroom
and beyond.
One of the most important organizational components of 101-43 would have
to be the class web site designed by Dr. Hochman. From this8
centralized location, students can find links to almost every document used
in the class—syllabi, assignment prompts, even hypertext versions of required
course readings—as well as an absolute wealth of additional materials related
to computers, writing, and/or the process of research. The benefits
of convenience provided by this kind of organization are substantial: the
site supplies the student with a secure and portable “digital notebook” containing
all that s/he needs to survive and thrive in the class—the “atoms” version
of the same material being, as most any busy student knows from personal
experience, far too easy to forget or misplace. However, in addition
to its support of the traditional classroom, web spaces also allow students
to expand their learning experiences beyond the course requirements in painless
way. By providing links to extra materials, instructors can create
a space in which learning becomes truly hypertexualized—students who come
to the page to find a specific course document can, at the click of the mouse,
be introduced to voices and ideas that they might not otherwise have been
exposed to. And in doing so, the instructor not only teaches an important
lesson about the power of computers, he or she also shows students new possibilities
for research and writing.
Another communication tool used to great effect in 101-43 is a distributed
email list—an email technology that allows a member of a group to send email
to a single “list” alias that then distributes the message to all members
of the group. Besides its obvious uses as a way to for the professor
to send out class-related reminders and updates, the email list serves a duel
pedagogical role in the class: it functions as a conduit for students to
interrelate—to debate and to share ideas with one another—and also as a method
for strengthening the classroom experience by “priming” students to participate
in discussion of assigned readings. Unlike classroom instruction, or
even web spaces—both of which are normally constructed very carefully by
instructors to achieve maximum educational benefit—instruction carried out
through email list is remarkably decentralized, following a peer-to-peer structure
rather than an instructor-student structure. As a standing homework
assignment throughout the term, students are required to post their reactions
to all assigned readings to the list. Not only does this task strongly
encourage each student to read carefully and solidify his or her own opinions
about the material in question before submitting a response, but it also
gives students the opportunity to read the opinions of 18 of their peers,
allowing them to complicate their thinking about the material and thus be
more prepared for in-depth class discussion. However, this peer-to-peer
structure by no means leaves the students to fend for themselves, without
support or guidance. The professor monitors email responses closely,
and often responds to individual postings, praising when a student demonstrates
good critical thinking, and gently correcting when a student’s interpretation
may be misleading to the others. By doing so, the professor once again
serves as a mediator, protecting students from any possible negative impact
of this de-centering technology while allowing them the freedom to collaborate
with and learn from each other.
I have left my discussion of in-class chat for last, not because it is any
more or less significant than the other computerized modes of communication,
but rather because it is, in my opinion, a good deal more controversial as
a pedagogy tool than either of the previous two technologies because of its
somewhat radical theoretical basis, and its potential for misuse. Before
addressing these issues, let me first give a brief overview of the experience.
Logging in to the chat room function that is built into Southern’s “MySCSU”
package, students and instructors can have a real-time discussion that is
entirely text-based—no verbal discussion allowed during these sessions—during
the class period. While it may seem to be an odd approach to discussing
class readings, the use of synchronous chat technology in the classroom is
based upon sound pedagogical principals—although like any teaching technique
it has its strong points and weaknesses. Chat is significant, and different
from traditional verbal discussions, in that normal group dynamics are effectively
demolished within a chat room by the sweeping flow of text. Given that
everyone can type at once, the normal ebbs and flows of voice conversations
are interrupted. No longer does an instructor have the luxury of elaborating
a question and then soliciting a response from her or his students—in a chat
room he or she is just another voice in the debate. And the teacher-student
hierarchy isn’t the only one to go either: shy students who might not normally
participate in class discussions often feel much more at ease to contribute
during chat discussions. Despite the potential advantages of equalization
and open debate gained by using online chats for class discussion, there are
also some very significant drawbacks. Like the email list, online chat
by nature is another decentralized communication strategy. However,
because chats occur in real time, it is very difficult for an instructor to
serve as a mediator. Often, points that may need clarification or correction
go unnoticed because of the speed of the text, and even when a response is
offered, there is no guarantee that all the students will catch it.
Thus, it is not surprising that chat discussions sometimes devolve from structured
conversations about class materials into personal conversations, or worse,
into arguments or “flame” contests. This is not to say that chats are
too risky to try or difficult to use effectively; quite the contrary, when
an instructor is committed to acting as an intermediary between the students
and the technology, in class online chats are extraordinarily effective.
Used sparingly, they provide a fun alternative to traditional discussions,
and at the same time provide an endless stream of “teachable moments” wherein
the nature of cyberspace communication, or questions about textual communication
in general, can be explored.
In conclusion, looking back upon this document it is very clear to me that
my experience in Dr. Hochman’s English 101-43 classroom has been a formative
one in terms of my future plans for becoming a teacher. Although I have
been a computer enthusiast for some time now, until I experienced this class,
and then had the opportunity provided by this assessment to rethink my experience
and much of the pedagogical theory that I’ve encountered along the way, I
had my doubts about whether I believed that technology would really work
in a composition classroom. While many of my fears/doubts/concerns about
technology remain, I now feel quite secure that wresting with technology and
its many blessings and curses, and doing so within the composition classroom,
is not merely worthwhile, but is a crucial undertaking. With the world
becoming increasingly more dependent on computers, with the ways of using
computers growing as fast and as unpredictable as they are, it is vital, I
believe, that scholars within the composition field learn as much as we can
about the ways writing has changed, and is changing, under the influence of
technology. And as new media for communication emerge, and rhetorical
modes are adapted to accommodate them, it is equally important that composition
instructors stand in as “humanware” intermediaries, train students to think
critically about technology, its effects on writing and society at large,
and to teach them to use technology as effectively as possible in their own
writing processes.
Notes:
1 Dr. Hochman’s term for “the intelligence and sense that compliments
hardware and software in computerized learning spaces”.
2 See back issues of Computers and Composition for the specifics on
arguments relating to the use of computers in writing instruction.
3 See Stanley Fish’s article, “Aim Low,” in the 5/16/03 edition of
The Chronicle of Higher Education for a discussion of the relationship between
higher education and “commitments to moral and civic responsibility.”
4 See Appendix A for details about this survey and its limitations
5 Dr. Hochman’s prompt for these letters may be found here: http://www.southernct.edu/~hochman/Finalletter
6 For a fuller discussion of they nature and implications of “hypertext”
see Birkerts' “Hypertext: Of Mouse and Man”—part of his larger volume, The
Gutenberg Elegies—as well as “Hypertext Reflections,” by Palmquist et al:
http://english.ttu.edu/kairos/2.2/features/reflections/bridge.html.
7 In the class evaluation letters, 13 out of 19 students found particular
technological aspects of the class beneficial enough to them to warrant special
mention. All 13 mentioned one or more of these communication applications.
8 Web site URL is http://www.southernct.edu/~hochman/willz.html
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Baron, Dennis. “From Pencils to Pixels: The Stages of Literacy Technology.”
Literacy: A
Critical Sourcebook.
ed. Ellen Cushman, Eugene R. Kintgen, Barry M. Kroll, and Mike
Rose. Boston:
Bedford/St. Martin's, 2001.
Birkerts, Sven. “Hypertext: Of Mouse and Man.” The Gutenberg Elegies.
New York:
Fawcett Columbine,
1994.
Fish, Stanley. “Aim Low.” The Chronicle of Higher Education.
16 May 03.
Kay, Alan C. “Computers, Networks, and Education.” Literacy,
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