Robillard AE (Full Text) "Young scholars affecting composition: A challenge to disciplinary citation practices " College English 68(3):253-270, January 2006.

[Eugene Garfield]

Amy E. Robillard : e-mail : aerobil at ilstu.edu

FULL TEXT POSTED WITH PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR

Author(s): Robillard AE

Source: COLLEGE ENGLISH 68 (3): 253-270 JAN 2006

Document Type: Article
Language: English
Cited References: 29      Times Cited: 0
KeyWords Plus: WRITING CLASSROOM; AUTHORSHIP

Addresses: Robillard AE (reprint author), Illinois State Univ, Normal, IL
61761 USA
Illinois State Univ, Normal, IL 61761 USA

Publisher: NATL COUNCIL TEACHERS ENGLISH, 1111 KENYON RD, URBANA, IL 61801
USA
Subject Category: LITERATURE
IDS Number: 000PI

ISSN: 0010-0994

Title: Young scholars affecting composition: A challenge to disciplinary
citation practices

Author(s): Robillard AE

Source: COLLEGE ENGLISH 68 (3): 253-270 JAN 2006

Document Type: Article
Language: English
Cited References: 29      Times Cited: 0
KeyWords Plus: WRITING CLASSROOM; AUTHORSHIP

Addresses: Robillard AE (reprint author), Illinois State Univ, Normal, IL
61761 USA
Illinois State Univ, Normal, IL 61761 USA
Publisher: NATL COUNCIL TEACHERS ENGLISH, 1111 KENYON RD, URBANA, IL 61801
USA
Subject Category: LITERATURE
IDS Number: 000PI

ISSN: 0010-0994



POSTED WITH THE PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR.



 Full Text  (8419   words)

 Copyright National Council of Teachers of English Conference on College
 Composition and Communication Jan 2006

 Scene 1. College English. 1993. As epigraph to her article, "The Limits
 of Containment: Text-as-Container in Composition Studies," Darsie Bowden
 cites a nameless student, who is labeled only as "Student in a
 Composition Class" (364). I find it interesting that Bowden- or the
 editor of College English- chose to capitalize the entire label as though
 it was a proper name.



 With the inauguration of Young Scholars in Writing: Undergraduate
 Research in Writing and Rhetoric, composition scholars now have access
 to student writing that is not accompanied by-and therefore not
 represented as an instantiation of-the pedagogical apparatus that has
 historically accompanied the publication of student writing in
 composition studies' flagship journals. Students from schools as varied
 as the University of Missouri-Kansas City, the University of
 Wisconsin-Madison, Oberlin College, and Messiah College publish their
 work in this new undergraduate rhetoric and writing journal founded by
 scholars Laurie Grobman and the late Candace Spigelman of Penn State
 Berks-Lehigh Valley. As is the case with any other work published in a
 journal, authors' full names, institutional affiliations, and short bios
 are provided. Each essay that appears in Young Scholars has been
 reviewed by peers and almost all of the essays have been through at
 least one revision. For Volume 1, students in a senior capstone English
 course called The Editorial Process served as blind peer reviewers. For
 subsequent volumes, previously published Young Scholars authors have
 joined students in the capstone course to serve as manuscript reviewers.
 Unlike most other student writing published in composition studies
 journals, students are not identified as students of particular teachers
 or particular pedagogies, but as authors in their own right. In the Fall
 2003 inaugural issue, which includes articles on, for example, basic
 literacy, collaborative learning, online texts and identities, and peer
 tutoring and literacy narratives, Grobman and Spigelman suggest that
 readers approach the published student writing as scholarship. Should
 this approach take hold in the field, composition scholars will be faced
 with important theoretical questions about what it means to cite the
 work of other teachers' students by full name. What implications might
 such citation practices hold for the field's current practices of citing
 students anonymously or by first name only?



 In this essay, I will argue that citation practices are, at least in
 part, determined by affect. We cite the people we cite for a variety of
 reasons, and one of those reasons is that we have what Robert J. Connors
 calls "feelings of debt and ownership" ("Rhetoric," Part 1 7) toward the
 texts and the authors we cite. While my argument implies a new
 understanding of writing teachers' relationships to the work students
 produce in their classes, my goal here is not to evaluate the
 consequences of this changing relationship or to suggest classroom
 methodologies for managing such changes. My primary concern in this
 essay is twofold: first, I want to focus on the specific way in which a
 shifting disciplinary focus from writing as verb-as represented most
 clearly by the pedagogical imperative-to writing as noun-and object of
 study in its own right-has created a new opportunity for students to
 contribute to the disciplinary knowledge of composition studies. Second,
 I am concerned with the specific potential that Young Scholars in
 Writing has to prompt a reevaluation of composition studies' citation of
 students anonymously or by first name only. When student texts are
 represented in composition studies as more than instantiations of
 particular pedagogies-when student texts are not indebted to our
 pedagogical work, in other words-as they are not in Young Scholars in
 Writing-what patterns of citation will we establish to acknowledge our
 "feelings of debt and ownership" toward these student authors? In his
 work on the rhetoric of citation systems, Connors notes that, though
 such systems "constrain many of the ways we deal with each other and
 each other's work, they have largely gone unremarked" (Part 2 242). I've
 set myself the task of remarking on composition studies' citation of
 student authors, largely because I see in students' opportunity to
 publish their work a new challenge for composition scholars.



