2017 Summer Reading List (so far…)

4/24-5/5: Ahmed, Sara. (2017). Living a feminist life. Durham: Duke University Press.

4/24: Sewell, John I. (2014). “Becoming rather than being”: Queer’s double-edged discourse as deconstructive practice. Journal of Communication Inquiry, 38(4), 291-307.

4/25: Morris, Charles E., & Sloop, John M. (2017). Other lips, whither kisses? Communication and Critical/Cultural Studies, 14(2), 182.

4/26: Samek, Alyssa A. & Theresa A. Donofrio. (2013). “Academic drag” and the performance of the critical personae: An exchange on sexuality, politics, and identity in the academy. Women’s Studies in Communication, 36(1), 28-55.

4/27: Fox, Ragan. (2013). “Homo”-work: Queering academic communication and communicating queer in academia. Text and Performance Quarterly, 33(1), 58-76.

4/28: Bessette, Jean. (2016). Queer rhetoric in situ. Rhetoric Review, 35(2), 148-164.

4/29: Pamela VanHaitsma. (2016). Gossip as rhetorical methodology for queer and feminist historiography. Rhetoric Review. 35(2), 135-147.

4/30: Horst, Heather & Daniel Miller. (2012). Normativity and materiality: A view from digital anthropology. Media International Australia, Incorporating Culture & Policy, (145), 103-111.

5/1: Muñoz, José Esteban. (2000). Feeling brown: Ethnicity and affect in Ricardo Bracho’s “The Sweetest Hangover (And Other STDs)”. Theatre Journal, 52(1), 67-79.

5/2: Chávez, Karma. (2015). The precariousness of homonationalism: The queer agency of terrorism in post-9/11 rhetoric. QED: A Journal in GLBTQ Worldmaking, 2(3), 32–58.

5/3: Yep, Gust A. (2002). From homophobia and heterosexism to heteronormativity: Toward the development of a model of queer interventions in the university classroom. Journal of Lesbian Studies, 6(3-4), 163-76.

5/4: VanHaitsma, Pamela. (2014). Queering the language of the heart: Romantic letters, genre instruction, and rhetorical practice. Rhetoric Society Quarterly, 44.1, 6–24.

5/5: Villarejo, A. (2005). Tarrying with the normative: Queer theory and black history. Social Text, 23.3–4, 69–84.

5/6-5/19: Thompson, Peter & Slavoj Žižek (eds.). (2013). The privatization of hope: Ernst Bloch and the future of utopia. Durham: Duke University Press.

5/6: Portolano, Marlana. (2012). The rhetorical function of utopia: An exploration of the concept of utopia in rhetorical theory. Utopian Studies, 23(1), 113-141.

5/7: Happe, Kelly E. (2015). Parrhēsia, biopolitics, and occupy. Rhetoric & Philosophy, 48(2), 211-223.

5/8: Newman, Eric H. (2015). Ephemeral utopias: Queer cruising, literary form, and diasporic imagination in claude McKay’s home to Harlem and banjo. Callaloo: A Journal of African Diaspora Arts and Letters, 38(1), 167-241.

5/9: Stempfhuber, Martin & Michael Liegl. (2016). Intimacy mobilized: Hook-up practices in the location-based social network Grindr. Österreichische Zeitschrift Für Soziologie, 41(1), 51-70.

5/10: Harvey, David O. (2011). Calculating risk: Barebacking, the queer male subject, and the De/formation of identity politics. Discourse, 33(2), 156-183.

5/11: Chaput, Catherine. (2010). Rhetorical circulation in late capitalism: Neoliberalism and the overdetermination of affective energy.” Philosophy and Rhetoric, 43(1), 1–25.

5/12: Endres, Danielle, and Samantha Senda-Cook. (2011). Location matters: The rhetoric of place in protest. Quarterly Journal of Speech, 97(3), 257–82.

5/13: Walker, Paul. (2017). Let’s disagree (to agree): Queering the rhetoric of agreement in writing assessment. Composition Forum, 35. Web. http://compositionforum.com/issue/35/agreement.php

5/14: Thieme, Katja, & Shurli Makmillen. (2017). A principled uncertainty: Writing studies methods in contexts of indigeneity. College Composition and Communication, 68(3), 466.

