As a student in the field of technical communication, I’ve faced an interesting problem over the years: how do I respond when friends and associates in other fields invariably ask me, “what is technical communication, anyway?” This generally makes me stop, think for a minute, and then give them a list of the types of classes I take: technical writing, instruction manual writing, communication theory, usability testing, document design, rhetorical theory; the list goes on for about five minutes each time. After this, I get a blank look and an “oh” for my effort. Is there a better way to answer this question than giving a laundry list of classes? I would like to think so, and I’ve sought one, but it seems that at the moment no one has been able to pin down a specific, single definition of the field—and, as a graduate student, I cannot presume to be the most qualified person to accomplish what preeminent scholars in technical communication cannot, or at least have not.

The Wikipedia, an online encyclopedia that allows all users to edit entries and to define bits of knowledge that fall into their respected expertise, has only a stub for the entry “technical communication”—in other words, no one has attempted to accurately define the field at this resource. Instead, like my list of courses, there is a list of professions that seem somewhat different from each other, but apparently have the common thread of falling under the title of “technical communication.” Students, like myself, who turn to this resource for answers are left with more questions. Our field seems to have no consistent image. I have pride in my field—I know that we do valuable work that matters, in the workplace and academe. However, we as a field seem unable to effectively communicate this value to others in fields with more easily found definitions of areas of expertise, like law or medicine.

Technical communication as a field has struggled over the years to define itself. It seems that no one can pinpoint exactly what we as technical communicators do—or perhaps that no one is actually willing to do so. One would believe the answer to the struggle is that there exists a decided disconnect between workplace practitioners and those in the academy; however, this does not actually appear to be the case. Many similarities exist between technical communicators in the practice community and the academic community. Indeed, there are those among each who feel that attempts to define the field are impossible and possibly harmful. Others agree on searching for a broad definition. As a graduate student who is merely entering the field, it would seem that all technical communicators have common goals. Then, one wonders, why we don’t have a common definition? An examination of this issue may help us resolve it and come closer to defining the field. In an effort to help us overcome our problems with defining the field I will examine the need for a definition, purposes for definitions, different methods for defining, the question of certification, fragmentation and competition within the field, and explore the issue of who may be best able to write a definition we can all agree on. Though I do not believe a significant schism between practitioners and academics truly exists, I will use this binary structure to discuss our need for a definition.

The limiting aspect of definitions

Jo Allen explains the myriad ways that we cannot effectively define technical communication—most have to do with a lack of exclusivity of certain characteristics of communication. Yes, we tend to focus on clarity, but it is not an aspect that is exclusive to technical communication. Boundaries are difficult to establish; she sums this up by stating that our field has become so large without a definition that it is impossible to define it now—besides, the future will inevitably bring changes in technology and our jobs, so defining our field now will also seemingly limit us (75). Concurring with this idea of constant change, or an evolution-like theory, is Pamela S. Ecker. Ecker posits that the field is “constantly evolving” (570). Efforts to define it would be somewhat of a waste of valuable time—for both the workplace and the academy. She suggests that the field is multidisciplinary, and as such, difficult to define; any definition we create will almost certainly limit us. We should instead concentrate our effort on expanding the field and accepting the idea that technical communication is multidisciplinary; we draw from many other fields in our work.

Ecker and Allen seem to agree that the evolving nature of communication makes defining our work a foolhardy task and that the field is simply too broad and complex to dare limit. Allen goes further to suggest that a definition may be detrimental in another way, as well: we might divide our field if the definition is not accepted by all or is too limiting. She touches upon this possible debacle when she states that all definitions of technical communication thus far seem to focus on a “single aspect of technical writing” (69) and suggests that a definition that is exclusive could cause a split reminiscent of the separation of the sciences and the humanities (74). Despite these concerns, I believe a definition is still necessary—our field’s image is at stake. The fact that defining the field is difficult is not a valid reason to allow us to remain undefined. Defining our field will not limit us; we as technical communicators understand that text is constantly evolving. Hence, any definition we create will evolve. We will not doom ourselves with a definition—we can change it when necessary to fit our changing roles and needs.