 WRITING, N.



 In their article, "When Peer Tutors Write about Writing: Literacy
 Narratives and Self Reflection," Heather Bastian and Lindsey Harkness
 demonstrate that composition scholars have constructed "an image-a
 critical image-of students," and that such critical images of students



 are further supported by the type of student the discourse community of
 composition chooses to discuss in their essays. Struggling or poor
 writers remain the focus. The preoccupation with "poor" and "struggling"
 students establishes these writers as the norm and disregards other
 students, such as competent college writers. (81)



 Bastian and Harkness suggest that students ought to be provided
 opportunities "to engage in the rhetoric of the composition field, so
 that they can create more accurate representations of themselves" (91),
 a suggestion that makes sense when one considers the extent to which
 composition studies-unlike, say, astronomy or biology or economics-has
 relied upon student writing as the subject of so much of its research.
 While I agree wholeheartedly with Bastian and Harkness's claim that
 providing students the opportunity to represent themselves in
 composition scholarship might allow the field to "learn about the
 concerns of student writers and student writing from the writers
 themselves" (92), as a disciplined compositionist I also know that
 composition studies remains far more interested in the how of teaching
 writing than in the what of that writing. The pedagogical imperative-the
 expectation that all scholarly and theoretical work in composition
 translate relatively seamlessly to classroom practice-has functioned to
 perpetuate the field's interest in teaching practices-the how.



 Recently, a number of compositionists have begun to consider what a
 writing course might look like were we to combine the how with the what.
 In WPA-L listserv discussions, Doug Downs, Christina Fisanick, and
 Elizabeth Wardle advocate a focus in first-year composition courses on
 the very questions underpinning composition studies itself-especially
 student empowerment. This small trend represents a shift in the central
 question of composition studies, as John Trimbur notes in his article
 "Changing the Question: Should Writing Be Studied?" In the 1960s and
 1970s, the central question of composition studies was "Can writing be
 taught?" (16). The process movement, in what Trimbur calls "a kind of
 trickster operation," revised the question to "How can writing be
 learned?" shifting the subject of the question from teacher to student
 and leading to "a proliferation of answers with no end in sight" (22).
 The question that seems now to be at the forefront of composition
 studies is "Should writing be studied?" and the answer that the process
 movement, with the writing workshop at the center of undergraduate
 writing instruction, seems to be providing is a resounding "no" (22).
 Trimbur cites the pedagogical imperative-on the part of not just
 teachers but also students who expect to become better writers through
 classroom practice-as the reason the question "Should writing be
 studied?" has met with such negative responses. The pedagogical
 imperative fixes writing as a verb, whereas Bastian and Harkness's
 work-and the publication of Young Scholars in Writing more
 generally-forces us to see writing as a noun, an object of study for
 students as well as for teachers. More recently, Nancy Dejoy argues in
 her book, Process This: Undergraduate Writing in Composition Studies,
 that engaging students in the questions of composition studies is
 essential to reconceiving students' current positions as consumers of
 composition's disciplinary knowledge and seeing them as participants in
 and contributors to such knowledge. Such work explicitly shifts the
 focus from writing as verb-as represented by the process movement's
 tenet that all students can write and all students can be taught to
 write-to writing as noun and object of classroom study. If students are
 studying and theorizing about writing, rather than simply learning how
 to write, as clearly they are-and they're publishing their work in
 peer-reviewed journals-composition studies will need to revise its
 citation practices.



 I have to step back at this point and confess that my first professional
 impulse on citing the work of Bastian and Harkness is to analyze their
 work as student writing, to draw on it as support for a pedagogical
 argument I'm making ("see, when we ask students to write about writing,
 they do so eloquently and convincingly," writes the teacher hero). I
 approach the writing in YSIW as student writing even though I have no
 knowledge of the pedagogical apparatus that shaped the writing. Jane E.
 Hindman might say that this is because I've been disciplined to approach
 student writing in particular ways, that my professional identity
 involves conflicting functions: those of both "a guardian of cultural
 capital disciplined by the conventions of professional practice and a
 cultural critic committed to revealing and decentering hegemonic
 domination of access to power and knowledge" (103). To analyze student
 writing for what it demonstrates about a particular pedagogy-this is an
 authorizing move in the discourse of composition studies, perhaps the
 authorizing move. Further, Anis Bawarshi's notion of the "genre
 function" offers a compelling explanation of how genre shapes our
 disciplinary responses to student writing. Bawarshi explains that "as
 individuals' rhetorical responses to recurrent situations become
 typified as genres, the genres in turn help structure the way these
 individuals conceptualize and experience these situations, predicting
 their notions of what constitutes appropriate and possible responses and
 actions" (340). Our role as teacher is constituted by the genres within
 which we work and which shape our understanding of both students' and
 our own "appropriate and possible responses": the genre of the
 assignment prompt, of the student essay, of responses to student
 writing. To approach student writing as an instantiation of a particular
 pedagogy, as we've been disciplined to do for decades now, is to fix
 writing as a verb, to focus on the how rather than the what. But Young
 Scholars in Writing doesn't allow readers to make that move because it
 includes no pedagogical apparatus. Instead, the journal's editors ask
 that we read student writing as scholarship that contributes to the
 "on-going formation of this disciplinary community" (5). To approach
 student writing as scholarship fixes writing as a noun, as a
 contribution to the work of composition.



