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Category: Pedagogical Development

LIT 200, Legacy, and Women Writers Online: Using Digital Collections as Interpretive Tools

LIT 200, Legacy, and Women Writers Online: Using Digital Collections as Interpretive Tools

By Amanda Stuckey, York College of Pennsylvania

Note: Amanda Stuckey is a pedagogical development consultant for the WWP.

For my Fall 2017 LIT 200 Literary and Textual Analysis course, I wanted to combine coursework with a project I’ve taken on as the Digital Coordinator for Legacy: A Journal of American Women Writers, the only scholarly journal to focus specifically on recovering American women’s writing, broadly defined, from the seventeenth through the early twentieth centuries. During the coming year, I aim to revise a unique feature of Legacy’s website: Portrait Galleries that offer biographical, bibliographical, and research information for over one hundred American women writers. In bringing this project to LIT 200, I saw an opportunity to introduce more project-based literature assignments, as well as to expose students to the digital work of recovering women’s voices in literature. It wasn’t until I discovered Women Writers Online (WWO), however, that I began to envision an informal partnership between Legacy’s Portrait Galleries and the broader work of recovery in which the Women Writers Project is engaged.

My overall goal for LIT 200, a course geared for non-majors, was to expose students to the field of literary studies and to equip them with a toolkit of literary methods – such as close reading, applying critical concepts to primary texts, and responsibly using and citing sources – that they could transfer to other courses and learning situations. Our syllabus, designed before I incorporated the Legacy project and WWO into our semester, did not contain readings from either digital collection, and was structured according to the thematic frame of Voices in World Literature. Because the Legacy project and WWO came into LIT 200 at different times and for different reasons, the challenge of the semester was to make all the pieces fit together for a diverse group of students—many of whom, on the first day of LIT 200, were also sitting in their very first college classroom. We used the Legacy project and WWO to introduce and experience the importance of digital tools in the literary methods of recovery, in particular in the methods of recovering and making accessible women’s voices—missions that Legacy and WWO hold in common.

In this way, we were able to connect our course practice of reading how and where voices, in particular women’s voices, are represented in literature, to methodological and research practices of actually recovering these voices. In our course readings, we traced how some voices emerge, change, and ring out, and how other voices are suppressed, silenced, or cut off. We introduced course readings with the question of where we heard, saw, or otherwise discerned women’s voices in literary texts—and of how different forces within our texts changed, shaped, or suppressed these voices. For example, one of our “anchor” course readings was Ovid’s tale of Pygmalion, from Book X of his Metamorphoses (8 AD). We returned to this mythical telling as a kind of touchstone throughout the semester for other texts, such as Bernard Shaw’s play Pygmalion (1914) and the 1964 musical film adaptation My Fair Lady. Focusing on revisions and interpretations of the same tale allowed us to isolate revisions and interpretations of women’s voices and women’s relationships to literary and artistic production.

The Legacy Project and WWO extended our search for and interpretation of women’s voices because each resource allowed us to discuss a similar concept: the status, emergence, suppression, and liberation of women’s voices, this time in the digital archive. In our readings, we talked about how women’s voices are often buried within male-authored texts as well as within the layers of the plot or narrative. So while we often saw the silencing of women’s voices in literature, we also worked in our Legacy project with WWO to recover the voices and literary lives of women writers. Thus we linked WWO to course readings not in terms of authorship but in terms of our interpretive strategies, or how we read and analyzed course materials.

The parameters of our project-based Legacy and WWO assignment were deliberately flexible in order to allow for exploration, discovery, and even productive frustration. Students worked in groups to produce a collaborative document – often as simple as a shared Google doc – that served as a “Shadow Portrait” for each of the authors represented in Legacy’s Galleries, ranging from María Amparo Ruiz de Burton to Jessie Fauset to Harriet Beecher Stowe. These Shadow Portraits consisted of a narrative describing the digital record that currently exists for each author, including which links worked, which were broken, and cases in which an author’s papers had relocated or had even been digitized. Groups also did a bit of digging around linked websites or other sources – including WWO – to compile a more complete bibliography for each author.

