Every once in a while, everything just seems to flow into one large conversation full of resonances, connections, and it’s like striking a tuning fork. This is a post about the challenges of graduate education, and perhaps, by extension, academic work for those of us who identify with the digital humanities. Let me see if I can gather the threads together.
There’s a little history. Jokingly, I tell people that one of my biggest academic regrets is a paper I delivered at CCCC a few years back (2010). Our session took place in a huge ballroom (the size of our audience did not do it justice), and rather than a projector and portable screen, we had like a 30-foot monitor. It was colossal, and one of the things I regret is that, not knowing about it ahead of time, I didn’t prepare a full slide deck. Instead, I gave the only talk I’ve ever given that had just one, solitary slide. Don’t get me wrong, I was proud of that slide, and I wish that I hadn’t lost it in the Great Laptop Crash of 2011. It was a screen capture of a cover of an old issue of Field & Stream magazine, lovingly Photoshopped to reflect the topics in my talk, which was called “Writing Retooled: Loop, Channel, Layer, Stream.” Keep in mind that this was 3 years ago, when Twitter was still relatively exotic for academics, but what I was arguing was that
For those of us who engage with the field through social media, though, that engagement may seem more shallow in the short term, but it is constant and ongoing. We are setting foot in the river every day, rather than waiting for the occasional, official “event” to do so.
Think of it this way: who is more likely to shape the field? The person who sits in the audience for a presentation or reads a journal article that’s already been written, or the one who participates in weblog or Twitter conversations about that writing as it is being done? And yet, if you asked 100 people at this conference whether they’d rather publish an essay in CCC or have a couple of hundred followers on Twitter, I’m pretty sure most people would choose the first option.
A couple of hundred. Heh. Anyways, I suggested that, rather than focusing exclusively on the “field” of writing studies, we needed to be building the tools and habits necessary for dealing with the “stream.” I was arguing and, not or, but my talk was certainly weighted towards the stream, given where the field was (is?) at the time.
Anyhow, someone reminded me of that talk this year at CCCC, my first trip back since I gave it, so I’ve had cause in the past month or so to remember it fondly. Over the past couple of days, it’s connected for me with a few different links. First, there’s Anil Dash’s talk yesterday at the Berkman Center on “The Web We Lost.” There are a number of things in there worth thinking about, but Doug Hesse pointed out in my FB comments something that I’m not sure we’ve all really processed:
We built the Web for pages, but increasingly we’re moving from pages to streams (most recently-updated on top, generally), on our phones but also on bigger screens. Sites that were pages have become streams. E.g., YouTube and Yahoo. These streams feel like apps, not pages. Our arrogance keeps us thinking that the Web is still about pages. Nope. The percentage of time we spend online looking at streams is rapidly increasing. It is already dominant.
In Writing Studies, I think that we still think of ourselves as being in the business of writing pages. Think about all of the infrastructure we have, from page counts to citation formats, that make this simple assumption about the “object” of our practices. Or about how vital .PDF has been in finally getting people to accept that scholarship isn’t necessarily inferior because it’s online. (None of these are particularly thrilling examples to me.)
As part of my own stream, I just came across a tweet from Jay Rosen that provides some nice overlap as well:
Yes, that’s the same Robin Sloan who wrote Fish and Mr. Penumbra’s 24 Hour Bookstore, which I happen to be reading at the moment. 🙂 Sloan writes about stock and flow:
But I actually think stock and flow is the master metaphor for media today. Here’s what I mean:
- Flow is the feed. It’s the posts and the tweets. It’s the stream of daily and sub-daily updates that remind people that you exist.
- Stock is the durable stuff. It’s the content you produce that’s as interesting in two months (or two years) as it is today. It’s what people discover via search. It’s what spreads slowly but surely, building fans over time.
