Yesterday I reread Laurel Richardson’s chapter in the Handbook of Qualitative Research and it imbued me with a burning desire to finalise my thesis direction and get going. I have several options open and I really need to decide. The chapter helped me realise (yet again!) that until I begin writing I won’t know what I really know and won’t be able to grasp how able I am to do the job.
The reading I have done in the past two months have convinced me that narrative will be a central feature of my work (my narratives? teacher narratives?). Writing from an involved position seems natural to me now – I can’t believe that a year ago I was looking up the rules of “don’t dare to use the personal “I” in your academic writing”.
During the past weeks I have expressed my concerns about the validity of the work I will be doing and about my claim to authority (How will anyone ever take my work seriously? Who am I to produce an academic text?). Reading Kamler & Thomson (2006), Helping doctoral students write: Pedagogies for supervision (thank goodness for ebooks) boosted my confidence as did Parr’s article (2007), “Writing and practitioner inquiry: Thinking relationally”.
Laurel Richardson’s discussion of the post modernist view of authoritative knowledge took me one step further.
“The postmodernist context of doubt, then, distrusts all methods equally. No method has a privileged status…a postmodernist position does allow us to know “something” without claiming to know everything. Having a partial, local, historical knowledge is still knowing” (p. 928). Richardson reassuringly reminds us that we don’t need to “write a single text in which we say everything at once to everyone” (p. 929).
I am grateful to Laurel Richardson for these encouraging words. Work like that I CAN DO! I do know something, I even know quite a bit! Yes, my knowledge is “partial” (but involves up to 20 years of teaching, school administration and teacher mentoring), it is “local” (I can relate to my own education in Melbourne, Australia and to my work experience in the north of Israel), and it is “historical” (My personal experiences as a pupil go back 30+ years and my professional experience spans several upheavals in the battle over teaching literacy). I do know, all teachers know. My task will be to critically examine that knowledge in order to personally grow from it and maybe also interest others on the way.
I am hoping to succeed in writing a readable and interesting report, one Richardson would call “vital” (p. 924), a text which would “make a difference” (p. 924). I aim to write for my colleagues, literacy teachers and teacher educators – real people in a real world, not necessarily for the university library.
I can’t see myself experimenting with fictional or poetic genres although I found the fictional story-diary I wrote in Graham Parr’s unit challenging and stimulating. Richardson explains the use of the metaphor in social-science writing and gives an exercise on it at the end of the chapter. I want to devote some time to this. What metaphor would I chose for the teaching of writing? What metaphors would upper primary school pupils choose to describe the task of composition?
What are my thesis options as I see them at this time?
- Autoethnography – examining my personal experiences of learning and teaching writing in order to discover patterns and themes which may well be relevant to teaching done by others.
- Narrative Inquiry – examining personal teaching experience through field texts gathered from other teachers (I’ll have to find Aussie teachers somehow) – email conversations or blog entries mainly I presume. I’ll have to decide whether I am researching from the sidelines or become personally involved in the process and the content. The involved stance interests me more.
Still more questions than answers…decision time is definitely here!
Richardson, L. (2000). Writing: A method of inquiry. In N. K. Denzin, & Y. S. Lincoln (Eds.), Handbook of qualitative research (2nd ed., pp. 923-948). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage.