My literacy narrative represents many contextualized challenges, educational influences, and personal experience I have not even fully explored. Beginning as a child of Sicilian immigrants struggling with early reading, through to my current role as an educator and scholar embracing artificial intelligence, my relationship with language and learning has been marked by some transformations. Reflecting on my responses, my narrative explores five fundamental aspects of my literacy development: the physical and creative dimensions of writing, the evolutionary nature of my reading practices, the intricate relationship between thinking and self-expression, the careful development of informed opinions, and the integration of artificial intelligence into academic practice. Through these lenses, my narrative reveals how early struggles with fundamental literacy turned into a deep appreciation for language’s ability to shape both personal expression and professional practice.
WRITING
What is your earliest memory of writing?
I have loose associations to my earliest writing memories. Whereas I know I was writing in the first grade, I have no recollection of enjoying or disliking it. It was something I had to do because I was instructed to do so. But I distinctly remember learning cursive in the second grade and preferring it to print ever since. Cursive felt freeing, a blend of style and personal aesthetics. Before I could write, I was already drawing—painting, coloring, and sketching were my creative outlets. In the fourth grade, my teacher required us to write in cursive using fountain pens for our journals. I disliked journaling, often rushing through or fabricating weekly entries to finish faster. However, I loved the experience of writing with a fountain pen. Interestingly, journaling has never appealed to me, even as an adult. As a psychotherapist, I rarely recommended it, though it’s a common tool in the field.
What is your earliest memory of being taught to write?
My earliest memories of being taught to write were academic and foundational—grammar (language arts), phonics, and spelling dominated the early years. It wasn’t until the fifth grade, when literature studies became a focus, that I encountered creative writing. This opened a new avenue for me, because it was one I thoroughly enjoyed and receiving encouraging feedback on in school. Around the same time, I discovered Anne Rice’s novels. Although wildly inappropriate for a ten-year-old, her storytelling kept me engaged and interested in reading. Reading about her writing process inspired my curiosity about storytelling and the craft of writing.
Did your parents read to you?
My parents didn’t read to me. They spoke limited English, having grown up in Sicily with little formal education. I recall my mom trying to read to me in kindergarten at my teacher’s suggestion, but it didn’t last. Instead, my brother—seven years older—became a sort of guide when I struggled with reading.
Did they have books lying around the house?
There were books in the house, mostly my brother’s. While he wasn’t a big reader, we had picture books and a set of encyclopedias. I remember flipping through the encyclopedias, fascinated by the images but unable to read the words. I’d stare at the pictures, wishing I could decipher the stories behind them.
Did you have an influential schoolteacher, and what do you remember of them?
In middle school, Ms. Lorraine Giardino stood out. She taught social studies, religious studies, and honors reading from fifth to eighth grade. An older teacher, she was funny, engaging, and creative in her teaching methods. Her history lessons often involved visual projects, and her reading exams required essays. Although her exams had a reputation for being tough, I felt confident tackling them. She instilled in me a sense of efficacy and curiosity that I carried forward.
What part did reading play in your development as a writer?
Reading has always been foundational to my growth as a writer. As a child, I was drawn to books because of my love for movies. I’d often seek out books that inspired the films I enjoyed. Now, as a scholar, reading is integral. Engaging with peer-reviewed literature shapes my understanding of discourse and enhances my ability to contribute meaningfully to academic conversations.
Did you ever read a précis or watch a movie instead of reading the book?
Rarely. I often chose to read the book even when others dismissed it in favor of the movie. However, I sometimes turned to cliff notes when time was tight—being a slow reader can be a challenge. One instance stands out: my seventh-grade teacher praised me for reading Margaret Mitchell’s Gone with the Wind. I noted that Scarlett O’Hara (Hamilton Kennedy Butler) had three children by three different men in the novel, a detail absent from the movie. That observation earned me some extra points.
Did you have an influential professor, and what do you remember of them?