While we did spend class time exploring WWO alongside the Legacy Portrait Galleries, I found that the most illuminating moments came as students ran into issues with the digital record of Legacy’s Portraits, from barriers as mundane as a broken link to those as significant as the absence of a physical archive of an author’s papers. Although creating a narrative of this work may have seemed tedious, I found that narrating their thought, clicking, and sleuthing processes allowed students to understand the work of recovery in the digital age. Some of the most interesting questions came when groups examined the locations of women writers’ papers. We found that, like Higgins’s Eliza, women’s voices were often shaped by the authorial and archival dominance of male authors, husbands, publishers, and relatives. We also considered the ways in which broken links, moved papers, or outdated information can, in the digital age, create a new kinds of archival presences and absences. And in a practical sense, these Shadow Portraits gave me a better idea of the status of the Portrait Galleries, of where to begin in revisions, and of how the feature might be useful to Legacy’s readers and classrooms.

In the Fall semester’s version of LIT 200’s Legacy project, WWO served as a key interpretive tool (not to mention as an exemplar and resource for digital scholarship) for framing both our course readings and our project-based assignments like Legacy’s Portrait Gallery research. In terms of course outcomes, beyond the Shadow Portraits I was thrilled to see students use their comfort level with digital spaces as an entry point for the work of literary studies. The Legacy Portrait Galleries were developed almost ten years ago, and the format of WWO allowed us to assess changing values in the field of digital literary scholarship and recovery. Comparing Legacy’s Portrait Galleries to WWO and to the WWP gave students a contemporary history of scholarship on women writers, emphasizing recovery as an ongoing, unfinished process.

Overall, the combination of LIT 200, the Legacy Project, and WWO illuminated the diverse uses of a collection like the WWP. While we used WWO to understand rare or inaccessible materials on a conceptual level, even though we did not dive into these texts specifically, the collection gave students exposure to these concepts. Throughout the project, I reminded students that in working with Legacy and WWO, we were not just completing coursework but were actually contributing to the field of literary studies. I also believe our work with Legacy and WWO demonstrated to students the social intervention of recovering women’s voices both in archival and interpretative frameworks. Rather than just a supplemental project to course readings, WWO allowed students to experience recovery work as an interpretive tool for our texts, demonstrating how recovery can change not only the canon but also the way we study literary representation and production.














Teaching Tags and Metadata in Women Writers in Review

Teaching Tags and Metadata in Women Writers in Review

By Jason M. Payton, Sam Houston State University

Note: Jason M. Payton is a pedagogical development consultant for the WWP.


My course is a junior-level survey of American literature to 1865, and my students are primarily English majors and minors (course syllabus here). Most of my students have never had a class in women’s and gender studies, so I wanted to use the survey course as an opportunity to engage students with some of the critical issues raised in these fields. In addition to wanting my survey classes to engage students on women’s and gender studies issues, I also wanted to shift my teaching toward project-based models that would introduce students to important developments in the field of early American studies. The chance to partner with the Women Writers in Review team provided an opportunity to pursue both of these pedagogical aims.

I framed the WWiR project as an exercise in discovery. During the first week of class, I introduced the critical issues that would be explored at length during the course. These included nationalism and imperialism, colonialism, religion, race, class, and gender. I explained that these were intersectional issues and that we would return to them persistently to learn how the material and discursive practices associated with these concepts took shape at specific moments, and how they changed over time. While I framed this course as one that would reflect on the issue of gender, I purposely did not bookend the WWiR project with any specific theoretical readings, nor did I attempt to fully articulate how the WWiR project would fit into the course as a whole. I wanted students to do that discovery work on their own.

My students were tasked with a multi-phase project constructed in collaboration with Sarah Connell (assignment sequence here). They were given an introduction to the archive by Sarah Connell in the second week of the course and were also given a scavenger hunt exercise designed to familiarize them with the site’s organization and content. On completion of this initial site overview, I broke students into small groups and asked each group to identify one or two thematic tags for review. They were to read all the reviews published in America under their tags and compile two documents in response to their research. The first document was a group report. This report distilled important research findings and offered a series of specific illustrations of general trends; it also made recommendations regarding WWiR metadata, user interface, and user experience. The second document was a personal report on the most significant reviews and insights for each individual group member. The group reports allowed students to begin identifying trends in the archive through a collation of their individual notes on particular reviews under their chosen thematic tags. The individual reports allowed students to engage in more extensive close reading of particular archival documents than the general report permitted, and it also allowed me the opportunity to assess individual students’ levels of engagement with the project.

