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Introduction

Methods

Results

Discussion

Conclusion

References

About the Author

Introduction

Knowledge of people of color and minority groups in the studies of the biological sciences has been intrinsic to the discipline as a whole, especially in regards to diversifying ecological and environmental subgenres. The ways that scientists orchestrate their research articles when discussing diverse groups of people is particularly important in regards to the ethics upheld by the community as a whole. Researchers have examined linguistic patterns that are relevant to this by exploring language associated with persistent biological and medical racism, along with a shift towards a succinct authorial stance, the formation of stance and associated biases, and value arguments (Carter, 2016; Hyland & Jiang, 2016; Jones & Medina, 2021; Sawaki, 2014). Hyland and Jiang (2016) point to Atkinson’s (1999) observation of the move from the “experiencing gentleman scientist to community-generated research problems” (as cited in Hyland & Jiang, 2016, p. 270) in their discussion of orchestration trends over time, noting that there is a shift from a narrative experience to one that is more succinct. Though they note an increase in stance markers in the scientific community, particularly related to self-mentions, the implications they propose are limited. Although they identify there may be publication/foundation biases involved, these biases can further extend into racial and ethnic biases that may be upheld by certain publications, foundations, or institutions. Today, scholars recognize that there continues to be racial and ethnic biases that persist in present research (Jones & Medina, 2021). Further, language use becomes especially important when expressing one’s voice while speaking about others and can influence how an author positions themselves and the reader’s interpretation of their stance (Carter, 2014; Hyland & Jiang, 2016; Sawaki, 2016). 

I will be exploring how presuppositions and assertions in the context of attitude markers in biological-anthropological research articles have changed over time, and where future implications for people of color (POC) and minority groups are being discussed in these articles. The results of this study suggest that the disciplines of the scientific community have reflected a trend towards subtle use of attitude markers and clearly defining a study group through the use of assertions, and have moved away from a heavier use of attitude markers with presuppositions about the study groups, indicating an acknowledgement of the historical contexts of biological and medical prejudices POC and minority groups being discussed have dealt with. First, I will present the key terms relevant to the search for these articles by decade. Next, I will discuss the presence of terms to describe POC or ethnic minorities in relation to presuppositions, assertions, and the appearance of attitude markers by decade and theme, and lastly, I will discuss the relevance of these findings and the potential impacts for the reader.

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Introduction

Cases

Discussion

Conclusion

References

About the Author

Introduction

Writers and writing within the scientific discourse community are greatly shaped by the media that they need to produce, what the media consists of, and whom the media needs to reach. Discourse communities are areas of rhetorical context, yet are often narrower than cultures as a whole. Within discourse communities, loose community-based ideals and norms can influence how writing within that community is done. When analyzing a discourse community, the members of the discourse community are the most important factor, not the audience. The expectations shared by the members of a discourse community provide for a sense of belonging. These expectations are shown in the work produced by the discourse communities, which are conditioned and formed by members of the community.

Discourse communities require oral and written modes of communication that affect the purpose of the media produced, roles for writers, and specific genre conventions that are defined based on the communicative situation related to the topic being covered (Beaufort, 1997). These discourse communities are the foundation for efficient communication of information within fields. Without a scientific discourse community, the research that scientists do to understand the surrounding world and try to improve it would never be seen and engaged with by other scientists. Scientific discourse is built on accountability and factual evidence. At the heart of scientific discourse is the genre of the experimental report, since it provides vital evidence that supports this accountability (Bazerman, 1988, 2000). Furthermore, Montgomery (2014) states, in reference to scientists, “Communicating is our life’s work—it is what determines our presence and place, a shared reality in the world” (p. 2). This statement shows that because communication is so important in creating and sharing science, being a good scientist requires one to also be a good communicator. As Montgomery (2014) elaborates, “To a large degree, your reputation will rest on your ability to communicate,” (p. 4). The stronger one’s scientific writing is, the more effective one’s impact in science will be.

As one example of a scientific discourse community, animal welfare experts communicate across many types of media. For members of the aquarium animal welfare discipline, an immense amount of communication takes place within this scientific discourse community composed of aquarists and other scientists, as well as among members of this discourse community, advocacy groups, and the general public. Depending on an expert’s particular argument regarding aquarium animal welfare and what audience they are addressing, the act of communication takes place in one of many different genres.

