Developing The Theorized Storyline
Developing The Theorized Storyline
DEVELOPING THE
THEORIZED STORYLINE
But, how do we represent these vast data in developing our theorized storylines for
journal articles that are constrained by space limitations? And how do we do this in
a way that engages readers in our stories? Facing this dilemma, authors’ efforts to
compose qualitative research for journal articles have produced some innovation in
representation. It is no longer the case, for example, that “findings” must be contained
in a single section with that heading. Nor is it the case that all data must be depicted
in tables (although it is increasingly common for additional qualitative data to support
claims to be rendered in this form). No longer are theoretical models placed only at the
fronts of papers. In this chapter, we explore four representational innovations, and the
various solutions derived, that qualitative researchers have undertaken in their efforts of
writing for disciplinary journals.
COMPELLING BEGINNINGS
Opening lines and sections are crucial elements in the establishment of rapport
between the work and its readers (Law & Williams, 1982). In journal articles, the
conventional “Abstract” remains. But, rather than simply stating what will follow in the
article, some authors are writing “the first sentence so the readers want to read the
second” (Fine, 1988, p. 156). As authors, when we consider how we write and how
we represent our fieldwork in our writing, we are able to construct more compelling
beginnings for our journal articles.
Some authors are choosing to take readers immediately to the field. But, rather than
choosing just any details of their fieldwork to portray, they select those that signify the
theorized storyline that shortly will be developed. Bringing in the field piques readers’
expectation that “real” and interesting organizational situations will be portrayed; it also
provides them an orienting glimpse into the storyline that will be developed. In this
respect, the beginning affords an important opportunity to depict “memorable examples
of …issues and concepts” (Gephart, 2004) being investigated in the broader disciplinary
community, and that signify our storylines.
In the first example (Barker, 1993), we are presented with Ronald's ironic account of
being more closely observed at work now that the small manufacturing company has
restructured into self-managing teams. The article begins with a quote from Ronald that
is interpreted by the author.
I don't have to sit there and look for the boss to be around, and if
the boss is not around, I can sit there and talk to my neighbor or do
what I want. Now the whole team is around me and the whole team is
observing what I'm doing.
The introductory paragraphs of our second example, a study of risk and blame in
disaster sensemaking (Gephart, 1993, pp. 1465-1466), vividly portray the context of the
study—a gas-line explosion, and the allocation of blame subsequent to the explosion—
and also point toward the developing storyline of organizational sensemaking about risk
management.
[Western] Pipe Lines (ltd.) lost a 30 year employee when Merv Ginter
died in the burn unit of University Hospital Monday. But to the members
of his family, Ginter's death represents the loss of a husband, a father
and a grandfather. (Newspaper article, March 5, 1985)
In light of the serious nature and tragic consequences of the leak, the
Board is holding this public inquiry into the accident. The purpose of
this inquiry, therefore, is to permit the Board to determine whether any
changes should be made in the way that [Western Pipe Lines] operates,
or the way in which [it] is regulated by the Board, in order to prevent
similar accidents in the future; it is not the primary purpose of this
inquiry to fix any blame for what happened. (Chairperson of government
energy board, March 26, 1985)
At other times, authors take us to the field by telling rather than showing us that
something significant happened. In each of the following two examples, the authors do
this by taking us to the scene of action. The first example (Maitlis, 2004, pp. 1275-1276)
takes us to a meeting of board directors who must decide the principal conductor's
future with the orchestra, an event that points toward the developing storyline of how a
CEO influences (and fails to influence) board decision making.
In the next example, Wilson Ng and Christian De Cock (2002) take us to the scene of a
hostile takeover, which they describe as a “watershed in Singapore corporate history”
that provides an entrée into examining how the role of discursive performances shaped
the emerging battle.
The public were never aware of any “battle in the boardroom.” Instead,
public statements painted an official story of change as well organized
and professionally managed with a successful outcome never in doubt.
However, beneath this level of public perception several other storylines
gave conflicting accounts of how Cleo's restructuring was progressing.