This two-part assignment structure allowed me to teach students about the WWiR archive itself, while also allowing me to teach them about the research process in early American studies. I believe that students benefit immensely from immersing themselves in an archive, but access to physical archives and well-managed special collections in early American studies is limited for most students at most U.S. colleges and universities. The digital archive can give students this experience of immersion without requiring physical proximity to an archive. I also believe that students benefit immensely from learning to balance the desire to find meaning in individual texts (recorded in students’ personal reports) and to find patterns of meaning across the wider archive (recorded in the group reports). The WWiR archive allows students to perform both kinds of analytical work, and the assignment structure I used ensures that students articulate both types of findings and make conscious decisions about how to weigh individual textual utterances in their assessment of the tenor of the archive as a whole.

Each group chose its own tag(s) for review. The tags they chose included:

  • Class or socioeconomic status
  • Education
  • Gender identities
  • Moral impacts of literature
  • Nation or empire
  • Slavery and abolition
  • Racial identities
  • Religious identities
  • Women as writers and readers

While not exhaustive, my students’ reviews covered over two-thirds of the thematic tags in the archive and covered the full range of sources published in America under those tags.


The individual and group reports showed that students were indeed making synchronic and diachronic judgments about the discourses on women and women’s writing in early America that I hoped they would make. The individual reports also showed that students made important connections between this project and the work of the course.

Indya F. writes, “The WWiR project is a concentrated version of what I really believe this course is about. To give students the most unedited version of history that we can take. There is some sanitization that we can’t rid ourselves of. But the WWiR takes these ideas of what misogyny used to be, and without verbalizing it, compares to the misogyny of now and allows us to take a hard look at what prejudice looked like and how far we haven’t come. Students involved in this process really have to bare [sic] witness to it.” As Indya notes, the archive’s choice to present reviews to readers with a minimal interpretive apparatus allows students to encounter historical discourse about women and women’s writing directly. The force of this encounter registers for Indya, who recognizes the ethical dilemma the encounter poses to the reader: With the knowledge provided by WWiR about misogyny in early America, how shall contemporary students of this material respond to misogyny in the present?

Hannah T. writes, “Before this project, I never realized the weight of gender inequality among literature during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Through a careful analysis of 3 reviews, I noticed a running theme of discrimination against women writers…Two of my articles concerned moral impacts, and one concerned religious identities. However, although they were reviews of different authors, pieces, and themes, I still noticed the recurring bias against the literature simply because they [sic] were written by women.” Hannah’s observation focuses particularly on how WWiR helps students understand the nature and scope of the discrimination women writers experienced in our period of study.

These general reflections demonstrated that the inclusion of WWiR into a traditional early American survey course can do important critical work. Students are encouraged to think about specific historical moments and about change over time. They are also encouraged to let the encounter with the archive reshape their understanding of early American history and of their own cultural moment.

Such broad reflections were also accompanied by several specific insights about the reviewers and their subjects that are worth sharing for the way they illustrate the pedagogical potential of using WWiR in undergraduate courses.

Elizabeth C. recognizes “just how much context matters” when considering the reception of women’s writing. Having read reviews of Benger’s Memoirs of the Late Mrs. Elizabeth Hamilton and Hand’s The Death of Amnon, Elizabeth observes that in both cases, the authors’ personal lives are invoked as relevant interpretive contexts. For Benger’s reviewer, the choice of Elizabeth Hamilton is especially worthy because of Hamilton’s ability to “follow traditional domestic gender roles,” as Elizabeth surmises. If Benger’s review is relatively positive in its rhetoric, the review of Hand is less so—it labels her a “poetess” and reminds readers that she is “the wife of a blacksmith.” Elizabeth found in these reviews telling evidence that “When a man produces literature, no one mentions what his wife does for a living. When a woman produces literature, they can only be as successful as their husband.” Elizabeth’s observations highlight two running themes in my classes’ reports. The first relates to Benger specifically, and the second relates to the relation of women’s writing to men’s writing more broadly.