The use of specific genres provides scientists and writers with a sense of community, since discourse communities often focus on specific genres. Genres are also flexible categories that are continuously evolving in terms of their purpose and form, so animal welfare experts are always learning how to better communicate with one another and the public (Reiff & Bawarshi, 2016). Scientific articles are first addressed to the scientific discourse community and their targeted audience is mainly scientists and students of science. Science is a process that largely focuses on accountability and scientific papers are a great source of that accountability since they provide detailed evidence of experiments performed (Bazerman, 1988). Policy documents, such as “Caring for Wildlife: The World Zoo and Aquarium Animal Welfare Strategy,” are also often used in zoos and aquariums. This document is aimed towards zoos and aquariums with a targeted audience of those in the scientific field, focused on animal welfare. Despite not being a scientific article published in a journal, the document still follows the specific genre standards for an academic paper set by the scientific discourse community. It contains an introduction, literature review, and organized layout with section heading labels (“Caring for Wildlife,” 2016).

In this paper, I will analyze the differences in communication styles and genres in two different cases. Each brought the scientific discourse community of animal welfare experts into contact with the animal rights discourse community, exposing both challenges and opportunities regarding how animal welfare experts communicate with others within and beyond their own discourse communities.

Animal welfare and animal rights may seem similar but are vastly different topics. Animal welfare is scientifically based, while animal rights is not. Aquarists and other scientists studying animal welfare focus in their communication on how an animal is coping with the conditions in which it lives. The topic of animal rights isn’t based on science but rather on one’s ethical philosophy. The animal rights discourse community focuses on the premise that animals should not be viewed as clothing, food, entertainment, property, or research subjects. The common goal of this discourse community is to accomplish things such as getting animals out of captivity, research labs, zoos, and aquariums as well as eliminating animals from clothing and diets.

Whether or not aquariums are ethical can be seen as a debatable and even controversial topic. Many people have fond memories of visiting aquariums as children and being highly entertained and inspired by witnessing dolphins performing marvelous tricks, viewing exotic tropical fish, or participating in touch-tanks filled with stingrays or starfish. However, the welfare standards that allow for having such animals on display are often questioned by aquarists and other members of the animal welfare discourse community. This issue is debated across a range of media, such as journal articles, webinars, and conference presentations. Animal welfare standards are often discussed in different ways depending on the purpose. There can also be misconceptions regarding these standards that are falsely communicated by people such as animal rights activists, and often aquarists and other members of the animal welfare discourse community try to counter these false claims through different genres, such as magazine articles, conferences, documentaries, or in some cases the news. Meanwhile, animal rights activists often share ideas about moral ethics with one another and the public through social media posts, protests, conferences, magazine and newspaper articles, and documentaries, such as the widely seen 2013 documentary Blackfish, produced by Magnolia Pictures and CNN Films (Cowperthwaite, 2013)

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Contents

Introduction

Methods

Results

Discussion

References

About the Author

Introduction

Academic writing can be defined as the modality the academy has selected to measure learning and determine the quality of knowledge made. Writing then is vital to graduate research projects because it is the medium through which students present their findings. Since it is projects like masters’ theses, doctoral dissertations, journal articles, and other publications whereby peers, professors, and professionals rank the merit of students’ conclusions, it is students’ writing that can potentially propel them into an expert status or flatline their academic trajectory. Writing for the field is how nascent academics develop their professional identity. Their research in masters and doctoral programs is the foundation upon which the student builds their expert status; thus, the stakes are high and writing challenges can manifest as barriers to degree completion that disrupt career trajectories.

One of the challenges of the graduate student is being seen as an expert. To gain legitimacy, scholars identify and fill scholarship gaps in the important conversations of their discipline. Graduate students embody or question their field’s “traditions, practices, and values” (Casanave, 2002, p. 23) through knowledge claims in genres that present their theoretical approaches and thus craft their academic identity in opposition or alignment with established experts (Aitchison, 2014; Paré, 2014). As they publish their new knowledge, an academic begins to craft their identity as an expert (Kim & Wolke, 2020). It is their published writing that legitimizes a scholar’s expert identity and propels the successful writer into their academic community as someone who speaks with authority (Casanave, 2002). This authority gives academics greater access to professional opportunities. In knowledge-based careers “where the primary product is making and distributions of symbols” or texts, “the activity system is centrally organized around written documents” (Bazerman, 2004, p. 319). Those who write a successful thesis, dissertation, and/or publication are more likely to be further published and cited and gain employment; thus, the university, a preparatory training ground, centers writing to give graduate students opportunities to become professionals (Brooks-Gillies et al., 2020).