 If we take up Grobman and Spigelman's call, the ongoing formation of
 composition studies' disciplinary community is going to be marked by
 shifting conceptions of what it means to draw on undergraduates'
 writing. Despite composition scholars' earlier suggestions that, for
 example, we read the work of beginning writers as the work of authors,
 thus allowing for the possibility of reading students' work "as we might
 read any other author's texts, not as the 'emerging' or 'failed' work of
 outsiders" (Greene 189), disciplinary citation practices preclude
 scholars' citing students as they might cite any other author. Citation
 practices suggest a great deal, as Connors notes, about authors'
 "feelings of debt and ownership" ("Rhetoric," Part 1 7). When we cite
 one another but leave students nameless or pseudonymous, we perpetuate
 an author/student binary that works against our liberatory disciplinary
 ideals. If, as Connors suggests, the author's name functions as a sort
 of "nametag" for a work (Part 2 239),1 the student's name has to this
 point functioned in composition scholarship as evidence of the teachers
 pedagogical accomplishment.



 Scene 2. JAC. 2001. In her published response to Thomas Rickert's work,
 Judith Goleman finds herself unconsciously challenging the prevailing
 discourse of composition studies when she grants student writing the
 same stature as the work of colleagues. Goleman explains that,



 in the process of writing this response, I have come to understand how
 "John White" [her pseudonym for a student] succeeded in disrupting my
 normal reading with his act. Two-thirds of the way through my first
 draft, I noticed that I had stopped referring to my former student as
 "John" and had begun calling him by his surname, "White," extending to
 him the same stature I had given Rickert and Bartholomae. I have decided
 not to correct this inconsistency but to retain it as a marker of the
 way my authoritative relationship with John White's work was altered.
 ("Writing" 661)



 I cannot help picking up on Goleman's choice of the word stature. While
 Goleman consciously gave her student the pseudonym "John White," her
 respect for her student's writing led her to grant him the kind of
 authority we usually consciously try to (and are told to) avoid.



 THE FUNCTIONS OF CITATION



 As scholars of authorship have noted, citation practices are explained
 to students primarily via economic metaphors (Gilfus; Howard; Rose).
 Students are taught-in handbooks and in classroom exchanges-that the
 primary function of citation is to avoid plagiarism by giving credit
 where credit is due. Students are admonished to reveal their
 indebtedness to the authors whose work subsidizes their own. In
 composition studies, a field whose research has for decades now been
 advanced by the work of both scholars and students, it seems rather
 logical to argue that composition scholars ought also to give credit
 where credit is due, to acknowledge their indebtedness to the students
 whose work has provided so much rich data for their research. But, as I
 will demonstrate below, citation practices are not governed by logic
 alone. Rather, affect governs so many of our citation decisions that one
 cannot help but wonder what role affect plays in our disciplinary
 practice of citing students by only their first names.



 I break down the following functions of citation into three permeable
 categories: those functions that primarily serve the reader, those that
 primarily serve the citing author(s), and those that primarily serve the
 cited author(s). My purpose in establishing such categories is to
 emphasize the relational functions of citation. While many of the
 following functions most certainly fit into more than one category, I
 construct this rather arbitrary system of categories so that I may
 demonstrate the differing degrees to which reader, writer, and cited
 author benefit from scholarly citation practices.



 For the reader of a scholarly work, citation functions to



 1. Provide access to source material.2 As Connors notes in his history
 of citation systems, parenthetical systems such as APA and MLA "had as
 their clearest purpose the easing of a reader's task of finding and
 accessing cited sources" ("Rhetoric," Part 2 238). This function of
 citation is perhaps the second most frequently cited explanation of
 citation systems given to students. Imagine a reader who wants to follow
 up on an idea you mentioned only briefly, we tell students. I imagine
 there are very few writing teachers who ask students to imagine a
 plagiarism-obsessed teacher who wants to police the students' work,
 though this second function of citation undoubtedly performs double duty
 in this way.



 2. Establish relationships among texts. As Shirley K. Rose has noted,
 multiple citations in a text function to establish coherence
 relationships, including the coordinate relationship ("and"), the
 opposite ("but"), the generative ("for"), the consequential ("so"), the
 apposite ("or"), the exemplary ("for example"), the sequential ("first,
 second") and the iterative (244). Interestingly, Rose names the
 exemplary relationship as that which "makes the strongest of claims for
 the value of its contribution to the disciplinary economy" (246).
 Student texts for decades now have been and continue to be represented
 in the scholarship as examples and therefore as strong claims for the
 value of a particular pedagogy, that pedagogy designed and implemented
 by the author of the article. Rose goes on to argue that "exemplary
 citations implicitly argue that within an area of study or category of
 texts, one text can stand for all, which can also be understood as a
 claim to uniformity and reliability" (247). When students are known to a
 disciplinary community only as Sarah or Dwayne or Minh or Bobby, readers
 are led to believe that one student stands for all students in a way
 that readers would never be led to believe one authorship theorist
 stands for all authorship theorists, for example.



 For the author of a scholarly text, citing other scholars functions to



 1. Establish the citing author's expertise. Connors notes that
 parenthetical reference systems "were formulated to allow authors to
 display complete control over previous work in their special field"
 (Part 2 238).