5/15: Bacha, Jeffrey A. (2016). The physical mundane as topos: Walking/dwelling/using as rhetorical invention. College Composition and Communication, 68(2), 266.

5/16: Stormer, Nathan, & Bridie McGreavy. (2017). Thinking ecologically about rhetoric’s ontology: Capacity, vulnerability, and resilience. Philosophy & Rhetoric, 50(1), 1-25.

5/17: Wingrove, Elizabeth. (2016). blah Blah WOMEN Blah Blah EQUALITY Blah Blah DIFFERENCE. Philosophy & Rhetoric, 49(4), 408-419.

5/18: Daniel, James Rushing. (2016). The event that we are: Ontology, rhetorical agency, and Alain Badiou. Philosophy & Rhetoric, 49(3), 254–276.

5/19: Bowen, Lauren M. (2017). The limits of hacking composition pedagogy. Computers and Composition, 43, 2017, 1-14.

5/20-5/28: Cooper, Davina. (2014). Everyday utopias: The conceptual life of promising spaces. Durham: Duke University Press.

5/20: Vallerand, Olivier. (2013). Home is the place we all share, Journal of Architectural Education, 67:1, 64-75.

5/21: Jennex, Craig. (2013). Diva worship and the sonic search for queer utopia. Popular Music and Society, 36(3), 343-359.

5/22: Faris, Michael J. (2014). Coffee shop writing in a networked age. College Composition and Communication, 66(1), 21.

5/23: Dean, Tim. (2015). Mediated intimacies: Raw sex, truvada, and the biopolitics of chemoprophylaxis. Sexualities, 18(1-2), 224-246.

5/24: Heard, Matthew. (2013). Tonality and ethos. Philosophy and Rhetoric, 46(1), 44-64.

5/25: Scott, Tony and Lil Brannon. (2013). Democracy, struggle, and the praxis of assessment. College Composition and Communication, 65(2), 273-298.

5/26: Walker, Paul. (2013). Composition’s akrasia: The devaluing of intuitive expertise in writing assessment. enculturation, 15. http://enculturation.net/compositions-akrasia.

5/27: Bhattacharya, Kakali. (2007). Consenting to the consent form: What are the fixed and fluid understandings between the researcher and the researched? Qualitative Inquiry, 13(8), 1095–115.

5/28: Cole, Daniel. (2011). Writing removal and resistance: Native American rhetoric in the composition classroom. College Composition and Communication, 63(1), 122–44.

5/29-6/11: Butler, Judith, Zeynep Gambetti, & Leticia Sabsay (eds.). (2016). Vulnerability in resistance. Durham: Duke University Press.

5/29: Schotten, C. Heike. (2015). Homonationalist futurism: “Terrorism” and (other) queer resistance to empire. New Political Science, 37(1), 71-90.

5/30: Migraine-George, Thérèse & Ashley Currier. (2016). Querying queer African archives: methods and movements. WSQ: Womens Studies Quarterly, 44(3&4), 190-207.

5/31: Adams, Heather, Jeremy Engels, Michael J. Faris, Debra Hawhee, & Mark Hlavacik. (2012). Deliberation in the midst of crisis. Cultural Studies ↔ Critical Methodologies, 12(4), 342-345.

6/1: Stormer, Nathan. (2016). Rhetoric’s diverse materiality: Polythetic ontology and genealogy. Review of Communication, 16(4), 299-316.

6/2: Pflugfelder, Ehren H. (2015). Rhetoric’s new materialism: From micro-rhetoric to microbrew. Rhetoric Society Quarterly, 45(5), 441.

6/3: Agnew, Lois P. (2015) The Materiality of Language: Gender, Politics, and the University. Rhetoric Review, 34(1), 106-110.

6/4: Burnett, Cathy, Guy Merchant, Kate Pahl & Jennifer Rowsell. (2014). The (im)materiality of literacy: The significance of subjectivity to new literacies research. Discourse: Studies in the Cultural Politics of Education, 35(1), 90-103.

6/5: Richardson, Timothy. (2014). The authenticity of what’s next. Enculturation, 17.

6/6: Yergeau, Melanie, Elizabeth Brewer, Stephanie Kirschbaum, Sushil K. Oswal, Margaret Price, Cynthia L. Self, et al. (2013). Multimodality in motion: Disability and kairotic spaces. Kairos, 18(1).

