Archive for category: Business

Paper must cover the country of Bulgaria and how it relates to the united states.

1. The GBCA has only four required sections. Only the four required sections will earn credit in terms of content page count.

2. A minimum of 24-pages of content is required, this number excludes the title page, abstract, references, and conclusion. Thus each page of content is worth 12.5% of the total grade; thus, 12.5 points will be deducted for each page of content missing (refer to point 1 above).

The following questions are the four sections described above.

• What are the major elements and dimensions of culture in this region? (See Chapter 2 of the textbook for a list of the required dimensions.)

The major elements and dimensions of culture that must be covered are.

1. Communication
2. Religion
3. Ethics
4. Values and Attitudes
5. Manners and Customs
6. Social Structures and Organizations

• How are these elements and dimensions integrated by locals conducting business in the nation?

• How do both of the above items compare with US culture and business?

• What are the implications for US businesses that wish to conduct business in that region?

Week 4 – Assignment
Market Structures and Pricing Decisions Applied
Problems
Please complete the following two applied problems:
Problem 1:
Robert’s New Way Vacuum Cleaner Company is a newly started small business that produces vacuum
cleaners and belongs to a monopolistically competitive market. Its demand curve for the product is
expressed as Q = 5000 – 25P where Q is the number of vacuum cleaners per year and P is in dollars.
Cost estimation processes have determined that the firm’s cost function is represented by TC = 1500 +
20Q + 0.02Q2.
Show all of your calculations and processes. Describe your answer for each question in complete
sentences, whenever it is necessary.
a. What are the profit-maximizing price and output levels? Explain them and calculate algebraically for
equilibrium P (price) and Q (output). Then, plot the MC (marginal cost), D (demand), and MR
(marginal revenue) curves graphically and illustrate the equilibrium point.
b. How much economic profit do you expect that Robert’s company will make in the first year?
c. Do you expect this economic profit level to continue in subsequent years? Why or why not?
Problem 2:
Greener Grass Company (GGC) competes with its main rival, Better Lawns and Gardens (BLG), in the
supply and installation of in-ground lawn watering systems in the wealthy western suburbs of a major
east-coast city. Last year, GGC’s price for the typical lawn system was $1,900 compared with BLG’s
price of $2,100. GGC installed 9,960 systems, or about 60% of total sales and BLG installed the rest.
(No doubt many additional systems were installed by do-it-yourself homeowners because the parts are
readily available at hardware stores.)
GGC has substantial excess capacity–it could easily install 25,000 systems annually, as it has all the
necessary equipment and can easily hire and train installers. Accordingly, GGC is considering
expansion into the eastern suburbs, where the homeowners are less wealthy. In past years, both GGC
and BLG have installed several hundred systems in the eastern suburbs but generally their sales
efforts are met with the response that the systems are too expensive. GGC has hired you to
recommend a pricing strategy for both the western and eastern suburb markets for this coming season.
You have estimated two distinct demand functions, as follows:
Qw =2100 – 6.25Pgw + 3Pbw + 2100Ag – 1500Ab + 0.2Yw
for the western market and
Qe = 36620 – 25Pge + 7Pbe + 1180Ag – 950Ab + 0.085Ye
for the eastern market, where Q refers to the number of units sold; P refers to price level; A refers to
advertising budgets of the firms (in millions); Y refers to average disposable income levels of the
potential customers; the subscripts w and e refer to the western and eastern markets, respectively; and
the subscripts g and b refer to GGC and BLG, respectively. GGC expects to spend $1.5 million (use Ag
= 1.5) on advertising this coming year and expects BLG to spend $1.2 million (use Ab = 1.2) on
advertising. The average household disposable income is $60,000 in the western suburbs and $30,000
in the eastern suburbs. GGC does not expect BLG to change its price from last year because it has
already distributed its glossy brochures (with the $2,100 price stated) in both suburbs, and its TV
commercial has already been produced. GGC’s cost structure has been estimated as TVC = 750Q +
0.005Q2, where Q represents single lawn watering systems.
Show all of your calculations and processes. Describe your answer for each item below in complete
sentences, whenever it is necessary.
a. Derive the demand curves for GGC’s product in each market.
b. Derive GGC’s marginal revenue (MR) and marginal cost (MC) curves in each market. Show
graphically GGC’s demand, MR, and MC curves for each market.
c. Derive algebraically the quantities that should be produced and sold, and the prices that should be
charged, in each market.
d. Calculate the price elasticities of demand in each market and discuss these in relation to the prices
to be charged in each market.
e. Add a short note to GGC management outlining any reservations and qualifications you may have
concerning your price recommendations.
Carefully review the Grading Rubric (http://ashford.waypointoutcomes.com/assessment/3739/preview)
for the criteria that will be used to evaluate your assignment.
Stuck on a problem? Don’t skip that assignment – click the button to
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Waypoint Assignment
Submission
The assignments in this course will be submitted to Waypoint. Please refer to the instructions below to
submit your assignment.
1. Click on the Assignment Submission button below. The Waypoint “Student Dashboard” will open
in a new browser window.
2. Browse for your assignment.
3. Click Upload.
4. Confirm that your assignment was successfully submitted by viewing the appropriate week’s
assignment tab in Waypoint.
For more detailed instructions, refer to the Waypoint Tutorial
(https://content.bridgepointeducation.com/curriculum/file/dc358708-3d2b-41a6-a000-
ff53b3cc3794/1/Waypoint%20Tutorial.pdf)
(https://content.bridgepointeducation.com/curriculum/file/dc358708-3d2b-41a6-a000-
ff53b3cc3794/1/Waypoint%20Tutorial.pdf) .
Load Week 4 – Assignment in a new window