Two professors left a lasting impression on me during my undergraduate years. Dr. Gordon G. Gallup, my thesis advisor, introduced me to the rigor of academic writing in psychology. His precision with language and emphasis on brevity were influential in my writing. Gordan Gallup also had an insatiable curiosity about psychology and exploring how to design studies to understand what seemed to be hundreds of inquiries that entered his mind daily. On the other hand, Dr. Jeffrey Berman, my English professor, brought a completely different approach to his teaching. In his senior seminar, Surviving Literary Suicide, he encouraged us to disagree with him in our essays—a first for me. He also shared student sentences anonymously in class for group critique. He would state that each sentence was good but could be improved. On two different occasions, he took a sentence I had written and proceeded to say: “A very good sentence. Perhaps a great sentence. A sentence that will be written by a future PhD student. How do we make it better?” He had been a professor for so long he knew which of his students were going to pursue doctoral work by just reading a sentence. That is mastery I wish I could emulate. I’ve had a PhD for well over a decade and still working on writing better sentences.
Describe your writing processes and behaviors.
I prefer writing in the morning when my mind feels sharpest, ideally with a cup of coffee. I don’t write linearly and often draft segments and pieces of my paper by hand. I find that peer-review processes don’t work as well for me, even though they are helpful when it comes to accountability or receiving feedback on my thoughts. There’s something tactile and satisfying about pen on paper, which makes revising and rewriting more deliberate. Pre-writing is essential—I brainstorm freely, knowing I can discard ideas that don’t serve the final draft. I view writing as an iterative process, one that thrives on flexibility and revision.
How do you teach writing?
My teaching methods vary depending on the audience. For technical writing, like biopsychosocial reports, I provide a structured framework and detailed feedback on drafts, allowing students to revise before grading. My feedback is extensive but individualized for each student. I even have them report on how they revised based on the feedback they received. They also need to disclose if and how they used AI to write their reports. For APA-style writing, I teach it as a genre, emphasizing its conventions and how they shape research communication. I typically teach this in my doctoral seminar courses, as I do not expect any of my students to read the manual—although I encourage them to read it. When working one-on-one with my doctoral students, I focus on personalized instruction. I focus on constructing arguments, addressing implications, and tailoring content to the intended audience they’re submitting their scholarly work to. Across all methods, I prioritize feedback and view writing as a skill that improves through practice and reflection.
READING
What is your earliest memory of reading?
A central memory in my life is struggling to learn how to read (or decoding, blending, phonemic awareness) as a child. No adult preemptively taught me (that I can recall although I’m sure there were attempts by adults to do so), and I don’t recall my parents reading to me. Then again, English wasn’t their first language—they were immigrants from Sicily with limited schooling, deferring to the school system to teach me. However, one vivid moment stands out: I was in first grade, early in the morning, and my older brother, who was in eighth grade, sat me down to help me. He used a rebus story from my first-grade textbook about animals on a farm. That moment wasn’t just about learning to read; it was about feeling supported and realizing I could figure it out.
What part does reading play in your writing?
Reading is essential to my writing, especially as a scholar participating in academic discourse. It is no doubt the golden rule of writing. One must read, and perhaps read voraciously. Writing isn’t an isolated act—it’s deeply connected to engaging with existing research, ideas, and debates. Reading provides inspiration and context. As an associate editor to a scholarly journal, I’ve become more attuned to how others construct their arguments and articulate their ideas. I notice common patterns and errors, which helps me refine my own writing and help me better teach my students. Reading critically sharpens my ability to write thoughtfully.
Have you ever read a summary or watched a movie instead of reading an assigned book?
Not as a child, but definitely as I went into high school and college. There wasn’t enough time to cover all that reading. As a middle schooler, I took pride in reading books, even if they were long or challenging. In seventh grade, I remember reading Margaret Mitchell’s Gone with the Wind and impressing my teacher by pointing out details from the book that weren’t in the movie—like Scarlett O’Hara having three children by three different men. It felt like proof of my commitment to fully immersing myself in a story.
Does listening to someone read a book provide you with the same experience as reading it yourself?