These various storylines form the crux of our investigation as they point
to the importance of discursive performances given by key protagonists
in carving out positions of power. (pp. 23-24)
Our first example, an article on organizing moves in software support hotlines by Brian
Pentland (1992), argues that knowledge is situated performance and that practice
theory can provide the conceptual foundation for this view. Subdividing the “Method”
section into Research Setting, Access and Observation, and Data, he develops the
storyline by using the research setting to establish a hot line in a software organization
as the appropriate setting to study routine and gain theoretically relevant insights into
knowledge as situated performance. His discussion of research setting begins with,
In subdividing a general “Research Focus” section, the second example (Reay, Golden-
Biddle, & GermAnn, 2006) creates a subsection, “Nurse Practitioners in Alberta.” Here,
the authors describe the general governance structure of health care in Canada and
detail the Nurse Practitioner role in terms of typical services, recent growth in numbers
and places of work. This information not only situates nurse practitioners in a particular
geographical context that may be different for some readers, but also in depicting the
The final example, by Beth Bechky (2003), differentiates the “Methods” and “Analysis”
sections, subdividing methods into Research Site and Data Sources. The first two
paragraphs of “Research Site” provide detail about the site, “EquipCo,” that explicitly
develops its suitability for investigating cross-occupational knowledge sharing. She
explains,
DATA-THEORY COUPLING
In representing our fieldwork through data excerpts, we have the opportunity to bring
together the worlds of the field and academy. We are looking in two directions: toward
the research situation to the forms and processes of organizational life encountered in
the field, and toward the academy to the literature and processes of creating research
space for the study encountered in our writing. Underscoring this relationship between
depicting data and conveying their theorized significance, the literary critic Wayne
Booth (1961) distinguishes between “showing” and “telling.” He explains that the
“accumulation of accurately observed detail cannot satisfy us for long; only if the details
are made to tell, only if they are weighted with a significance” do they hold our attention
(p. 114). We show data and tell their significance. We theorize the fragments of life we
show. Consequently, primarily in the middle sections of our manuscripts, we couple
the fragments of organizational life with our theorizing as we develop storylines. The
life we portray is always theorized as, reciprocally, the theory we develop is always
contextualized. Here, we explore a few examples that illustrate how authors variously
relate the showing and telling of data in developing storylines.
Other aspects of the flow pattern are highlighted in the following excerpt
of a phone conversation between a social worker and her client, a
mother of four boys. The care that the social worker gave her client
was a rich concentration of each of the dimensions of caregiving. She
made a lot of time available to the woman, patiently inquired about and
attended to her story, showed respect and empathy for her effort and
struggles, supported her with information meant to empower her to
take control of her life, and offered such care consistently during the
conversation. Her end of the conversation included this passage:
I called to see how things are going. I'm glad you're able to use this
phone at work. How are the matches going? (Listens) Good. I'm glad.
How did you feel about that? (Listens) You sound like you handled
that well. (Listens) I'll get back to you about the free shoes we have. I
definitely have you in mind and will start to have a bit more time. Were
you able to apply to some of the housing projects I sent you information
about? (Listens) I'll keep my eye out and when I see things I'll send
them to you. (Listens) You have to remember to do something for
yourself. With four kids and another 100 at the day-care center during
the day, you have to do for yourself. Get together with other people,
adults at the Center. Make that a priority.
This passage shows the social worker patiently listening and inquiring
into her client's experience, making room for the woman to be present
emotionally (“How did you feel about that?”) and concretely (“Were you
able to apply?”).
This example begins by telling the dimensions of caregiving that flow between social
workers and their clients as situated in the phone conversation between a social worker
and her client, a mother of four boys. The author follows this telling with showing by
materializing those dimensions in the depiction of the actual phone conversation. He
returns at the conclusion of the excerpt to telling again, in his more general translation
of the caregiver's behavior. The distinction between telling and showing is further
highlighted by the manuscript's switching into a different font as the author changes
from narrating the theory in the voice of the observer and organizational scholar to
demonstrating it in the voice of an organizational actor, and back again.
Excerpt 5(E5) The students begin their meeting on the sixth day of an
11-day span.
2. Jack: I think you're right. We've already been talking about [X]. We
should be talking more about [Y].
4. (Bert agrees.)
(The group goes quickly through the outline members had prepared for
the meeting, noting changes and additions they want to make.)
As was also the case in the example of caregiving by a social worker, Connie Gersick
begins by making a theoretical point: The development of work teams is characterized
by a midpoint transition. Then, before proceeding to show the enactment of midpoint in
a particular work team, she directs readers to “notice” the elements of that transition,
time and change (in their behavior toward authority) in the fragment of team life that
she then presents. Finally, having shown the data of team life, she once again calls
readers’ attention to the element of time, and in so doing, underscores and advances
the theoretical framework.
Our first example of this form of coupling data and theory is the article by Jane Dutton
and Janet Dukerich (1991) examining how individuals and organizations make sense
of and enact “nontraditional and emotional strategic issues,” using the particular issue
of homelessness. A dominant portion of their empirical portrait, then, concerns showing
how the issue of homelessness changes in interpretation over time. The section,
“Interpretations of and Actions on Homelessness,” depicts five chronological phases,
distinguished by key events, major interpretations and major actions regarding the
homelessness issue. The data are both discussed in the text and summarized in a
figure depicting the history of the homelessness issue. In the next section, “The Role
of Organizational Identity and Image,” the authors develop the more general telling
component of the storyline, linking it to relevant literature.
