Literatura académica sobre el tema "Draw-A-Story Research"

Chapter 10 reviews the literature on personality development and adjustment during the transition to adulthood, using the McAdams and Pals model. The authors especially draw on the growing literature on the life story and positive adaptation by contemporary narrative researchers. Certain styles or qualities, such as optimistic and redemptive themes, may be important resources in helping young adults cope with difficult issues in their lives. The authors then describe some of their own research evidence on narratives of life experiences and adjustment in the Futures Study. The chapter ends with

Transcending Dystopia features pioneering research on the role music played in its various connections to and contexts of Jewish communal life and cultural activity in Germany from 1945 to 1989. As the first history of the Jewish communities’ musical practices during the postwar and Cold War eras, it tells the story of how the traumatic experience of the Holocaust led to transitions and transformations, and the significance of music in these processes. As such, it relies on music to draw together three areas of inquiry: the Jewish community, the postwar Germanys and their politics after the Ho

As ethnomusicologists, we are trained in ethnographic research and we are aware of the complexities of representing and conveying the experiences of others. We learn to listen carefully, both to music and to women and men as they speak about the meanings of music in their lives. Contemporary ethnomusicology has stressed problems inherent in the “crisis of representation” that link ethnographic fieldwork and representation to colonial, imperial, and other repressive power structures. Conscious of the challenges in the representation of music, of culture, of experience, we pay attention to our own stance and positionality. But at the end of the day, we tell a story, in our own voice, framed by our own perceptions and experiences. As a rabbi and chaplain, the training I received in the art of storytelling has been invaluable to my work as an ethnomusicologist. These skills have been important as I tell my own story and convey the factors that draw me to my research. Knowing how to tell a story has been essential in presenting my work to colleagues, to foundations and funders, to friends and family members who are often at a loss to understand the work that I do. An understanding of storytelling has been important as I craft the story of the peoples whose music I study, and convey what I’ve learned in a way that is engaging, accessible, and compelling. How do I tell a story so my audience of the moment—my students, scholars from other disciplines, the chair of my department—are drawn into my work and share my excitement for my research?

In this chapter how cultural mapping can act as a means to understand the legacy of collaborative heritage research is explored.The difficulties inherent in capturing this story, including resolving the tensions between organising structures and the practices of chance and serendipity that shape the experiences of people in their heritage work. This gets to the heart of what happens to knowledge and our understanding of practices when we try to capture, share and translate specificities from our research collaboratively. The authors suggest how the visual and discursive aspects of cultural mapping can offer a means to accommodate such tensions. Using data from community groups and focusing on the collaborative role of a community partner in designing and evaluating this research, the mapping toolkit as a legacy output is introduced. Some of the actual stories from the heritage groups are traced and show how they draw attention to legacies of conducting community based heritage projects. The underpinning research involved in producing this legacy output highlights the attention that needs to be paid to multiple voices, narratives and types of impact that are important in people’s lives.

A couple of years ago I learned something: I learned that black holes spin. And as they spin, they drag the fabric of space-time around with them, whirling it like a tornado. “Where have you been?” you ask. “That's a direct consequence of general relativity! Lense and Thirring predicted that more than 80 years ago.” It had escaped my notice. It made my day when I (sort of) understood it. I wanted to tell someone—and by a wonderful stroke of luck, I'm paid to do just that. Days like that are why I'm a science writer—a “gee whiz” science writer, if you like. A lot of my peers these days consider the gee whiz approach outdated, naive, even a little lap-doggish; investigative reporting is in. “Isn't the real story the process of how science and medicine work?” Shannon Brownlee said recently, upon receiving a well-deserved prize for her critical reporting on medicine. “I'm talking about the power structure. I'm talking about influence. I'm talking about money.” I'm not much interested in those things. I agree they're often important—more important, no doubt, in breast cancer than in black hole research, more important the more applied and less basic the research gets. One of the real stories about medical research may well be how it is sometimes corrupted by conflicts of interest. Power, influence, and money are constants in human affairs, like sex and violence; and sometimes a science writer is forced to write about them, just as a baseball writer may be forced with heavy heart to write about contract negotiations or a doping scandal. Yet just as the “real story” about baseball remains the game itself, the “real story” about science, to me, is what makes it different from other human affairs, not the same. I'm talking about ideas. I'm talking about experiments. I'm talking about truth, and beauty, too. Most of all, I'm talking about the little nuggets of joy and delight that draw all of us, scientists and science writers alike, to this business, when with our outsized IQs we could be somewhere else pursuing larger slices of power, influence, and money.