 2. Provide evidence for the citing author's claims.



 3. Affirm the citing author's membership and participation in a
 particular discourse community (Connors Part 1; Rose). Rebecca Moore
 Howard notes that citation is a means by which one "establishes one's
 right to contribute a subordinate voice to scholarly discourse" (2).
 When, earlier in this essay, I cited the work of Bowden, Goleman, and
 Trimbur, I was letting my readers know that I am versed in the discourse
 of composition studies. My citations of these scholars might be said to
 function, as Connors puts it, as a "secret handshake known only to
 members of the secret society" (Part 2). Clearly, this function of
 citation overlaps with Number 1. By displaying my "complete control"
 over previous work in my field, I am also claiming membership in a
 particular discourse community.



 4. Align a citing author with a particular school of thought. To cite
 Peter Elbow, Donald Murray, James Britton, and Ken Macrorie is to align
 oneself with the school of thought in composition studies known as
 expressivism. To cite David Bartholomae, Joseph Harris, Bruce Horner,
 and Min-Zhan Lu is to align oneself with a pedagogical approach
 associated with the Pittsburgh School: an approach characterized by an
 emphasis on academic discourse and a social-epistemic rhetorics.



 5. Act as a "protective garment" (Howard), "battering any potential
 critics into silence" (Connors, "Rhetoric," Part 1 11). If readers doubt
 my claim about this function of citation, I direct them to the work of
 Howard and Connors, both of whom are established, respected scholars of
 compositions studies.



 For the authors whose work is cited, such citation functions to



 1. Give credit where credit is due. Just as students are required to
 acknowledge whose work shaped their own, so too are scholars expected to
 do the same.



 2. "Identify and legitimate contributions to a discipline's economy"
 (Rose 244). When Jennifer Beech cites, in the same article, both Joseph
 Harris and Jim Goad, she is legitimating Goad's contribution to our
 disciplinary knowledge. Likewise, when Julie Lindquist introduces
 composition scholars to the ethnographic work of Laura Grindstaff,
 Lindquist legitimates Grindstaff's contribution to the field's
 understanding of emotions as performance. When students are represented
 by first name only, their contributions to the discipline are neither
 identified nor legitimated.



 3. Call attention to the work of a little-known or an up-and-coming
 scholar. When Rebecca Moore Howard, my dissertation director, cites my
 unpublished work in a keynote address at a national conference, her
 citation functions to legitimate the contribution my work has thus far
 made to the field.



 4. Suggest a great deal about an author's "feelings of debt and
 ownership" (Connors, "Rhetoric," Part 1 7). While scholars are
 honor-bound to cite those whose work they've quoted directly, one could
 argue that they are not honor-bound to list the names of every writer
 who has influenced their work; indeed, such a task would prove next to
 impossible. Therefore, those whose work is cited are those to whom the
 author experiences "feelings of debt and ownership. "As Howard notes in
 "The Citation Mambo," Peter Elbow's feelings of debt and ownership-as
 evidenced by the acknowledgments he makes in the second edition of
 Writing without Teachers-have changed significantly since the 1973
 publication of the first edition. In the second edition, Elbow
 acknowledges his intellectual debts" (qtd. in Howard 13) to the work of
 Macrorie, Michael Polyani, Peter Medawar, Carl Rogers, Jerome Bruner,
 and others.



 5. Indicate the citing author's respect for the cited author's work. The
 people whose work we choose to cite in our own work are the people we
 have deemed worthy of response, and the people we have deemed worthy of
 response are, I argue, those whose work we respect. I don't think it's a
 stretch to claim that the decisions we make about whose work to cite are
 affective decisions.



 6. "Affirm individual property, relinquishing the citing writer's claim
 to it" (Howard 6). The words I cite in quotation marks belong not to me
 but to the author whose name appears in parentheses after the quotation
 marks. I acknowledge, when citing Howard, that her ideas are her own,
 and that those ideas have influenced my own. Paradoxically, this move
 perpetuates the figure of the autonomous author who owns her work
 (Howard, in this case) and the influenced author who stands on the
 shoulders of those authors (I, in this case). My work is made possible,
 in part, by Howard's work.



 7. "Show how [others] have shared their work with us" (Robbins 168).
 Sarah Robbins sees this move as a way of creating a record "of the
 meaningful, materially situated links between our writing and its
 sources, not because others we 'credit' with conventions like footnotes
 are the sole owners of their texts" (168). Rather, this move to
 acknowledge the ways others have shared their work with us is a move to
 avoid "the problems that result when authorial credit becomes so blurred
 as to make the monitoring of textual integrity impossible" (167).



 A colleague of mine remarked earlier this year, after my telling her
 about my work's being cited by a friend of a friend in College English,
 that she has a small group of graduate school buddies who try to cite
 one another whenever possible. To risk stating the obvious, this is
 because there is value in being cited by others in the field. To be
 cited is to know that one is being read, but, perhaps more important,
 such citations function as a form of exchange value in the academic
 marketplace. When my work is cited, I can materially represent my
 "impact on the field," and my value in the academic marketplace
 increases. When I cite the work of a colleague whom I know personally,
 then, I am doing more than indicating the ways her work has influenced
 my own. I am calling scholarly attention to her work because I know that
 that attention is valuable in its own right. In addition to establishing
 one of the eight epistemic relationships Rose points to above, I am
 representing an affective relationship.