Historically, providing postsecondary writing support became popular in the US during the 1970s to address increasingly diverse demographics of people (i.e., by class, nationality, race, gender) that were entering the academy in higher rates and did not have the academic English skills US academic traditions upheld and still uphold (Brooks-Gillies et al., 2020; Caplan, 2020). The classes were often titled as “remedial” courses; thus, seeking assistance with writing might signal inadequacies in the writer, not the academy (Russell, 2013; Hjortshoj, 2010). Unfortunately, when graduate students need writing support, they may believe that they will lose credibility in the eyes of their professors, peers, and advisors if they admit to writing weaknesses and may feel stigmatized if they need assistance with “grammar rules or punctuation conventions simply because of the length of time since they have received writing instruction” (Thomas et al., 2014, p. 73). It can be difficult for someone who is trying to position themselves as a professional to admit they have forgotten how to cite in APA or that they are struggling with the genres that graduate students must learn to become legitimized in the academy because admitting weaknesses can feel like being exposed as being subpar and incapable of completing a degree much less succeed in a career (LaFrance & Corbett, 2020; Li, 2014).

Overall graduate school attrition rates in the U.S. are estimated to be around 40% with higher dropout rates occurring in the humanities and social sciences and higher retention rates in lab sciences (Council of Graduate Schools, 2015; Holmes et al., 2018). Relatedly, the graph in Figure 1 addresses completion rates in Ph.D. programs at selected US universities. Even students who persist into the later phases of their programs are at risk of dropping out before completing their degrees (Wolfsberger, 2014). In fact, research indicates that the longer a student is in a graduate program, the more likely they are to drop out (​​Caruth, 2015; Council of Graduate Schools, 2015; Holmes et al., 2018), with the highest rates of attrition at the all-but-dissertation (ABD) stage (Lundell & Beach, 2003). Because graduate writing is the primary modality in which graduate programs evaluate the depth of learning and quality of new knowledge, writing can manifest as a barrier to successful and timely degree completion and post-degree employment. Writing challenges of all graduate students can include being unfamiliar with the genres of academic writing, writing in a nonnative language, years away from school, family responsibilities, social isolation, employment demands, and other visible and invisible issues (Caplan, 2020; Kim & Wolke, 2020).

We can see the manifestations of universities’ priorities and their effects on graduate matriculation and attrition rates in the range of writing supports universities design for their students, which include university writing center tutors, writing camps, writing classes, and writing groups. Universities like Rutgers offer focused graduate writing courses and widely accessible sources like Consortium on Graduate Communication offer all graduate students and their professors a space to address writing challenges. Professors can be expected to guide students in learning content, planning projects, carrying out research, and in the many types of writing that pervade graduate programs; these people are the most important factor in the student’s academic success (Kim, 2020; Jones, 2016; Thomas et al., 2014). However, professors, advisors, directors, whatever the titles may be, carry large workloads and may not always be available to students and sometimes students are nervous about submitting a draft to their advisor because the draft may need considerable revision and they worry about frustrating their advisor or appearing inadequate (Brooks-Gillies et al., 2020; Henderson & Cook, 2020).

Universities frequently provide support systems for writers at both the undergraduate and graduate levels in writing centers and are more often tailoring options to meet graduate students’ needs (Fredrick et al., 2020; Holmes et al., 2018; Pinkert, 2020; Tauber, 2016). However, given the “high-stakes and highly-technical” nature of graduate writing, the “disciplinary expertise requires a level of writing and disciplinary knowledge that both GWC [Graduate Writing Center] consultants and graduate students sometimes lack” (Summers, 2016, p. 118). One writing support universities frequently host is the writing camp or retreat. Retreats and camps are frequently sponsored by university writing centers, libraries, or graduate schools and sometimes by specific departments for their own students (Busl et al., 2020; Douglas, 2020; Knowles & Grant, 2014; Li, 2014; Lundell & Beach, 2003; Murry, 2014; Pinkert, 2020; Russell, 2013).

Peer support can take the form of peer mentoring wherein more advanced peers work with beginners, or less experienced writers. When setting out on writing projects, less experienced or beginning writers can feel anxiety that inhibits even starting the project; however, working with those “who are more advanced in their research careers” (Mewburn et al., 2014, p. 226) can create a safe space to ask questions, look at model texts, and experiment. Research shows that structured peer mentoring is an invaluable resource for both mentor and mentee (Simpson et al., 2020; Maher et al., 2006). A popular form of peer writing support is the writing group. “Writing group” is a broad term that generally refers to a deliberate situation where at least three people “come together to work on their writing in a sustained way” (Aitchison & Guerin, 2014b, p. 7) and can include providing instruction or feedback, talking about writing, motivating reluctant writers, increasing confidence in abilities, and providing social support in general (Aitchison, 2014; Brooks-Gillies et al., 2020; Kim & Wolke, 2020).

While there are many studies that explore the experiences of graduate writers (Aitchison, 2009, 2014; Aitchison & Guerin, 2014a; Ali & Coate, 2012; Bair & Mader, 2013; Bosanquet et al., 2014; Brooks-Gillies et al., 2020; Cotterall, 2011; Gernatt & Coberly-Hold, 2019), there is not much research conducted specifically on the experience of older women returning to the academy; there is even less specific research aimed at those women whose intersections also include studying in their second or third (or more) language. Returning women, who are older than those who had linear academic trajectories, may find the academy has changed drastically since they were students and thus, they may have a harder time adjusting to the rigors, demands, and expectations. They also often have accumulated many roles to which they must attend while attending to their degrees and may sometimes have a hard time differentiating criticism of performance from criticism of person (Casanave, 2010; Fredrick et al., 2020; Kirsch, 1993).

It is important, as the populations of women returning to the academy are not insubstantial and those numbers only promise to grow, to design research that examines how women in complex situations “address and represent audiences, and how they negotiate and establish their authority in written discourse” (Kirsch, 1993, p. xvii) and what supports may assist them to the completion of their degrees. With the understanding that all graduate students are valuable, I will be looking at how a peer writing coach supports older women returning to the academy because research that explores their concerns and experiences can provide starting points for designing university sponsored writing supports that could potentially benefit all graduate students.

Context

The university in this study is located in the Southwest US and is a public university with 21,117 students, 3,762 of whom are graduate students. Most of the over 100 masters’ programs require a thesis, and some require publications; the 22 Ph.D. programs mandate dissertations and require students to participate in the publication process before the degree will be awarded. Women make up 56% of the entire student body. Most of my university’s graduate students are between the ages of 25-29; however, there is a substantial number of students in the 30+ categories, including 1,591 between the ages of 30-49 and 209 who are over 50.

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Contents

Introduction

Narrative: Universally Practiced but Individually Defined

A Three-part Approach to Teaching Narrative

Narrative: A Tool to Drive Social Change

References

About the Author

Introduction

In my first semester of college, I took an English class that used Joseph Campbell’s model of “the hero’s journey” as a framework for all the writing we did in the course. We created short stories, analyzed articles and films, and researched the lives of historical figures. Campbell’s idea of the monomyth—that all stories follow a familiar pattern—was brand new to me back then, but applying it as a lens to look at both pop-culture and scholarly work taught me that narrative serves a valid function in academic settings. Because humans are narrative beings, narrative methods increase our potential to form new knowledge and make meaning from the things we perceive and experience. In fact, stories are “the most common, universal way” to make sense of our lives (Marsen, 2014, p. 305). Ever since that first English class opened my eyes to the potential narrative holds for the classroom, I’ve been hooked on stories.

Perhaps since my introduction to narrative’s rhetorical uses occurred early in my academic career, I have had little trouble seeing the value of story. Yet the field of technical and professional communication (TPC) and narrative have a complicated history. In 1988, Barton and Barton’s (1988) foundational article drew attention to the persuasive potential of narration by detailing the historical devaluation of narrative in TPC and urging the field to invest more interest in exploring the many benefits of story as a communication tool. Over a decade later in 1999, Perkins and Blyler took up this call and published both a book-length collection titled Narrative and Professional Communication and a special issue on narrative in the Journal of Business and Technical Communication (Small, 2017). Though Perkins and Blyler (1999) predicted that by 2009 narrative would be prevalent in the field, later scholars—such as Moore (2013) and Small (2017)—have noted the lack of meaningful progress made after this initial flurry of scholarly activity. 