I feel like flow is ascendant these days, for obvious reasons—but we neglect stock at our own peril. I mean that both in terms of the health of an audience and, like, the health of a soul. Flow is a treadmill, and you can’t spend all of your time running on the treadmill. Well, you can. But then one day you’ll get off and look around and go: Oh man. I’ve got nothing here.
If you push on, as I did, and read the Rushkoff interview, then you’ll see Sloan’s treadmill metaphor writ large, and translated into “present shock.” This is a line from the book that the interviewer quotes:
When we attempt to pack the requirements of storage into media or flow, or to reap the benefits of flow from media that locks things into storage, we end up in present shock.
I realize here that I’m making my own talk appear far more prescient (and perhaps more sophisticated) than it actually was. I was in good shape just identifying the difference between what I was calling field and stream, I suspect.
Another thing that I talked about with several people at this year’s CCCC was how I was sometimes struggling with the presentism of social media. It’s particularly acute for me as I dip into conversations around the digital humanities, as so much of that discussion seems to happen on Twitter. You could argue variously that this is a symptom of its relative novelty but also of its dynamic energy, and even perhaps a combination of the two. Talk to me in five years, I suppose. It’s sometimes become difficult for me, though, to step back from social media and to focus instead on the page-oriented commitments that I have. The virtue of being in my position is that, if I want, I can just tone down the commitments and focus instead on more short-form work of the sort that social media energizes and provokes from me. I’m conscious that not everyone has that luxury, though.
This is not a post where I want to scold anyone. Rushkoff has a particular position that he’s promoting, to be sure, and there are hints of it in Dash and Sloan, I suppose, but my own interest is in thinking about how the balance that I was arguing for back in 2010 has so radically shifted in the other direction. But only in certain places. I’m slated to teach our Rhetoric, Composition, and Digital Humanities graduate course next spring, and already I’m thinking about how I can hack the curricular and conceptual space of my classroom to allow for a more dynamic and distributed course experience. But now I find myself in the odd position of thinking about whether that kind of course will provide enough field, enough stock, for students who (as I was arguing three years ago)
are more likely to rely on bookmarking than bookshelving. They are more likely to read an article that has well‐developed keywords than one with page numbers. And they are more likely to follow citation trails than to sit still and read a paper journal cover‐to‐cover. They are more accustomed to managing the flows of information, sorting them, and assembling them for their own uses. In short, they are much more likely today to be what Thomas Rickert and I have described as practitioners of ambient research.
I’ve been deeply committed to making over my pedagogy in ways that help students work with flow, but as a colleague and I were talking about today, those students still have to go through a comprehensive exam process and to write a dissertation. Believe me when I say that I know all the arguments for reshaping those requirements, and that I agree with them. But I have to reconcile them with my own ethical beliefs about graduate education and whether it prepares students adequately for what follows. I’m not so full of myself as to think that a single graduate course with me will make the difference in a student’s ability to finish or not; however, years spent as a graduate director have made me keenly aware that every course is itself a blend of stock and flow, with obligations both to itself and to the ongoing curriculum that it is a part of.
So while the blogger in me celebrates the short-form and the streams, the academic in me starts to wonder if the shift away from more traditional academic practices doesn’t ultimately do my students a disservice–I think about whether or not I’m responsibly modeling the kind of balance they’re going to need in their own careers. I say that fully aware that it sounds like the first step on the road to rationalization, but it’s not. Really. I think that it means that I’ll think more carefully about how I hack my course next spring, not whether or not I’ll do so. It’s an issue that I’ll likely grapple with for some time, and this is really just the beginning of that process for me. That’s all.
(ps. If you’ve read the above and thought, “why isn’t he doing something about this in his research?” or some variation on the hack/yack question, then you’ve happened upon one of the driving forces behind my next major project. About which, more soon. 🙂 )
@drbrowne
April 3, 2013 6:54 pmThis: “@cgbrooke: Thinking about pages, streams, and academic practices: “Stock, Flow, Field, Stream” http://t.co/G7e2k6hu5D“
Laura
April 3, 2013 8:43 pmI struggle with the stock/field part all the time. I’m like a squirrel storing nuts for the winter, but then I never do anything with them. Or maybe I’m a hoarder, I often say to myself, “you should go through those links and see what’s fermenting there.” And then I don’t. I don’t eve link in blog posts that much anymore, because I’m often writing on my iPad and I find it tedious to link. In fact, I was going to link to you yesterday and failed to do so. The lack of multitasking brings me down.