 In this list of thirteen functions of citation, one notices traces of
 affect. Most obvious is Connors's claim that citation suggests "feelings
 of debt and ownership" [emphasis added]. Debt and ownership are not
 subject simply to the rules of logic. I may feel debt toward Howard for
 her influence on my work, but I also may feel ownership of the work
 students in my classes do as a result of the sequence of assignments I
 designed. My feelings of debt and ownership are evidenced, then, in my
 representation-my citation-of some writers and not of others. Affect is
 evident, too, in the metaphors Rose has used to describe the functions
 of citation. As an act of faith, citation might be understood as "a
 ritual whereby a writer affirms community membership and testifies to
 his or her acceptance of the shared beliefs of the discourse community"
 (241). As a courtship ritual, citation might be understood as that which
 builds "identification among members of a discourse community" (2 47).
 Faith and courtship are decidedly affective, not subject to logic. The
 predominant metaphor in writing handbooks, Rose notes, is the economic
 metaphor (241), that which relies on matters of debt, credit, and
 payment. When we talk about citation with students, it's the economic
 metaphor that predominates because it's the economic metaphor that is
 most susceptible to logic rather than affect. With students, teachers
 don't often talk about "feelings" of debt; rather, our discussions of
 citation are likely dominated by the notion of giving credit where
 credit is due. And credit is due whenever we use the words or ideas of
 another writer. Simple as that.



 But most writers know on some level that citations aren't simply matters
 of rationality and logic. Citations reveal a great deal about personal
 allegiances. We cite the people we cite because we feel certain things
 toward them. Judith Goleman has had a tremendous impact on my scholarly
 growth. My citation of her work in this essay functions not necessarily
 to showcase my expertise in Goleman's work but as a kind of public
 acknowledgment of the impact she's had on my thinking. She trained me to
 see composition studies as a field devoted to the study of student
 writing and to understand my function as a composition scholar as, in
 large part, to demonstrate the ways student writing contributes to my
 disciplinary knowledge. This is not to say that we necessarily know
 personally the people whose work we cite. When I get really excited
 about something I'm reading, there is clearly emotion involved. For
 example, the first time I read Carolyn Kay Steedman's Landscape for a
 Good Woman, I literally had to stop myself from going forward because I
 wanted to savor each and every word. Steedman was the first writer I'd
 read who seemed to be putting my social class experiences into words,
 words that I hadn't been able to find up to that point. When I then cite
 Steedman's work in my own, I am representing an affective relationship
 at the same time that I am representing an epistemological relationship.
 Hindman might note that what I am doing when I call attention to the
 affective experiences I have with texts is "bearing witness to [my] own
 rhetoricity" (99). The citation practices I am calling attention to in
 this essay are part and parcel of the authority composition studies has
 constructed for itself within the larger academic community. In order to
 preserve this constructed authority, composition scholars, like other
 professionals, "systematically and systemically reroute our professional
 authority from the transient, contextual vicissitudes of our everyday
 practices and corporeal selves to an already constituted and abstract
 realm of disciplinary subjects, linguistic patterns, and texts" (Hindman
 100). The authors whose work we cite in our scholarship, Hindman seems
 to suggest, become author-functions rather than materially situated
 people. It will take more than reading students' work "as we might any
 other author's text" (Greene 189) to affect the way we cite students in
 the scholarship. I am suggesting that the publication of an
 undergraduate journal in writing and rhetoric has the potential to
 disrupt this pattern by forcing us to rethink our relationship to
 students involved in the scholarship of writing and rhetoric. More than
 a demonstration of the pedagogical imperative, Young Scholars in Writing
 functions as evidence that students are able and willing to contribute
 to composition studies' disciplinary knowledge about writing and
 rhetoric.



 Scene 3. College Composition and Communication. 2004. Goleman's "An
 'Immensely Simplified Task': Form in Modern Composition-Rhetoric"
 foregrounds one student's work and, in this essay, Goleman does not
 remark on her decision to refer to her student by full name, leading me
 to conclude that she has made a conscious decision to grant student
 writing the same stature as the work of Barrett Wendell and Fred Newton
 Scott. After introducing her student by full name-"So begins Sahra
 Ahmed's essay, 'Language Identity vs. Identity Crisis,' written in
 response to an assignment inviting students to compose their own complex
 portrait or complex analysis of cause [...]" (62)-Goleman refers to her
 student by surname only, a convention reserved in the discourse of
 composition studies for authors and scholars.



 THE FUNCTIONS OF CITING STUDENT WRITING



 In her analysis of Elbow's evolving citation practices, Howard argues
 that "citation practices vary according to the status of the person
 doing the citing" (7), and my analysis of scholars' patterns of
 citations of students persuades me that citation practices vary, too,
 according to the status of the person being cited. Again, to cite
 particular writers is to align oneself with a particular school of
 thought. To cite Elbow, Macrorie, and Murray is to align oneself with
 expressivist theory. To cite Sahra Ahmed or Silas Kulkarni or Alicia
 Brazeau is to align oneself with students, to forward the argument that
 students contribute to the knowledge of composition studies as more than
 examples of particular pedagogies. To cite students is to forward the
 argument that writing as a mode of learning (Emig) is a dialogic
 process; teachers teach students to write, but students, in their
 writing, teach teachers about more than the results of particular
 pedagogies. As Goleman demonstrates in her discussion of Ahmed's work,
 students can push instructors to become deeply involved in the
 content-the what in addition to the how-of their writing and its
 implications for our theories of literacy-as opposed to
 instructors'published responses to the results of a particular pedagogy.
 Goleman writes,



