Annoying Ways People Use Sources Reading Reflection In “Annoying Ways People Use Sources,” Steadman uses analogy to talk about why particular ways of using

Annoying Ways People Use Sources Reading Reflection In “Annoying Ways People Use Sources,” Steadman uses analogy to talk about why particular ways of using sources are frustrating to some readers. What was an analogy that really spoke to you? What are some ways you have used sources in the past that you would like to change? What are some ways people have used sources in annoying ways in articles you’ve read? Select a quote from “Annoying Ways People Use Sources,” and analyze it in context with your own reflections.Please quote one sentence from article, First PDF connect book, second one is my friend example Annoying Ways People Use Sources
by Kyle D. Stedman
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Writing spaces : readings on writing. Volume 1 / edited by Charles Lowe and Pavel
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Annoying Ways People Use Sources
Kyle D. Stedman
How Slow Driving Is Like Sloppy Writing
I hate slow drivers.* When I’m driving in the fast lane, maintaining
the speed limit exactly, and I find myself behind someone who thinks
the fast lane is for people who drive ten miles per hour below the speed
limit, I get an annoyed feeling in my chest like hot water filling a
heavy bucket. I wave my arms around and yell, “What . . . ? But, hey .
. . oh come on!” There are at least two explanations for why some slow
drivers fail to move out of the way:
1. They don’t know that the generally accepted practice of highway driving in the U.S. is to move to the right if an upcoming
car wants to pass. Or,
2. They know the guidelines but don’t care.
But here’s the thing: writers can forget that their readers are sometimes
just as annoyed at writing that fails to follow conventions as drivers
are when stuck behind a car that fails to move over. In other words,
there’s something similar between these two people: the knowledgeable driver who thinks, “I thought all drivers knew that the left lane is
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242
Annoying Ways People Use Sources
243
for the fastest cars,” and the reader who thinks, “I thought all writers
knew that outside sources should be introduced, punctuated, and cited
according to a set of standards.”
One day, you may discover that something you’ve written has just
been read by a reader who, unfortunately, was annoyed at some of the
ways you integrated sources. She was reading along and then suddenly exclaimed, “What . . . ? But, hey . . . oh come on!” If you’re lucky,
this reader will try to imagine why you typed things the way you did,
giving you the benefit of the doubt. But sometimes you’ll be slotted
into positions that might not really be accurate. When this frustrated
reader walks away from your work, trying to figure out, say, why you
used so many quotations, or why you kept starting and ending paragraphs with them, she may come to the same conclusions I do about
slow drivers:
1. You don’t know the generally accepted practices of using sources (especially in academic writing) in the U.S. Or,
2. You know the guidelines but don’t care.
And it will be a lot harder for readers to take you seriously if they think
you’re ignorant or rude.
This judgment, of course, will often be unfair. These readers might
completely ignore the merits of your insightful, stylistically beautiful,
or revolutionarily important language—just as my anger at another
driver makes me fail to admire his custom paint job. But readers and
writers don’t always see eye to eye on the same text. In fact, some
things I write about in this essay will only bother your pickiest readers
(some teachers, some editors, some snobby friends), while many other
readers might zoom past how you use sources without blinking. But in
my experience, I find that teachers do a disservice when we fail to alert
students to the kind of things that some readers might be annoyed
at—however illogical these things sometimes seem. People are often
unreasonably picky, and writers have to deal with that—which they
do by trying to anticipate and preemptively fix whatever might annoy
a broad range of readers. Plus, the more effectively you anticipate that
pickiness, the more likely it is that readers will interpret your quotations and paraphrases in the way you want them to—critically or acceptingly, depending on your writing context.