I think the web has always been a stream. It just moved really slowly. Hyper linking created the flow, but not everyone did it, and there wasn’t a lot to link to. But remember the blog rings and blogrolls and guest books and other ways the ancient web tried to connect things together, to create a stream.
We are past pages. I hear my students, 15 and 16 year olds talk about sites and tumblrs and twitter feed, but almost never pages. Pages are in books. And talk about flow. Or maybe float. They go from one thing to another very quickly. What they need, as you say, is a little more solid ground to stand on.
Collin
April 3, 2013 9:04 pmI saw that post, and almost left a comment! 🙂
I do think it’s a question of balance rather than one or the other–the thing that appealed to me about Anil’s talk was the fact that it wasn’t just “oh noes! look what *they* have done to *us*” but instead, tried to get at what we have done to make this possible. I think maybe that we were so excited about the flow we were creating through blogging that when FB and T and others did streams better, it was easy just to migrate there.
But like you mentioned in your comment, we lose the ability to tweak the stream ourselves, and the sites/voices that have embraced flow can drown out everything else. It’s no accident for me that I saw your post (and David’s live-blog of Anil’s talk) on Reader first. I still haven’t gotten my Tweetbot/Instapaper/Diigo ecology working as well for me yet as Reader has for the past 5-7 years, and it’s not for lack of trying…
@sophist_monster
April 4, 2013 10:22 am@cgbrooke is on fire RT some prelim thoughts on the shift from pages to streams and what it means for grad education: http://t.co/6J5PQZEqgi
Nathaniel
April 4, 2013 10:37 amGoing back to your CCCC presentation and the question (“And yet, if you asked 100 people at this conference whether they’d rather publish an essay in CCC or have a couple of hundred followers on Twitter, I’m pretty sure most people would choose the first option.”). I think that this question answers the larger question about flow and stock that your post asks. For instance, I just posted a question and a claim to Twitter that is at the heart of a current project, and I want Twitter to help me write it. That’s the flow and the stock. The feedback I get, the questions I am asked, and sources I will be pointed to will end up (in some form or another) in the article. In other words, and as your emphasis on modeling suggests, this is a practical, almost logistical question. The eb and flow between field and stream is an ontological condition we must navigate. How do we develop practices (and here I am thinking of your actionary rhetoric of new media) that allow us to productive navigate fields and streams?
Collin
April 4, 2013 12:44 pmYep yep yep. For me, the piece that DH has really picked up in a way that Writing Studies hasn’t yet is to think about how that ontological condition is reflected, deflected, and/or genuflected institutionally–in a loose way, that’s what I was thinking about at #nhuk, I hope. 🙂
@AnitaDeRouen
April 4, 2013 4:49 pmI’m conflicted–“@cgbrooke: Thinking about pages, streams, and academic practices: “Stock, Flow, Field, Stream” http://t.co/pnyNcVrXbP”
Raúl Sánchez
April 9, 2013 7:55 pmThe only complications I would add are:
a) that the field/stream/flow/stock metaphors seem to treat writers/readers/fisherpeople as distinct and or separate from those “things” rather than in/of them, though I’m not sure anything can be done about that, since any metaphor will do the same, even…
b) ontology, which is something of a dead-end metaphor or nomenclature for me, because it signals that we’re just back to a particular (philosophical) discourse rather than “out” in “the open.”
Not that we ever get out in the open, of course. But I guess some nomenclatures (yikes I’m very Burkey today) have some histories, and others have others.
Raúl