 Indeed, in the process of puzzling my initial response to Ahmed's paper,
 I have been challenged to reconsider my commonsense Western assumption
 that her wish for a "true Somali identity" necessarily contradicts her
 wish for others to understand both the vicissitudes of heteroglossia in
 postcolonial contexts and the reality of hybrid identities. I have asked
 myself, What if the acquisition of full literacy in the Somali language
 has been a force of resistance against domination and oppression, making
 its acquisition transformative in a different but equally plausible way
 as a sociopolitical analysis of one's hybridity? ("Simplified" 67-68)



 The relationship Goleman establishes between Ahmed's work and her own
 theorizing is what Rose would call a generative relationship. While
 Ahmed's paper might be said to be exemplary in the sense that Goleman
 does provide the pedagogical context in which Ahmed's paper was
 produced, Goleman's primary purpose in citing Ahmed is not to forward a
 particular pedagogy but, I argue, to document the ways that Ahmed shared
 her work with her (Robbins 168).



 When I was a graduate student learning to become a writing teacher, I
 was one of five teaching interns working under Goleman's direction. When
 Goleman decided to draw on my experiences as both a graduate student and
 as a new teacher of writing in a conference paper she was drafting, she
 requested my permission. I agreed, as long as I was able to read a draft
 of the paper, to see the way my work was being represented-to see what
 Goleman really thought of my work as a writing teacher. Goleman kept me
 anonymous, naming me "Charlotte." Though I didn't raise this issue at
 the time, I remember thinking that I would have preferred to be
 represented in her work by my real name. If I was going to be accorded
 the respect that accompanies citation-be it supportive or antagonistic-I
 wanted to be identified so that I could then point to the impact my work
 had had on a scholar whose work I respected. I wanted the right to claim
 the exchange value that accompanies citation. I imagine these feelings
 were not unique to me.



 Every time I've asked a student for permission to use his or her work in
 my own scholarship, that student has enthusiastically agreed. I've
 always given students the choice between remaining anonymous and being
 cited by their full names, and students have almost always chosen to be
 represented by their full names. Students, like anyone else, are
 generally pleased to see that their work has had an impact on someone
 else's thinking. They, like anyone else, like the idea of seeing their
 names in print.



 The most explicit example of this enthusiasm that I can think of in
 recent composition scholarship appears in Gail Stygall's article,
 "Resisting Privilege: Basic Writing and Foucault's Author Function."
 Stygall describes a project involving graduate students at Miami
 University, basic writing students at Temple University, and basic
 writing students at Indiana University-Purdue University Indianapolis.
 Graduate students corresponded with the basic writing students in an
 effort to become conscious of the discursive practices involved in
 constructing students as "basic writers" (322). My interest in this
 article lies specifically in an exchange between graduate student
 "Laurie" and basic writing student "Marg." In an explicit
 acknowledgement of the uses to which her writing is being put, Laurie
 writes to Marg:



 Why are our teachers having us do this? We're interesting people! We
 write differently, go to different schools, have different lives-all
 that'll show up in one way or another. Then they can write about us! I
 don't mind, either. It's really fun to meet another person-even through
 the mail-and I'll take my paragraph of fame if this winds up going
 somewhere for my teacher. (333)



 My initial reaction to this exchange is evidenced by my marginal
 notation: "How can you have 'fame' if you're known and represented as
 simply 'Laurie'?" Clearly, Laurie understands that there is value in
 being cited in her teacher's scholarship. And now, as I write, my
 reaction is focused on Laurie's understanding-even as she's writing-that
 her work will be appropriated. Stygall interprets Laurie's statement
 differently, however. Because Stygall is constructing an argument about
 the pervasiveness of the author-function in English departments, she
 sees Laurie's statement as an acknowledgment on Laurie's part that
 writing is what "will lead to being the author-scholar" (335). Following
 her reproduction of Laurie's comment about her "paragraph of fame,"
 Stygall writes, simply, "Writing is the game and they intend to be
 players" (335). Evident in Stygall's commentary is an understanding that
 Laurie knows the value of being cited; she wants to be a "player" in the

 "game" of writing. But Stygall resists acknowledging that Laurie's
 statement evidences an awareness that Stygall benefits from her use of
 Laurie's writing. Laurie is the subject of StygalPs research. Laurie is
 thus provided no opportunity to respond-at least publicly-to StygalPs
 interpretation of her writing. Likewise, as an anonymous student, Laurie
 cannot lay claim to the exchange value that accompanies citation with
 anyone other than her teacher or classmates; she cannot claim her
 "paragraph of fame."



 The primary reason provided for not citing students' full names in our
 work is that students need protection in ways that published authors do
 not. In 1994, as editor of College Composition and Communication, Joseph
 Harris issued a statement designed to regulate contributors' use of
 student work in published scholarship.3 The exigency for Harris's
 statement is the "exciting" broadening of "the range of texts that are
 now seen as calling for study and response-drawing attention especially
 to the writings of students, but also to assignments, comments on
 students papers [...]" (439). Citing the need to "distinguish between
 citing the published work of a mature scholar and the semi-private
 writings of students," Harris encourages contributors to College
 Composition and Communication to quote student work "both anonymously
 and with permission" (440). The issue for Harris is "one of control over
 text" (439). While published authors have the opportunity to revise
 their work before it appears in a scholarly journal, students often do
 not have the same opportunity, Harris points out. Rather than suggesting
 that authors provide students that opportunity, Harris suggests instead
 that we keep students anonymous and do not include them in our lists of
 works cited.



