c h a p t e r 1

Language as a
Function of Purpose
The Conceptual Frame

Language . . . is the most important sign system of human

society. . . . [It] has its origins in the face-to-face situation,
but can be readily detached from it. . . . [It also] possesses an
inherent quality of reciprocity that distinguishes it from any
other sign system.
(Berger & Luckman, 1966: 36–37)

How do we interpret the following sentence? I recognize the house in the photo-
graph. It’s grammatically correct, yet it provides only a limited interpretation of
what is actually meant. We don’t know, for instance, to which house the speaker is
referring—a critical piece of information. We also do not know to which particu-
lar photograph the speaker is referring. Traditional grammar, which focuses on
“grammar” as “sentence-based,” provides an imperfect understanding of the way
in which language actually works in live contexts.
A functional-rhetorical frame for language teaching provides us with a way of
considering language in terms of how it functions in a range of contexts and how it
is used by speakers who have some purpose in using it. The contexts include imme-
diate linguistic contexts such as phrases, clauses, and sentences and larger rhetori-
cal contexts such as genres and modes within genres, as well as contexts related to
the speaker/writer and listener/reader. The term “rhetorical” essentially refers to
styles, again with reciprocity of the participants in mind. Traditional grammar and
other sentence-focused grammars have typically not addressed the reality that all
language always fits in and hints at larger structures of use such as genres, modes
within genres, settings, participants, and purposes. No sentence is truly meaningful

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 2
in isolation from a context. Words naturally embody references backwards and
Chapter 1
forwards to other words in other sentences or utterances. To use even a relatively
Language as a
harmless-looking word such as a definite article implies that some other statement
Function of Purpose
has been or will be provided to enable us to determine the full meaning of the defi-
nite article as used in that sentence.

➙ Objectives
This chapter establishes a frame of reference for teaching English to students in
middle school (grades 6–8) and high school (grades 9-12) English Language Arts
settings. Establishing such a frame of reference grounded in sound theories about
how people actually acquire and learn language in informal and formal settings
is critical because we do not use language in a vacuum, although traditional
grammar-based exercises seem to imply that we do. Traditional grammar
instruction ignores some essential components in the process of language learning,
whatever the age or level undertaken. These components are the role of purpose
and how it influences the functions of language as used; the role of participants in
any language-based interaction; the content of communication; and the subsequent
linguistic, rhetorical, and stylistic choices we make.
This chapter presents the reader with a functional-rhetorical frame for
language use within a common range of purposes, assuming a common range of
participants, and offering related linguistic, stylistic, and rhetorical choices that
can be meaningfully evaluated in terms of whether or not they fulfill the desired
purposes. Diagrammatic representations of the frame and its applications are also
provided.

The Central Concepts

T he primary and initially obvious contexts for language are speech and writing.
The theoretical grounding for this text is influenced by semiotics and sociolinguis-
tics, in particular Halliday’s seminal books Language as a Social Semiotic (1978)
and An Introduction to Functional Grammar (1994). From Halliday’s contributions
to our understanding of language learning (and those of others in the field of so-
ciolinguistics), we know of the significant role that social and cultural contexts play
in that process. Influenced by Halliday’s work as well as that of Britton, Burgess,
Martin, McLeod, and Rosen (1975) and Jakobson (1987), I have provided a model of
major (macro) and minor (micro) functions of language that reflect specific rhetori-
cal purposes and audiences (see Figures 1.1 and 1.2).
Figure 1.1 provides a model for locating students on a continuum from home
discourse (HD) to standard English academic discourse (SEAD). This depiction
assumes that HD is not identical to SEAD for all students but may be so for some
students. A teacher may have students located anywhere along the continuum
when the teacher initially meets them. The continuum could be used in a portfolio
as a means of indicating where students are at the beginning of a school year, at
the middle of the year, and at the end of the year. A student who is at the SEAD
end of the continuum at the beginning of the school year is assumed to have
­acquired SEAD at some point in his or her education or through exposure during
early childhood. The continuum may represent where any of us are when we enter

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 3
S1 S2 S3 S4 The Central Concepts

HD X X X X SEAD

S = Student
H = Home Discourse
SEAD = Standard English Academic Discourse

Figure 1.1 A Continuum: From Home Discourse to Standard English

Academic Discourse

­ nother discourse community. Initial proximity therefore depends on how much

a
the individual’s “code” approximates the “code” of the discourse community he or
she wishes to become part of. Note that although the continuum from HD to SEAD
is given in a linear form, it is not intended to imply linear development.
Figure 1.2 is a diagrammatic representation of the discourse communities to
which a hypothetical student might belong. Discourse communities are not necessar-
ily contiguous for all students; however, they may be contiguous for some students.
In this model, the school and work discourse communities (assuming the student has
a job) are shown as not contiguous. We may belong to multiple discourse communi-
ties at any point in our lives, whether these are recognized or not in our schooling,
for we mark our place in this world through belonging to various groups and pursu-
ing our lives through our activities and relationships within such groups. We could
have a diagram that includes ten discourse communities, or fifteen, or fewer than five.
I have adapted these macro-functions from the earlier work of Jakobson (1987)
and Britton et al. (1975) as well as others to better reflect how we might use the con-
cept of functions in the context of language and literacy instruction. Jakobson’s (1987,
pp. 66–69) original conceptualization of how we use language included the f­ ollowing

Figure 1.2 A Representation of Discourse Communities to Which a

Student May Belong

DC2
DC1: Home/family discourse community
DC2: School discourse community
DC3 DC3: Friendship discourse community
DC1
DC4: Church discourse community
DC5: Work discourse community
DC4 DC5

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 4
functions: the emotive or expressive (i.e., the direct expression of the speaker’s
Chapter 1
attitude toward what she or he is speaking about), the conative (i.e., how we orient
Language as a
our language toward the speaker), and the poetic (i.e., the set toward the message as
Function of Purpose
such, the focus on the message for its own sake).1 Britton et al. (1975) adapted these
to the actual writing that students do and reformulated them as the Expressive Func-
tion (language of the self), the Transactional Function (language that is used to con-
vey information), and the Poetic Function (language for aesthetic purposes).
I further adapted these functions (Soter, 1993) by making explicit the relation-
ships between purpose, readership, and audience. The Expressive Function in my
reconceptualization is essentially language of the self for the self. It is therefore
informal, often colloquial, idiomatic, and private and typically invites little if any re-
vising or editing. Typical of written modes that reflect the Expressive Function are
personal journals, diaries, personal memos and notes, personal greeting cards to
intimate members of the family or close friends, notes taken in class, and personal
poetry in which the focus is on expressing emotions and where there is no inten-
tion to publish the work or share it widely. Because the use of the Expressive Func-
tion reflects private, intimate uses of language, we would typically not grade for
correctness or the extent to which the work is polished. Rather, any grade would
reflect process and effort rather than quality of the product.
In contrast, the Transactional Function and the Aesthetic Function are seen as
public rather than private uses of language. The primary function of language that
has a Transactional Function is information-giving and -receiving. Criteria for eval-
uating this function of language typically include clarity, accuracy, organization,
use of logic and reasoning, and a revised, edited product. This function involves
formal uses of language, suppressing of the personal in many cases (e.g., exclusion
of the use of first person), and typically entails the use of rhetorical modes such as
essays, formal speeches, research and technical reports, briefs, summaries, and
abstracts. Often, an intended audience is pre-identified, and the writing (and speak-
ing) is focused on that audience.
The Aesthetic Function entails a specialized use of language for creative (i.e.,
artistic) purposes that essentially have a public rather than private audience in
mind. As with the Transactional Function, there is a public dimension to this func-
tion; that is, the user intends others to listen to or read what has been produced.
The focus with this function, however, is not primarily on providing accurate facts
but on imaginative uses of language for inspirational, reflective, and entertainment
purposes. Typically, when we use this function, we are concerned with whether
the language engrosses, intrigues, delights, or amuses, although persuasive uses of
language are also possible (e.g., through satire).

1
Jakobson (1987) describes these functions in the context of a discussion of the primary functions of the
language of literature. While I find them very useful, they are also limiting for my purposes in establishing
broad functions that will serve as categories for the use and study of language by developing readers
and writers. Therefore, I have adapted and conflated Jakobson’s functions with those utilized by Britton
et al. (1975) for their study of writing abilities between the ages of 11 and 16. Britton et al. (1975) based
their description of the functions of language on Jakobson’s work but redefined the expressive and poetic
according to how these functions play out in actual use. Thus, their expressive function is “language of
the self”; Jakobson’s conative function became their transactional function (language oriented toward
informing others), and the poetic function essentially became the aesthetic function (language used
expressly for imaginative, creative, artistic purposes). It is Britton et al.’s (1975) functions that I have
renamed “macro-functions” in this book.

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 5
These macro- and micro-functions, namely, the Expressive Function, the
The Central Concepts
Transactional Function, and the Aesthetic (or Poetic) Function, form a functional-
rhetorical matrix that accounts for the choices we make of various linguistic ele-
ments depending on our intentions (or purposes) and on our intended participants
or audiences. Figure 1.3 illustrates how we might make use of these functions for
instructional purposes—for the teaching of writing and reading as well as language
used to accomplish the various purposes.

Figure 1.3 Rhetorical Macro-Functions and Micro-Functions

Macro-Functions

Expressive Function Transactional Function Aesthetic/Artistic Function

(Language for the (Language to inform, (Language to amuse, delight,
self, of the self) reflect, or engage others) enlighten, uplift, inspire)

Example Micro-Functions
Language to control
Language to persuade
Language to inform
Language to emote
Language to entertain or amuse
Language to reflect
Language to learn
Language to ritualize

Application of Functions to Listening/Speaking and Reading/Writing

Macro-Function Transactional (Language to exchange

information)
Selected Micro-Function Persuasion (Information to affect
behavior or action)
Activities Listening Presidential address to nation
Speaking Debate on school rules
Reading Selected newspaper editorials
Writing Letter to editor on why kids
should not drive before age 18

Focused Language Study Tools of Persuasion Generalization, equivocation,

Connotation false analogies, appeal to
crowd mentality

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 6
Chapter 1
Language as a NARRATIVE DESCRIPTIVE EXPOSITORY
Function of Purpose Range of fiction, nonfiction, poetry, Range of expository samples for reading
dramatic writing, in a variety of styles and writing, and to serve as models for
for reading and modeling. writing.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Language Components Language Components
to Focus on to Focus on

Indentify linking verbs Complex sentences

Identify prepositional phrases Complete sentences

Paragraph changes with dialogue use Unity and Coherence

Unity and Coherence in expository writing

(applicable for focus in Narrative/Descriptive/Expository writing)

Adjectival modifiers

Adverbial/participle modifier

Simple/compound sentences

Varying sentence length and type

Figure 1.4  An Integrated 8th Grade Course of Study

As we select activities or instructional foci, we might want to balance stu-

dents’ oral and written work with language across the macro-functions (i.e., the
Expressive, Transactional, and Aesthetic Functions). In Chapter Nine, I discuss
and illustrate how a sequence of language study based on the macro- and micro-
functions might be configured as a core for a variety of oral and written language
experiences (involving reading as well as writing), that is, what kinds of reading
and writing activities would embody both micro- and macro-functions.
While reconfiguring a traditional composition and literature curriculum might
seem daunting, it is possible to do so and, in the process, to contextualize what
is typically a disconnected array of lists of skills and products in many courses of
study for middle and high school students. An example of how this works is pro-
vided in an adaptation of a fictionalized representative 8th grade course of study
in language arts in a Midwestern suburban school district (see Figure 1.4). This
reconfiguration may be helpful to teachers who want to adapt a seemingly rigid
course of study in language arts to a functional-rhetorical frame. The process is
relatively simply achieved by addressing the following questions:

■ Is the discourse to be private or public?