Yet there have been several more recent additions to the conversation that challenge earlier assumptions of TPC as a field of logic and objectivity that is incompatible with story. One needs only to look at examples such as Cushman’s (2015) illustration of storytelling in technical service work, Jones’ (2016) and Bacha’s (2018) call to reimagine narrative in design, or Van Ittersum’s (2014) and Ledbetter’s (2018) work on the use of story in tutorials to see how narrative adds richness to technical communication.

Indeed, narrative has proven useful across the discipline. In business communications, narratives can build trust with customers, increase engagement, market products and services, build corporate culture, promote unity within the company, and drive organizational change (Hirst, 2017; Lemanski, 2014; Moore, 2013; Perkins & Blyler, 1999; Zachry, 1999). In science writing, a narrative approach can make complex knowledge accessible to a general audience and show how science functions in the real world through the demonstration of scientific theory in action (Mott et al., 1999; Sheehan & Rode, 1999). In history research, narrative can help us to construct and organize knowledge of the past and present it in more memorable ways (Mott et al., 1999). Yet despite its many areas of practical application, narrative has remained somewhat divisive in academia—still seen as “too personal, too incomplete, [and] too anecdotal” (Small, 2017, p. 235). While the Social Justice Turn in TPC detailed by Walton et al. (2019) has helped bring acceptance to experience as a way of knowing,¹ I believe the field will not fully embrace narratives until we as scholars, practitioners, and instructors learn to better articulate the complexities of narrative practices and begin to teach narrative in ways that effectively prepare students to communicate in their future careers. 

This article is my attempt to blend story and pedagogy in a way that shows how narrative can be interwoven into TPC theory and practice. I have already set the scene by sharing the storied history of narrative in technical communication, along with my own story of how I was first introduced to narrative’s potential in academia. In what follows, I discuss the difficulty of defining narrative and the trouble with reducing narrative to a singular pedagogical method. I then illustrate a three-part approach to the teaching of narrative that uses stories in the classroom, teaches students how to apply stories in the workplace, and trains students to view themselves as part of a larger story. I view this three-part framework as a pedagogical tool that helps align instructors of TPC with recent advocacy efforts to embrace more diverse narratives in the field.² Lastly, I argue that embracing narratives in TPC and approaching narrative more holistically in the classroom prepares students to be more culturally aware communicators who are capable of promoting social change.

^[1] In the adjacent field of composition studies, Journet (2012) details a similar progression of narrative. She notes how early compositionists thought narrative to lack rigor before the “social turn” in the 1980s began to place value on personal history and ethnography. This, Journet claims, was followed by the “narrative turn” of the 1990s. Here, narrative’s power to organize and make sense of the world was recognized and narrative practices began to gain more acceptance in the field. Yet, Journet observes how even in composition studies there is still a tendency to define narrative “in contradiction to the more ‘objective’ or ‘rational’ methods” (p. 15).

^[2] I refer here to Natasha Jones, Kristen Moore, Rebecca Walton, and other recent scholars I have cited throughout this article, yet I also acknowledge my citations do not tell the complete story and there are many others in the field doing important work in promoting narrative.

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Issue Staff

Julianne Newmark
Editor-in-chief

Alex Hanson
Co-Managing Editor

Courtney Cox
Co-Managing Editor

Beau Pihlaja
Co-Managing Editor

Jennifer Burke-Reifman
Assistant Managing Editor

Eric Mason
Technical Editor

Chanakya Das
Associate Technical Editor

Nicole O'Connell
Assistant Technical Editor

If your 2022 has been anything like mine, it has been full and challenging, with (I hope) some significant bright spots.

Since last December, I have had a passage rattling around in my head from Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone’s magnificent novel, This is How You Lose the Time War (2020). The novel is compelling and creative on its own. You should go read it! However, the part that has stuck with me is from the co-authors’ acknowledgements where El-Mohtar writes:

Finally, dear reader, we dedicated this one to you, and we mean it. Books are letters in bottles, cast into the waves of time, from one person trying to save the world to another.

Keep reading. Keep writing. Keep fighting. We’re all still here. (p. 201)

So much of academic work is an exercise in writing and casting letters in bottles in articles and books to uncertain and unknown audiences. Significantly, this whole enterprise rests on too often invisible labor: the work of graduate assistants, non-tenure track instructors, and the tenure-track faculty service, not to mention all the additional housework, childcare, elder care, and community service that has to be done to make society continue from day to day. Much of this work, as we know, is done by women and by people of color, whose labor historically has been at the core of what makes society work while simultaneously marginalized and minimized by those in power.