Drawing on newly discovered accounts (1832, 1835) and lots of contextual research, James Allen and Milton Backman added an alternative memory to the buffer on which the saints could draw for memory resources. Believing historians formed a faithful, complex understanding of Smith’s vision that accounted for the incongruity the critics saw in the historical record. The believing historians selected and related new items to old ones. They showed how new elements could be integrated recursively with the long-established story. The laity hardly noticed, however. Compared to the expanding number of Mormons whose conversions were often tied to the canonized account of Smith’s first vision, Mormon historians were a tiny minority. Publishing their findings did almost nothing to alter the Mormon collective memory or make it more resilient to critics. The disruptive potential of the newly discovered records and ways of interpreting them remained latent, waiting for an information age to unleash it.

Policy makers are well aware that the categories and standards they use to combat inequality are blunt tools, flattening differences within groups and fixing relations in time; they draw on stories of the categories’ past and purpose as a way to justify their use. However, the stories that come naturally are ill-equipped to capture the processual dimensions of inequality. Polletta makes this argument by analyzing two efforts to combat inequality, one in medical research and one in employment. In the first, reformers’ account of racial and ethnic categories as the proud legacy of the civil rights movement and as only temporary ended up legitimating a view of inequalities in health as genetic in origin. In the second, women were able to prove employment discrimination only when they told a story in which their job aspirations were unaffected by their experiences in the labor market. In both cases, familiar stories made it difficult to recognize processes rather than people as the drivers of action, and to recognize that people’s aspirations are shaped by the institutions in which they participate.

Abstract: This chapter provides an overview of the central themes and arguments in the book, a brief chapter outline, and a discussion of research methodology. Besides being in the forefront of commercial credit, Britain also led the way during the eighteenth century in creating and sustaining an intellectual justification for a credit economy based on gold, most clearly articulated in Adam Smith’s Wealth of Nations (1776). Smith’s conjectural history of gold and later modifications hewed closely to the twin categories of class and status, which molded the changing contours of British society during the decades on either side of 1800. Gold’s dual role in this history provides a useful map for exploring Britain’s ascendance during the century after 1750. The dominant British discourse on gold, which privileged its use as currency over decoration, aligns with an interpretation of that century as radically modern, whereby Britain took a comfortable if short-lived lead in the race among nations for wealth and power. Against a forward-looking story that identifies gold as a modernizing motor, the nagging prevalence of decorative gold in Britain and its empire supports a contrary narrative that emphasizes continuity rather than a radical break. In this story, the rise of a modern credit economy shared space with an empire that depended as much on ornamental splendor as on economic and racial subordination and an impulse to draw from the past in order to create a habitable present in the face of rising levels of population and class division.

An often quoted passage of Arthur Conan Doyle's story "Silver Blaze" makes the point that the absence of data can be a datum. When the mystery of the purloined racehorse seems insoluble, Police Inspector Gregory asks Sherlock Holmes:… "Is there any point to which you would wish to draw my attention?" "To the curious incident of the dog in the night-time." "The dog did nothing in the night-time." "That was the curious incident," remarked Sherlock Holmes…. The dog that does not bark attracts no attention to itself. It takes insight to recognize that a nonhappening can be an alarm. Herman Daly showed a Holmeslike insight when he called attention to the bark that was absent from a would-be authoritative study made by a group of economists reporting to the prestigious National Research Council in 1986 on population growth and economic development. In 108 pages of text there is not a single mention of carrying capacity, a concept that should be central to all discussions of population and environment. It is as though gravity were left out of a treatise on the dynamics of the solar system; or assets and liabilities were left out of a textbook on business accounting. If civilization survives another century, and if there are still economists, a history of what will then be called "modern economics" may well begin with a belittling account of the "premodern" economics of the twentieth century in which carrying capacity plays no role. Nothing shows so well the impermeability of the barriers between academic disciplines as the silence of economists about a concept that dominates discussions of game management, a discipline concerned with population and environment problems as they affect animals other than Homo sapiens. Economists, dealing only with human populations, probably unconsciously embrace the human exemptionist doctrine (Chapter 15), though their commitment is seldom no more than implicit in their statements (Box 20-1). Two serious criticisms can be leveled against most of the authors quoted in the box. First, it is obvious that they desperately yearn for a world without limits. This is particularly evident in the last quotation, by Gro Harlem Brundtland, who chaired the United Nations commission that issued this statement. One can praise the heart of the commission without agreeing with the head.

This paper addresses COVID-19 in India, looking at how the interplay of inequality, vulnerability, and the pandemic has compounded uncertainties for poor and marginalised groups, leading to insecurity, stigma and a severe loss of livelihoods. A strict government lockdown destroyed the incomes of farmers and urban informal workers and triggered an exodus of migrant workers from Indian cities, a mass movement which placed additional pressures on the country's rural communities. Elsewhere in the country, lockdown restrictions and pandemic response have coincided with heatwaves, floods and cyclone