Written discourse

Written discourse
Learning to speak seems to occur without much effort; it is woven seamlessly into our early childhood socialization. But learning to write is often a formal and explicit process that includes instruction in graphic conventions (printing letters as well as connecting them together in script), technology (how to use a keyboard and manage computer files), punctuation (e.g. when to use commas, semi-colons, and colons) and rules of “correct” grammar (e.g. “No prepositions at the ends of sentences”). Why can’t we just write the way we speak? One reason is that written texts have longevity, a “shelf life”; they can be read and re-read and examined more closely than transitory speech. Sometimes written texts also become part of a cultural canon; they serve as official bearers of wisdom, insight, and institutional knowledge that can be passed down over time and generation. And this means that ideologies about what language should be – the standard variety with the power of social institutions behind it (see Chapter 11) – often have a strong impact on the way we write.
Of course, not all written discourse is held up to such high standards. In addition to literature, chapters in academic textbooks, legal briefs, and minutes of corporate meetings, we find comic books, self-help manuals, grocery lists, and diaries. Clearly, the latter genres of written discourse are not subject to the same standards of correctness as the former. Yet, despite the wide-ranging differences among written genres, they all differ from spoken discourse in several crucial ways.
Fragmentation and integration
One major difference is that speaking is faster than writing. This difference has an impact on the final product. When speaking, we can move more rapidly from one idea or thought to another, resulting in what Chafe (1982) calls fragmentation, the segmentation of information into small, syntactically simple chunks of language that present roughly one idea at a time. When writing, we have time to mold a group of ideas into a complex whole in which various types and levels of information are integrated into sentences. Integration is thus the arrangement of information into long, syntactically complex chunks of language that present more than one idea at a time.

We can see the difference between fragmentation and integration by looking at the introduction of new referents into discourse – people, places, or things that have not yet been mentioned. Recall, for example, Ceil’s introduction of the boys accompanying her and Ann on the trolley car in (3): like we only had- like Ann and I, we-my cousin, Ann? We- like she had Jesse and I had my Kenny; and we used to bring them two down on the trolley car. However, if Ceil were writing a memory book about the Italian market, she might use a complex sentence such as the following: Before our other children were born, my cousin Ann and I used to take our two boys, Jesse and Kenny, on the trolley car to the Italian market. Notice that the referring expression itself (our two boys, Jesse and Kenny) would be buried within a complex of other information about time, activity, and other referents, and followed by a description of where they were going and how they got there – all in one sentence! The crucial information about the referent, then, would be integrated with other information in one complex syntactic unit, rather than fragmented into different tone units (segments of speech production that are bounded by changes in timing, intonation, and pitch) and turns at talk.

Writing to be read
Another crucial difference between spoken and written discourse is the role of the recipient. In spoken genres, the recipient is a co-participant in the evolving discourse in two ways: (a) the recipient provides feedback through back channels or by asking for clarification; (b) the recipient gets a chance to become a speaker. These differences boil down to differences in participation framework. In spoken discourse, participants are more likely to face similar opportunities (and challenges) as they alternate between the roles of “speaker” and “listener.” How participants manage these shifts can have profound impacts on the overall flow of discourse. Recall, for example, how Jack had to maneuver around the alternate conversations that developed between Freda and Debby before he could begin his story. Even then, he could pursue his story only after he had secured Freda’s attention by bringing up a recently shared experience.

Producers and recipients of written discourse interact in very different participation frameworks than those engaged in spoken discourse. Writers have to anticipate the informational needs of their intended recipients, as well as what will maintain readers’ interest, without the benefit of immediate feedback. Writers try to be clear and to create involvement with their material and with their intended readers. Here they can draw upon structures that are easy for readers to process (like short and simple sentences), as well as dramatic devices (like metaphor and visual imagery) to make it exciting and engrossing. And just as speakers orient what they say to their listeners’ needs and interests, so too writers try to anticipate a particular type of reader.

Depending on how writers construct their “ideal” readers, they use different aspects of language to maintain readers’ interest and to make the text relevant to their readers’ needs and goals. This means that writers – like speakers – also design their discourse for their projected recipients. A good way to see this is to compare different written genres with one another. Like the comparison of spoken genres that occur during different speech events and speech situations, scholars sometimes call this a comparison between registers, ways of using language that reflect different facets of its context (e.g. participants, goals, and setting).
The written texts in (6a) and (6b) share some general register features, but they also differ in various ways. (6a) is from a newspaper column in which young adults seek advice about their personal relationships. (6b) is from the back of a bottle of hair conditioner.