6/12-6/17: Rand, Erin. (2014). Reclaiming queer: Activist and academic rhetorics of resistance. Tuscaloosa, AL: University of Alabama Press.

6/12: Rand, Erin J. (2013). Queer critical rhetoric bites back. Western Journal of Communication, 77(5), 533-537.

6/13: Bessette, Jean. (2013). An archive of anecdotes: Raising lesbian consciousness after the Daughters of Bilitis. Rhetoric Society Quarterly, 43(1), 22-45.

6/14: West, Isaac. (2013). Queer generosities. Western Journal of Communication, 77(5), 538-541.

6/15: Ahlm, Jody. (2017). Respectable promiscuity: Digital cruising in an era of queer liberalism. Sexualities, 20(3), 364-379.

6/16: Nichols, Garrett W. (2013). The quiet country closet: Reconstructing a discourse for closeted rural experiences.” Present Tense: A Journal of Rhetoric in Society 3.1.

6/17: Scott, J. Blake. (2003). Extending rhetorical-cultural analysis: Transformations of home HIV testing. College English, 65(4), 349-367.

6/18-6/23: Waite, Stacey. (2017). Teaching queer: Radical possibilities for writing and knowing. Pittsburgh, PA: University of Pittsburgh Press.

6/18: Waite, Stacey. (2015). Queer literacies survival guide. College Composition and Communication, 67(1), 111-114.

6/19: Kopelson, Karen. (2013). Queering the writing program: Why now? how? and other contentious questions. Writing Program Administration, 37(1), 199.

6/20: Coles, Gregory. (2016). The exorcism of language: Reclaimed derogatory terms and their limits. College English, 78(5), 424.

6/24-6/30: Shipka, Jody. (2011). Toward a composition made whole. Pittsburgh, PA: University of Pittsburgh Press.

6/24: Shipka, Jody. (2009). Negotiating rhetorical, material, methodological, and technological difference: Evaluating multimodal designs. College Composition and Communication, 61(1), W343-W366.

6/25: George, Diana. (2002). From analysis to design: Visual communication in the teaching of writing. College Composition and Communication, 54, 11-39.

6/26: Marback, Richard. (2009). Embracing the wicked problems: The turning to design in composition studies. College Composition and Communication, 61(2), W397-W419.

6/27: Davis, Matthew, & Kathleen B. Yancey. (2014). Notes toward the role of materiality in composing, reviewing, and assessing multimodal texts. Computers and Composition: An International Journal for Teachers of Writing, 31, 13-28.

6/28: West-Puckett, Stephanie. (2016). Making classroom writing assessment more visible, equitable, and portable through digital badging. College English, 79(2), 127-151.

6/28: Fortune, Bonnie. (2013). Queering the hackerspace at miss baltazar’s laboratory and beyond. Make/shift, (14), 38.

6/29: Kohtala, Cindy. (2016). Making “Making” critical: How sustainability is constituted in fab lab ideology. The Design Journal, , 1-20.

7/1-7/7: Sirc, Geoffrey. (2002). English composition as a happening. Logan, UT: Utah State University Press.

7/1: Ball, Cheryl E. (2004). Show, not tell: the value of new media scholarship. Computers and Composition, 21, 403-425.

7/2: DeVoss, Dànielle Nicole, Ellen Cushman, & Jeffrey T. Grabill. (2005). Infrastructure and composing: The when of new-media writing. College Composition and Communication, 57, 14-44.

7/3: Symposium. (2014). The maker movement in education: Designing, creating, and learning across contexts. Harvard Educational Review, 84(4), 493-494.

7/4: Martin, Lee. (2015). The promise of the maker movement for education. Journal of Pre-College Engineering Education Research (J-PEER), 5(1), 30-39.

7/5: Kera, Denisa. (2014). Innovation regimes based on collaborative and global tinkering: Synthetic biology and nanotechnology in the hackerspaces. Technology in Society, 37, 28-37.

7/6: Halverson, Erica R., & Kimberly M. Sheridan. (2014). The maker movement in education. Harvard Educational Review, 84(4), 495.