Similar purposes for a definition

The practice community and the academic community would benefit greatly from an authoritative definition of the field (Jones 568). Technical communicators in the workplace are seen as less important than other contributors to projects; our profession has an “identity problem” (Jones 568). In the academy, students of technical communication have trouble justifying their majors to peers. Professors are faced with this problem as well (Jones 568). Our respective images could be clearly defined with a definition; every technical communicator could then draw on this definition when asked that all-important question: “What do you do, anyway?” Having a definition one can turn to and use to express him or herself at this moment of urgency will help all technical communicators keep jobs and gain new ones. Admittedly, many technical communicators are able to articulately tell others what we do (whatever that is, anyway); it’s the people less able to eloquently express this, like graduate students, who are most in need of a definition. Furthermore, solidarity in the field, a common definition, would seem to help us all, not just those of us entering the workforce, by creating a more powerful image of our profession. This image, a fix for our “identity problem,” would then increase morale (Jones 568).

Of course, if the definition ultimately divides our field, as Allen suggests, the aforementioned morale will likely diminish and the prestige of our field may shrink the same way. Would this be more of a problem in the academy or the practice community? Ecker suggests that academics have a harder time justifying multidisciplinary approaches, largely because of the way the academy is sectioned into small chunks of expertise (570). A division there may make work easier or harder—reducing the ‘definition’ of the field would make it smaller and thus may either make it seem necessary to draw on other specialties for work, or it may make others simply wonder what the value of our specialty is in the first place. In the workplace, the perception that our work is not valuable would be detrimental. Clearly, a stable and common definition would help prevent this devaluation. This devaluation of technical communicators in the workplace is illustrated comically in Dilbert. According to Scott Adams, cartoonist of the strip, Tina the Tech Writer is “the technical writer in Dilbert's engineering department. Tina believes any conversation within hearing distance is intended as an insult to her profession and her gender. She strives to maintain her dignity while surrounded by engineers who don't have a proper respect for her work” (Dilbert.com). She is often asked to take on roles that apply more to an administrative assistant than a technical writer, perhaps because no one really understands her job. Anecdotal evidence suggests that this comic representation reflects technical communicators’ experiences in the workplace. If we don’t want to be administrative assistants, a clearer image is needed.

Perhaps Ecker’s multidisciplinary appeal is a worthwhile avenue with which to explore creating a clearer image. Multidisciplinary approaches in the academy are more accepted now. They are becoming somewhat more common—the English department at Iowa State University, for example, has recently instituted a multimodal approach to first-year composition that incorporates electronic communication (which many could connect to computer science) and visual communication (which many could connect to art and design). Technical communication draws on journalism and computer science, in addition to other areas of expertise. As these collaborations and multidisciplinary approaches become more common in the academy, perhaps the workplace attitude will shift as well. Most practitioners in any field study for their careers in college. Those in other fields will be more used to working with technical communicators and seeing them in the academy. When the academy more easily accepts a multidisciplinary approach, outsiders may be more able to relate to the disciplinary aspects of technical communicators. The computer science employee will respect a technical communicator who is a web designer because he or she may have encountered a similar collaborative experience during his or her education. A shifting perception in the academy could positively influence the workplace towards a multidisciplinary acceptance and more unambiguous visage. Technical communicators do not want to make others worry that we are doing “their work” and thus endangering their jobs, but we need to show that we can be and are more than transmitters of information. Drawing on expertise that is more commonly found in other fields helps us do our work and prove our worth.

Differences in methods

What the workplace and the academy would do with any definition that is determined hardly matters if they cannot come up with an acceptable, common definition between them. While members of both agree that a broad definition is necessary, the academy and the practice community seem to have different ways of determining how the definition should be established.