(6) a. Tell Me About It ® By Carolyn Hax

Washington Post, Sunday, January 2, 2005; page M01
Dear Carolyn: I have finally met a guy I really like. We have been seeing each other on and off for a couple of months. Should I ask where this relationship is going or just see where it takes us? I have been raised to believe the guy should bring up stuff like that. I’m worried that if I say I would like to be exclusive I might scare him off.
C. I was raised that way, too, but then reconditioned to believe that if honesty kills your relationship, then it was already dying of natural causes. “Where is this going?” still lays it on him. Asking to be exclusive is honest, and also such a compliment that it would be a shame to withhold it out of fear that he might not agree.

0. 
   HEADRESS VOLUMIZING LEAVE-IN CONDITIONER is blended with Panthenol, Vegetable Ceramides and Kerotin Amino Acids to add incredible body and lustre to any hair type. As hairdressing, the concentrated formula instantly releases tangles and increases combability to control styles. When used as a styling tool with thermal appliances, HEADRESS protects hair from heat and dry-ness while adding fullness and shine. Time released Antioxidants, UVA and UVB Protectors guard against harsh environmental elements so hair continuously shines with radiant health.
   

[A section explaining the technology of Headress has been left out]

DIRECTIONS: Apply a small amount to palm of hand. Rub hands together and distribute evenly through hair. Comb through and blow dry, or dry naturally. Style as desired.
[Three sections left out: guarantee, contact information, list of 34 ingredients, information about manufacturer]

Let’s look first at the content of these texts and how they are constructed: what is being conveyed and how? Both texts are about a problem and a solution. The problem in each is how to manage something – commitment in a relationship, unruly hair – whose solution may require the reader to be assertive, either verbally (Should I ask . . .) or physically (to control styles). Each solution requires a transformation of some sort from an initial state. Asking about commitment requires being reconditioned from the way one was raised. So too, gaining body and lustre in one’s hair is the result of a conditioner.

Both texts rely upon the integration of more than one idea in each sentence to present their respective problems and solutions. For example, the last sentence of C’s advice (6a) integrates two pieces of information about asking to be exclusive: it is honest; it is a compliment. The last sentence in the HEADRESS description (6b) also integrates two solutions – time released Antioxidants and UVA and UVB Protectors – to guard against the problem of harsh environmental elements.

These sentences don’t just present solutions to problems; they also positively evaluate those solutions. The Dear Carolyn text calls the solution (asking to be exclusive) such a compliment that it would be a shame to withhold it; the alternative (not asking to be exclusive) is negatively evaluated (a shame). In the HEADRESS text, the product’s ingredients provide protection so hair continuously shines with radiant health, evoking glowing, positive images, reminiscent of the sun. So although neither text comes right out and says “this is the right solution for you!”, this message is clearly implied through the texts.
These problem/solution texts also construct and reflect their participation frameworks – the roles and identities of the writer and the reader. The topic of each text is likely to be relevant to a limited set of readers – young women – simply because the problems concern a boyfriend (6a) and hair (6b). Despite this broad similarity, the two texts set up different relationships and identities. Although we don’t know anything about the identity of the person asking for advice in (6a), the identity of the person giving advice appears several times, encouraging reader involvement with the writer as a real person. In contrast, in the HEADRESS text the only information about the source of the text is the name of a company and how to contact it.
The language of the two texts also creates different types of involvement between writer and reader, which in turn help to construct their respective social identities. Dear Carolyn uses casual terms like a guy and stuff like that, typical of a young adult chatting with a friend on the phone. The HEADRESS description is filled with referring expressions that are not part of our everyday vocabulary – e.g. thermal appliance instead of ‘hairdryer’ – or that we may not even know (Panthenol? Vegetable Ceramides?). This unfamiliarity lends the text an air of scientific legitimacy. Whereas the advice column resembles a chat between friends, the Headress text mimics a consultation with an expert professional.
Differences in what is being conveyed (and how), and identities (and relationship) of writer and reader, come together in the way each text proposes a solution to the problem. In the advice column, C’s response establishes camaraderie (I was raised that way, too). In HEADRESS, on the other hand, the DIRECTIONS are a list of imperative sentences: there are no subject pronouns, just verbs (apply, rub, distribute, comb) that instruct and command, conveying a sense of routine procedure, not personal concern.
Dividing discourse by how it is created – by writing or speaking – overlooks the many different genres and registers within each type. But there are still some overall differences. Spoken discourse is more fragmented and written discourse is more integrated. Although people are certainly judged by the way they speak, the longevity of many written texts subjects them to further and more intense scrutiny and to higher standards. All language users, however, orient their discourse to whoever will hear (or read) what they say (or write). Whereas speakers have the chance to continuously adjust what they say – sometimes with the help of their listeners – writers have the luxury of more time. Yet both end up honing their messages, shaping and reshaping them to structure information in ways that set up nuanced and complex relationships with their recipients.