7/7: Charlton, Colin. (2014). The weight of curious space: Rhetorical events, hackerspace, and emergent multimodal assessment. Computers and Composition: An International Journal for Teachers of Writing, 31, 29-42.

touching [writing, writing] feeling

In this ongoing project, Brianne Radke and I have been reflecting on the intersections of affect and materiality, at the interactions and extensions of self and/through objects in our composing process, at the way that selves and objects mean. Below, you can see how we have written our way into this inquiry—and we invite you to click, read, and write your way into this project as well.

legos ultra-fine blog gel pen laptop typewriter voice proposal rubber bands knitting

Our “do” session “attend[s] to the tex[x]tures” and affects of converging materials and experiential realities to explore how “objects and [body]events mean” (Sedgwick, 2003; Massumi, 2002; Bora, 1997). We invite participants to compose with varieties of materials and respond to the sensed experience of writing.

Having trouble viewing this? Interactive .pdf available here:

Knit /code and a lazy Fall afternoon


Some days are chill pants days. Fall is here, which means for me gray skies, strong coffee, big sweaters, and a sort of nostalgic slowing down when at all possible. On those days, where it’s possible, I tend to not leave the couch. Whether it’s curling up to read, binge a show, drink more coffee, work: it’s couch work and chill pants time.

The stress of the school year, finishing up my MA program, working on my MA project, applying to PhD programs—these, if indulgent, moments seem few and far between.

I’m not the best at knitting, but it’s something that I love. Even sitting here on the couch knitting a misknit scarf is one of the highlights of my week. The soft yarn moving between my fingers, wrapping around the smooth metal needlethe textures of the fibers in the yarn fraying lightly, the fabric is cool, but touching it makes me feel warm beyond a physical level.

Any time I sit to knit, it is nostalgic. My grandmother taught me to knit and I still remember the black feathery scarf she was making for her mother to mother’s day. It was something I desperately wanted to learn to do, but it seemed strange. It was something I was ashamed to do if anyone was around or watching me. Some years later, my dad found a some study somewhere that I still haven’t read about knitting being helpful for people suffering with moderate to severe depression (my diagnosis). Then it was something that was encouraged, something I could display openly.

But there is an easy rhythm to knitting. It feels like beat counts: 1, 2, 3, 4/k, p, k, p. It feels even in time and material. The paced stitching of fabric in the measured passing of time. Like beat counts, after the first few bars, the pattern all but seems to fade away and becomes something more internalized: a knowledge that my hands know/do. And it is always moving: it never feels like an appropriate place to stop in knitting, as though there is something compelling me to continue to the next stitch.

All because of two stitches: knit (k) and purl (p). All purling even is is a reverse knit (coming from a Middle English word to twist). I can make from them scarves and sweaters, and hats, and socks, and gloves, and cozies… I can misknit, drop a stitch (or drop-stitch) or double stitch and then what does that mean? Now that the pattern has been interrupted and I’ve moved on rows and rows away.

It’s frustration and failure. It’s the questions of value: is this still a scarf? Is this still usable? How bad does it look? What are my options? Are there ways to adjust or compensate? Does a scarf need a straight edge?


catch(e) {


Not only because knitting operates with a binary operation/language (k,p/1,0) but I think about the ways in which knitting and coding are similar. The pattern operation, the potential for error in-line, and the frustration I feel during these moments seems the same as when I write code.

However they both involve the use of an interpretive and performed language to make digital and material objects.

What is that act of making? And how am I doing it? Have I installed, as I knit, some sort of Python library that make these flurried movements recognizable as knitting though? And where am I in this or as I code for that matter? Or is this just the practice of doing with skilled knowledge?

I don’t feel skilled.

Nor do I feel like I’m tending to the formation or sustaining of something skilled. These acts of doing inscribe into what I do as much as my doing makes the objects.

feel some sort of generative energy in both situations that is clumsy and wondering with the interplay of vision and (re)vision that my hands make possible; a conceptualizing ends and means that wouldn’t be possible without my hands and self being present with the materials at hand.

Rubber bands


There’s little more frustrating than starting a rubber band ball. The folding, twisting, wrapping—snap! Time to start over again. I tried again, folding the first rubber band in half and in half again and then started to wrap the second around it and the slightest move of my finger made the first lose its shape—time to start over.

And of course, above all else, a rubber band ball takes time—and rubber bands I suppose—hundreds if not thousands of straps of rubber go in to making just a single ball. And perhaps the best part is, you don’t know necessarily what you’re making until you’ve made it and you know it’s never done until you’re satisfied with it.