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Kyle D. Stedman
It helps me to remember that the conventions of writing have a
fundamentally rhetorical nature. That is, I follow different conventions depending on the purpose and audience of my writing, because I
know that I’ll come across differently to different people depending on
how well I follow the conventions expected in any particular writing
space. In a blog, I cite a source by hyperlinking; in an academic essay,
I use a parenthetical citation that refers to a list of references at the end
of the essay. One of the fundamental ideas of rhetoric is that speakers/writers/composers shape what they say/write/create based on what
they want it to do, where they’re publishing it, and what they know
about their audience/readers. And those decisions include nitty-gritty
things like introducing quotations and citing paraphrases clearly: not
everyone in the entire world approaches these things the same way,
but when I strategically learn the expectations of my U.S. academic
audience, what I really want to say comes across smoothly, without
little annoying blips in my readers’ experience. Notice that I’m not
saying that there’s a particular right or wrong way to use conventions
in my writing—if the modern U.S. academic system had evolved from
a primarily African or Asian or Latin American cultural consciousness
instead of a European one, conventions for writing would probably be
very different. That’s why they’re conventions and not rules.
The Annoyances
Because I’m not here to tell you rules, decrees, or laws, it makes sense
to call my classifications annoyances. In the examples that follow, I
wrote all of the annoying examples myself, but all the examples I use
of good writing come from actual student papers in first year composition classes at my university; I have their permission to quote them.
Armadillo Roadkill
Armadillo Roadkill:
Everyone in the car hears it: buh-BUMP. dropping in a quotation
The driver insists to the passengers, “But without introducing it
that armadillo—I didn’t see it! It just came first
out of nowhere!”
Sadly, a poorly introduced quotation can
lead readers to a similar exclamation: “It just came out of nowhere!”
And though readers probably won’t experience the same level of grief
and regret when surprised by a quotation as opposed to an armadillo,
I submit that there’s a kinship between the experiences: both involve a
Annoying Ways People Use Sources
245
normal, pleasant activity (driving; reading) stopped suddenly short by
an unexpected barrier (a sudden armadillo; a sudden quotation).
Here’s an example of what I’m talking about:
We should all be prepared with a backup plan if a zombie
invasion occurs. “Unlike its human counterparts, an army of
zombies is completely independent of support” (Brooks 155).
Preparations should be made in the following areas. . . .
Did you notice how the quotation is dropped in without any kind of
warning? (Buh-BUMP.)
The Fix: The easiest way to effectively massage in quotations is by
purposefully returning to each one in your draft to see if you set the
stage for your readers—often, by signaling that a quote is about to
come, stating who the quote came from, and showing how your readers should interpret it. In the above example, that could be done by
introducing the quotation with something like this (new text bolded):
We should all be prepared with a backup plan if a zombie
invasion occurs. Max Brooks suggests a number of ways
to prepare for zombies’ particular traits, though he underestimates the ability of humans to survive in harsh
environments. For example, he writes, “Unlike its human
counterparts, an army of zombies is completely independent
of support” (155). His shortsightedness could have a number of consequences. . . .
In this version, I know a quotation is coming (“For example”), I know
it’s going to be written by Max Brooks, and I know I’m being asked to
read the quote rather skeptically (“he underestimates”). The sentence
with the quotation itself also now begins with a “tag” that eases us into
it (“he writes”).
Here’s an actual example from Alexsandra. Notice the way she
builds up to the quotation and then explains it:
In the first two paragraphs, the author takes a defensive position when explaining the perception that the public has about
scientists by saying that “there is anxiety that scientists lack
both wisdom and social responsibility and are so motivated
by ambition . . .” and “scientists are repeatedly referred to as
‘playing God’” (Wolpert 345). With this last sentence especially, his tone seems to demonstrate how he uses the ethos
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Kyle D. Stedman
appeal to initially set a tone of someone that is tired of being
misunderstood.
Alexsandra prepares us for the quotation, quotes, and then analyzes it.
I love it. This isn’t a hard and fast rule—I’ve seen it broken by the best
of writers, I admit—but it’s a wise standard to hold yourself to unless
you have a reason not to.