 An anonymous reviewer of an earlier draft of this essay takes issue with
 my treatment of Harris because, "if students are authors, they are out
 in the arena and open to criticism." Harris himself, in the same piece,
 writes that one of the functions of citation is to invoke response (441)
 and that cited authors ought to be represented "as agents making claims
 whose particulars are now being disputed, extended, or qualified" (440).
 The anonymous reviewer suggests that it is with "considerable validity"
 that institutional review boards "work to protect students' rights as
 subjects of our research." I am suggesting that, with the publication of
 Young Scholars in Writing, students are going to be appearing in our
 scholarship as more than the subjects of our research. While early
 scholarship in composition studies indeed focused on students as
 subjects of our research, and scholarship about students continues to
 dominate the field, the function of student writing need not be-and will
 not be, if Grobman and Spigelman's call is taken up-limited to serving
 as the subject of our research. There's room for us to do more than
 study our students' writing; with the publication of student work in
 Young Scholars in Writing, we now have the opportunity to establish what
 Rose calls "coherence relationships" between the published work of
 scholars and the published work of students. And, significantly,
 students have the opportunity to represent themselves as writers and
 thinkers contributing to the knowledge of an academic field.



 Moreover, the claim that student authors need "protection" becomes more
 difficult to defend when we reconsider it in light of the acknowledgment
 by Howard and Connors that even members of the discourse community need
 protection from potential criticism. Recall that one of the functions of
 citation is to "act as a protective garment" (Howard), "battering any
 potential critics into silence" (Connors, "Rhetoric," Part 1 11). Thus,
 while Harris points to the differences in control over text as a primary
 reason for keeping student authors anonymous, the notion that even
 established scholars need "protection" from potential criticism suggests
 that there are additional reasons for refusing to name students in our
 work. These reasons, I suggest, are affective.



 Composition studies is a field that prides itself on its relationship to
 pedagogy, to learning, to students and their writing. We believe that
 writing can be empowering, and we've spent decades gathering pedagogical
 support for such claims. Because of this particular relationship that
 the field has established with students, I've divided the functions of
 citing student writing into two permeable categories. Where scholarly
 citation in general functions as a form of cultural capital for both the
 cited author and the citing author, scholarly citation of student work
 in composition studies can function as a form of capital for the cited
 author-the student-and for the field more generally.



 For students, composition scholars' complete citation of their writing
 functions to



 1. Give credit where credit is due.



 2. Establish the cited author-and not just the group to which that cited
 author belongs, in this case "students"-as a legitimate contributor to a
 discourse community.



 3. Engender relationships among citing author(s) and cited authors(s)
 that move beyond the exemplary, teacher-student relationship fostered by
 the pedagogical imperative and toward what Rose calls generative,
 coordinate, and consequential relationships. As Goleman's work with
 Ahmed demonstrates, citing students by their full names offers
 composition scholars a concrete method of documenting the ways teachers
 learn from their students.



 For the academic field of composition studies, scholars' complete
 citation of student writing functions to



 1. Resist appropriation of student writing.



 2. Challenge the commonplace argument that students require a kind of
 protection from response that published scholars do not.



 3. Carve a space for published student response to scholars'
 interpretations of student work. Carra Leah Hood recently argued that
 journals that accept scholarship reliant on student writing should
 provide space for students' written responses to scholars'
 interpretations of their work (66), and I agree. Grobman, faculty editor
 of Young Scholars in Writing, recently announced that the journal "seeks
 Comments & Responses written by undergraduates that engage in
 intellectual dialogue with previously published articles in the
 journal." Three "Comment and Response" essays will appear in the
 journal's third volume. I applaud this move, though I do not believe
 that such responses should be restricted to Young Scholars in Writing.



 With the publication of Young Scholars in Writing, individual teachers
 have little cultural capital to accrue because the journal presents
 student writing as scholarship rather than as an instantiation of a
 particular pedagogy for which a teacher can take credit. Instead, the
 field is faced with a challenge to its practices of citing student work.




 MEETING THE CHALLENGE WITH DEEP ACTING



 The authors whose work we choose to cite are those authors whose work we
 as members of this discourse community choose to legitimate, respect,
 acknowledge, and affirm-even when we vigorously disagree with their
 claims. The students whose work we choose to cite are those students
 whose work we believe is in need of protection from a disciplinary
 economy that approaches living, breathing, material people as
 abstractions, as author-functions. Composition scholars are trained to
 read student writing in particular ways-as instantiations of particular
 pedagogies that might be replicated in different classrooms rather than
 as writing that might contribute to "the on-going formation of this
 disciplinary community" (Grobman and Spigelman 5). Until the publication
 of Young Scholars in Writing, readers have been able to distinguish
 between the work of scholars and that of students by simply noting whose
 work is identified by full name rather than by first name or
 anonymously.