More so now than it did when I was younger. I enjoy audiobooks and appreciate the performances of professional actors or even authors who read their work. Hearing the cadence and tone intended by the writer adds a layer of meaning. Some authors, like Toni Morrison, Natalie Haynes, and Stephen Fry, are masterful at bringing their words to life. Listening doesn’t replace reading for me, but it complements it, especially when I’m on the road and keeping up with my daily step count.
OPINING
Do you have an opinion about the present state of the economy?
Not really—at least, not an informed one. I know my limitations in this area.
Do you have an opinion about NATO?
No, and again, it’s not informed enough to feel confident about discussing it at length.
Do you have an opinion about the relationship between sacrifice and faith?
This question makes me take pause. Sacrifice and faith are not something I’ve ever been deeply interested in.
Do you ever use words you can’t define?
I try to avoid using words unless I’m sure of their meaning. Precision matters to me, especially in writing and teaching, although I know I have used words incorrectly.
How comfortable are you with saying, “I don’t know”?
Perhaps incredibly comfortable with it, and I say it often. It’s an honest response that acknowledges my limitations. Context matters, of course. In academic settings, admitting I don’t know something opens the door to collaborative learning. But I’m also realistic—I don’t always make it a priority to immediately find answers. That said, tools like AI have made accessing information much easier, though sometimes the process of discovery still feels just as important as the answer itself.
THINKING
Do you have an internal monologue?
Yes, I unapologetically talk to myself regularly and spend much of my day engaged in an internal monologue. It’s most active when I’m at the gym, walking, or reflecting on work while working from home. These moments allow me to process ideas, analyze situations, and regulate my thoughts. I also drift into daydreaming and imagining, which is something I’ve done ever since I was a child.
Do you ever edit as you narrate to yourself?
Yes, I do, and while it may seem like a nasty habit (since writers are constantly told not to edit while writing and composing), I see it as a productive one. It’s part of my reflective process—it lets me revise my thoughts in real time, almost as if I’m self-editing for clarity or perspective. Psychologically, I might view it as a means of regulating myself, a way of refining not just what I think but how I think.
What is it like to think wordlessly?
I’ve always had an active visual imagination, but even my mental images often include words and dialogue. So, I find it difficult to think entirely wordlessly. Even sensory experiences like sounds and smells eventually translate into words or narratives in my mind. Words are central to how I process the world, though at times, they can feel invasive—taking over spaces where silence or pure imagery might suffice.
Is there a difference between rationalizing and thinking?
I believe there is a significant distinction, and my perspective is influenced by my background in psychology. Thinking encompasses a wide range of cognitive processes, such as reasoning, problem-solving, and imagining. Rationalizing, however, feels more specific to executive functioning—it’s a cognitive strategy we use to justify behaviors or thoughts, often when they may seem unacceptable or irrational. Rationalization can serve as a form of emotional regulation, but it’s also deeply rhetorical, as it often involves constructing logical-sounding explanations to align with personal or social norms.
AI-ING
Have you used AI?
Yes, I use AI regularly.
How many times?
I interact with AI daily—it’s integrated into many aspects of my personal and professional life as I find myself taking to Google and ChatGPT for all the random questions, thoughts, and debates I have on an ordinary day.
Toward what ends?
I use a variety of AI tools (e.g., ChatGPT, Claude, Perplexity, Google Gemini, Elicit) for different purposes: drafting emails, organizing class assignments, engaging in reflective conversations, and editing my written work. In scholarly and evaluation contexts, AI helps me improve efficiency, whether by streamlining tasks or generating ideas. It has become a valuable tool for problem-solving, brainstorming, and refining my workflow.
Current thoughts about it?
I fully embrace AI and am eager to learn how to integrate it more effectively into my pedagogical and professional work. I especially want to improve my ability to craft prompts and use them more efficiently, which I see as a skill in its own right. However, I’ve observed that many of my students and colleagues aren’t as comfortable using AI, and I want to find ways to bridge that gap. Teaching students how to use AI efficiently—particularly for their written projects—is a priority for me. I view it as an essential tool for navigating academic and professional spaces.