Strategic Outsourcing at Bharti Airtel Limited
Budgeting for capital expenditures was a nightmare. Every time we had a change in the network plan we were forced to go back to the vendor and start over. . . . We would have three or four reviews per year. . . . It showed a real conflict of interest between the operator and the vendor.
— Akhil Gupta, June 2005
Akhil Gupta, joint managing director of Bharti Airtel Limited (the Indian telecommunications firm formerly known as Bharti Tele-Ventures Limited), dropped a newly penned purchase agreement with network suppliers into his inbox, but Gupta did not feel like celebrating. It was early 2004, and the deal had taken three months and a quarter of his time to finalize. Bharti’s customer base was growing 100% per year, and it was a huge challenge to keep pace with network expansion. Very soon Bharti Airtel would be back at the negotiating table for the fourth time in 12 months. “Budgeting and the tendering1 process for network expansion is taking up a tremendous amount of management time and bandwidth—bandwidth that is needed elsewhere,” said Gupta.
Managing the firm’s IT capital expenditures was another challenge. As Gupta explained:
Our CIO would come to me with a budget, reflecting that the equipment we bought in the last couple of years was no longer of much use; the new software wouldn’t run on it. This was painful because we realized that we spent $15 to $20 million and there was already talk of throwing it away because its only use was as a mail server. That’s a heck of an expensive mail server!
In the midst of these wildly unpredictable expenditures, Gupta felt that Bharti badly needed a lean and predictable cost model:
We want to exploit the potential of 300–400 million Indian phone customers. Their purchasing power is relatively low compared to the U.S. and Europe—there is no way our average customer will pay $10 a month for this service. We need a lot of customers with $4 and $5 revenues per month. If we had a reliable, predictable usage-linked cost structure then we could become the lowest-cost producer of minutes not only in India but perhaps in the world.
1 Soliciting vendors’ bids for contracts. ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
From the inbox, Gupta’s eye strayed over to the opposite side of his desk. There in the corner was the plan that he and his team hoped, would solve his capital expenditures nightmares. This plan consisted of two outsourcing proposals: one to Bharti’s key telecom network equipment vendors, Ericsson, Nokia, and Siemens; and the other to its IT equipment vendor, IBM. The documents proposed completely handing over the buildup and management of Bharti’s telecom and IT network to these vendors. Gupta explained:
For the first time in telecom history, perhaps anywhere in the world, the network equipment vendor and the operator would be on the same side of the table. Right now, the equipment vendors make more money when they sell more boxes to us, whereas we needed to ensure that we buy fewer boxes but get maximum capacity and coverage to stay competitive. This [caused] an inherent conflict of interest between the two of us. I felt that we needed a completely different equation.
Although Sunil Mittal, the company’s chairman and managing director, had given Gupta free rein to investigate the idea with his colleagues and vendors, thus far he had encountered either stunned
silence or outright resistance. “They reacted as if I had suggested giving the family jewels to outsiders,” said Gupta. The vendors, on the other hand, were worried about taking on additional risk. He wondered whether he would be able to overcome the objections of his colleagues and the vendors and make this idea work.
Bharti History and Background
Mittal founded Bharti in 1995 with $900 in start-up capital.2 Mittal was an entrepreneur who had created and successfully managed several businesses, including a bicycle components business, a portable generator import business, and a venture with Siemens to produce telephone equipment. His goal in creating Bharti Airtel Limited was to take advantage of the liberalization of the Indian telecom market and to bid for a government license to operate the first private mobile telecom service in the Delhi area. Bharti won the government tender and immediately launched its service, known as “Airtel,” using the GSM (Global System for Mobile communications technology).
In the first eight years of its existence, Bharti grew by having what Mittal called “a single-minded devotion to the project and the industry.” As he also put it, ”Our business is telecom and nothing else.”3 Bharti was the first private provider on the market in Delhi and, in 1998, was India’s first private provider to turn a profit.4
As part of its drive for continuous expansion, Bharti aggressively pursued the acquisition of licenses for mobile operations in other geographic regions, or “circles.”5 This strategy required ever- greater capital inflows. In 1999, Bharti sold a 20% equity interest to the private equity firm Warburg Pincus. Soon after, New York Life Insurance Fund, the Asian Infrastructure Group, the International Finance Corporation (IFC), and SingTel6 all acquired equity interests in Bharti. In 2002, Bharti went public on the Indian National Stock Exchange, the Mumbai (Bombay) Exchange, and the Delhi Stock
2 IBM website, www.ibm.com/news/us/en/2005/05/Business_Leadership_Forum.html, accessed May 10, 2006.
3 Krishna Palepu, Tarun Khanna, and Ingrid Vargas, “Bharti Tele-Ventures,” HBS No. 704-426 (Boston: Harvard Business School Publishing, 2003). Original source: Sunil Mittal quoted in Chakravarti, “Tour de Telecom.”
4 Ibid.
5 Telecom service in India was divided into geographical areas, called circles, for the purpose of awarding mobile and fixed- line telephone licenses.
6 SingTel: Singapore Telecommunications Limited, a large Singapore-based telecommunications group.
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Exchange, raising $172 million in its initial public offering (IPO). In total, Bharti raised over $1 billion through foreign direct investments by the end of 2002.7
The capital inflow allowed Bharti to finance its next stage of growth. In 2001–2002, it obtained mobile licenses for 15 out of India’s 23 total circles and also obtained fixed-line licenses for six of them. In addition, leveraging its arrangements with SingTel, Bharti subsequently obtained licenses to become
the first private telecommunications service provider in India to launch national and international long-distance service.