But what does it communicate to you that signifies “done”ness or completeness? Is it the weight? The feel of the uneven grippy texture of the bands gripping against my palm with the satisfying mass that tells me of the hours of dedication bound up in this ball? Is it the constraint of time or materials? That I simply can’t make more mass because of material limitation?

ogres shrek animated GIF

I’m sitting at this kitchen table making a rubber band ball across from a maker space inspired project book. One of the series of projects is a rubber band ball of the planets. How to create Jupiter, Saturn, etc. out of rubber bands binding the meaning of the planets in with the colors and patterns that visually signify the corresponding planet: a complete-able project goal with clearly articulated materials needed to make this.

But what I’m struck by as I’m sitting at this table, feeling the tension and release as each band flexes and wraps around the others is the indeterminate, the undefined. My band ball looking more like a germinating potato. There’s a satisfaction that comes with the addition of another band that also comes with an uncertainty. Has this one band altered the ball? Will it? Could it? If I had angled the band differently, how would that change? Would the patterns and textures created give a different feel? A different completeness?

At any moment a rubber band ball could be complete, after all. And if it were one on its own, it’s still a complete object that means. The rubber band. The snap against your wrist as that annoying kid who made fun of you at recess pulls back and releases a band in class—the time you tripped down the stairs in the office building holding a stack of newly printed documents bound together in one band that then scattered across the floor—that wooden gun your uncle bought you on your tenth birthday that you spent hours shooting the beige circlets at the oak trees out back—when you were nineteen and sitting at a desk and you realized that, yes, centuries of musicians and mathematicians weren’t lying when you produced a note an octave higher than the first—your senior year in high school when you handed in your final portfolio that you’d lived out the whole year in a sort of anticlimax all tethered together by the single and unimpressive band

Image result for wibbly wobbly timey wimey

I think too about time in this ball. The way it is bound and complete, but becomes newly complete and incompleted anew with the addition of a new band. The ball that bounces across the table seems unstable: that it could continue to grow, or shrink and be at once enacting its history and futures all together. The ball’s ball-ness is iterative and only seems to be a completed ball when it is named a completed ball—a fixed point in ball-ness; I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.

But it’s all caught up in that tension. That felt tension when your fingers press against the edges of the bands, or you pull and that release. It retains its shape, or encompasses another within it.

Voice and phone

Car rides, commutes, rushing from the main campus to the college of business—there’s something about movement that facilitates thinking for me, <sigh> but it’s an inconvenient facilitation. With my attention being split and the time-crunch of being in transit, there’s not time or focus for deep, sustained consideration. But the fleeting, blinkering considerations are often so worth grasping. Looking over the captured thoughts, I often see my projects taking shape.

That’s me: the driver, the fast walker, phone pressed to their lips as they mutter incoherently racing and driving.


I, uh <cleared throat> find myself wandering when I talk into my phone. There’s a trust there, too. It’s a deeply personal space that I enter into when I find myself composing in the form of my phone’s voice recorder. Um, it’s just quick notes, right? Where I don’t—I can’t sustain too much thought on any one topic: there’s an upcoming turn in the road, a driver cuts me off <audible breath> and my thoughts turn or are interrupted.

There’s an impulsiveness to my speech that I haven’t quite grasped. It’s uneven and comes in spurts. Yet, I <tongue clicks> fill the silence, yea? I don’t seem to want it to end as my voice dies down in the silence of the car—maybe as I turn or lose my train of thought—I immediately try and resume. I’m not sure why, but the silence feels uncomfortable and I feel free to enter and leave this enclosed composing space that it makes this kind of wandering possible.

My phone is almost weightless in my hand: it’s almost absent. I feel the warmth of my arm bent toward my chest, the bend in my wrist to angle the object—and it almost feels reminiscent of evenings curled on the couch reading or watching TV—a comfortable position—but the phone blinkers out of my thought.

What fills my awareness is the movement of my lips and the gliding of my tongue. S’s and T’s fill my ears with sibilant and staccato sounds. I hold my breath in moments where my attention is being pulled and there is a tightness in my chest. I notice my limited range in volume: a consideration of the limitations of my platform. Volume impacts the quality of my recording. As casual and quick-capture as this feels, I know it has purpose: I will be sitting down with these recordings later to figure out whatever it was I was thinking <laughter> and so, I, uh, need to be able to hear it.