The academy, many scholars say, focuses more on theory than application. The opposite is perhaps true for the workplace. Because of this theoretical emphasis, any definition the academy creates will surely be determined through a theoretical approach. One particularly philosophical approach to defining technical communication seems to take a circuitous route to solving the problem (Dobrin 113). As David N. Dobrin admits in a short reflective introduction to his article (“What’s Technical in Technical Writing?”), his approach to definition can be difficult to understand for practitioners as well as academics, according to feedback he has read about it (107). Dobrin does, however, maintain that the definition of the field needs to be broad—an ideal held by many. Technical communication, because communication types overlap, cannot have discrete boundaries, so any definition has to be aimed at making technical communication as discrete as possible. Dobrin also suggests that definitions from the past have failed because “they define a difficult concept in terms which are equally difficult” (109). He goes on to posit that “technical writing is writing that accommodates technology to the user” (118). He then qualifies each word and explains exactly how the meanings fit his definition. Besides the fact that this definition is not in fact as broad as Dobrin posits (Allen might call it limiting, as it seems to deal mainly with one aspect of technical communication—usability—helping users with technology), this type of definition may not be useful to a practitioner—even in usability testing. If the usability tester is required to define his or her field to someone outside of it, his or her audience may not be willing to listen to a long spiel that necessarily clarifies the definition. Even if the audience is willing, they may ultimately come out of the conversation with a lack of definitive knowledge about the field. That would mean another five minutes wasted on an attempt to define technical communication. Perhaps the issue at hand is not that we lack a definition of our field, but that we lack a definition of our field that those in other professions easily understand. We need a definition we can adapt for different audiences.

A readily adaptable definition might be a broad definition. The broad definition that we need, according to some in the academy, would be “more humane, more comprehensive, more historically oriented” (Rutter 32). These goals are certainly worthy, but how will they be achieved? More importantly, how will a definition with these aspects be put to use in the workplace? Will it help, or will it confuse? Academics understand that their theory of choice needs to be applicable to the world of work (otherwise, how will they justify workplace studies, apply their knowledge, or keep students enrolling in their courses?), but will a theory-based definition achieve this applicability goal? Some may wonder whether theory-based definitions would be long-lasting. Thomas S. Kuhn’s paradigm suggests that theories in the field change over time—a theory definition may end up being seen and accepted as our image in the workplace long after it’s out of date. Ultimately, though, a theoretically-based definition that defines and unites the field would likely shape what the field would become—perhaps belaying the worries of a quickly outdated definition. Also, it is important to remember that a definition of our field would not be static; like text evolves, our definition can be rewritten and edited as needed. Indeed, reshaping text is an activity at which many technical communicators excel.

I would like to clarify here that a broad definition, as has been called for, is not the same as a vague definition. Vague or difficult to explain definitions do not help technical communicators. Workplace practitioners and academics would have more of a use for a practical definition—something that is easily understood by others. Indeed, technical communication seems to deal a lot with clarity, an unclear definition would certainly hurt our image more than it would help. Even if a definition seems clear to us, will it be clear to the accountant in the next cubicle? Who would believe someone can write clearly if he or she cannot communicate a definition of the field in a clear manner? Communicating in a clear manner means communicating in the context of your listener (Wick 515). Our field’s definition needs to be easily adaptable to many different audiences, this much seems obvious.

Perhaps the issue of definition is more about having an easily communicable definition than having a definition—indeed, we seem to know what we do: we are technical communicators. We do our work everyday; we are familiar with it. Those outside our field may need definitions that are related to their language, to their careers (Wick 515). This would help us to more easily establish our worth to others, and thus increase our relative image in the workplace and academe. One language that seems to cross all fields is certification: perhaps certification, a proof of our individual capabilities in our area, would convince others that we are valuable and help us present a clear definition of the field to outsiders.

The question of certification This idea of a common, unifying definition seems to lead one naturally to the idea of certification. Certifying technical communicators requires a definition of what technical communicators are. Many technical communicators entering the field would likely be amenable to the idea of certification, and many already in the field have shown interest in the idea (Malcolm and Kunz 3). This may be a step that could formalize our field into a more prestigious profession in the eyes of our observers. Indeed, many prestigious careers have certifications—law, medicine, engineering—among others. Might certification improve our image in the minds of our co-workers with these titles? It seems likely, though of course this cannot be guaranteed. Besides being able to have some flashy letters after one’s name, other benefits seem possible from certification that could increase our overall image. Technical communicators’ employers have indicated that they appreciate certification in their employees. Preferences shown to related interdisciplinary fields will likely extend to technical communicators as well. (Jacobson). It could also create a standard so that technical communicators need a certain level of expertise before they can call themselves technical communicators (Rainey). This standard could help us consistently produce high quality work, which will reflect upon our title of “technical communicator.” In addition, those outside the field can compare our certification with the certification of their fields—this could help them realize the effort we put into our work. They would be able to more easily relate our occupation with already prestigious occupations, like law or medicine. This would make the field perhaps seem more prestigious and definitive—though of course this question of definition keeps coming up. Certification seems like a good idea, but we need a definition within the field from which to start from in order to make a test with which to certify.