■ If public or private, is it intended to be personal or impersonal?

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 7
■ If public or private, is the reader/audience close or distant?
Key Assumptions
■ If public or private, is the discourse intended to be formal or informal?
■ What is the specific purpose of communication?
■ What linguistic and rhetorical choices are typically associated with various
purposes?

Once these basic questions have been answered, reading, writing, speaking,
and listening activities and skills related to these questions are no longer
as disconnected and relatively meaningless as they might originally appear.
New materials can be used to consolidate patterns of language use that often
take repeated practice (e.g., multiple subordination) and can present
challenges to students who are more adept at oral language use than written
language use.

Key Assumptions
T he key assumptions in this book relate to language learning over the course of
schooling and life in general. Broadly, these assumptions entail a view of language
and language learning in the following ways:

■ that language is a form of human behavior and a response to our desire to

communicate with others;
■ that all language learners are members of multiple discourse communities;
■ that language learning begins before schooling and continues beyond it;
■ that language learning in school contexts represents highly specific uses
of language that may or may not serve the individual outside of the school
context;
■ that it is important to make explicit what learn-
ers know about language;
■ that to read and write effectively, learners need
to be immersed in the world of print media to
acquire the patterns of written language across
a range of genres; and,
■ that although labels and terminology related to
language are not in themselves worth a great
deal, such terminology has its place in develop-
ing the learner’s metalinguistic and metadis-
course skills.

More detailed discussions of these assumptions

follow.

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 8
Chapter 1 Assumption 1: Language in Response to
Language as a Communicative Needs and Desires: How
Function of Purpose
Language Serves Us
Language acquisition scholars (e.g., Brown and Bellugi, 1964; Bruner, 1978;
Chomsky, 1969; Halliday, 1974) have taught that we learn language in social
contexts, through a process of immersion in our mother tongue and usually gentle
correction and modeling by our parents, other adults, and older siblings as well as
various social networks outside the home, and through our desire to communicate
in language. In formal schooling, this kind of natural oral language acquisition
continues despite the little attention that educators pay to it. Children continue to
adjust their speech in play; in response to adults around them; through vocabulary
acquired in reading and writing as well as through information from teachers, the
Internet, movies, and television; and as a natural consequence of experiences that
expand their linguistic and rhetorical repertoires.
The extent to which these informal avenues and processes are honored by
educators depends greatly on the individual teacher. Curricula, test-driven by state
and national norms, typically disregard what children have acquired in the con-
texts described above. A child’s fluency on the playground, in a multiplayer Inter-
net game, or as a bargainer with siblings is not usually tapped, nor are these uses
of language considered valid in school contexts.
Formal language learning in school contexts focuses instead on reading and
writing texts, which might not have a place in the life of many students outside
the classroom. The manner in which children are expected to learn reading and
writing in classrooms departs from natural language acquisition processes and the
experiences children have in expanding their language in informal contexts—to the
significant detriment of many learners. Literature-based curricula, such as Literature
Circles (Daniels, 1994; Short & Pierce, 1998) and Book Clubs (Raphael, 1994), have
done much to bring natural reading processes and behaviors into the Language
Arts classroom, but such curricula are currently being threatened by national test-
driven agendas that undercut the contextualized nature of these programs. Much
of the reading and writing students do in school requires the use of motivational
mechanisms and threat of punishment (through grades) that, though somewhat
successful for some students, alienate many and limit their abilities to bring into
school use what they know of language and its application in a variety of contexts.
An underlying assumption of this book is that tapping this reservoir of knowledge
is a natural consequence of a functional-rhetorical approach to language instruction
across all modes of expression—reading, writing, speaking, listening.

Assumption 2: Learners as Members of

Multiple Discourse Communities
Because of the work of Gumperz (1982), Vygotsky (1962, 1978), Heath (1983), Wells
(1985), and others, we no longer have to argue that language learning does not
happen in isolation. Without effort and with very few exceptions, we are all mem-
bers of multiple discourse communities (see Figure 1.2). Most obviously, we belong
to a home discourse community that is situated within a larger local discourse
community (a street, a precinct, a municipality, etc.). Once a child enters a daycare

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 9
facility located in another precinct and subsequently enters school, the child’s
Key Assumptions
membership in discourse communities expands; the degree to which it expands
depends on whether these new settings include speakers from other multiple dis-
course communities. As individuals continue to the workplace and college, further
expansion of discourse community membership is likely to occur. That said, people
typically (though not always) retain something of the style and flavor of their home
and local discourse community and come to differentiate their linguistic and rhe-
torical choices depending on the discourse community in which they are function-
ing at any given time.
For much of our lives, we acquire and learn through absorption and imitation
the forms of discourse that these various discourse communities prefer. At times,
depending on the distance between common usage in our home discourse commu-
nity and usage in a target discourse community to which we have decided to gain
entry, we might need more explicit instruction and modeling. This is often the case
with school discourse. Though largely forgotten now, Bernstein’s (1961) extensive
and significant work in the 1960s presaged the current acceptance that home lan-
guage will either advantage or disadvantage a child’s ability to conform to school
language (i.e., discourse) practices depending on the approximation of home lan-
guage (discourse) to school language (discourse).
Nevertheless, the work of scholars such as Heath (1983) and Wells (1985)
indicates that children’s linguistic and rhetorical facility in their natural settings
is rarely tapped by schools, which tend to stress linguistic and rhetorical confor-
mity and adherence to a normative standard. This in itself would not be an issue if
educators utilized what students already know about language use in multiple set-
tings and for multiple purposes and built on the strengths students bring as adept
oral communicators. Properly channeled, the students’ existing knowledge and
strengths could serve as foundations for the more abstracted, often test-driven
language uses in school contexts.

Assumption 3: Establishing Learner

Knowledge About Language: Making the
Implicit Explicit
In my discussion of the previous assumption, I alluded to the need to make knowl-
edge about language and discourse explicit. As children progress into middle and
upper elementary schooling, they correspondingly need to understand that the
labels we apply to different parts of speech or the labels we use to describe differ-
ent aspects of discourse are descriptive of the ways in which language is actually
functioning. This knowledge reflects not only linguistic or rhetorical knowledge,
but also metalinguistic and metarhetorical language. That is, although we might not
recognize and label them as such, we will naturally use nouns, verbs, pronouns,
and other parts of speech as well as transitional terms between sentences or utter-
ances in our oral and written language.
Our obsession with labels suggests that we have confused knowledge of the
label with knowledge of use. Many of us also suffer from the delusion that not
knowing how to label the bits and pieces of languages and the larger units into
which it is organized (discourse) will prevent students from being effective writers.
Nevertheless, knowing the labels for language elements we use enables us to

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 10
understand why a particular usage is either erroneous or at best infelicitous. L ­ abels,
Chapter 1
after all, allow us to describe language and discourse reasonably efficiently. Label-
Language as a
ing also enables us to develop an appreciation for the ways in which language and
Function of Purpose
discourse work and, some argue (Dasenbrook, 1992), enables us to take delight in
the skillful ways in which various writers cast their spells on us.
Yet even advanced college students are unsure about these labels. In a pre-
service teacher education course on language and language methods, we discuss
the effective use of words, phrases, and clauses used appositively,2 enabling the
writer to set off information from the flow of the rest of the sentence in order to
foreground a piece of information. We play with the same sentence, restructuring it
to remove the appositive word, phrase, or clause, and discuss what happens to the
effect that was achieved in the original. In the process of doing this, we make explicit
the relationship between language use and its effects on the reader or listener. It
is in this context that light bulbs go on, and statements such as “Oh my, I’ve never
understood why it mattered to know appositives!” are heard around the room.
Knowing how to label something does not constitute knowing its value or
knowing how to effectively use the item so labeled. Explicit discussion with stu-
dents about why certain language elements and discourse are labeled as they are
does help students to understand the ways in which those elements function. With-
out explicit discussion of language, students will, at best, retain half-learned bits of
information and will not understand what lies behind the labeling.

Assumption 4: Language Learners Need to

Be Immersed in the Kinds of Language They
Are Expected to Use as Effective Readers
and Writers
Experience of that which is to be learned is a commonsense foundation for any
learning. For example, we frequently ask students to write a descriptive paragraph,
but their exposure to such a form is limited if it exists at all. In desperation, since
such models were lacking for me when I taught English in secondary schools, I
would create model paragraphs and use them to discuss what goes into the creation
of an effective descriptive paragraph. Without this model, the process was always
haphazard and often a sheer waste of time in which little genuine writing happened.
The exercise remained just that—an exercise. Furthermore, the work done in these
exercises did not automatically transfer into the essays or stories students wrote.
Literature-based composition instruction in college English courses has always
assumed an implicit relationship between input and output in that students are
provided with models of literature that form the basis for discussions about style,
diction, and effectiveness relative to assumed purpose and audience. Literary read-
ings can serve (and have in the past) as the foundation for subsequent writing.
Imitation, similarly, has a long tradition of use in teaching effective rhetoric
(e.g., Murphy, 1990) but has lapsed into disfavor with the current high level of anxi-
ety over plagiarism. In discussions with pre-service teachers, who are concerned
that that if they use imitation exercises, their students will be accused of plagiarism,
2
An appositive is a noun, noun phrase or noun clause immediately following another noun. An appositive
essentially renames the thing or concept expressed in the preceding noun.