Several students found the reviews of Benger’s works curious. Josh A. was particularly drawn to the footnote at the end of The Christian Observer’s review of Poems on the Abolition of the Slave Trade, which lists “E. Benger” as an author. The note at the end of this review explains the reviewer’s choice to refer to the author as “Mr. Benger” as an act of benevolence: “[I]n such a case of doubt, the ambiguous person out to be supposed of the nobler sex.” Rebecca R. focused on The Christian Disciple’s review of Benger’s Memoirs of the Late Mrs. Elizabeth Hamilton, which, Rebecca notes, mentions Benger only once in the review, while mentioning Hamilton fifteen times. Donald M. further observed that reviews of Benger’s work are ambivalent in their assessment of the author. The Christian Disciple’s review praises Benger’s choice of Elizabeth Hamilton as a subject but states that it “cannot bestow a similar commendation upon what she has written on the Revelation of St. John.” In that work, Benger “seems to have taken up an hypothesis with relation to this very obscure and difficult book, without sufficient consideration, and apparently without a proper acquaintance with the labors of others upon it.” Whereas The Christian Disciple calls Benger’s fitness for exegetical work into question, The Literary Gazette, or, Journal of Criticism, Science, and the Arts says in its review of her Memoirs of the Life of Anne Boleyn, Queen of Henry VIII, that “The works of Miss Benger have so fully established her in the literary world, among the female ornaments of the times, that the praise which these interesting volumes would otherwise extort, may well be spared.” Donald’s analysis of reviews of Benger led him to conclude that the assessment of a writer’s worth could have much more to do with the reviewer’s sense of what women should or should not be writing about as with the writer’s actual merit.

The repeated return in both group and individual reports to reviews of Benger’s works highlights several critical issues that can be discussed as a whole class and related to broad course themes. First, the purportedly benevolent assumption of “E. Benger’s” masculinity raises questions about historical assumptions about the construction of gender and gender difference that can be pursued in my course from Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz and Anne Bradstreet in the seventeenth century to Judith Sargent Murray and Hannah Webster Foster in the eighteenth century. Second, the elision of Benger’s name in the review of her memoir of Elizabeth Hamilton raises questions about recognition and attribution that can be pursued along similar lines. Third, the ambivalence of reviewers toward Benger depending on the subject matter of a given work raises questions about the notion of separate spheres. These questions intersect with gender and race, and as such, can be pursued in the context of the eighteenth- and nineteenth-century epistolary and sentimental novel, but also in the context of Jefferson’s “reviews” of Phillis Wheatley and Ignatius Sancho in Notes on the State of Virginia. In this way, the WWiR archive can be placed in conversation with more easily recognized and more frequently anthologized texts in the survey course. Such an approach can help students see how archival research can enhance and challenge dominant field narratives, such as those about gender in early America, about public and private spheres, and about print culture.

In addition to helping students see the more canonical texts in early American literature differently, working with the WWiR archive also stimulated students’ curiosity to read across wider swaths of the archive than their original group assignments demanded. Bailey A. reviewed texts under the “education” and “racial identities” tags. In order to have a confident sense of how reviews under these tags were representing women and women’s writing, Bailey read across other tag collections to get a sense of general rhetorical trends, and she observes “women [being] ridiculed for being smart” at various points in the archive. Marlisa E. reviewed texts under the “slavery and abolition” tag. Her work on reviews of Poems on the Abolition of the Slave Trade (Benger, et al. This review, as noted above, presumes “E. Benger” to be a man) led her to read extra reviews, including reviews of Hannah Adams’s The Truth and Excellence of the Christian Religion Exhibited and Maria Edgeworth’s Works of Maria Edgeworth. This analysis highlights the difference in length of reviews presumed to be written by men. The review of Poems is fifteen pages in its original format, while the other two ran just nine pages in total in their original format. It also highlights key differences in the language used to talk about women’s writing. The review of Poems speaks with praise about the presumptively male “Christian poet,” while the reviews of women’s writing struck Marlisa as “extremely misogynistic.”

Bailey’s and Marlisa’s reports show that the structure of the archive can encourage students to explore more of the collection than they had originally planned to do. They also suggest some ways that the curiosity sparked by the archival encounter can be used to drive important thematic conversations in the broad survey course. Marlisa, for example, wanted to know after reading all of the American reviews under the “slavery and abolition” tag what the role of women’s writing in the abolitionist cause was. Because I introduced this project very early in the course, Marlisa’s question came up before we had begun our unit on the Atlantic slave trade and American slavery. I answered this query via a whole-class discussion about the poems of Phillis Wheatley and Sarah Wentworth Morton, as well as the novels of Harriet Beecher Stowe and Harriet Jacobs. Similarly, Briana P. raised questions about what it means for a reviewer to describe Maria Edgeworth as the “Franklin of novelists.” These questions can be answered in part by a reading of anthologized selections from Poor Richard’s Almanac and The Autobiography, as well as by reading texts such as Susanna Rowson’s Charlotte Temple and Hannah Webster Foster’s The Coquette.