 I believe that Lindquist's most recent work provides one possibility for
 approaching the challenge that Young Scholars in Writing poses to
 composition studies' citation practices. In her article, "Class Affects,
 Classroom Affectations," Lindquist draws on the work of cultural
 ethnographer Laura Grindstaff to argue for the value of teachers'
 performing strategic empathy in the writing classroom with working-class
 students. Grindstaff draws on Arlie Russell Hochschild to distinguish
 between "surface acting" and "deep acting." Lindquist explains the
 difference between surface acting and deep acting in terms of control:



 When you're surface acting, you remain in control of your emotions by
 consciously structuring the impressions you produce. When you're deep
 acting, you relinquish the possibility of emotional control. When you
 deep act, in other words, you work, through acts of will and
 imagination, to open yourself to the possibility that you might persuade
 yourself that the emotions you are presenting are real. You risk
 becoming the thing you are performing. Deep acting is, paradoxically,
 the process of exerting control in order to relinquish control. (197)



 If citations are affective (and I think they are), then I believe we
 stand to gain by applying Lindquist's deep-acting approach to the
 context of scholarly citations. Lindquist believes that "the idea of
 deep acting as a pedagogical stance gets us into a place where we can
 begin to imagine how students' experiences of class can have heuristic
 potential" (205), and I believe that the idea of deep acting as an
 approach to citing students in composition scholarship has the potential
 to better show the ways students have shared their work with us (Robbins
 168). While Lindquist's argument is, as she says, "a case for
 relinquishing certain forms of control," it is also-and this is
 significant-"a case for controlling other things presumed not to be
 subject to, or appropriate for, control" (205). To name is to control.
 To withhold a student's name is a form of that control. In his work on
 the rhetoric of citations systems, Connors notes that "citation
 rhetorics only occasionally seem like anything individual authors can
 control" ("Rhetoric," Part 2 242). Goleman is certainly not the only
 individual in composition studies to resist the dominant patterns of
 citing students. I believe, though, that when one performs a kind of
 "deep acting" with respect to reading the work of scholars like Goleman,
 one opens up the possibility of becoming the reader who acknowledges the
 significance of the work of writers like Sahra Ahmed. Further, to
 perform a kind of deep acting when citing students ourselves in our
 scholarship is to alter the conditions of production of that
 scholarship. We open ourselves to the possibility of becoming writers
 who acknowledge the contributions of student work to our own work,
 thereby engendering the possibility that readers will develop belief in
 the value of the texts we cite-whether we label them student texts or
 not.



 There are, of course, important differences between a conception of deep
 acting as a performance in the classroom for students to see and a
 conception of deep acting as a performance in the relative isolation of
 reading and writing with student scholarship. In the classroom,
 performing what Lindquist calls strategic empathy as a teacher is
 working to convince both oneself and one's students that one feels a
 certain way in order to facilitate students' emotional learning.
 Performing such strategic affect as a scholar involves convincing
 oneself and one's readers that all of the authors one cites are
 legitimate, valued members of this discourse community with knowledge to
 contribute. Teacher-scholars can no longer appropriate the writing that
 their pedagogy has helped to produce; there is no exchange value for
 teachers themselves when they perform deep acting with citation
 practices. As a reader of such scholarship, one works to control one's
 professional desire for the pedagogical apparatus that has historically
 accompanied the publication of student writing. Scholars do this in
 order to facilitate a disciplinary recognition of composition studies'
 indebtedness to students' perspectives and, now, to their contributions
 to the knowledge of the field.



 In her recent essay, "Distributed Authorship: A Feminist case-Study
 Framework for Studying Intellectual Property," Robbins notes that while
 composition teachers have recently begun acknowledging their
 appreciation for writing by students and "other marginalized groups" as
 "forms of authorship," the emphasis in discussions of intellectual
 property has been on "protecting producers who are potentially
 vulnerable to appropriation and/or misuse, in large part because their
 status as authors is tenuous" (155). With the publication of Young
 Scholars in Writing, students' status as authors is decidedly less
 tenuous. In enacting a form of Lindquist's strategic empathy,
 composition scholars make possible relationships to student writing that
 move beyond protection and instantiation of pedagogical theories.
 Individually, teacher-scholars have less to gain as they cannot claim
 responsibility for the pedagogy that "produced" student writing.
 Disciplinarily, though, composition scholars stand to gain a more
 productive, respectful, and legitimate relationship to students and
 their writing when we work to demonstrate the ways they have and
 continue to share their work and their knowledge with us.



 [Footnote]

 NOTES

 1. Connors's point here is obviously an echo of Michel Foucault's notion
 of the "author-function," and an extension of Barthes's declaration of
 the author's death. Indeed, had I simply mentioned in this note that
 Connors's point here is an extension of Foucault and Barthes, most
 readers would need no more than a quick reference to these "nametags."

 2. The practice, however, of citing "unpublished manuscripts" or even
 "forthcoming" works would seem to negate this function at the same time
 that it indicates a particular kind of relationship between citing
 author and cited author. If I'm citing the unpublished work of a
 student, the relationship between citing author and cited author is
 relatively straightforward. If I'm citing the unpublished work of a
 colleague, however, the very fact that I have access to this unpublished
 work suggests a great deal about personal relationships, allegiances,
 and, I argue, affect.

 3. Since the publication of Harris's statement, the Conference on
 College Composition and Communication (CCCC) has issued its position
 statement, "Guidelines for the Ethical Treatment of Students and Student
 Writing in Composition Studies." The statement asks that
 teacher-scholars cite student work-written or spoken-"without including
 the students' names or identifying information unless they have the
 students' permission to identify them." The default for students is
 anonymity, presumably because students need to be protected.







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