Journals depend almost entirely on that invisible, often uncompensated labor. This can be shocking for people outside academia to learn given how central publishing research is to the work of scholars and “The Academy.” Authors are writing and submitting their work to get published. Reviewers are evaluating whether that work should be part of the published scholarly “conversation.” Technical editors and editorial teams are managing the process to produce final versions of issues. 

And everyone does this as only part of their job–or simply for the love of the work.

It might seem like this work should be the first to be abandoned in a crisis, for example, during perhaps a pandemic, or the repercussions of a pandemic, or world historical social and political upheaval, or just when things get busy. It can seem that reading and writing as a kind of “fighting” is too melodramatic or lofty a conception of what we do as teachers, scholars, and administrators of scholarly journals.

However, in reading the work of this issue’s authors, in laboring with them, their reviewers, our managing editorial team and our technical editing team to get this issue out, I am once again convinced that it is worth the effort. Whatever our “fight” is as scholars, it is to create knowledge and to revise it in dialogue with thoughtful, compassionate, but critical readers and reviewers. And it remains worth it.

I am all the more committed to it here at Xchanges where our authors are all graduate and undergraduate students. We, along with other journals who publish student work, operate on the assumption that undergraduate and graduate students are groundbreaking scholars, contributing to the dialogical, knowledge-making enterprise of academia. They are doing the work. It is up to us to acknowledge that and provide them the means to present that work.

It is in this spirit that we are very excited to present Xchanges Volumes 17.1 and 17.2. Our double issue features two articles from graduate students (Angelyn Sommers and Jennifer Wilhite) and two from undergraduate students (Cassandra Cerasia and Kay Hernández). Their work connects thematically and serendipitously with one another in ways that, for my part, are all the more delightful for having been entirely unplanned.

Volume 17.1 begins with the graduate authors addressing how we might help developing writers at the college and university level improve. Both authors are thinking through how to more holistically support students as they struggle with the challenge of growing into identities as professional and scholarly writers by way of specific approaches to classroom pedagogy (Sommers) and peer coaching support (Wilhite).

Angelyn Sommers opens our double issue with her article “Stories We Hear, Stories We Tell, and Stories We Live: Teaching Narrative in the Technical Communication Classroom.” Here Sommers articulates how narrative and stories might serve as a component of our instructional methods in technical and professional communication (TPC) classrooms. While narrative might seem strange to include when teaching technical and professional writing, Sommers argues that narrative and story have a substantive history of inclusion in TPC scholarship. Sommers illustrates how the field has only grown more attuned to the value of narrative and how it can be a path to greater inclusion, which only improves the quality of practitioners’ work in the field. Instructors can help students, Sommers argues, see narrative “as a dynamic tool that surrounds every aspect of the work they do” (Sommers, 2022, p. 4). 

Sommers encourages readers to think about the application of narrative to TPC pedagogy in terms of three themes: Stories We Hear, Stories We Tell, and Stories We Live. The stories we hear, Sommers argues, are told in the assigned readings and class assignments. They must be inclusive and expansively representative so that a wider share of students can recognize themselves in those stories. Additionally, greater inclusion of the stories we hear helps students (and instructors) learn to listen, hear, and engage a wider, more expansive set of stories in their work. The stories we tell, according to Sommers, are those we teach students to tell themselves when developing narratives for grant proposals, in recommendation reports, even in infographics and visual TPC, for example (Sommers, 2022, p. 7). 

Finally, Sommers notes the stories we live bring together the first two points and connect the stories we hear and tell to the everyday lives we all must live. Sommers poignantly asks readers to consider the way narrative requires writers in TPC to acknowledge their positionality–indeed a story is always told by someone, from somewhere. All of this, Sommers believes, supports the use of narrative as a “tool to drive social change.” Students and scholars interested in bringing narrative into the classroom and using narrative as a tool to affect change in their TPC writing should certainly engage with Sommers’s work here.

Next, Jennifer Wilhite also takes up issues of writing instruction support in her article “Examining the Effectiveness of a Peer Writing Coaching Model.” Here Wilhite engages with the question of how writing at the graduate level might function as a barrier to students–specifically women who may be returning to school after pursuing a career or personal path. Wilhite focuses on the specifics of “graduate-level writing support” for this particular group of students. More pointedly, however, Wilhite asks what kind of support do these students “find most helpful/least helpful, and why?” The goal of this inquiry is,  of course, to determine “what steps can universities take to design writing initiatives that target the specific needs of women entering graduate programs after time pursuing industry and life goals” (Wilhite, 2022, p. 5)?