All that is to say, though, that what I feel myself attentive to is this composing with my body. The way my tongue slides across the roof of my mouth to make that hissing s that I hang onto for just too long, the dryness in my throat after 15 minutes past the last drop of my morning coffee, the way my diaphragm seems disengaged from this talking, the way the vibrations from my voice carry down my tie to the side of my thigh <sigh>.

Laptop and a desk

There’s an urgency to typing, a certain frenetic momentum to it. The immediacy of words appearing on the screen as I rapidly clack across the keyboard seems to add pressure of time-responsiveness. There are clear rhythms to my typing, sudden starts, sudden stops, accelerandos, rests—I’m barely aware of the smooth plastic pieces depressed by the staccato stabs of my fingers as the press and release of each feels so sudden that I only feel a slight tingling across the tips of my fingers as I come to a close of each frenzy of taps.

My breathing seems to be “in time” with my typing: my breaths deep and further between during the quickened moments and evens back out as my typing slows. Though, this seems tied to the need for immediacy as I type.

I wonder why the pressure of this immediacy exists. As most things, what comes to mind is multivalent: informed by early typing training in schools where time was part of the evaluation of the activity, by my conditioned writing in social media spaces in which someone “sees” as someone is typing and that knowledge implies a need to send the message quickly, and the seeming tie between the speed of thinking and writing.

It feels like my typing rhythms are tied to what I’m writing. This rhythm feels like a blogging rhythm with the frantic energy typing in one direction: a quick draft, a thought form, a grasping. And it feels like the feeling of the day: It’s paced, measured, perhaps a bit dry, it feels like September 28th. But, even as I’m feeling the rhythms of my typing, it doesn’t feel separate from the other rhythms of my typing I’ve felt—the all nighters from my first semester of my MA program, or the visceral pain I felt as I was typing my blog post the day after the Pulse shooting this June.

Those were different rhythms, different days, different graspings, different typings, but they are in my fingers even as I type this reflection.

I’m thinking too of my piano experience, which may explain my reliance on musical terms to describe this experience, as well as the percussive sounds that permeate the space as I type. I’m thinking about the way that my hands “know.” In an a way that isn’t conscious, they know, they move, they generate, they invent, they position into productive forms that allow for reach with ease. It is a knowing tied to a doing; it is a doing through/on/with the body. But it is a knowing, too, that only comes through the encounter: it is only when my fingers come in contact with the notches on the “f” and “j” keys my fingers come to knowing—or when they come in contact with smoothness of keys on my piano.

Legos and a table



Very little is soft about Legos. A series of hard lines with sharp edges that press into my hand as I hold each piece, with a series of rhythmic circles that contour the polished walls of the toys. There are bright, bold colors with a hundred different shapes—and still there are patterns, uniformity, and rigidity.

It’s hard to feel the hard edges and boundaries of the piece without also thinking about the ways these pieces leave impressions on my skin and reminding me of the pain of stepping on a Lego that was left on the floor. These pieces seem incredibly mobile, sliding with their smooth edges across surfaces. How much friction could be generated from these smooth sides?

And yet, digging my hand in a large group of these Legos recalls memories of childish happiness. All their hardness seems soaked up in the collective and my hands sink without issue or pain into the mix. I remember reaching into large tubs of Legos with my friends that were nearly as large as I was and shoveling out fists full of the tiny colorful objects.

Almost similarly, as these toys spilled onto the table, I felt my eyes flickering over the mass of these rapidly, trying to find associative logics. I felt these pieces belonged together, but found myself getting frustrated, not seeing how. It was fitful starts, click, snapping pieces together, click, and pulling them apart, click; haphazard groupings and regroupings by shape, color, my intent. There were so many visible potential positions for each that would entirely guide my next moves, and then the next, and the next.

Click. I couldn’t help but smile at the satisfying snap of two pieces being joined, the object seeming to no longer belong to my hand but to the other nested piece. The tension as I struggled to pull two pieces apart was familiar and frustrating. The amount of force taking more than I expected and felt my arms engaged in the act more than I thought was necessary.

So many childhood memories were inseparable from this composing. Holding one piece in my hand, I remembered imagined worlds I’d built with my friends. How I used the different pieces sparked other constructions and compositions to come to mind. If I encountered a limitation, I remembered encountering it before.