By 2003, Bharti was present in all of the major economic and industrial centers—representing 91% of all mobile users in India (see Exhibit 9). It was also targeting growth in the remaining eight circles, even those in the most remote regions. Mittal and his team anticipated achieving full coverage of India by 2005.
From a financial perspective, Bharti’s position had significantly improved. March 2004 year-end results showed revenues of $1,113.4 million, a 100% increase over 2003. Able to take advantage of the economies of scale due to its larger network, Bharti improved its operating margins from negative (–2.25%) in 2003 to 16.9% in 2004. And while it had suffered a net loss in 2003, the next year saw a net income of $117 million. Return on equity in 2004 was nearly 12%. (Highlights of Bharti’s year-end financial statements in March 2004 are shown in Exhibits 1 and 2.)
Bharti Management and Organization
Bharti, like many of the large Indian industrials, was a family- or close to family-run business. Sunil Mittal was chairman and group managing director of Bharti Airtel Limited. His brother Rakesh Mittal was a board director; Rajan Mittal, another brother, was the joint managing director, overseeing the functional directors of marketing, business development, corporate affairs, and corporate development.
Gupta had known the Mittals for many years and was with Bharti Airtel from its inception. A chartered accountant with a degree from Delhi University, he was CFO from 1995 to 2000, becoming joint managing director in 2001. As joint managing director and CFO, Gupta had responsibility for overseeing the functional directors of finance, information technology, special projects, and regulatory and secretarial concerns. (Bharti’s organization chart as of February 2004 is shown in Exhibit 3.)
Indian Market for Telecommunications
Prior to the 1990s, the Indian telecommunications environment showed very little change from the 1950s. It took several months, sometimes years, to install a telephone in a home or business, and mobile phones were a foreign luxury. “Even up to 1995, the biggest favor anyone could do for you in India was to get you a phone,” said Gupta.8
In 1991, India embarked on a policy of economic liberalization, opening up the sector to private competition and foreign investment. Private telecom firms could tender for licenses to operate in each of 23 designated circles. In 1989, before liberalization, there were 4.2 million telephone subscribers; by
7 The equity funds received by Bharti were classified as foreign direct investment and required approval from the Foreign Investment Promotion Board (FIPB) and the Reserve Bank of India (RBI), two of the bodies governing the inflow and outflow of funds in India.
8 Interviews with Ahkil Gupta, June 2005.
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2003, telephone subscriptions numbered 54 million, and India’s telecom network had become the eighth largest in the world.9 Total Indian telecom revenue for 2003 was $8.5 billion and was growing at 17% per annum.10
Wireless services contributed about 18% of the $8.5 billion in telecom revenues (see Exhibit 4 for breakdown).11 Estimates for the wireless market through 2008 showed the market growing from US$1.5 billion to US$10.9 billion.12
Most Indian mobile operators had adopted one of the 2G (2nd generation) technologies—either GSM or CDMA. By 2003, it appeared that India would soon jump to 3G technologies, or at least to 2.5G technologies.13 Value-added services—including data transmission, short message service (SMS), games, ring tones, and ring-back tones (different kinds of music that the caller would hear)— were already being offered in urban areas.
Aside from the growth in 3G, huge potential remained in the development of basic phone services. The number of telephone connections (fixed and mobile) per 100 inhabitants in India in 2003 was fewer than six, whereas among all but four OECD countries it was over 100.14 Customer demand for telecom connections increased daily, and many were bypassing fixed lines and going straight to cell phones. In 2003, over 1.5 million people were signing up for cell phones every month.15
Unlike European and American operators, Indian operators chose to sell mobile phones and mobile telephone services separately. As a result, there was no handset subsidies burden on the operator. Mobile services were sold either on a postpaid or prepaid basis. About 60% of the business was prepaid—cards allowing the customer to recharge his telephone with telephone time were sold in kiosks, drugstores, and small convenience stores. The remaining 40% of the business was postpaid, for businesspeople or business customers who were billed for their telephone use on a monthly basis.16
Market Competition
By 2002–2003, the Indian market had grown highly competitive. Mobile rates were as low as three to four U.S. cents per minute, and ARPU—the average monthly revenue per customer unit—had fallen by 50% in three years as telecom providers fought to capture new subscribers. 17 The top
9 PricewaterhouseCoopers, “Telecommunication,” India Brand Equity Foundation, 2004, www.ibef.org. “Current Issue and Trend in Indian Mobile Market,” Report # 04025.
10 JM Morgan Stanley Equity Research Asia-Pacific, Bharti Tele-Ventures Ltd., June 9, 2005. 11 Ibid. 12 Ibid.
13 3G mobile technology for mobile telephony is analogous to broadband technology for fixed line in that it provides a similar level of enhanced service—rapid data transfer and the capacity to manage all manner of communication (video, voice, data, multimedia). 2.5G technologies are improvements to 2G technologies that provide many of the same advantages as the 3G technologies.
OECD,
14 http://caliban.sourceoecd.org/vl=4373012/cl=20/nw=1/rpsv/factbook/06-03-02.htm, accessed August 2, 2006.
OECD Factbook 2006—Economic, Environmental and Social Statistics. Published by Source
15 “Current Issue and Trend in Indian Mobile Market,” Report # 04025. Research on Asia Group 2003. 16 Ibid. 17 Ibid.
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competitors were able to lower their unit costs as their market shares increased through acquisitions or bankruptcy of smaller competitors.
By 2003, there were seven major operators in the Indian telecommunications market: Bharti, BSNL, Hutchinson, Reliance, Tata, Idea Cellular, and MTNL. Bharti and three others had operations in both the fixed and mobile segments. The others operated only in the mobile segment. There were also several strong regional mobile operators, such as Spice and BPL.