The product of a 3-year study, Wilhite not only interviewed participants and studied their responses relative to the literature and history of writing support in higher education, but she also worked with students as a peer coach. Students with whom she worked and ultimately interviewed for her study came from a variety of disciplines, providing insight from within very different fields, some of which are not considered “writing intensive” in stereotypical ways (e.g., certain STEM disciplines).

Wilhite used Cultural Historical Activity Theory (CHAT) and Feminist Standpoint Theory (FST) to identify themes and map her participants’ experiences as writers. As Wilhite notes, this process of mapping drew her attention to the fact that

those who sought help tended to be women returning to school after time away from the academy and that their support needs and wants were different from those students who had continued from their undergrad into their graduate studies without interruption. (Wilhite, 2022, p. 8)

Wilhite argues that these frameworks and the process of working with this student population reinforced the argument that peer-coaching can be a meaningful mode of writing support for graduate writers, particularly women who are returning to school after an extended hiatus. Readers interested in graduate writing support, the experiences of women returning to higher ed for graduate studies, as well as the use of CHAT and FST as methods should certainly engage with Wilhite’s work here.

Volume 17.2 presents the work of two undergraduate students whose articles are also in potentially implicit dialogue, again unplanned and unintended. Both authors, in different contexts and in different ways, think through how persuasion and language use work in and through the rhetorical context of “science writing.”

Cassandra Cerasia opens the second half of this double issue with her article, “Analysis of Communication of Animal Welfare and Animal Rights in Aquariums.” Here Cerasia conducts an analysis of the rhetoric and communication practices of two different groups as discourse communities: activist and scientific discourse communities. Specifically, Cerasia compares the way language around “animal welfare” is represented in films like 2013’s Blackfish about the events and causes of the injuries and death of orca trainers at SeaWorld to contrary perspectives in science discourse communities. Cerasia also discusses the publication of an article sharing the results of a study about the use of cyanide in illegal fishing practices. Cerasia engages with the controversy that ensued when studies were not able to replicate the findings.

Cerasia addresses the cultural commonplace that activist discourse communities– perhaps because we generally believe them as acting in fundamentally altruistic ways–are accurately representing the situation about which they are advocating, whether it is preventing harmful fishing practices to the welfare of a larger ecosystem or animals in captivity. In her analysis, Cerasia highlights counter arguments from within the scientific communities that may render activist claims less powerful, perhaps revealing them to be inaccurate. While the details of such research and activism can be difficult for non-specialists to follow, Cerasia’s work reminds us that science communication has especially significant ramifications for the attitudes of the public and the policies the public may demand be implemented to reflect those changing attitudes.

Kay Hernández closes out volume 17.2 and our double issue with their article “The Importance of Language Use in the Discussion of  POC and Minority Groups in the Biological Sciences.” Hernández focuses particularly on the language scientists and scholars have used historically when referring to people of color (POC) and minority groups in the presentation of research in the biological sciences. 

Attempting to identify the “presuppositions and assertions” embedded in scientists’ work as shown in their language use, Hernández examines 30 scientific research articles from over a 50 year period and identifies the ways authors describe POC and minority groups with special attention to how those terms change over time, from 1970 to 2021. Hernández points to critical examples of scientists’ use of terms that we now recognize as outdated, indeed outright offensive and abusive today, tracking both slight and substantial shifts in terminology.

By way of a content warning, readers should note that in tracing the language scientists used during this period, Hernández’s article contains words now understood to be inappropriate, at the very least, and others we understand to be violent erasure as they center the more socially and politically powerful outsiders’ names for Indigenous, Black, and Brown people, among others. Hernández’s work is important precisely because they contribute to the ongoing argument that the language of “science” is not transparently objective. It is not necessarily a “pure” process, one to which we can unproblematically retreat methodologically when talking about others. As editors, we are mindful that scholars must sometimes engage challenging, uncomfortable, and offensive topics in their studies. We recognize that they must work at a point of tension between naming the problems with prior scholarly work, as Hernández does, while also avoiding where possible the reinscription in the scholarly record, for example, the casual linguistic violence of colonial and oppressive regimes that shaped those regimes’ “objective” scientific output.