Using the WWiR archive in my survey course has inspired several ideas about undergraduate pedagogy and research that I wish to share with those who are considering using the archive in their classes.

My survey courses have traditionally been anthology-based, largely out of consideration for the financial constraints faced by many of my students. While a single course text that can be used in multiple sections has the benefit of being more affordable than a litany of individual texts, the drawbacks of the anthology-based course are many. One set of problems involves questions about selection and representation in the production of the anthology. Another set of problems involves questions about breadth of coverage and depth of understanding in anthology-based survey courses. These problems are particularly vexing for early Americanists, given the capaciousness of the field. My undergraduate pedagogy is moving away from the anthology-based course and away from breadth-of-coverage models in an effort to include voices normally excluded from popular anthologies and to privilege a depth of understanding of a few key issues in early American studies over a comprehensive coverage of major authors and movements. I am also moving toward project-based courses that engage students with cutting-edge developments in literary studies and related fields. The WWiR archive is an ideal teaching tool for teachers who are similarly inclined. The project I devised gets students out of the anthology and into the archive, it helps students rethink the narrative of literary history implicit in major anthologies, and it engages students with critical issues in the digital humanities.

Ideally, undergraduate survey courses that use the WWiR archive will leave space in the course to explore critical issues raised during the research process. Students in my course raised a host of excellent questions on the basis of their work with WWiR that we simply did not have time to answer. A period of one to two weeks at the end of the term would have allowed my class the opportunity to do additional research on the question about women and abolitionism raised by Marlisa E., for example. My class would have benefitted from additional research on the writings and speeches of Maria Stewart, Sojourner Truth, Angelina and Sarah Grimke, and Lydia Maria Child. Reserving time for additional research allows students to shape the direction of the course. It also allows instructors to teach the research process by showing how research questions often develop in ways that demand that we consult new archives and develop new competencies. Additional research on women and abolitionism would lead to students from the anthology to the WWiR archive to other print and digital archives; it would also encourage students to practice intersectional thinking as they untangle imbricated historical discourses about gender and race.

An additional research period at the end of the course can also include a specific focus on critical issues in the digital humanities raised by students’ work in WWiR. Sarah Connell’s introductory presentation to my class included a demonstration of the XML markup behind the front-end WWiR display. This demonstration raised students’ awareness of the many interpretive decisions that have to be made to render a document digitally in WWiR. It sparked a course-long conversation about information architecture that could have been explored more fully through additional research on eighteenth- and nineteenth-century print culture or on the relationship between book history and the digital humanities.

Queries such as these provide excellent material for undergraduate research. The incorporation of WWiR into the undergraduate curriculum is thus an excellent way to foster students’ professional development via presentations at undergraduate research conferences. It is also an excellent tool for generating undergraduate thesis and capstone projects.

A New(ish) Approach to Markup in the Undergraduate Classroom

A New(ish) Approach to Markup in the Undergraduate Classroom

By Kevin G. Smith, Ph.D. Candidate in English, Northeastern University

Note: Kevin G. Smith is a pedagogical development consultant for the WWP. His dissertation research is partially supported by a grant from the NULab for Texts, Maps, and Networks.

A few summers ago, I spent my days working in Northeastern’s Digital Scholarship Commons. As is common in that space, there were nearly daily meetings of different teams of faculty, library personnel, and graduate students working on digital projects. One of these projects was The Early Caribbean Digital Archive (ECDA). During that summer the ECDA project team was working on customizing a TEI schema to encode their texts in ways that were more in line with their decolonial archival goals. As I procrastinated on my own work, I was overhearing these amazing conversations that the EDCA team was having about the meanings and applications of certain aspects of their TEI customization. How should they tag an embedded or mediated slave narrative, for example? What to do about unnamed slaves? And how might they handle commodities? What are the ethical ramifications of encoding a slave as a commodity (or not)?

As I sat, listening to these conversations, I began to realize that it was precisely because they were encoding the texts in TEI that these conversations were happening. The act of encoding literally inscribes texts with interpretation, forcing the project team to discuss just what kinds of interpretive judgments they wanted to make. And they were important conversations: about how we represent our objects of inquiry in the humanities, about the ethics of data representation. (By no means am I the first to realize this. For a compelling example, see Julia Flanders: “The Productive Unease of 21st-century Digital Scholarship.”)