With industry consolidation, the focus was switching from having a national footprint to having the ability to provide value-added services. Operators needed 2.5G or 3G technologies to provide those services, and the transition upward from 2G represented a major capital investment challenge for any telecom operator. It was thought by some observers that the strong capital resources of players such as Reliance or Tata might give them a competitive advantage over the other operators.
Exhibit 6 describes each of Bharti’s top competitors. Exhibit 7 breaks down market share by competitor.
Bharti’s Telecommunications Network
By 2003, Bharti had obtained licenses for mobile operations in 15 out of the total 23 circles. It had a 25% market share of the total Indian mobile market and 6 million mobile subscribers. In fixed-line services, it had 1 million customers and licenses for six circles. Upcoming regulatory changes would also allow Bharti to expand wire-line services into any of the circles in which it held a wireless license. Growth in both sectors—wire line and wireless—was expected to be exponential over the coming 18 months as Bharti obtained licenses and built up operations to achieve nationwide coverage.
Operations and Service
Bharti’s operations were structured into three strategic business units (see Exhibit 8 for a detailed breakdown):
• Mobile Services: Providing 64% of Bharti revenues, this unit was where Bharti had achieved the most in terms of market dominance and customer service. In six out of 15 regions, Bharti had over 40% market share. It focused on providing excellent customer service through “error-free” service (low call drop rates, broad coverage, etc.), cost efficiency, and innovation in new products and services. Bharti offered postpaid or prepaid billing options, BlackberryTM service, conferencing, fax and data transmission, and other services such as jokes, games, news, and even astrology via the mobile phone.
• Long-Distance, Group Data, and Enterprise: Providing 30% of revenues, these services allowed Bharti to leverage its recently completed high-speed fiber-optic network. This network spanned 24,000 kilometers (kms) and connected almost all the major cities in the country. Bharti could now provide “end-to-end service,” broadband, long-distance, videoconferencing, and dedicated data and voice line services to business customers.
• Broadband and Telephone Services: Providing 16% of revenues, this unit provided wire-line- based telephone services in six circles and broadband services in all major economic centers. Broadband-related services included DSL to homes and businesses, WiFi, virtual private network (VPN), and video surveillance.
Ten percent of revenues pertained to intersegment eliminations.
5
Technology and Development
By March 2004, Bharti’s mobile network connected 1,400 towns using GSM technology. By the end of 2007, Bharti expected to have GSM service up and running in all the 5,161 census towns. To meet this objective, 100 towns per month on average were to be brought into the system.
Bharti had roughly 5,000 base stations at the end of March 2004. In order to accommodate the required demand for service by March 2007, that number would need to jump to 40,000 and would require the hiring of over 2,000 to 3,000 people to build and maintain them.18
Bharti had also begun deploying EDGE, a 2.5G GSM-compatible technology that allowed it to upgrade its services to 3G performance levels. This was first done in Mumbai and would later be introduced elsewhere in the network. (See Exhibit 9 for Bharti’s mobile footprint as of mid-2003.)
Bharti’s long-distance network used fiber-optic cables around India. It was present in the international carrier business through the group’s participation in the i2i undersea cable system—a joint venture with SingTel. Its international capacity had been further enhanced by a joint venture it had entered into with SingTel and 13 other telecom groups for the construction of SEA-ME-WE4, the Singapore-France submarine cable.
Bharti’s Relationships with Its Vendors
As Bharti’s presence in the Indian market grew, so did the number of relationships Bharti had with network suppliers. Its initial GSM network was set up with the help of Ericsson. By early 2003, Bharti was also working with Nokia and Siemens, among others. Bharti purchased equipment, installation, and maintenance services from each of these suppliers in one or more of the regional circles in which it was present.
Because the GSM technology was a very open standard, Bharti was comfortable working with several suppliers and could change suppliers if the services offered by one proved unsatisfactory. “In today’s telecom world, it’s very easy, because everything is ‘plug and play,’” said Gupta. This also meant that the environment was very competitive between telecom vendors. As Sunil Mittal explained, “Every six months there was a fresh tender for network expansion. There used to be a parade with one vendor playing against another.”19
Along with the operations teams, Gupta managed the process of tendering, negotiating, and working with the vendors to install the expanded capacity, but he was uncomfortable with the results. “Typically in the industry, these vendors will sell you a list of components, ‘boxes’—an MSC [a switching station], a BSC [a base station], etc.,” said Gupta. There was an inherent conflict of interest in this approach since the vendors always tried to sell more equipment, while the operator wanted
maximum coverage and capacity with as little equipment as possible. A typical network used only 60% to 70% of its installed capacity at any point of time. “What we needed was capacity— erlangs,” Gupta said. Erlangs were a measure of telecom traffic. One erlang equaled a circuit that was occupied for 60 minutes in a busy hour.
Industry practice was to purchase about 30% to 40% excess capacity in order to keep one step ahead of customer demand and to compensate for the estimation error of models used to predict capacity of different network configurations. For the telecom operator, that also meant purchasing
18 Shelley Singh and Rajeev Dubey, “The man who gave away his network,” by Business World India, October 4, 2004, www.businessworldindia.com/oct0404/coverstory01.asp., accessed May 12, 2005.
19 Company source.