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 11
we discuss what is being imitated. These teachers typically do not differentiate
Key Assumptions
between imitation of form and imitation of content. We discuss how many writers
have imitated the style of others whose work they admire. Although this is consid-
ered acceptable, the idea of their students doing likewise is not. This anxiety is a
result of the uncertainty many of us, experienced as well as pre-service teachers,
have about our own skills as language users and a lack of awareness about how we
developed our own styles. A solution is to build into language courses for teachers
some opportunities to practice imitation of various sentence patterns in which they
use their own content but mold it to fit the structures of the patterns being imi-
tated. What they will discover is how habitual language use becomes and how fixed
and inhibiting such habitual uses can become. My students also learn that shifting
into unhabitual language uses requires the modeling process and practice. In the
process, they discover how exhilarating it can be to acquire new forms of language
use and how exciting it is to consciously expand their linguistic and rhetorical
repertoires.

Assumption 5: The Place for Labels

Having stated in my discussion of Assumption 3 that schools have over-emphasized
labeling of elements of language, excluding labeling altogether is not the answer. If
we were to attempt to describe a bicycle or some other piece of equipment without
the specialized vocabulary that describes its components, we would be engaged in a
remarkably inefficient exercise. We would likely have to present a diagram and point
to its various parts to ensure that the listener or reader can identify the bicycle’s
components appropriately. Similarly inefficient would be an attempt to describe the
bits and pieces of language without labels that have been assigned to them. Labels
are never meaningful out of context. For example, to label an utterance as a sentence
means little outside the context of written language or, if speaking, doing so in a
style that resembles written language. A sentence is a meaningful construct only in
the context of other sentences that cohere into something larger than a sentence,
that is, in the context of a sequence of other sentences, usually found in a paragraph.
Alternatively, a sentence may be meaningful in the context of a response to a
sentence or other expression uttered by someone else. In informal spoken language
contexts, we frequently do not utter sentences in the strict sense of the word.
Although sentences may be argued to be present in deep structure, at surface level
we often use what are termed “fragments.”
The concept of surface structure and deep structure3 is a useful one to help
students see that even when something is not expressed on the surface, it is
nevertheless present. Ellipsis is common in oral language, but in deep structure,
the speaker can retrieve what has been ellipted if pressed. I work with this
concept in my classes and workshops by having students examine transcripts of

3
“Deep structure” and “surface structure” are terms that are derived from generative grammar (Chomsky,
1956; Williams, 1999). They aptly describe the way in which language use is essentially an iceberg pheno-
menon. That is, we express or articulate what is necessary, what is effective, what is apt, for any act of
communication, but we retain the sense of what has been omitted, which results in our being able to
make sense in any string of expressed language. Briefly and simply, deep structure can be defined as the
underlying logic beneath an expressed utterance, that is, what is actually heard or read (Williams, 1999,
pp. 144–145). While there is not necessarily a syntactic equivalence between deep structure and surface
structure, there must be semantic equivalence, tested as this would be through applying transformational
rules (Williams, 1999, p. 145).

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 12
conversations, individually retrieve what appears to have been ellipted from the
Chapter 1
surface expression in the dialogue, then compare with others in small groups and
Language as a
ultimately with the whole class to determine the level of agreement over what has
Function of Purpose
been ellipted. It is not surprising that we achieve a high level of agreement about
what has been ellipted, although that level of agreement astonishes my students.
Similarly, with developing writers, much is ellipted on paper that can be re-
trieved orally through questioning. In my experience, many students have difficulty
deciding what to put on paper, what to retain, and what to ellipt. To some extent,
this is attributable to the constant struggle many students have with knowing what
is appropriate or not, what is obvious or not, and so on. Furthermore, writing can
be cognitively and physically arduous, and sometimes students confess that they
“leave things out” because they “just can’t be bothered putting them down,” “they
seem obvious,” or “they get in the way of what I wanted to say.”
Having students develop a consciousness of the simultaneity of surface and
deep structure aspects of language use enables them to become more conscious of
the selective nature of any oral or written communication. The concept is crucial in
understanding the notion of choice in how we use language.

Applications
T eachers might consider revising the part of their Language Arts course that
deals with writing and language in terms of the functional-rhetorical frame I have
offered in this chapter. An example of how this works is provided in Figure 1.4.
The course of study provided here is a hypothetical but representative 8th
grade language/composition section in a Language Arts Curriculum that is typi-
cal of those in many schools. “Literature” is sectioned off from other parts of the
Language Arts middle school curriculum, as are “Reading,” “Composition” or
“Writing,” and “Grammar” or “Language Skills.” The example presented here is
one I shared with a large Midwestern suburban school district in the interests of
integrating reading, writing, literature, and language study. The language compo-
nents can be pursued in the contexts of narrative and descriptive reading and writ-
ing as well as in the context of expository writing. I have not provided a complete
overhaul of the typical 8th grade course of study, since I intend this only to be an
example of how to contextualize language study in meaningful ways.
The original hypothetical but typical course of study was focused on narrative,
descriptive, and expository writing. The language components were listed separately.
Figure 1.4 depicts a reorganization of that course of study in an integrated way.
The elements shown in Figure 1.4 are common in many Language Arts
Curricula and are typically represented as discrete elements. In my reconfiguration,
I moved language components to focus on the ones that seem particularly relevant
to narrative writing (either fiction or nonfiction), poetry, and dramatic writing in the
macro-genre “Narrative Writing.” Language elements that existed in the discrete
syllabus drawn on that seem more directly relevant to expository writing have been
moved in Figure 1.4 from a separate, unrelated list to the macro-genre “Expository
Writing.” Language elements that seem more directly relevant to descriptive writing
have been moved to appear in the macro-genre “Descriptive Writing.” Of course,
narrative writing and expository writing also draw on adjectival and adverbial
modifiers as well as simple and compound sentences and would also entail variation

M01_SOTE6575_04_SE_C01.indd 12 5/9/12 9:46 AM

 13
in sentence length and type. But the initial review or introduction of any language
Conclusion
element makes more sense when it takes place in a directly meaningful context
in which it is naturally foregrounded (e.g., narrative foregrounds chronological
development of events; exposition foregrounds reasoning, caveats, and explanation;
and complex sentence structures that entail subordination are generally more
prevalent in this macro-genre than in the narrative macro-genre).
Further reconfiguration of this course of study would entail identifying
macro- and micro-functions of language use and using these as a guide to selecting
textual material for reading and writing purposes under the genre headings (Nar-
rative, Descriptive, Expository). Within that reframing, teachers would also want
to identify, or have students identify, specific purposes and audiences. In the above
contextualization of what was a course of study initially constructed in discrete,
separate units of study, we would thereby create a communicative frame that will
enable students to see how the different components actually fit together and make
sense of their writing and language study.

Conclusion
Summary and Questions for
Reflection and Discussion
T eachers can utilize the following questions to help consolidate their understand-
ing of the theoretical frame presented in this chapter as a way of grounding their
own work in the classroom. In responding to the questions, they may discover the
extent to which their assumptions about language, learning language, and teaching
language are based on sound knowledge about each of these domains. They may
also uncover how much their practices as teachers are based on what they learned
about language ten, fifteen, twenty, or thirty years previously, primarily in school,
and how little of that knowledge was ever made explicit in their own education,
that is, how much of that knowledge was acquired osmotically, through frustrating
trial and error.
As important as this is, teachers are also encouraged to enjoy language play,
something that many teachers have told me they did not experience in their own
education. While many feel quite confident about themselves as readers and writ-
ers, they are much less confident about how to explain language and discourse
to their students. Through activities in which they can experiment with their own
styles, provide stylistic feedback to others, and stretch into language play, they can
reclaim some of the risk-taking they exhibited a very long time ago—a kind of risk-
taking that is critical if they are to help their students become effective users of
language whatever the mode (oral or written).
Furthermore, language play of the kind described above enables both teach-
ers and students to see that richness in language use lies not only in their ability to
use complex sentence structures and elevated vocabulary, but also in manipulating
even simple language in ways that enable them to engage deeply with the ideas
and experiences represented in that language. Excellent examples can be drawn
from a wide variety of literary sources, whether fiction or nonfiction or poetry.

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 14
Mary Oliver’s poem “Wild Geese,”4 for example, has captured countless readers
Chapter 1
with the first line of the poem: “You do not have to be good.”
Language as a
Function of Purpose
Questions for Reflection and Discussion
The following questions will enable teachers to explore and make explicit their
beliefs and practices:

■ What are my theories about how we learn language?

■ What is my theoretical frame for the grammar exercises I teach?
■ What linguistic theory does my teaching reflect?
■ How do I explain grammar rules to my students?
■ What do I do about anomalies?
■ What do I know about the historical development of the rules of English?
■ What informs my reading of student written language and how I respond to it?
■ What informs my own editing and correcting of students’ written language?
■ Where and when did I accumulate that information?
■ Who are the primary audiences of student writing in school?
■ Why does the answer to the preceding question present problems in how I
read my students’ papers?
■ What is my role when I read students’ papers? Am I a real reader? A default
examiner reader (Britton et al., 1975)? A friendly, supportive reader? The
teacher who taught them something and wants to see it reflected back in
what is written?

4
“Wild Geese” in Oliver, M. (1985). Dream Work, New York: Grove/Atlantic, p. 14.

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 c h a p t e r 2

Discourse Communities
and Kinds of Language
Use
Discourses are not mastered by overt instruction (even less so
than languages, and hardly anyone ever fluently acquired a
second language sitting in a classroom), but by enculturation
(“apprenticeship”) into social practices through scaffolded and
supported interaction with people who have already mastered
the Discourse.
(Gee, 2001, p. 527)

We are surrounded by language; in other words, we are surrounded by d ­ iscourse.1

“Discourse” means any connected unit of utterance in which there are at least three
participants: one or more speakers (or writers), the unit of utterance itself as parti­
cipant, and one or more receivers (listeners or readers). Discourse is, in essence a

1
Cuddon (1991) provides the original meaning of the term “discourse” as that which represents a “learned
discussion, spoken or written, on a philosophical, political, literary, or religious topic. It is closely related
to a treatise and a dissertation.” However, he adds, that in “linguistics, ‘discourse’ denotes a ‘stretch of
language’ larger than a sentence” (p. 249) and that in more recent times, the “term has acquired much
wider meanings and much wider implications” (p. 249). Cuddon defines discourse in terms of the latter
as “language which is understood as utterance (whether written or spoken), and thus involves subjects
who speak and write—which presupposes listeners and readers who, in a sense, are ‘objects’” (p. 249).
Discourse, then, can be perceived as “social practice,” and the different genres and modes of discourse are
“differentiated by their intention” (p. 249). This general definition will serve our purposes in this chapter
and book, although there is a vast body of literature and related fields of inquiry in which discourse is
­extensively discussed, analyzed, interpreted, and theorized.