Our second example is the article by James Barker (1993, pp. 419—433), which
examines the evolution of concertive control in self-managing teams from value
consensus to normative rules. The major portion of representing his field work is
the middle section, titled “The Development of Concertive Control” and subdivided
into sections denoting the three phases of development: “Consolidation and Value
Consensus,” “Emergence of Normative Rules,” and “Stabilization and Formalization
of the Rules.” These titles represent minimal telling as they arrange and link data
representation with the theorized storyline. Then, within each phase, James Barker
uses both employees’ words and his own to depict the emergent dynamics:
the workers knew that the change was coming, they still walked into
a whole new experience on Monday morning. Bonnie, an original ISE
employee, described the scene for me:
Well it was mass confusion. Nobody knew where they were sitting, what
team they were on. They had an idea of what was going on at that point
and what the team aspect was all about. As far as details, no idea! So,
basically, everybody was just kind of like WOW, this is kinda fun! (p.
419)
Thus, he details concrete events constituting this phase, for example, “Jack assigned
workers to the three new teams by drawing names out of a hat” and makes comments
still quite close to the events, such as, “The challenge for the teams during this phase
was learning how to work together and supervise themselves functionally.” Then, as
the description of the phase draws to a close, James Barker (1993) engages in more
general telling, as represented in the following comments:
Although there were slight differences, this value consensus and these
decision premises emerged powerfully and with remarkable consistency
across the new teams…
There were four key points in the consolidation phase… (pp. 422-424)
Our final example is Bob Gephart's (1993) study of disaster sensemaking. In a section
titled, “Analysis,” this article shows the data: individual stories of the disaster by the
assistant district manager, the worker, the district manager and the board. These stories
are conveyed more thoroughly in the accompanying tables. The stories are developed
in the text, primarily by showing verbatim, transcribed data, though some “telling” enters
near the end of each story in reflective comments about the data made by the author.
However, the “telling” explicitly begins with the subsection of “Key Words” in which
conceptually related clusters, for instance, rules and policies, and safety, are developed
from a textual analysis of the transcript data. Finally, the more general telling is found in
a separate section following Analysis, titled, “Summary of Findings.”
This complication is grounded in the field; it consists of a real-life problem that members
of a variety of organizations find significant. Which problems should be attended to
so that we can avoid catastrophe? This complication matters, and in its articulation,
places the field context central and figural to the article. To bring home the theoretical
significance of this issue, Barry Turner incorporates relevant literature on uncertainty
into his discussion. Note, however, that rather than problematizing that literature, he
uses it to contextualize the field complication. In this respect, he stories the theory.
He then proceeds to construct the theoretical complication, which is derived from the
field complication, and which we italicize in the excerpt below.
the problem at hand, using the term intelligence in its military sense.
Wilensky's criteria for high-quality intelligence are that it should be
“clear, timely, reliable, valid, adequate and wide-ranging.” … This is
excellent as a normative statement of what is desirable, but it does little
in practical situations to offer tests of clarity, timeliness, or adequacy
of intelligence. One means which Wilensky did put forward for tackling
these latter issues, however, is by the examination of failures of
intelligence, these being more important than failures of control. Taking
up this suggestion, this article considers the manner in which such an
approach could be used to begin to identify, as Wilensky (1967:121)
puts it, “the conditions that foster the failure of foresight…” (Turner,
1976, p. 379)
This time, the complication is grounded in the extant literature, and in particular, in the
work of Wilensky. However, the theoretical complication does not leave the field behind.
This time it is used as a context of relevance for the theory, grounded in how it helps
“practical situations.” Thus, the storyline embodies two central, figural complications—
one based in the field and the other in the literature—and implies that resolutions will be
developed for both. These complications are so integrally interwoven that it is difficult to
discern where one begins and the other ends.
Finally, Turner (1976) develops an added twist by complicating the complications, and
in so doing, renders them more significant for members of both the field and academic
worlds. He first defines the type of disasters that he will examine as those that “present
problems of explanation,” and then continues:
We want to continue reading in order to gain insight into how to prevent disasters and
organizational failures. Does he develop patterns, and if so, what are they? For it is
this insight into disasters, if disclosed, that resolves the significant complications. By
constructing a storyline that integrates cohering field and theoretical complications,
Barry Turner opens up his work and ideas to readers in both worlds.
In this chapter, we have explored some representational choices authors face when
drawing on fieldwork to develop theorized storylines. As authors, we have available to
us our vast field data, of ten reaching hundreds and even thousands of pages. Which of
the hundreds of collected experiences and stories do we select to write into our texts?
How do we incorporate our field engagement to develop—vitalize and enrich—our
theorized storylines? Edmonson (1984) points to the need for selectivity in the choice
of what from organizational life is to be included in our write-ups. These “condensed
examples” should not only illustrate theoretical insights, but also embody vividness
that brings the points alive in a way that evokes the human interest of readers. The
examples should draw readers into the organizational situations studied and invest
them in the storylines developed. We have shown how authors variously seek to
accomplish this in their texts through the construction of compelling beginnings, the
novel use of methodology sections, specified and coherent data-theory coupling, and
the creation of twin sets of complications based in the field and academy. Examples
such as those highlighted throughout this chapter develop the theorized storyline by
providing vivid and significant examinations of organizational life that connect with us as
readers.