Dating Spider-Man
An annoyance that’s closely connected to Dating Spider-Man:
Armadillo Roadkill is the tendency writ- starting or ending a paraers sometimes have of starting or ending graph with a quotation
paragraphs with quotations. This isn’t
technically wrong, and there are situations when the effect of surprise is what you’re going for. But often,
a paragraph-beginning or paragraph-closing quotation feels rushed,
unexplained, disjointed.
It’s like dating Spider-Man. You’re walking along with him and
he says something remarkably interesting—but then he tilts his head,
hearing something far away, and suddenly shoots a web onto the nearest building and zooms away through the air. As if you had just read an
interesting quotation dangling at the end of a paragraph, you wanted
to hear more of his opinion, but it’s too late—he’s already moved on.
Later, he suddenly jumps off a balcony and is by your side again, and
he starts talking about something you don’t understand. You’re confused because he just dropped in and expected you to understand the
context of what was on his mind at that moment, much like when
readers step into a paragraph that begins with a quotation. Here’s an
example:
[End of a preceding paragraph:] . . . Therefore, the evidence
clearly suggests that we should be exceptionally careful about
deciding when and where to rest.
“When taking a nap, always rest your elbow on your desk
and keep your arm perpendicular to your desktop” (Piven and
Borgenicht 98). After all, consider the following scenario. . . .
There’s a perfectly good reason why this feels odd—which should feel
familiar after reading about the Armadillo Roadkill annoyance above.
When you got to the quotation in the second paragraph, you didn’t
Annoying Ways People Use Sources
247
know what you were supposed to think about it; there was no guidance.
The Fix is the same: in the majority of situations, readers appreciate being guided to and led away from a quotation by the writer doing
the quoting. Readers get a sense of pleasure from the safe flow of hearing how to read an upcoming quotation, reading it, and then being
told one way to interpret it. Prepare, quote, analyze.
I mentioned above that there can be situations where starting a
paragraph with a quotation can have a strong effect. Personally, I usually enjoy this most at the beginning of essays or the beginning of sections—like in this example from the very beginning of Jennifer’s essay:
“Nothing is ever simple: Racism and nobility can exist in the
same man, hate and love in the same woman, fear and loyalty, compromise and idealism, all the yin-yang dichotomies
that make the human species so utterly confounding, yet so
utterly fascinating” (Hunter). The hypocrisy and complexity
that Stephen Hunter from the Washington Post describes is the
basis of the movie Crash (2004).
Instantly, her quotation hooks me. It doesn’t feel thoughtless, like it
would feel if I continued to be whisked to quotations without preparation throughout the essay. But please don’t overdo it; any quotation
that opens an essay or section ought to be integrally related to your
topic (as is Jennifer’s), not just a cheap gimmick.
Uncle Barry and his
Uncle Barry and His Encyclopedia of UseEncyclopedia of Useless
less Information
Information: using too
You probably know someone like this: a many quotations in a row
person (for me, my Uncle Barry) who constantly tries to impress me with how much he knows about just about
everything. I might casually bring up something in the news (“Wow,
these health care debates are getting really heated, aren’t they?”) and
then find myself barraged by all of Uncle Barry’s ideas on governmentsponsored health care—which then drifts into a story about how his
cousin Maxine died in an underfunded hospice center, which had a
parking lot that he could have designed better, which reminds him of
how good he is at fixing things, just like the garage door at my parents’
house, which probably only needs a little. . . . You get the idea. I might
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Kyle D. Stedman
even think to myself, “Wait, I want to know more about that topic, but
you’re zooming on before you contextualize your information at all.”
This is something like reading an essay that relies too much on
quotations. Readers get the feeling that they’re moving from one quotation to the next without ever quite getting to hear the real point
of what the author wants to say, never getting any time to form an
opinion about the claims. In fact, this often makes it sound as if the
author has almost no authority at all. You may have been annoyed by
paragraphs like this before:
Addressing this issue, David M. Potter comments, “Whether
Seward meant this literally or not, it was in fact a singularly accurate forecast for territorial Kansas” (199). Of course,
Potter’s view is contested, even though he claims, “Soon, the
Missourians began to perceive the advantages of operating
without publicity” (200). Interestingly, “The election was
bound to be irregular in any case” (201).