15

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 16
social and cultural construct. Take, for e
­ xample, a joke. A joke cannot be a joke unless
Chapter 2
it is uttered in some social and cultural context in which a speaker uses it with the in­
Discourse
tention of amusing a listener. Such a speaker may have additional intentions, such as
Communities
using the joke to draw attention to something serious, to indirectly critique, to break
and Kinds of
the ice in an unfamiliar situation, to captivate an audience, or any of a number of other
Language Use
purposes. We recognize a joke within social and cultural contexts, and the joke may
succeed or fail for a number of reasons, most of them socially and culturally situated.
The more general meaning of “discourse” as socially and culturally contextual­
ized utterance (Cuddon, 1991) reflects the growth of discourse studies within the
fields of communications, education, sociolinguistics, anthropological linguistics,
cognitive psychology, social psychology, artificial intelligence, literacy, and cultural
studies, among others (Schiffrin, Tannen, & Hamilton, 2001). Indeed, the academic
arrival of discourse studies as a worthy field of inquiry in its own right is clearly in­
dicated in the emergence of the first Handbook of Discourse Analysis, in which the
editors note that discourse analysis “is a rapidly and evolving field,” with current
research “now flow[ing] from numerous academic disciplines that are very differ­
ent from one another” (Schiffrin, Tannen, & Hamilton, 2001, p. 1).
Given these wide variations in the origins of discourse studies, the early defi­
nition by linguistics of discourse as “anything [i.e., use of language] beyond the
sentence” (Schiffrin, Tannen, & Hamilton, 2001, p. 1) is now seen as inadequate
to describe applications of the concept by, for example, critical theorists who go
beyond the utterance itself to speak of “discourses of power” and “discourses of
racism” (Schiffrin, Tannen, & Hamilton, 2001, p. 1). Discourse, as defined by criti­
cal theorists, is seen as a social and cultural practice, much as we could describe
rules for acceptable eating, death rites, or greetings across different social and
cultural settings. Given such a broader view of discourse, language is moved from
the central position that early linguists accorded it and becomes one of the many
variables attended to by one or more participants in any social or cultural setting.

➙ Objectives
My primary goal in this chapter is to familiarize teachers and students with the
contexts in which we use language both in and out of school and the interplay
between language and discourse that results from language use in an endless
variety of discourses. Related to this overarching goal are several objectives:

■ To identify and describe discourses prominent in school and nonschool

settings
■ To identify and describe how we use language to both create and receive
discourses
■ To provide opportunities for practicing language analysis in the contexts of
various discourses, including those generated by students, and in this way,
to bring into focus the metalinguistic awareness and skills all students have
but would benefit from developing further

In Chapter One, I established a relationship between reading and writing that

is inherent in what we call “literacy.” It is a given that when we write for public

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 17
purposes, the writer must develop reader consciousness to ensure that other
The Central Concept
people are able to read what is written. If they intend to publish, writers write for
a readership—there is always an assumed audience. Readers select something to
read, whether an article, a note, a book, or a greeting card, assuming that the text
contains some intended communication, regardless of the ongoing and interesting
debates about intentionality or absence of it in literary theory discussions and
regardless of debates on the essential indeterminacy of meaning in written texts
(Derrida, 1978).
My intent in this chapter and book is to have instruction resemble the natural
language and discourse acquisition and learning processes so that students will be
provided with information and experiences that will enable them to:

■ Acquire and learn a variety of discourses and their utilization of different

linguistic patterns and structures through exposure and analysis, thus
learning which linguistic patterns work most effectively for different genres
and purposes.
■ Acquire and learn to develop competence in the use of a range of discourses
through modeling and imitation.
■ Acquire and learn such discourses through trial and error and experimentation.
■ Gain mastery through using a range of discourses by practicing them
in authentic contexts and in authentic ways through working both
collaboratively and independently to identify meaningful purposes and
authentic audiences.
■ Develop proficiency through a blend of formal instruction (in the absence of
wide and deep reading) and writing and reading for authentic purposes for
authentic audiences.
■ Expand their repertoires so that they learn to speak, listen to, read, and
write in a variety of genres and modes within genres.

Because of space constraints, I will illustrate these objectives with one kind
of discourse (genre) and suggest other discourses, sometimes with examples, to
which similar patterns of practice can apply.

The Central Concept

As I noted in the introduction to this chapter, discourse assumes two essential
components: First, discourse assumes both single-word structures and longer
structures that constitute meaningful utterances. Independent clauses are one such
example in oral utterances; in written language, single words, phrases, indepen­
dent clauses, or sentences that contain either single or multiple clauses are another.
­Second, discourse is always contextualized, meaning that discourse always assumes
some kind of dialogic interaction, whether this is intrapersonal (self-to-self) or in­
terpersonal (self to other and other to self). Some further characteristics include the
following:

■ Discourse may be formal or informal, highly structured, loose, or even

inchoate. The extent to which structure matters depends on, among other

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 18
things, the level of formality or informality, the degree of intimacy among
Chapter 2
participants, the goals of the interaction, the subject matter of the inter­
Discourse
action, and the roles that participants have that influence the interaction
Communities
(e.g., parent, child, sibling, partner, external authority figure, superior, or
and Kinds of
subordinate).
Language Use
■ Discourse may be defined according to genres and modes within genres.
It is essentially a neutral, descriptive category; that is, we could argue that
in using the term “discourse,” we don’t necessarily judge the quality of the
interaction, but judgment may occur in terms of the perceived effectiveness
of the talk or text. To describe something as “discourse” includes identify­
ing a genre of communication that entails a purpose, an audience and/
or readers, and a setting or context. To determine whether the user of the
genre is an effective communicator in a particular setting, we draw on eval­
uative tools that address rhetorical issues such as effective introductions,
coherence in structure, voice, and appropriate usage. In writing, we may
also evaluate spelling and mechanics insofar as they affect communication
and the circumstances that prompted the communication in the first place
(a need to leave a note on a refrigerator for a partner about coming home
late for a meal, a report summarizing a meeting attended by several partici­
pants, etc.).
■ Discourse also includes several dimensions or parameters which can be
further described according to degree, absence or presence of a feature,
number of participants, nature of participants, and so on (see Table 2.1).
The benefit of delineating discourse in this way is that it provides us with a
relatively simple and visual way of identifying contexts in which language
is used and what considerations come into play when we communicate.
Language analysis, then, becomes contextualized, and through this con­
textualization, we move away from simplistic and absolute conceptions
of error. For instance, fragments are quite common in brief notes left for
others in informal, intimate contexts, and punctuation is often ignored in
email communications between known correspondents who are equivalent
in status.

Organizing language study around discourse parameters provides a way of

thinking about language in a contextualized way and describing language in a
­systematic way that is sensitive to discourse issues such as those noted earlier,
that is, participants, genre, purpose of the communication, and so on (see Hymes’s
­description of communicative events in Saville-Troike (1989) and that addresses the
central concept of considering language use according to function and purpose. It
is important not to see the categories provided in Table 2.1 as absolute or definitive.
Always, in adopting a functional perspective on language use, the underlying prin­
ciple for language analysis and evaluation is the purpose to which language is put
and by whom language is used in any particular context. Within contexts, of course,
conventions may indeed govern language use to a greater or lesser extent, and the
penalty for misuse of language may be more or less punitive depending on many
variables.
In Table 2.1, I have drawn on several of Hymes’s (1972) categories that ­identify
features of what he terms a “communicative event” (perceived status of participants,

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 Table 2.1  An Illustrative Range of Selective Micro-Functions

Possible To Express To Amuse and/ To Perform a

Parameters To Persuade Emotion To Inform or ­Entertain Ritual

Situation A television A wedding College Club Church

program ­classroom
Genre/mode Advertisement Best man’s Lecture Comedy Sermon
speech
Intended Retirement-age Wedding party Senior students Regulars at a Regulars at
audience adults and guests majoring in particular club a particular
English church
literature
Role of Watch and be Shared desire Receive, store, Respond Listen for
­participants in influenced to to participate learn informa- to the comfort,
the event buy in celebrations tion being comedian ­inspiration,
­conveyed in ­admonition
the lecture
Perceived Equals who Equals who Prospective Equals who Slightly less
­status of have purchas- know the experts in the have to be con- than equal, as
­participants ing power ­wedding pair field of knowl- vinced to laugh the minister
edge but still may be per-
recipients of ceived as God’s
information intermediary
and the church-
goers as suppli-
cants for divine
intervention
Content/subject Vacation pack- Memories and Features of the Political gaffes Atonement
matter age for retirees praise to toast Romantic Period of the week
happiness of in 19th century
the couple British literature
Level of usage Semiformal but Informal, Formal, author- Informal, satiric Formal,
(formal/­ intimate ­intimate itative ­exhortative
informal, etc.)
Mode (written, Text would have Spoken, though Written Spoken, Most likely
spoken, been scripted may have ­impromptu written initially
or both) but ­delivered initially been but delivered
though spoken ­written in spoken
mode mode

intended audience, role of the participants, etc.) along the vertical axis. On the hori­
zontal axis, a range of micro-functions defines the purpose for which a particular
form of discourse might be used (e.g., persuasion, expressing emotion, performing
a ritual). Table 2.1 makes explicit all the major components of any communicative

19

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 20
event (participants, purpose of communication, form (genre and mode) communica­
Chapter 2
tion, and the level of usage reflected in the language (formal, intimate, etc.). I have
Discourse
omitted norms of interpretation and norms of interaction (Hymes, 1972) because
Communities
although these are appropriate concepts for scholars pursuing intensive analysis of
and Kinds of
discourse in various communicative contexts, they imply a familiarity with how lan­
Language Use
guage is shaped by those contexts that is beyond most students in the K–12 setting.
However, these norms are implied in the identification of audience and purpose.
The isolated study of grammatical forms ignores all the elements that go into
any act of communication (a communicative event). However, as Table 2.1 illus­
trates, each event determines what forms are finally used. Granted, we may still
use similar words, and each language will retain its essential structural patterns
(e.g., in English, word order is typically subject, finite verb, complement or o ­ bject
in all clauses whether dependent or independent), but there is much more of
which one needs to be aware to communicate effectively beyond basic grammati­
cal structures. This awareness is usually acquired through engaging in more and
more diverse settings over time, and those settings, in turn, will serve as models
for how to make language work for particular purposes and particular listeners/
audiences.
We put language to an enormous range of uses for a wide range of purposes
in our everyday lives. In contrast, the uses to which language is put in school are
relatively narrow. Table 2.2 illustrates uses of language that might be required by a
typical middle or high school student. According to a major study of school writing
(Applebee, 1982), the range shrinks even more as students progress through high
school; only 3% of all writing done in the senior year is creative (fictional narrative,
poetry, creative nonfiction, dramatic writing and scripting, etc.). Summary and the
critical essay dominate all writing by 12th grade. These data were supported by the
ETS study Learning to Write in Our Nation’s Schools (Applebee et al., 1990), which
examined, among other things, the kinds of writing commonly practiced in grades
4, 8, and 12, finding that among the total of 19,273 students from whom data were
collected, 44.8% wrote reports or summaries at least monthly (across all grades
identified), 38.6% wrote analytic or interpretive essays or themes at least once a
month, 61.9% wrote imaginative or literary pieces (though this number dropped
to 29.6% by 12th grade), and 45.3% wrote in learning logs or journals at least once
a month (p. 41). Only 36.3% of all students experienced assignments with several
drafts and revisions, suggesting that the bulk of writing was for purposes other
than developing greater fluency with written language.
Much of school language use that is assessable, is necessarily in written form.
Few relatively simple rubrics (other than those for debates and formal speeches
that may appear in journalism classes) are available, and teachers cannot, with
larger class sizes, assess the spoken language of individual students. The typi­
cal range of genres and modes that students in the secondary setting read and
write are therefore quite narrow (see Table 2.3). They are predominantly academic
modes and, in the case of the five-paragraph theme, a pseudo-academic form of
writing created primarily to teach students a basic informational essay structure.
However, while it is initially a fairly useful exemplar format for teaching writ­
ing ­expository prose, the five-paragraph theme mode does not exist in the actual
­writing we do in the wider community.
Applebee and Langer’s (1984) analysis of the kinds of writing done in the
­secondary school supports the view that students are essentially writing for