The point is that I was struck by these conversations. And I began to think about how the tension of formalization, this “productive unease,” as Flanders terms it, might be leveraged in writing classrooms. Could I somehow use the TEI to intervene in students’ writing processes, to foster these kinds of conversations about their own writing? What would that even look like?

Two years later, in the summer of 2016, I taught my first markup-based writing course at Northeastern. In the intervening years my approach shifted from using the TEI to designing a built-from-scratch XML schema for each course. Thus far, I’ve taught two courses using this method (Advanced Writing for the Technical Professions in the summer of 2016 and First-year Writing in the fall of 2016). In addition to writing their assignments in XML (using Oxygen), students in these courses engage in a semester-long, collaborative writing project: the design and implementation of an XML schema that structurally and rhetorically models a range of genres of writing.

This approach—using XML to produce texts—represents a shift from the mimetic roots of XML and its primary use in humanities research, the TEI. In the rest of this post, I want to briefly discuss this shift and its implications for the study of markup.

Teaching with Markup

 There are many wonderful examples of using the TEI and XML in classrooms. Kate Singer’s use of TEI for developing poetic vocabularies in an undergraduate class comes to mind, as does Trey Conatser’s use of XML in a first-year writing course at the Ohio State. Though, at first blush, these two markup classrooms may appear very different—one being in an upper-level literature course and the other a first-year writing course—the perceived pedagogical benefits of using markup are similar. Both pedagogues seek to foster close attention to the object of study—a poem or the student’s own writing—through what is essentially a process of annotation.

Where my approach to markup differs from these (and most traditional) classroom uses is in the thoroughly bottom-up, data driven approach to schema design (Piez, 2001). Students begin with a (basically) bare schema and—iteratively and deliberately over the course of an entire semester—design and revise the schema for a range of writing tasks using document analysis and modeling, qualitative writing research methods, and their own experiences of authorship. The result is a shift from annotation to production, from product to process.

An example may be illuminative here. A group of students decide they would like to design a schema for movie reviews. They begin the process by researching the genre—gathering examples, examining related genres, tracing the circulation and uptake of the genre, interviewing experienced writers and readers of the genre, and so on. Based on this research, the group identifies the salient structural, rhetorical, and content-based components of the genre—a movie review includes a series of paragraphs, for example; the first of these paragraphs must, according to the students, include a component called “opinion,” which has a specific definition and different types. They name these components and write a prose pseudo-schema, including documentation, attributes, dependencies, and rules for the components. The pseudo-schema is translated into an XML schema using Relax NG (by me).

An element list from an in-class schema design session with students in the First-year Writing course of 2016.

Once the schema is drafted, each student writes an individual XML document, their own example of a movie review that responds to a unique rhetorical situation. Based on this experience, the group reconvenes to revise their schema. They might, for example, decide that the <opinion> element should be optional in the first paragraph, or decide that an additional attribute value should be added to the @type attribute, or choose to adjust the definition of the element itself. Once schema revision is complete, students revise their XML documents. And on it goes.

An example of XML markup designed for the course.

What I hope the above example illuminates is the thoroughly process-oriented approach to markup adopted in these classes. The schema is not static. It is a living document that affects and is affected by student’s experiences of composing, among other things. Neither are the student-authored XML documents static. They are repeatedly invalidated by revisions to the schema. They are subject to feedback from classmates and instructor. They must be continually revised. From a digital humanities perspective, this application of markup may seem alien. In fact, in some ways, it doesn’t even matter what the schema ends up looking like (though it can be fascinating). The object of using markup in this way is not to produce the perfect model of a genre. In fact, an understanding of genres as social actions, rather than a set of ossified textual features is central to the theoretical framework of the course. This understanding resists the idea that genres can be accurately modeled. The point of using markup is to foster productive conversations about writing, to interrupt the normal thinking and writing processes of students in productive ways. This brings us back to the conversations I overheard in the summer of 2014, eavesdropping on the ECDA when I was supposed to be writing.

An example of a markup output document for display. The XML is transformed to HTML with custom XSLT and highlighted according to XML tags.