This question of definition for certification seems to suggest another question inherent to defining: what type of knowledge do we as a field have? Other fields test their professionals on knowledge—like the Bar Association. A comparison of technical communication to law is reasonable because they are both areas of practice that contain divisions of specialties. The Bar Association tests lawyers on their knowledge of the law. A person cannot become a practicing lawyer in a state until he or she passes this exam. The exam also sometimes includes a performance test of an individual’s skill in court (Wikipedia). Hence, a person who graduates from law school cannot become a practicing lawyer until he or she passes this exam, which covers knowledge of the law in a jurisdiction. Do technical communicators have knowledge? Of course we have knowledge—we know how to operate computers, design documents, write technical manuals, and argue about Plato and Gorgias, in addition to so much more. And therein lies the problem with certification—the broadness of our field. Do we all know how to write technical manuals as well as write xml code? No. We have many specialized areas of skill within our field. Lawyers also have specialized areas of skill within their field, from real estate law to divorce law to entertainment law. Lawyers also have a clear common denominator—law. They all practice law, though different types of law. Website designers and manual writers fall under the broad field of technical communication. Their common denominator—they practice technical communication. Hence, our field is perhaps more easily defined by our skills than by our knowledge; we are skilled at communication. We should be careful not to limit our field to products of our skills (i.e. instruction manuals, websites, etc) because of the changing nature of such outcomes—twenty years ago we did not create websites because the idea did not exist; today many technical communicators engage in website design to create websites, the products of their work. I posit that skills stand the test of time much easier than jobs—such as the specific task of designing instruction manuals. A certification, then, would have to be based largely on skill. Knowledge changes according to products—knowledge of Macromedia Flash may not be relevant five years from now, but the skill to learn new computer programs most likely will.

If we decide to create a certification for our field, who should determine how to certify technical communicators? Should STC be doing this? What about other communities of technical communication, such as INTECOM, based largely in Europe? Perhaps a more overarching question enveloping this issue is why we have so many separate communities of technical communication. Does the variety of separate technical communication organizations create conflict that could be preventing a definition of the field?

Competition preventing strong image

Trying to create a singular definition in the field that all agree on requires there to be communication and collaboration throughout the field. Competition and conflict do foster growth, but not all competition is necessarily helpful to our field’s unified image. STC and INTECOM are currently competing in Europe to create larger communities of technical communicators. What is stopping these two communities from joining one another and forming a larger, more powerful community? Are they outputting more worth as separate communities than as one? Each of these communities attempting to become superior over the other is surely not as helpful to the field as them combining or at least working together. As a relative neophyte in the field, I do not have the tacit knowledge to fully address this conflict. However, the answer to the question is perhaps crucial to creating a stable, stronger image of the field. If we are currently in competition over who gets to decide who we are, then we may not be able to come together in order to create the unified definition that is necessary. In effect, this type of competition could be further fragmenting the field and hurting the way others view us. If nothing else, this lack of definition has created a lack of agreement over certification, which is allowing commercial organizations to step in and create our definitions for us. For example, eHelp has established a RoboHelp certification program. Practitioners, from academe and the workplace, need to step up and define our field before we are insufficiently labeled by outsiders through the process of certification.

Who can overcome differences

If we cannot find organizations willing or able to define the field, then academics are probably in the best position to write a definition (which might lead to certification requirements, provided there is sufficient interest in this overall) that would improve the field’s image. They have more freedom to write a broad (though not vague) definition (Johnson-Eilola 187). If we write a definition that reflects the status of many practitioners today, we will write a definition that showcases us as devalued—a move that will not improve, but perpetuate, our current image. This type of descriptive definition may become prescriptive; if we report that we do not do certain types of work or that our work is not always important, we may start to actually perform in these ways (Johnson-Eilola 187-8). We all want to create a definition that will showcase and emphasize our value—academics may simply be in an easier position from which to do this. Academics are constantly researching the field and hypothesizing about where it will be in the future; this gives them a perspective on the future of our field that practitioners may not have the time to develop and sustain. The creation of a multidisciplinary definition though, which Ecker suggests, will likely require a collaborative effort between practitioners and academics. Bridging this gap to find common denominators requires individuals from many different communities to collaborate—communities of work functions as well as work locations. One forum in which to do this may be the online Wikipedia, which allows users to edit and contribute to definitions. Perhaps this could facilitate and ease collaboration and communication between the two groups. Surely, if we want to create a definition that will not divide us but unite us, we need to work together. Perhaps what we truly need, instead of a current definition, is a definition goal—we need to define what we want to become, not what we are. Academics can provide a forward-looking perspective on this which will certainly be aided through collaboration with practitioners.