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 Table 2.2  An Illustrative Range of Discourse Parameters Across Micro-Functions in Middle
and High School Writing

To Express To Amuse or To Perform

To Persuade ­Emotion To Argue ­Entertain a Ritual

Situation Primarily not Primarily not Primarily not Primarily not Primarily not
authentic, but authentic, but authentic, but authentic , but authentic, but
on occasions on occasions on occasions on occasions on occasions
could be so could be so could be so could be so could be so

Genre/mode Essay, advertise- Journals, poetry Research paper Unlikely, but Rare if at all
ment “story” may
have this
function

Intended Most often, the Most often, the Most often, the Most often, the Most often, the
audience(s) teacher as de- teacher as de- teacher as de- teacher as de- teacher as de-
fault audience fault audience fault audience fault audience fault audience

Role of Demonstrate Demonstrate Demonstrate Demonstrate Demonstrate

participants skill in writing skill in writing skill in writing skill in writing skill in writing
in this mode in this mode in this mode in this mode in this mode
and for this and for this and for this and for this and for this
function function function function function

Perceived status Novice Novice Novice Novice Novice

of participants

Content/subject Variable, but Variable, but Variable, but Variable, but Variable, but
matter often assigned often assigned often assigned often assigned often assigned

Level of usage Formal/standard Formal/­standard Formal/standard If assigned, Formal/standard

(formal/infor- American American American f­ ormal/standard American
mal, etc.) English ­English English American English
English

Mode (written, Written Written Written Written Written

spoken,
or both)

school purposes rather than for college or work and life purposes. This prac­
tice also ­reduces students’ opportunities to experiment with and experience
language uses that are more common outside the school setting and for which
students are under prepared in terms of reading as well as writing. Britton et
al.’s landmark study (1975) of audiences and purposes in school writing for
11- to 17-year-olds revealed that students in school settings write for a pseudo-
audience: the teacher. Within that audience context, the teacher’s primary default

21

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 22
Chapter 2 Table 2.3  Types of Writing in School and the Community at Large
Discourse
Communities
Types of Writing ­Common A Range of Types of Writing (and Reading)
and Kinds of
in School Between Optional but Available in General Social and
Language Use
Grades 6 and 12 in Non-School Contexts
­English/Language Arts

One-page essays or Private

themes Business letters (occasionally)
Two to three paragraphs Complaint or correction letters (occasionally)
Five-paragraph theme Creative
essay
Emails (for informative purposes)
Analytic, interpretive
Fridge notes
essay
Greeting cards
Notes
Memos
Report writing (including
book reports) Personal letters (most often in email since
the 1990s)
Research essay
Text messaging
Short paragraphs
Public
Short narratives
­(“stories”), fictional Advertisements
or nonfictional Application letters and forms
Single-phrase responses Analytic, interpretive essays (college)
Single-sentence Bio statements and CVs
­responses Creative fiction writing (largely college)
Some personal poetry Creative nonfiction writing (largely college)
in younger grades
How-to manuals
Summaries
Lecture notes (college)
Letters to the editor
Advice letters
Minutes for meetings, agendas
Notices (birth, death, congratulations, etc.)
Poetry (largely college but also noncollege)
Note that modeling Purchase orders
(i.e., exposure to the Proposals (e.g., funding)
kinds of language used
Report writing (business and college) using varied
in these modes) has not
templates
been common, although
Statements of intent (with applications for college)
templates exist and mod-
els are increasingly avail- Summaries, annotations (college)
able on the Internet. Web pages, blogs, Facebook posts

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 23
role is “teacher as examiner,” because in the context of required school writing,
Key Assumptions
students almost always play the role of novice, and the teacher always plays the
roles of expert and judge.
The list in the nonschool world and post-K–12
­educational settings is not e ­ xhaustive. Common writing
that would be accessible to a person educated to the end
of 12th grade and that is most likely to happen, even if
­infrequently, is the point of the comparison, as is the intent
to demonstrate how little prepared (through experience as
well as instruction) students are to use language in a vari­
ety of common modes and genres.
Applebee and Langer’s (1984) findings have serious
implications in terms of what we expect students to be able
to produce, and they affect our assessment of ­students’
language use in both spoken and written modes. Increas­
ingly, however, various Language Arts scholars (e.g.,
Ehrenworth & Vinton, 2005; Noden, 2011; Weaver, 2008)
who have ­focused on what students need to know about
language to become effective communicators in a wide
variety of s­ ettings agree that teaching grammar in isola­
tion is not the way to accomplish this. Rather, the teaching
of language should really be about the teaching of discourse, that is, language in
context. A discourse-centered language curriculum would have students become
competent users of a range of discourses in ways o ­ utlined in the “Objectives” sec­
tion of this chapter.

Key Assumptions
B oth writing and reading are social acts that assume interaction, whether with
oneself or with others. For example, when we read a novel (a macro-genre), we
expect to engage with it imaginatively, to find in it a protagonist and other charac­
ters, to find some large theme that will carry the action, to be presented with some
issue or problem that the protagonist must resolve or be defeated by, and to have
some resolution, whether satisfactory or not. We can delineate these larger cat­
egories even further, depending on whether the novel is realistic fiction, a mystery,
science fiction, a romance, and so on. The genre sets up certain expectations in the
reader, and the degree to which the reader is satisfied with the reading, a ­ ccepts
it, and is engaged by it depends, among other things, on the degree to which the
writer has met those expectations. Genres are bound by social conventions as
much as they are by literary ones. We could even argue that literary conventions
are specific kinds of social conventions.
If genres are social constructions, the primary ways in which we learn to
adopt these constructions is through exposure to them, analysis, and use. The
­imitation exercises in classical rhetoric instruction have successfully relied on ex­
posure and imitation in teaching young scholars how to generate the same struc­
tures themselves. Similarly, in oral language acquisition, young children acquire
their language variety (in both words and structures) through exposure, trial and
error (in which internal analysis appears to occur as well as analysis through

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 24
correction), and a process of imitation that is stimulated by a close adult or is gen­
Chapter 2
erated unconsciously by the child’s simply repeating what has been heard. The
Discourse
process of learning unfamiliar discourses and their structures (manifested through
Communities
a vast variety of genres) is no different. It takes exposure (through reading if the
and Kinds of
genres are written), trial and error in which analysis of the patterns occurs, and
Language Use
imitation, which is the mechanism by which practice is experienced, until a level of
mastery has been achieved that the teacher or some other authority figure deems
at least satisfactory.

Applications
E xperienced users of language, whether in written or spoken modes, utilize lan­
guage patterns that reflect particular functions (e.g., expressing emotion, convey­
ing truth, conveying exactness) in a largely unconscious manner. Experienced
communicators have internalized models for different kinds of language use
through wide reading and wide listening. We accumulate these models over our
lifetimes, and as adults, we tend to forget that students in the K–12 setting have
relatively limited exposure to, and experience in, using language in various modes
for various audiences and purposes. How does one come to know, for example,
that guiding readers is accomplished through the use of anticipatory devices such
as using explicit topic sentences, page layout, titles, and the use of explanatory
phrases such as “I wish now to turn attention to . . .”? How does one learn to con­
vey reasoning through restricting an area of discussion (e.g., “Because of space
constraints, I will limit my discussion to . . .”)? How does one internalize other
linguistic strategies such as using shorter sentences to convey stress, anger, or
shock? Similarly, we use adverbs to indicate time (e.g., during, before, after); nouns
to identify or name a phenomenon, object, or entity; and comparative adjectives
and the comparative suffixes (“er” and “est”) to signal comparison and contrast
(e.g., good, better, best; poorer, poorest). Learning these discourse tricks of the
language trade takes exposure, time, and practice.