Wait—huh? This author feels like Uncle Barry to me: grabbing right
and left for topics (or quotes) in an effort to sound authoritative.
The Fix is to return to each quotation and decide why it’s there and
then massage it in accordingly. If you just want to use a quote to cite
a fact, then consider paraphrasing or summarizing the source material
(which I find is usually harder than it sounds but is usually worth it
for the smoothness my paragraph gains). But if you quoted because
you want to draw attention to the source’s particular phrasing, or if
you want to respond to something you agree with or disagree with in
the source, then consider taking the time to surround each quotation
with guidance to your readers about what you want them to think
about that quote.
In the following passage, I think Jessica demonstrates a balance
between source and analysis well. Notice that she only uses a single
quotation, even though she surely could have chosen more. But instead, Jessica relies on her instincts and remains the primary voice of
authority in the passage:
Robin Toner’s article, “Feminist Pitch by a Democrat named
Obama,” was written a week after the video became public
and is partially a response to it. She writes, “The Obama campaign is, in some ways, subtly marketing its candidate as a
post-feminist man, a generation beyond the gender conflicts
Annoying Ways People Use Sources
249
of the boomers.” Subtly is the key word. Obama is a passive
character throughout the video, never directly addressing the
camera. Rather, he is shown indirectly through speeches, intimate conversations with supporters and candid interaction
with family. This creates a sense of intimacy, which in turn
creates a feeling of trust.
Toner’s response to the Obama video is like a diving board that Jessica
bounces off of before she gets to the really interesting stuff: the pool
(her own observations). A bunch of diving boards lined up without a
pool (tons of quotes with no analysis) wouldn’t please anyone—except
maybe Uncle Barry.
Am I in the Right Movie?
Am I in the Right Movie?
failing to integrate a quotaWhen reading drafts of my writing,
tion into the grammar of the
this is a common experience: I start to
preceding sentence
read a sentence that seems interesting
and normal, with everything going just the way I expect it to. But then
the unexpected happens: a quotation blurts itself into the sentence in
a way that doesn’t fit with the grammar that built up to quotation. It
feels like sitting in a movie theater, everything going as expected, when
suddenly the opening credits start for a movie I didn’t plan to see. Here
are two examples of what I’m talking about. Read them out loud, and
you’ll see how suddenly wrong they feel.
1. Therefore, the author warns that a zombie’s vision “are no different than those of a normal human” (Brooks 6).
2. Sheila Anne Barry advises that “Have you ever wondered what
it’s like to walk on a tightrope—many feet up in the air?” (50)
In the first example, the quoter’s build-up to the quotation uses a singular subject—a zombie’s vision—which, when paired with the quotation, is annoyingly matched with the plural verb are. It would be much
less jolting to write, “a zombie’s vision is,” which makes the subject
and verb agree. In the second example, the quoter builds up to the
quotation with a third-person, declarative independent clause: Sheila
Anne Barry advises. But then the quotation switches into second person—you—and unexpectedly asks a question—completely different
from the expectation that was built up by the first part of the sentence.
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Kyle D. Stedman
The Fix is usually easy: you read your essay out loud to someone else, and if you stumble as you enter a quotation, there’s probably something you can adjust in your lead-in sentence to make
the two fit together well. Maybe you’ll need to choose a different
subject to make it fit with the quote’s verb (reader instead of readers; each instead of all), or maybe you’ll have to scrap what you first
wrote and start over. On occasion you’ll even feel the need to transparently modify the quotation by adding an [s] to one of its verbs,
always being certain to use square brackets to show that you adjusted
something in the quotation. Maybe you’ll even find a way to quote a
shorter part of the quotation and squeeze it into the context of a sentence that is mostly your own, a trick that can have a positive effect
on readers, who like smooth water slides more than they like bumpy
slip-and-slide…
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