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more sites, installing electricity in those sites (generators and air conditioners, if necessary), hiring staff to maintain the sites and, of course, installing the telecom equipment required. For Bharti, in terms of capital assets on its balance sheet, the 30% excess capacity through 2007 would represent something in the range of $300 million to $400 million.20 Financial requirements were not Bharti’s only concern; there was also the delay, which the firm could ill afford given its rapid growth, between the time that the need for additional capacity was identified and the time that the additional capacity could be up and running. The process of planning, tendering, financing, purchasing, and installing could take anywhere from six months to a year.
IT Requirements
Bharti needed an IT network that could scale up to match the size of the organization it projected to become in a few years. “There was the problem of scalability in our system. With the very rapid growth, we would soon be making decisions that could not be altered later on and for which we might be sorry,” Dr. Jai Menon, group CIO for Bharti, explained.
Bharti looked increasingly to its vendors to provide expertise in integrated systems design. “Our core competency was in operations, not IT design, and thus we could not do much of the architecture software and hardware design we required,” said Menon.
Generally speaking, Bharti’s IT requirements fell into one of three categories:
1. The telecom network systems and software. These specifically related to the basic functioning of the telecom connection and switching system.
2. Customer management information systems that allowed for the collection of data on customer use, service quality, and network reliability, and programs that gave customers access to value-added services such as ring tones or Java games.
3. Business-support software and hardware architectures, including internal programs such as billing, security, user programs, Internet access, and human resources or financial databases and systems.
Bharti contracted with IBM, Sun Microsystems, HP, and Oracle for business-support software and hardware architectures and customer management systems. Bharti’s IT infrastructure was further complicated by the fact that it had inherited other IT systems—frequently incompatible with existing ones—through acquisitions of telecom operators. The company had also been forced to look outside of its established vendors for certain applications they did not offer, such as fraud management. Unfortunately, many of these arrangements could be described as “fragmented bubbles of outsourcing,” as Menon put it. Many were incompatible and could not be built upon to meet Bharti’s anticipated requirements. As a result, Bharti knew that it was facing huge up-front investments in IT in order to get the right architecture in place and ready to support its growth over the next 10 years.
Human Resources Issue
Related to both IT and network development requirements was the question of human resource scarcity. With constant growth in the market, Bharti was finding it more and more difficult to hire and retain the best and the brightest. In network development alone, Bharti would need to hire 2,000– 3,000 people to accompany network development in 2004. As Gupta put it: “Think of it from the
20 Ibid.
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perspective of a talented IT or telecom guy. Would you rather go work for one of the world’s top multinational firms, large in size and reputation, or for a local upcoming operator like us?”
Bharti’s Proposed Deal
In the folder on the corner of his desk, Gupta had the proposed outlines of a two-pronged outsourcing structure for Bharti with its vendors. Gupta’s strategy included handing over responsibility for the buildup, maintenance, and servicing of the telecom network to equipment vendors. Gupta and his people were talking with Nokia, Siemens, and Ericsson as potential partners. In addition, Gupta was planning to outsource the buildup, maintenance, and servicing of Bharti’s core IT infrastructure to IBM. Other vendors besides IBM had been considered, but discussions had gone the farthest with IBM since few IT vendors had experience handling all of the aspects of the proposed deal.
Below are excerpts from each proposal:
Ericsson, Nokia, and Siemens:
• The vendor will provide Bharti with network capacity—erlangs—in accordance with Bharti’s projected erlang requirements in each of the circles in which Bharti operates and for which they are responsible according to this agreement. In exchange, Bharti agrees to pay the vendor a fee according to the amount of erlang capacity installed. The actual payment for network capacity will be made only when the capacity is up and running and has been used by Bharti customers, thereby excluding payment for unused capacity at any point in time.
• Once erlang capacity is installed, ownership of the assets responsible for producing that capacity belongs to Bharti. The responsibility for maintaining the network in good working
order, however, rests with the equipment supplier under an operations and management (O & M) agreement.
• In order to ensure the quality of Bharti’s service to its end customers, network capacity provided by equipment suppliers will be subject to a number of quality controls specified in service level agreements (SLAs). These are measures of network quality, such as the number of dropped calls and the number of incomplete calls, that will be determined jointly by Bharti and the equipment supplier. [Penalties and rewards linked to quality achieved were provided.]
• This agreement is to be for an initial period of three years, subject to renewal by mutual agreement.
IBM:
 IBM will provide Bharti with complete and comprehensive end-to-end management service for supplying, installing, and managing all of its hardware and software requirements as concerns the basic IT architecture of the company and all of the applications needed to operate it. The outsourcing includes everything from the computer on the desktop all the way up to the mainframe, but excludes all telecom network-specific structures and networks. It includes all internal customer service and all negotiations with external software and hardware suppliers. It also includes the maintenance of all hardware and software, including those provided by other vendors such as security, data warehousing, fraud management, business intelligence, human resource management, financial, and enterprise management systems and software, among various others.