Application 1: Identifying Language Patterns

in Genres and Modes Within Genres
The excerpts in Table 2.4 are drawn from a range of genres. (All excerpts have
been created by the author.) To ensure some bases for comparison, each excerpt
is an opening paragraph of approximately the same length. When the exercise
is being done with students, the sources of the excerpts are masked, but I have
provided them in the figure for ease of reference. Students should be given the
sources after they have attempted to identify the general source (i.e., genre and
mode). In reading instruction, one of the common strategies for developing com­
prehension skills (Johnston, 1992), is asking students to predict what is going to
happen next in the text after they read part of it. Predictions can be made because
we understand linguistic and textual cues on which writers rely, knowing that their
readers will respond in quite specific ways (we can think of this as “the reciprocity
principle” (Grice, 1975), an imaginary contract between speakers and listeners and
between writers and readers that we rely on in any act of communication to estab­
lish meaning. If a writer unwittingly breaks the contract (e.g., by failing to signal

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 Table 2.4  Excerpts Representing Genres

Genre/Mode Identification
Excerpts and Notes on Language

Excerpt 1
A recent court decision to ban smoking in all public spaces has met an Factual language; reported
obstacle. language (no direct speech);
Joseph Smiling, a 46-year-old man from Iowa, is petitioning the U.S. dispassionate style, m­ atter
government declaring his constitutional right to smoke wherever no of fact; declarative p
­ attern;
one else is in close proximity. formal style; longer than
­average sentences. ­Typical
Smiling argues that the air is not a space per se and that therefore he
reporting style—one
cannot be prohibited from smoking in it.
­sentence per paragraph—
Smiling expects to have s­ ignificant support for his petition. appears to make facts
Smithson News, Local News Section, 7/25/2011, p. C9. stand out.
[Example of a featured news report style]
Excerpt 2
During the time we grew up in the Australian outback, in the far Practice identifying
northwest of Australia, we became aware of what we children named ­patterns.
“The China Myth.” Our parents and the country in general were
­obsessed about China and the possibility of a Chinese invasion, a fear
that emerged immediately after World War II and the onset of the
Cold War.
Our town was nestled among the foothills of the Hamersley Ranges.
Our version of the myth was that China lay right behind that range,
and so we were determined to climb Mount Watkins, the tallest of
the mountains. We managed it one summer and found that China was
not behind Mount Watkins or any of the other taller hills. Something
else was.
[Example of a personal narrative/biography style]
Excerpt 3
On Learners as Plants: Thoughts from an Educator. Practice identifying
As many teachers will attest, giving individual attention, helping ­patterns.
­students by modeling what we request of them, respecting students’
innate intelligence and the greatness of each individual student is for
many students who have not experienced this like giving water to a
parched plant. The plant perks up, begins to regain color, grows new
leaves, loses its droop. In all my years of teaching all kinds of students,
whatever their age and educational level, I have never seen a different
outcome. Like plants, students respond when we provide what matches
their inherent natures. I’ve always believed that we can reach every
student because in every student is a desire to grow, to stretch, to use
their mind, to thrive.
[Example of a discursive expository essay excerpt]
(Continued)

25

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 Table 2.4 (Continued)

Genre/Mode Identification
Excerpts and Notes on Language

Excerpt 4
I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch—things have just been so busy. Hope Practice identifying
you’re doing better, though. Sis told me when we talked last week ­patterns.
that your arthritis was playing up. Have you seen a doctor about it?
­Remember what happened last time when you didn’t . . .I’d just feel
better if you went, ok?
Anyway, not much’s going on with me. We went to Mohican for Xmas
with a bunch of friends—there was a bit of snow on the ground, just
enough to make it pretty.
[Example of a personal letter style]
Excerpt 5
The shells are falling around us. I cannot tell if we will survive this Practice identifying
night. I think of my dearest Dorothy, and hope that if I do not write ­patterns.
again, she will somehow know that she is always in my thoughts,
­always in my heart. I wear her scarf to battle tonight. Soon, the bugle
will call—who knows which of us will return from the front? It has
been six months since I last saw my beloved Dorothy and our little ones.
I am heart heavy this night—cannot shake dread, though I believe I am
in God’s hands, as all of us poor devils are.
[Example of a journal entry style such as a soldier in the World
War I trenches in France might have written]
Excerpt 6
BASIC INSTRUCTIONS FOR MOWING LAWNS WITH HANDMOWERS Practice identifying
CLEAR DEBRIS FROM LAWN — Don’t use mower until you have cleared ­patterns.
away sticks, stones, and other objects that can stop the mower blades
from rotating.
HANDMOWERS DO NOT WORK WELL ON LONG GRASS.
AVOID USING WHEN GRASS IS WET.
ENSURE THAT PETS SUCH AS CATS AND DOGS ARE IN THE HOUSE
WHEN MOWER IS IN OPERATION.
MAKE SURE BLADES ARE SHARPENED ANNUALLY OR WHEN THEY
BECOME DULL.
Cut as close as possible to areas to be trimmed with trimmers. Cut grass
in the same direction. Remove cut grass with a rake following mowing.
It is advisable to wear gloves to avoid blistering. Protective headwear is
not required, but safety glasses are recommended.
(Manual for Handmowers. Catalog Nos 10MTF, 10NTF, 10PTF).
[Example of instructional material style]

26

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 27
the direction of the communication, using punctuation i­ncorrectly, or omitting
Applications
information that is critical to determine meaning), the reader loses his or her con­
nection with the text and may lose interest, find it frustrating to proceed, or be
utterly confused.
In this exercise, the instructor’s tasks are as follows:

■ Inform students that they will examine the language patterns of each ex­
cerpt, identify the patterns, and subsequently incorporate them into their
own writing, basing their initial attempts on the models provided in the ex­
cerpts. In the course of modeling, we want to highlight linguistic patterns to
show how using language in particular ways results in patterns that we also
read in particular ways.
■ Ask students to try to identify the genre and mode of each excerpt. The
column on the right can be used for their notes about the language in each
excerpt. An example of how to proceed is given for the first excerpt.
■ Invite students to enjoy the guesswork that is initially involved in identify­
ing the source of the excerpt. They can discuss their reasons for deciding on
a particular source by referring to aspects of the language: What does the
language “promise”? What clues can the students detect in the way in which
the language is patterned? Is the usage formal, informal, technical? Are the
sentences typically short? What does that tell students? What signals sug­
gest fact or fiction?

Analysis of Imitation of Pattern in Excerpt 1

Excerpt 1

A recent court decision to ban smoking in all public spaces has met an
obstacle.
Joseph Smiling, a 46-year-old man from Iowa, is petitioning the U.S.
government declaring his constitutional right to smoke wherever no one
else is in close proximity.
Smiling argues that the air is not a space per se and that therefore he
cannot be prohibited from smoking in it.
Smiling expects to have significant support for his petition.
Smithson News, Local News Section, 7/25/2011, p. C9.

Excerpt 1 contains four sentences, each of which is represented as a paragraph. A

paragraph typically performs the function of providing one major idea, which is
then embellished with subordinate but explanatory detail. Having paragraphs that
contain only the main idea focuses all attention on the information contained in that
single-sentence paragraph. This creates the effect of specificity and matter-of-fact­
ness. It’s not the way people usually write paragraphs. However, a single-sentence
paragraph can be a useful device if one wants to draw attention to a particular
piece of information. It’s not surprising that this style is common in j­ournalism.
All four sentences are declarative, consisting of at least one independent clause
(underlined). In two sentences, these independent clauses are supported by one or
more subordinate clauses or extended phrases. In Sentence 2, the layering includes
an appositive phrase and a participle phrase followed by an infinitive phrase in

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 28
Chapter 2
Excerpt 1 – Sentence 2
Discourse
Communities Joseph Smiling,
and Kinds of a 46-year-old man from Iowa,
Language Use is petitioning the U.S. government
declaring his constitutional right to smoke
wherever no one else is in close proximity.
Smithson News, Local News Section, 7/25/2011, p. C9.

Example of Imitation of Pattern:

Arthur Andrews (name/noun phrase—subject)
a 38-year-old farmer from Illinois (appositive phrase), is suing his local
government office (predicate of independent clause) asserting his
rights as a landowner (participial phrase)
to grow trees wherever he wishes within the boundary of his property
(infinitive phrase with embedded adverbial phrase).

which is embedded an adverbial phrase. Complexity is also found in Sentence 3,

which contains two noun clauses, the first as the object of the verb “argues” and
the second an expansion of the first. Unpacking these rather complex sentences
can be daunting for less mature readers and writers because of the multiple layer­
ing effect the writer achieves by embedding elements within other elements. A
simple way to approach a modeling exercise is to have the students imitate the
pattern in isolation, maintaining the sequence, verb tense (past, present, or future),
and number (singular or plural) of the original but changing the content. Changing
the content eliminates the concern that students might think they are being encour­
aged to plagiarize. Sentence 2 of the excerpt serves as an example.
These patterns can be posted on the classroom bulletin board and pasted into
student notebooks so that students can return to them in their own writing. An
immediate follow-up to doing any imitation exercise in isolation should include an
­application of the pattern to students’ own writing. It is a useful revision exercise
for something that has already been written. If students have a practice portfolio,
they can be directed to revise one of their own opening sentences (as was done for
this excerpt) using the same pattern as in the original and handing that in the fol­
lowing day or at the end of the same class during which the imitation exercise was
initially practiced. To consolidate an understanding of the pattern, students can
label their revised sentence in the way provided in the model.
Some English Language Arts teachers with whom I have worked have been
concerned that “forcing” students to apply particular patterns in model exercises
will restrict their creativity. In response to that concern, I have asked them to con­
sider what professional writers, famous novelists, short story writers, and poets
have always done to hone their technique and their craft: They have, at one time

M02_SOTE6575_04_SE_C02.indd 28 5/15/12 6:11 PM

 29
or another, imitated the style of one or more authors in their genre to help them
Applications
find and refine their own style. Avid and exhaustive readers will inevitably ingest
features of styles that have affected them for one reason or other. This is how writ­
ers learn to expand their own style so that it doesn’t become fossilized. Learning to
imitate structural patterns used by others who have perfected them provides oppor­
tunities to expand our own repertoire. I do emphasize, however, that students must
change the content. The goal is to create a desired effect, and the pattern that results
in that effect is of interest in this application, not the content within that pattern.

Application 2: Same Subject,

Different Genres, Different Audiences,
and Different Purposes
A very effective exercise that helps students to develop what I term “genre sense” is
one that keeps content constant but requires students to convert the form from one
genre to another. This kind of conversion inevitably generates different linguistic
patterns. A good way to begin this experiment is with a dramatic yet simple con­
version of prose to poetry. The initial conversion in this instance requires that the
wording remain absolutely identical. Only when that step has been completed does
the task of shaping the form to suit the topic in the new genre begin. This shaping
might include deletion of “unnecessary” words, lines, or phrases; a change in per­
son (third to first or second); different, or reversing word order.
Once we have expressed an idea and anchored it in some written form, ex­
perimenting with form by changing genres raises our consciousness about how
language is used in different contexts and for different purposes and alerts our
senses to the associative quality of words in a language. When we are focused on
literal meaning, we lose sight of this associative quality. It is only when we place
the same words, or at least the same ideas, in different contexts that we realize how
significant this quality is. To highlight this quality, I have created an example that
includes some experimentation with placement of words in converting the same
content to a different genre. In this instance, every word will remain the same. My
original short paragraph is based on a pattern used in William Strong’s (1994) “The
Water Skier,” an exercise in sentence combining. For the purposes of this activity,
I have reorganized the pattern, using my combined original sentences in a descrip­
tive piece that would come from a nonfictional narrative.

First Example 
Poised, arms flexed, the rider steadies on the hill. His horse lunges forward, straining
the slack on the reins, pulling the rider high in the saddle. Suddenly, he is hunched,
body low and forward. He rises and subsides, and the horse’s tail, golden in the sun-
light, streams behind them. Elbows tightened against his ribcage, his body melds with
that of the stallion. They are muscle in unison, streaming, leaping, muscular h ­ armony.