But this approach raises new questions. How do I know if this approach is productive in the ways that I hope? What kinds of conversations are students having in these classes? How does markup function rhetorically for students when used for authorship? Does writing in XML and designing schemas for authoring contribute to students’ understanding of their writing and reading processes? Do reading and writing practices in the markup classroom transfer to other contexts? These questions just so happen to be the basis for my dissertation research, which takes as its objects of inquiry the two markup-based writing courses.

Studying (Authorial) Markup

The questions posed above present unique methodological concerns for the study of markup. A shift from product to process raises practical questions concerning how we access students’ experience using markup in this way. How can I make claims about the rhetorical and expressive capacities of authorial markup? How can I understand the role of the schema, the markup, and the platform(s) in students’ writing, reading, and thinking processes? In short, how do I study this?

Here, a slight shifting in thinking—from the digital humanities to writing studies—is helpful. While the pedagogical approach may be unconventional, my research questions are typical of writing studies research. Methods for studying student writing and experience in classroom settings are well established in the field. Although qualitative approaches to the study of markup are not typical in the digital humanities, the research questions for this project, based, as they are, on student experience, reflection, writing, and perception, necessitate the adaptation of innovative methods. To this end, I’ve employed a teacher research methodology—a systematic approach to data collection that honors the inside perspectives of teachers and students—that adapts qualitative research methods culled from ethnography, education, and writing studies research. Data for the study was gathered from direct participant observation, reflective journaling, semi-structured and directed qualitative interviews (three interviews each with nine case study students), and the collection of student writing (normal prose and XML, including version control logs for all XML files).

At this point, data collection has ended and the project is shifting to the data analysis phase. It is too soon to report results, however, early indications from student interviews point to some promising findings around student reflection and transfer, the multi-directional mediation of the schema, and students’ use of markup as a tool for generic invention and change. Here, it may be enough to assert that qualitative approaches to studying markup-based undergraduate courses may be fruitful. Indeed, digital humanities courses in general may benefit from adopting qualitative methodologies, like teacher research, to self-assess and to advocate for curricular change and institutional support.

The assignment discussed above is collected with the pilot set of teaching materials from the WWP’s pedagogical development consultants and is available here.

Early Modern Digital Pedagogies Workshop

Early Modern Digital Pedagogies Workshop

On March 30, we held a workshop on early modern digital pedagogies, partnering with Heather Wolfe and Paul Dingman of the Folger Shakespeare Library. The conversations we had were really exciting and the group came up with some excellent strategies for working with digital materials in the classroom. We also collected a list of resources and links to digital tools that attendees had found helpful. The workshop schedule, which includes sample teaching materials and images from our discussions, is here.

To keep the conversation going and make these materials accessible to those who weren’t at the workshop, we’re posting them here. Please feel free to add your responses, additional resources & strategies, or any other thoughts in the comments. And, to all of you who attended the workshop and shared your ideas and enthusiasm, thank you so much!

Strategies and best practices for using digital resources in the classroom

  • Having students work in teams can make difficult work go more quickly
  • Multiple students (or even a whole class) transcribing the same document is another effective approach, one that fosters comparison and can take some of the evaluation/correction load off of the instructor
  • Consider collaborating with other instructors as well—gather a group of people who are interested or look into partnering with another class
Dealing with difficulty:
  • Be prepared to offer a lot of support, especially in getting students set up, and be prepared for some frustration as well
  • If you can, spread the work out so it doesn’t feel overwhelming (for example, ask students to transcribe a few lines each class over a whole semester)
  • Do a terminology inventory; make sure that students are confident using the terms that are relevant for the project
  • Another approach is to let students choose between a “DH option” and an alternative, so that digital scholarship feels like something students get to do, rather than something that they have to do
  • Emphasize “the beauty of the messiness” and let undecidability be a thing that the class can work with
Fostering ownership:
  • Let students choose their own texts/persons/research objects to work with and encourage them to feel a sense of ownership and expertise
  • Help students to see themselves as important contributors to a public body of knowledge
  • Have a conversation about what it means to be an owner in a community, and think about the TEI as a community-constructed authority
Theory and pedagogy:
  • In transcription assignments, ask students to think about the entire publication process, not just marking the text up; make publication an intellectual problem for them to consider
  • Physical objects can be a jumping-off point for discussing the mediations that have to take place before students access a text from a digital archive—that is, for a physical object to become a digital object
  • Bring the rationales to the surface—get students to articulate and debate the rationales that are guiding any relevant aspects of the digital work and make those rationales visible

Resources and tools