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• In order to ensure the quality of Bharti’s service to its employees and end customers, IBM services will be subject to a number of quality controls specified in the SLAs, such as hotline customer satisfaction and new application implementation delays. [In the network proposal, a penalty and reward mechanism was provided for.]
• In exchange for these services, Bharti agrees to pay IBM a share of its revenues. This agreement is to last for a period of five years, renewable for another five years, for a total of 10 years. The percentage of revenue shared will progressively decline as overall revenue increases.
In discussing the proposals with his vendors, Gupta made it understood that the Bharti personnel presently carrying out tasks that would be taken over by the vendors would be transferred to the vendor in question. A network manager at Bharti today, for example, would become an Ericsson, Nokia, or Siemens employee tomorrow. Should the proposal be accepted by the vendors, around 270 IT staff and 800 network staff could be transferred out of Bharti.
Reactions at Bharti
Don Price, the CTO of Bharti’s Mobile Services, was one of the first with whom the new idea was discussed. He had been in the mobile telecommunications business from its inception in the U.S. with McCaw Communications and was one of the most experienced CTOs in the world. He had never seen such an arrangement before and had expressed serious reservations about handing over network management and operations to the vendors. “The vendors may have access to the world’s best technology, but we have the operating expertise,” said Price. He grumbled, wondering whether “the financial ‘eggs’ with no network operations experience thought this one up. Operations . . . it’s our bread and butter.”
The IT and marketing departments were concerned that software or hardware applications not supported by IBM would no longer be available. Would IBM be willing to work fairly with other vendors, or would the agreement mean that Bharti would no longer have access to certain creative new applications? They were also concerned about the implications the deal would have on the time to market of new IT-based services for customers. “OK, give the large fundamental innovation to IBM . . . but keep the quick shots in-house!” was what one senior marketing manager had to say.
Meanwhile, the human resources department was wondering how they would manage the transfer of nearly 1,000 staff members. Some staff might not want to be transferred, or perhaps the vendors might not want to take them. One manager worried: “Bharti is a much smaller company, an Indian company. We have a different way of working with people—India is not a hire-and-fire country. The vendors are much bigger, and they’re worldwide companies. The cultures are different. Our staff identifies itself closely with Bharti. How are they going to take being transferred elsewhere?”
Reactions within the company ranks were mild when compared with comments Gupta received after presenting the project to the board of directors. Many were longtime telecom industry practitioners, and to them it was difficult to justify changing from the accepted practices. Gupta had heard one board member comment, “What makes you think that Bharti, an upstart in this industry, could teach the world what to do?” The main concern expressed by all of the board members was the risk of excessive dependence upon the vendors. Gupta recalled the prevailing sentiment of the board: “You will become their slaves.” In response to their concerns, SingTel—which was represented on the board—sent a group of experts in to evaluate the project. “Needless to say, the initial reaction of the board was not highly supportive—in fact, the general feeling was negative,” explained Gupta.
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Vendor Reactions
Initial reactions from vendors were mixed. They liked the opportunity to do more business with a major player—Bharti—but they were concerned with the risks and the need to get ”buy-in” from the top levels in their organization. A major concern was that they might be stuck with important investments in network equipment that they made on behalf of Bharti in the event that Bharti did not use the equipment. If Bharti was transferring the equipment investment risk to the vendors, what was the upside in the deal for them? It was unlikely that they would be able to increase equipment prices to cover all the increased risk.
They were also concerned with absorbing hundreds of Bharti employees. Some of the vendors had very light organizations that would be overwhelmed with such a sudden expansion in the number of employees. Besides the sheer numbers, there was a question of managing the corporate cultural mix. “Our cultures, values, and systems are somewhat different,” they fretted.
Of course, there were dangers in not signing with Bharti. Bharti would be growing very fast over the next few years. If the vendors turned down this business now, making it look as if they were unwilling to take risks in India, they might later be locked out of lucrative deals not only with Bharti, but perhaps with other operators as well. With the impressive growth projected for the market, most vendors were
looking to increase their operations and their market share in India. Nokia, for example, had very little business with Bharti and was behind Ericcson in terms of market share in India. Ericcson, on the other hand, was anxious to lock in its position with Bharti, with which it had been dealing since 1995.
IBM also had concerns about the deal. Although it was keen to develop worldwide partnerships with major clients per its international “on-demand” strategy, it had until now not even envisaged a revenue share arrangement with a client. If IBM were to take a percentage of Bharti’s revenues in exchange for its equipment and services, it would have to forecast Bharti’s revenue growth in order to estimate how much it would get paid over the next five to 10 years. Yet the investments in IT hardware, software, and people on behalf of Bharti would have to be made by IBM today. To them, it represented a major and unfamiliar risk.
Overall, this meant that IBM needed to be fairly sure of Bharti’s future success. Although it knew from experience that there was a strong association between a company’s success and the quality of its IT network, IBM could not be certain that its investment in this project today would improve Bharti’s chances for success in the future. In fact, IBM’s deal with Bharti felt more like betting on a horse in a horse race. IBM was hoping that the signs were right and that Bharti would be a winning horse.