If I were asked today to define technical communicators, I would say that the skill we have in common is finding, knowing, making, and/or giving information or knowledge to others in an ethical manner. The finding aspect indicates that we don’t pick information out of thin air; this also relates to making, which coincides with a view of technical communicators as articulators (Slack et al. 26). The articulation view suggests that technical communicators create knowledge by collaborating with both subject matter experts and audiences in order to put information into words. We do not necessarily translate already known information—we help to make this information. Knowledge needs to be communicable before it is real. Technical communicators also often “know” the knowledge or information they are communicating. Sometimes this knowledge is tacit knowledge they have made explicit through knowledge management, for example. Perhaps most obviously, technical communicators also often give information/knowledge to an audience—by give, I mean produce a document, give a presentation, create a usable design, and much more. I don’t want to limit the meaning of the ways we can give information or knowledge to audiences in an attempt to create a definition that can stand the test of time. The ethical clause in the definition helps to hold technical communicators to a high standard because their work influences all of us. In my opinion, we need to define our field now, and an understanding that technical communications do all or some of the work of finding, knowing, making, and/or giving information or knowledge to others in an ethical manner is a good place to start.

Corey Wick proposes a definition for knowledge management that I believe also suits the field of technical communication: “extracting and synthesizing knowledge from people with specialized knowledge (usually subject matter experts) and developing it into an easily understandable form (print or Web documents, multimedia applications, help files) for people who lack that knowledge” (515). This is Wick’s definition of knowledge management, an area he believes technical communicators fall under; I hold a different viewpoint—based upon this definition, technical communication is the field that knowledge management falls under. Extracting and synthesizing knowledge, as well as developing it into usable forms sounds a lot like ways to define usability testing, document design, and editing, amongst several other technical communication areas. Perhaps we need to push the preeminence of technical communication so it becomes the area in the organization, much like accounting, that people turn to when they need their “knowledge managed.” Indeed, if we are a field and not a job, we need to become more recognized by other fields and the business world in general. Improving our image in this way will likely start in the workplace because students often choose majors based upon career choice. If they decide to become technical communicators, they will decide this because they want to work in a Technical Communication department—otherwise, how will they know about our field? Engineering departments in universities have large enrollments because people want to become engineers—be it mechanical, electrical, material, or so forth. At the moment, there is a pervasive myth that English and Communications majors are not employed in any particular field and that they cannot find jobs following graduation. Dispelling this myth through definition is a collaborative effort whose result will likely appear in the workplace first, thus influencing those entering academe. As a result, I, a graduate student entrenched in academe, may no longer have to endure blank stares from acquaintances in other departments. Perhaps one day they will understand technical communication as they understand accounting—it will become common knowledge. We understand that accountants do many jobs and wear many hats; we as technical communicators do this as well. We need to make our overarching area of technical communication more recognizable.

Conclusion

As a graduate student and relative newcomer to the field, it seems that there is certainly need for a definition we can adapt for several different audiences in order to create a clear image. The reasons to create a definition are stronger than the reasoning behind letting our field remain perpetually undefined. A lack of name-recognition in the workplace may hinder our image and our growth—we need to come together under the common banner of technical communication in order to present a unified, strong front. We need to develop a forward-looking definition of our occupation—describing the field as it exists now will limit us—a worry that many fear will be the result of definition. Stating what we want the field to be will create a more positive and lasting definition, which will increase our image and give us motivation to become even more. A definition will not limit us; it will help us to become more. If at any point we find our current definition limiting us, we as technical communicators are the perfect and most appropriate people to adapt and change that definition.

Works Cited

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---. “What’s Technical about Technical Writing.” Introduction.

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