Conversion into Poetic Form with Zero Word Change 

Poised,
arms flexed,
the rider steadies on the hill.
His horse lunges
forward,
straining

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 30
the slack on the reins,
Chapter 2
Discourse
pulling
Communities
and Kinds of
the rider high in the saddle.
Language Use

Suddenly, he is hunched,

body low
and
forward.

He rises and
subsides, and
the horse’s tail,

golden in the sunlight,

streams behind them.

Elbows tightened against

his ribcage, his body melds
with that of the stallion. They are
muscle in unison,
streaming,
leaping,
muscular harmony.

By experimenting further with this conversion, students will discover that

when words are isolated on single lines, the meaning is shaded somewhat differ­
ently. They might notice that line breaks affect how much notice readers pay to
words that have less semantic weight when embedded in prose. When we play with
form in this way, some students discover that although they experience writer’s
block in one genre, working in another genre provides a way through that block.
Sometimes students discover their “natural” genre this way. Few writers are equally
at home in all genres; we all have our preferred genres and modes within genres.

A Second Example: Same Subject, Minimal Word Changes, Narrative

Fiction Version Converted to Factual Report  In the following example, note
the switch in tense to convey that the event had happened previously and the removal
of most descriptive information so that the focus is on the facts of the event and ap­
peals to the emotion and the imagination are minimized. The shift in focus from an
image that attempts to recapture what the rider was actually experiencing in riding
the horse to a factual account of what was observed is achieved through reporting
the event in the past tense and eliminating evocative description where possible.

The rider had been poised, his arms flexed as he waited on the hill. His
horse lunged forward [a witness reports], pulling the rider high in the
saddle. Suddenly, he was hunched low, body forward. His body moved in
unison with that of the horse. It seemed as if they were one.

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 31
The matter-of-fact attention to what can be described factually results in a focus on
Applications
what happened rather than on how the rider (and the describer through the rider)
felt about the experience. There is minimal emphasis on creating the sensation of
actually riding the horse.

Follow-up  Following the modeled examples, have students convert a paragraph

in a piece of writing that they might have in a workshopping folder. Because the
piece has already been written, the writer will usually have enough distance from
it to enable a level of detachment that allows for experimental play. I’ve found that
when writing first drafts, students are inevitably focused on getting the ideas down
on paper. Even when we ask them to revise (rather than edit), they are reluctant
to do more than tinker, and they usually edit rather than revise. Deeper revision
requires help, direction, and encouragement to experiment. This might better be
accomplished by using an older piece.

Application 3: Comparative Analysis of

Spoken and Written Language
When we ask students to compare language use in the two primary channels of
human communication (spoken and written language), we heighten their aware­
ness of the primary features of both. Having students either convert a transcribed
piece of text to standard written English or convert a piece of text written in stan­
dard English to resemble the students’ natural spoken language highlights some
key differences between the two modes of communication. Many of the errors stu­
dents make in their writing can be traced back to an inadvertent transfer of spoken
phrasing into the written medium. When I have read such pieces back to students,
they almost always hear the problem and know what they have to do to rectify it.
What these slips suggest is that students can benefit from exercises that focus on
the nature of naturally occurring conversational language in contrast to more de­
liberate, consciously revised and edited standardized written language.
Below is a transcription of an imagined conversation that I created followed by
a standardized narrative of that conversation also created by me to illustrate differ­
ences between the language use in the transcript and a reported narrative version.
Students’ attention should be drawn to the need for the writer to fill in information
that has been assumed to be shared, to complete fragmented utterances, to provide
commentary on what was said in some instances, to omit filler utterances (e.g., “you
know”), to delete repetition, and to add connecting information in order to make the
written piece coherent, even if the piece retains a semi-formal style in general.

Transcript of a Conversation
Mattie:  Yeah, I was havin’ lunch today ’n I heard about a story on the
radio . . . on the 12 o’clock news, y’know. About a guy who mows the
lawn for the elderly ’roun near where he lives. . . . Yeah, ’n he don’t ask
any money fer it, y’know. . . . He don’t have much hisself, from what I
heard . . . it was really int’restin’. . . .
Ned:  Sorta like me . . . In me better days . . . 
Art:  No kiddin’!

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 32
Mattie:  You, Ned, helpin’ someone else in need? Gee, I didn’ know ya had
Chapter 2
it in ya, but . . . hmm . . . guess there’s a soft side to ya. . . . not that I
Discourse
see it much . . . but guess it’s there. Well, anyways, the news guy says
Communities
the guy fell over when he was mowin’ an’ the old couple on the corner
and Kinds of
block near his place, they had to get ’n ambulance . . . felt bad for ‘im,
Language Use
I did. . . .
Ned:  Yeah, when I was in my helpin’ days, happened to me once, too . . .like
what happened to ’im. . . . I was doin’ some weed wackin’ with . . . you
know . . . one of them weed wackers . . . got me toe nipped by it . . . got
too close to the toe . . . geez, near took the top off the toe . . . ’ad to get
to the hospital with that one . . . for sure . . . cured me of my helpin’.
Art:  No kiddin’!

A Standardized Written Account of the Conversation  When Mattie,

Ned, and Art met for a bite to eat that Wednesday afternoon, Mattie just had to tell
the other two what she had heard while listening to her favorite radio s­ tation, 2MB,
during the 12 o’clock news that day. When they had settled down, she launched into
her story about the man who helped the elderly around where he lived by mow-
ing their lawns and not charging them a single cent for it. The other two weren’t all
that impressed. Ned turned it all back to himself (“Like me,” he said) as always. Art,
the sarcastic one, couldn’t resist responding with a gasp, “You’re joking!” He was
surprised that Ned would help anyone. Mattie turned the conversation back to her
story about the man and what happened to him while he was mowing one of his
neighbors’ lawns. You’d think that would get their attention, she thought, but Ned
turned their talk back to his own episode of helping others. They had to sit through
his tale about how he almost lost his toe and how the ordeal ended his Good Sa-
maritan days.

Activity  A discussion of the chief differences between spoken and written lan­
guage should not precede working through these examples. Students have a ten­
dency to look for “fit” and to become dependent on labels rather than examining
the language itself. I show them the spoken piece first (it is not as dense as the
prose version and is easier to break down visually). We read it aloud twice. The
first time, the teacher does the reading so that students develop a sense of the
rhythm of the piece; the second time, student volunteers are assigned roles (i.e.,
Mattie, Ned, Art) to read. We discuss what they notice about the language patterns.
Students are easily able to identify obvious features, such as “no sentences,” “frag­
ments,” “repetition,” “slang” (colloquialisms are sometimes mislabeled as slang),
“jerky,” and “abrupt stops.” We list these observations on a board. Then I distribute
a set of categories, have the students form groups, and ask them to analyze the two
texts more systematically, recording the counts where it makes sense and entering
an example in an example column (see Table 2.5).
Students identify these features in the conversational extract, working in small
groups and recording their analyses on overheads. They then report to the whole
class, talking the class through their overheads. Typically, students are inclined to
argue over where the piece might be taking place and the significance of the infor­
mation to the conversants. I collect the analyses for collation, subsequently giving
copies to students for their records.

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 Table 2.5  Analyzing Language: A Transcript of a Conversation

Discourse/Language Feature Count Example

Where do you think the conversation might take
place? (setting)
Why? What clues did you use to guess that?
How many words in the whole piece? (Include all
but names.)
Identify patterns of usage:
Informal
Colloquialisms
Slang
Repetitions (how many times)
Fillers (uh, er, um, or a pause, indicated by ellipsis dots)
Fragments (How many can you count?)
Vagueness, lack of precision (how many and
where?)
Generic words—“things” (how many and where?)
Where do you think there are gaps between pieces
of information? (Give an example, and count the
number of times there are gaps.)
How does the piece cohere (i.e., hang together)?
(Where is the piece abruptly stopped or jerky, where
does it lead into something that doesn’t follow from
what went before?)
What was the effect on you as a reader (e.g.,
­assumes shared space, assumes background
­information, creates a sense of exclusion from the
conversation)?
Was there possible inaccuracy of information? If so,
where did you locate that?
Anything else?
The phrase “discourse feature” entails not only language but also the setting, participants, relationships and status
among participants, patterns of usage, and purposes of communication. Therefore, a discourse feature is essentially
any element involved in the communicative event.

We then apply the same kind of analysis to the standardized written version,
again in small groups, modifying the categories slightly to reflect the language of the
written piece. From this, we move to a discussion of the major features of standard­
ized written language versus colloquial, conversational language (Hagemann, 2003).

Summary  Students typically notice how much longer the written piece is. This
is a consequence of the need to provide contextual information and elaboration of
information that is ellipted in the conversation and of the fact that standard w
­ ritten

33

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 34
language, whether narrative or not, generally requires fully formed sentences.
Chapter 2
Fragments are occasionally permitted in standard written English narratives de­
Discourse
pending on the purpose and audience for which the piece is intended. However,
Communities
even in this context, fragments should be used judiciously. Since the speech is
and Kinds of
largely reported in the above conversion, additional framing language is needed
Language Use
to contextualize the direct utterances. Even seasoned and competent writers,
such as graduate students in a Master of Education program, who are all gradu­
ates with degrees in English, are astonished by the amount of information that is
omitted in ordinary conversational English. However, once they become aware of
this through analysis, they quickly realize how students who have less experience
writing as readers (i.e., writing with what I term “reader consciousness”) are likely
to be less conscious of the need to provide contextual information as well as addi­
tional detail in a standardized written piece.

Follow-up  After this activity, students are asked to take another piece of writing
they may have in a folder and examine it for indications of what I term “spoken lan­
guage transfer.” Run-on sentences may be an indication of spoken language transfer
(Kress, 1982; Weaver, 1998), as may the use of pronouns without clear nominal refer­
ents. Rhetorically, spoken language transfer may manifest in the random structuring
of a piece, which may be written as if informally spoken, without a central organizing
principle. Rhetorical transfer may also manifest in mixed tenses, lack of agreement
between subject and verb, or improper use of conjunctions (or lack of conjunctions)
needed to connect ideas. In spoken situations, a listener can ask for clarification if ex­
plicit connection is absent from a speaker’s discourse. Less experienced writers have
difficulty remembering that the reader is unable to signal these infelicities.
Students could develop a chart of major differences between ordinary con­
versational discourse and standard written discourse to be hung on a classroom
wall (see Table 2.6). Teachers and students might also develop charts of major dif­
ferences between conversational discourse and fictional writing, report writing, or
formal spoken English. Such activities help students over time to become conscious
of these differences and to increase their ability to internally monitor (or to write
with a reader’s consciousness) their discourse with practice.