• The mobile phone: The mobile phone consists of two parts, the phone itself and the SIM card. SIM stands for subscriber identity module. The SIM card is inserted into the phone and is basically a memory chip or a ”smart card” with the user’s identity codes and some specific user information such as frequently called numbers or ring tones. The SIM card also allows the user to switch phones without completely reprogramming his handset.
• The base substation: This is the first link in the connection between the mobile set and the telephone network. There are two parts to the base substation. The first, the base transceiver station, is really just a big tower with antennas on top. There are always at least two towers— one for inbound and one for outbound transmission.
The second part to the base substation, the base station controller, manages communication and transmissions between the base transceiver stations and the rest of the network, notably the switching station. One base station can manage up to several hundred base transceiver stations. A base transceiver station can cover an area of 30 to 40 square kms, but if it is located in a congested area, the coverage is much smaller.
Cellular networks get their name for the pattern in which base transceiver stations are distributed around the base controller station and the pattern by which the network is added to as the user requirements increase. Cellular networks take the form of a honeycomb. As can be seen from the diagram below, the transceiver stations are arranged around the controller station with the controller station at three of the points in the honeycomb. If additional coverage is needed, additional antennas are added on the transceiver station. An antenna that
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previously operated on a 120-degree basis would now only operate on 60 degrees; the new antennas would take over the remaining 60 degrees.b
The network substation: Data from the base substation comes into the network substation through the mobile services switching center (MSC). From the switching center information is communicated either to other base substations in the network, to other mobile systems, or to a fixed-line system for connection to the intended party.
The mobile services switching center has several databases at its disposal that provide information and validate identities of the caller before passing the communication on. They include:
• Home location register (HLR)—a database with information about subscribers including their identity and service profile
• Visitor location register (VLR)—a database also containing information about subscribers, but with more specific data concerning their whereabouts. During a call it provides information on where to find a subscriber.
• Authentication center (AC)—acts as an interface between the switching center and the HLR and the VLR, allowing the process of user verification and location to be carried out
• Equipment identity register (EIR)—a database containing the list of all valid mobile equipment in the networkc
Source: Various websites as noted. aCompiled by casewriter based on information from www.coai.in/aboutus-technology.htm, accessed May 20, 2005.
bCompiled by casewriter based on information from www.privateline.com/Cellbasics/Cellbasics02.html., accessed January 5, 2006.
cCompiled by casewriter based on information from www.privateline.com/PCS/GSMNetworkstructure.html, accessed May 20, 2005.
Exhibit 6 Indian Telecom Competitors
Bharti competed with six major operators in the Indian market, as follows:
BSNL:
Former monopoly and still a state-owned business. The oldest telecom operator in the country, its fixed-line operations were omnipresent. In 2003, BSNL still had a subscription base representing 86% of the fixed-line market. It was expected that its market share in fixed-line operations would decline to 58% by 2008 but that its market share in mobiles would rise from 16% in 2003 to 22% by 2008. Overall, it would remain a strong player.a
MTNL:
Set up in 1986 to facilitate the upgrading of telecom services to the metropolitan centers of Delhi and Mumbai (Bombay), this operator was partially state owned (52.25%) and ran a fairly modern network in those cities and the surrounding regions with fixed-line services to 4.4 million subscribers, or 12% of the Indian market, and mobile services to 500,000 customers, or 1.3% of the Indian market. Broadband services were to be introduced in 2003.b
Hutch-Essar:
Hutchinson’s Indian operations represented a joint venture between Hutchinson Whampoa, the Hong Kong-based conglomerate, and the Essar Group, one of India’s largest corporate houses. Hutchinson’s investment in the Indian telecom market began in 1992; its cooperation with Essar dated back to 1999.
Hutch India had limited itself to the mobile sector of the telecom market—it had no fixed- line operations. Its mobile strategy was to target the premium segment. In 2003, it was present in 13 of the 23 circles and had 4.1 million customers, or 12% of the mobile market.
Tata:
Tata Teleservices was the telecom arm of the Tata Group. Partnering with Motorola, Lucent, Ericsson, and ECI Telecom, Tata had 600,000 wireless customers, or just under 2% of the mobile market in 2003. Tata also had a one-third stake in the wireless provider Idea Cellular (see below).
Idea Cellular:
A three-way joint venture between Tata, Birla (another large Indian industrial group), and AT&T, the company adopted the name of Idea Cellular in 2002. It was present in seven circles, four of which represented some of the largest economic and industrial centers. With this concentration, it was able to capture a customer base of 3.7 million customers, or 11% of the entire mobile market in 2003.c
Reliance:
Reliance Infocomm was a subsidiary of the Reliance Group, an Indian, family-run $22.6 billion conglomerate. Reliance entered the market in 2002 with both wireless and wire-line services.
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Reliance’s key strengths lay in its brand new installed fiberglass network with over 60,000 kms of optical cable stretching throughout India; it was integrated (wireless and wire line) and convergent (voice, data, and video). Reliance had introduced broadband applications including Java applications for the Internet, VPN connections for business clients, and global positioning for vehicle tracking.
In wire line, Reliance had 500,000 customers in 2003 but was expected to increase its customer base to over 8 million by 2008. In wireless, Reliance had a 19.5% market share, representing 6.6 million customers. It was expected to reach 21% market share and 31 million customers by 2008.d
Source: Various websites as noted.
aCompiled by casewriter based on data from JM Morgan Stanley Equity Research Asia-Pacific, Bharti Tele-Ventures Ltd., June 9, 2005.
bData from MTNL website, www.mtnl.net.in/about.htm, accessed January 4, 2006. cCellular Operators Association of India, www.coai.in/archives_statistics_2004_q1.htm, accessed August 3, 2005.
dCompiled by casewriter based on data from JM Morgan Stanley Equity Research Asia-Pacific, Bharti Tele-Ventures Ltd., June 9, 2005.