Hernández’s article is especially commendable as an example of undergraduate research as they recognize with particular clarity and forthrightness the limitations of their study while pointing to ways it might be extended and further developed. Regardless, Hernández argues, we must attend to the question of language use in the sciences, for it is more than just a fussy matter of tone policing or mannered politeness. Rather, language works within and through our “objective” scientific processes to position and represent the very things we purport to study. Hernández claims that if research is to be an inclusive enterprise—and, I would add, it must be if it is to be something like “usefully accurate”—we must attend carefully to our language use in scientific research as well.

Hernández’s thoughtful articulation of the limitations of their research is an especially valuable way to end this volume because it highlights something we might often forget or may not have fully internalized especially as scholars and writers early in our careers: research is an unfinished dialogue. Articles and journal issues are not closed, sacred texts that we must only consume and interpret but not add to or build upon. Indeed, each article here, and in any scholarly journal, is an invitation to further engagement.

I would encourage you, dear reader, if you are an undergraduate, graduate student, or their instructor interested in any or part of any of the topics discussed by the authors of Xchanges 17.1/17.2, that you consider using them as an opportunity to engage, to conduct your own research, and to join in dialogue with our authors here and in previous issues as part of work in your courses and seminars.

Might I also suggest you consider also submitting that work to Xchanges for review and possible publication? 

We would love for the opportunity to consider your work for inclusion here. Contact us with any questions you might have. The editorial team and I will be happy to engage with you about your work’s possible fit for Xchanges and how you might position it for possible success in publishing.

Once again, our thanks to the authors in this issue for their persistence and patience in this trying year. We are excited to present your work to the world in Xchanges!

Thank you also to those who have agreed to join our review board in 2022. A special thanks to those who stepped up to review for us this year for the current and forthcoming issues. I know many of you did so under a time crunch or when circumstances overwhelmed others on the team. We see you. We are very grateful.

To those authors who submitted work but did not have work published with us or elsewhere this year: Don’t feel like you should give up! Writing is revising. Writing is persistence. Indeed, research and writing is often more failure than success, trying again, refining, responding to feedback and reviews, trying again before our work finds its home. A time may come for us to abandon this or that writing project or task, but much of the time, it just needs a bit more work.

So, I want to extend a special invitation to you to keep up your research writing through your undergraduate and graduate work in rhetoric, technical communication, and writing studies and submit again to Xchanges.

Finally, I would like to extend several special thanks on behalf of myself and the managing editorial team here at Xchanges:

- Courtney Cox has been with the editorial team for over two years, working with Alex Hanson and me to communicate with authors, process submissions, and communicate with reviewers. Her work has been invaluable; indeed, her positive impact was felt even in this most recent issue. Courtney became Dr. Courtney Cox last year, completing her PhD in English at Illinois State University. We extend a hearty congratulations to her for this accomplishment. Courtney has needed to step down from the managing editorial team as she pursues her new career. We are sad to see her go but are grateful for her hard work with the team. Thank you Courtney for all you have done as part of the Xchanges managing editorial team! We wish you all the best in your future endeavors!

-We would also like to extend our special thanks to Alex Hanson who has done a great deal of the work for Xchanges this year, especially in the first half, all while juggling her many obligations. Alex has stepped back temporarily from the managing editorial team and we look forward to her eventual return. In the meantime, we are deeply grateful for the work she has done in the last two years to keep Xchanges moving forward. Thank you, Alex!

- We would also like to extend a special thanks to Jennifer Burke Reifman, currently a PhD candidate at UC Davis, who has stepped up to assist the managing editorial team in the months since Courtney’s departure. It would be no exaggeration to say that this double issue would not have come together had Jennifer not agree to help. We are grateful for her work and look forward to working with her going forward as part of the managing editorial team! Thank you so much, Jennifer! Solidarity!

- I would like to extend a special thanks as well to Xchanges founder, Editor-in-Chief, as well as its heart and soul, Dr. Julianne Newmark, for her work this year keeping us moving forward with direction, enthusiasm, and personal care for each of us on the team. Thank you, Julie!

Finally, a special thanks to you, dear readers. We appreciate your support of Xchanges and its authors. Please enjoy engaging with the authors in this double issue. As you read it, consider how you might engage it. Perhaps this might mean you submit your own work in response or on another  topic in technical communication, rhetoric, and writing studies. Regardless, we look forward to connecting with you in 2023!

Keep reading. Keep writing . . . We’re all still here.

~ Beau Pihlaja
Co-Managing Editor