Application 4: Analyzing One’s

Own Language
Students, who are often considered novice writers by default,2 are typically asked
to analyze the writing of others though rarely, if ever, their own. Some texts
on teaching writing and language in the context of writing (e.g., Atwell, 1998,
­Hagemann, 2003), suggest ways in which teachers can have students document
their strengths and weaknesses (or “what I need to work on”) in their writing. This
is a positive step in the direction of having students behave as expert writers do,

2
Although many students may indeed be novice writers for a variety of reasons, including having less
experience in extended writing (included self-initiated writing), not all students are novices. For example,
S. E. Hinton wrote and published the now classic and highly successful young adult novel The Outsiders
while she was in her mid-teens. I have taught high school juniors who produced erudite and complex
analyses of Shakespearean tragedies such as Othello that have far surpassed the level of sophistication
one might expect in the writing of many college students.

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 Table 2.6  Common Major Linguistic and Rhetorical Features of Ordinary Conversational
Discourse and Standard Informational Written Discourse

Ordinary Conversational Discourse Standard Informational Written Discourse

Register (style) is informal, and colloquialisms and Register is typically formal or at least semifor-
slang may be common. mal, and slang and colloquialisms are absent.
Vocabulary is often very general (rather than Vocabulary should be subject or field specific
­subject or field specific), and common words and precise to avoid ambiguity.
rather than technical terms often occur.
Utterances may be truncated; that is, they may Utterances (in written language, these are
consist of single words or phrases (fragments) termed “sentences”) must be fully fleshed out
rather than fully formed clauses. with basic syntactic structure present (subject,
finite verb, complement/object).
Partial clauses build on each other (e.g., “Because Fragments are not permitted; subjects must
I said so”). ­always be explicit when opening a sentence.
Speakers may switch topics without warning. The topic must be sustained throughout and be
clearly identifiable.
Interjections may be common. Interjections are absent, though a writer may
insert occasional parenthetical information if it
is absolutely needed.
Fillers (e.g., “um,” “ahhhh”) and fade-outs can Fillers are not permitted; the writing must flow
be quite common. without gaps, hesitations, or intrusions.
Tone of voice replaces punctuation. Punctuation is required to indicate sentence,
clause, phrase, and word boundary marking.
Pronunciation rather than spelling is the focus. Conventional spelling is required.
The speaker may determine the direction of the The writer, while aware of an intended audi-
conversation; that is, there may be multiple foci ence, determines the direction of the discourse
and multiple topics depending on the nature of and single topics are required to ensure readers
the ­conversation. can clearly see the focus of the piece.

that is, d
­ eveloping in students the self-monitoring behaviors of accomplished and
committed writers. This practice also develops a consciousness of writing as an
evolutionary process—a consciousness that all practicing writers have as they con­
tinue to work on and refine their craft. Nevertheless, the practice can be made more
specific. Many teachers with whom I have worked, whether prospective teachers or
seasoned professionals, have had exposure to the “strengths” and “what I need to
work on” approach to self-analysis, but they do not have a sense of their own style,
and they do not realize that this style developed over time and can be played with
and even radically changed. Initially, I found it useful to have students count lin­
guistic features. However, a long list of features to identify and count can be frus­
trating even for graduate students, so I have come to prefer a staggered sequence,
each with a specific focus. Obviously, patterns are not identical across different
genres or purposes or in writing for different audiences. However, writers do in­
deed have a typical style and do use language in typical ways, just as speakers do.

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 36
My students have found that after initial resistance to counting discrete fea­
Chapter 2
tures such as nouns, adverbs, compound sentences, appositive words, phrases
Discourse
and clauses, and so forth, they develop increasing interest in discovering what
Communities
such counts tell them about their styles, and they find that these features are not
and Kinds of
as abstract as they had believed. This is another instance in which metalinguistic
Language Use
awareness proceeds best when learners can apply concepts to their own language
use, subsequently extending that awareness to the language produced by others
(including the abstracted examples that are all too frequently evident in grammar
and composition exercises).

Identifying Your Own Linguistic/Rhetorical Patterns:

Your Style Revealed
I have used the following staged and scaffolded version of the original exercise
with a group of pre-service English teachers. I requested that they bring to class
a sample of their fairly typical writing. Most write for college purposes, and many
chose an essay written for literary interpretation. A few chose creative pieces, and
a smaller group chose personal letters written either on paper or in email.
The assignment was begun in class to enable me to guide the students through
the analysis and was completed within a week. Students could email any questions
they had about any aspect of the assignment or request a meeting. They were also
given the opportunity to revise the assignment after receiving feedback. A few ex­
ercised that option.

Stage 1: Broadly Identifying Basic Stylistic Features  Students were asked

first to read their piece as a reader—inquisitive, open-minded, pens held at bay—
and then jot down general spontaneous impressions as they would if they had read
someone else’s piece for authentic purposes. They were then requested to read
their sample a second time, writing notes in response to the following requests:

■ Describe the style in which the piece is written.

■ Explain why they wrote the piece.
■ Describe the genre and mode of the piece.
■ Identify the intended audience.
■ Explain how the piece was typical of their writing.
■ Explain how the piece deviated from their more typical writing
(if it deviated).

They were asked to put aside this information during the analysis of specific
features and return to it when they were reflecting on the analysis.

Stage 2: Specific Word and Grammatical Features  Students were asked to

record, on a chart like Table 2.7, a total word count and then a count for each of the
structural features, including any notes they wished to make about these features.
Counts can be converted to percentages where it appears that there is some point
in pursuing the analysis to that level.
Students were then asked to identify what they perceived to be patterns of
interest, that is, patterns that were common throughout the piece. In small groups
(no more than four students), they compared and contrasted this piece with those
of others. At this stage, they saw the exercise as one of counting with, as yet, little

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 Table 2.7  Chart of Basic Structural Features

Feature Count Notes if Desired

Total # words
Total # paragraphs
Total # sentences
Total # independent clauses
Total # dependent clauses
Average # words per sentence
Total # questions
Total # nouns/NPs
Total # verbs/verbals/VPs
Total # adjectives
Total # adverbs
Nouns that appear throughout
Verbs that appear throughout
Conjunctions that appear throughout
Any other structural feature of interest (please name)

Table 2.8  Chart of Specific Stylistic Features

Feature Count Notes if Desired

Most frequent sentence opener
# of appositively used words, phrases, or clauses
# of present participles
# of prepositional phrases
# of concrete nouns
# of abstract nouns
Tense used most consistently
# of nouns used literally
# of nouns used figuratively
# of commas
# of less common forms of punctuation
# of instances of direct speech
Dominant point of view (voice)
Any other stylistic feature of interest?

rhetorical significance, but their interest was piqued. None of the students had ever
subjected their own writing to a fine-grained analysis.

Stage 3: Specific Stylistic Features  Students were then asked to continue

­feature identification, using the list of features in Table 2.8 for analysis.

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 38
Students were again asked to compare and contrast their findings in the same
Chapter 2
small group, then return to their initial general impressions recorded before the
Discourse
analyses. Following discussion, students were given a week to write their reflec­
Communities
tions on the assignment using the following guidelines:
and Kinds of
Language Use Review your general impressions and analyses. Discuss how the analyses
confirmed or disconfirmed your general impressions. Then discuss the
following with reference to your writing for illustrative purposes:

■ What you learned about your writing and language use that you did not know
before doing this exercise
■ How and what this exercise taught you about language
■ How useful this exercise was in comparison to analyzing textbook-perfect
­examples
■ Whether/how the exercise sharpened your metalinguistic awareness
■ To what extent (if any) and how the exercise affected your writing of the
­reflection
■ What you would like to see as a follow-up to this exercise

Students’ feedback about the original assignment indicated that they were
excited about doing this kind of analysis of their own work but found the focus
on detail somewhat frustrating. Since one of the primary goals of the assignment
was to engage students’ interest in their own writing as seen through the lens of
­“expert” rather than “novice dependent on another to describe and critique their
writing,” it proved more productive to do the assignment in three phases. Regard­
less of the frustration some students experienced with fine-grained analysis, all
were intrigued, even fascinated, to discover concrete evidence for their general
impressions and to discover what they had never known about their own writing:
that they had a distinctive style!

Conclusion
Summary and Questions for Reflection
and Discussion
At the beginning of this chapter, I identified several major goals for focusing on
language through a discourse-centered approach, all of which emphasized the
inclusion of a variety of genres, a variety of purposes, the notions of process and
practice, the inclusion of modeling and imitation of forms, and the role of trial and
error and experimentation.
It’s obviously not possible to include activities in this chapter that would cover
every genre. I hope that the exercises that were provided will serve as examples of
how to put the above goals into practice. What becomes increasingly evident when
students are given the mantle of budding expert is that they find analysis interesting
and valuable. Analysis is a mind-set that is central to the development of the kind of
metalinguistic awareness that accompanies writers in their task, much like a silent
but aware companion who takes the role of “reader” and therefore functions as an
internal monitor for how writers use language in the service of their purposes.

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 39
Questions for Reflection and Discussion Conclusion
While I have used the term “language” to mean more than its parts (i.e., more than
simply the linguistic elements that constitute language, such as vocabulary, syntax,
sentence, clause, phrase, nouns, and verbs), I do so always with the awareness and
intent of contextualizing language. Many resources are available to teachers that
describe and define discourses, the practices that are used to analyze them, and
the language that is used in their service. Few books, however, provide bridges
between language and the structures that house it, nor do many grammar texts
­address the interplay between language and discourse.
Two main questions will help students address relationships between language
elements and discourse in this chapter:
■ What is the interplay between language and discourse as two identifiable
entities?
■ How can we as teachers engage students in both understanding this inter­
play and using the linguistic knowledge they have acquired through gram­
mar exercises and through lifelong use to use language more effectively for
their own writing and reading? This question might be useful for a group of
teachers to pursue when considering ways in which they can nest grammar
lessons within discourse contexts.
Additional questions that can foster further discussion for teachers and
­students alike (with some adaptation) include the following:
■ What are the implications of the narrow range of writing (and reading)
done in the context of schooling and of the highly restricted range of audi­
ence and purposes for which students generate written language?
■ What uses of language (written and oral) are typically generated in school
writing?
■ How relevant are these uses of language, and where are they relevant?
■ What uses of language would you like to see included in school writing?
■ With what syntactic patterns are you familiar (or not)? How often do you
use these?
■ With what kinds of sentences are you familiar (or not)? How often do you
use these?
■ What vocabulary are you typically called on to use?
■ How have you expanded your vocabulary in the past year? In the past two
years?
■ What figurative uses of language do you use? When and where do you use
them? Are you able to recognize that in some contexts, you use more meta­
phors and similes than in others? What are those contexts? Are you aware
of the role of metaphor in your own linguistic expressions?
■ In what ways have you developed your own language in the past year or
two and in what contexts?

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