Writing a Qualitative Study

Writing and composing the narrative report brings the entire study together. Borrowing a term from Strauss and Corbin (1990), we are fascinated by the architecture of a study, how it is composed and organized by writers. We also like Strauss and Corbin’s (1990) suggestion that writers use a “spatial metaphor” (p. 231) to visualize their full reports or studies. To consider a study spatially, they ask the following questions: Is coming away with an idea like walking slowly around a statue, studying it from a variety of interrelated views? Like walking downhill step by step? Like walking through the rooms of a house? We are intrigued by what Pelias (2011) refers to as realization (the writer’s process) and record (the completed text)—specifically how we might make this progression less obscure. Engaging in the process of writing a qualitative study can be considered ambiguous because “we may not realize what we have or know where we are going” (Charmaz, 2014, p. 290). In short, we may not be able to trace the path our writing process has taken until we complete the written report.

In this chapter, we assess the general architecture of a qualitative study, and then we invite the reader to enter specific rooms of the study to see how they are composed. In this process, we begin with revisiting the key ethical considerations for writing a qualitative study. Then we present four writing strategies for addressing issues in the rendering of a study regardless of approach: reflexivity and representation, audience, encoding, and quotes. Then we take each of the five approaches to inquiry and assess two writing structures: the overall structure (i.e., overall organization of the report or study) and the embedded structure (i.e., specific narrative devices and techniques that the writer uses in the report). We return once again to the five examples of studies in Chapter 5 to illustrate overall and embedded structures. Finally, we compare the narrative structures for the five approaches in terms of four dimensions. In this chapter, we will not address the use of grammar and syntax and will refer readers to books that provide a detailed treatment of these subjects (e.g., Creswell, 2014; Strunk & White, 2000; Sword, 2012).

Questions for Discussion

• What ethical issues require attention when writing a qualitative study?
• What are several broad writing strategies associated with crafting a qualitative study?
• What are the larger writing structures used within each of the five approaches of inquiry?
• What are the embedded writing structures within each of the five approaches of inquiry?
• How do the narrative structures for the five approaches differ?

Ethical Considerations for Writing

Before considering the architecture underpinning writing qualitative studies, we carefully consider relevant ethical issues (see initial discussion in Chapter 3). In particular, we must attend to the application of appropriate reporting strategies and compliance with ethical publishing practices (see Table 9.1). For appropriate reporting strategies, it is essential that researchers tailor reports to diverse audiences and use language that is appropriate for target audiences. To comply with ethical publishing practices, researchers must create reports that are honest and trustworthy, seek permissions as needed, ensure same material is not used for more than one publication, and disclose funders and beneficiaries of the research.

Creswell (2016) presents an adapted checklist from the “Ethical Compliance Checklist” (APA, 2010, p. 20) to inform writing. These are questions that should be considered by all qualitative researchers about their study manuscripts and research proposals:

• Have I obtained permission for use of unpublished instruments, procedures, or data that other researchers might consider theirs (proprietary)?
• Have I properly cited other published work presented in portions of the manuscript?
• Am I prepared to answer questions about institutional review of my study or studies?
• Am I prepared to answer editorial questions about the informed consent and debriefing procedures used in the study?
• Have all authors reviewed the manuscript and agreed on the responsibility for its content?
• Have I adequately protected the confidentiality of research participants, clients–patients, organizations, third parties, or others who were the source of information presented in this manuscript?
• Have all authors agreed to the order of the authorship?
• Have I obtained permission for use of any copyrighted material included?

Several Writing Strategies

Unquestionably, the narrative forms are extensive in qualitative research. In reviewing the forms, Glesne (2016) notes that narratives tell stories that blur the lines between fiction, journalism, and scholarly studies. Other qualitative forms engage the reader through a chronological approach as events unfold slowly over time, whether the subject is a study of a culture-sharing group, the narrative story of the life of an individual, or the evolution of a program or an organization. Another form is to narrow and expand the focus, evoking the metaphor of a camera lens that pans out, zooms in, and then zooms out again. Some reports rely heavily on description of events, whereas others advance a small number of “themes” or perspectives. A narrative might capture a “typical day in the life” of an individual or a group. Some reports are heavily oriented toward theory, whereas others, such as Stake’s (1995) “Harper School,” employ little literature and theory. In addition, since the publication of Clifford and Marcus’s (1986) edited volume Writing Culture in ethnography, qualitative writing has been shaped by a need for researchers to be self-disclosing about their role in the writing, the impact of it on participants, and how information conveyed is read by audiences. Researcher reflexivity and representations is the first issue to which we turn.

Reflexivity and Representations in Writing

Qualitative researchers today are much more self-disclosing about their qualitative writings than they were a few years ago. Ronald Pelias (2011) describes reflexive writers as “ethically and politically self-aware, make themselves part of their own inquiry” (p. 662). No longer is it acceptable to be the omniscient, distanced qualitative writer. As Laurel Richardson wrote, researchers “do not have to try to play God, writing as disembodied omniscient narrators claiming universal and atemporal general knowledge” (Richardson & St. Pierre, 2005, p. 961). Through these omniscient narrators, postmodern thinkers “deconstruct” the narrative, challenging text as contested terrain that cannot be understood without references to ideas being concealed by the author and contexts within the author’s life (Agger, 1991). This theme is espoused by Denzin (2001) in his “interpretive” approach to biographical writing. As a response, qualitative researchers today acknowledge that the writing of a qualitative text cannot be separated from the author, how it is received by readers, and how it impacts the participants and sites under study.

How we write is a reflection of our own interpretation based on the cultural, social, gender, class, and personal politics that we bring to research. All writing is “positioned” and within a stance. All researchers shape the writing that emerges, and qualitative researchers need to accept this interpretation and be open about it in their writings. According to Richardson (1994), the best writing acknowledges its own “undecidability” forthrightly, that all writing has “subtexts” that “situate” or “position” the material within a particular historical and local specific time and place. In this perspective, no writing has “privileged status” (p. 518) or is superior over other writings. Indeed, writings are co-constructions, representations of interactive processes between researchers and the researched (Gilgun, 2005).

Also, there is increased concern about the impact of the writing on the participants. How will they see the write-up? Will they be marginalized because of it? Will they be offended? Will they hide their true feelings and perspectives? Have the participants reviewed the material and interpreted, challenged, and dissented from the interpretation (Weis & Fine, 2000)? Perhaps researchers’ writing objectively, in a scientific way, has the impact of silencing the participants and silencing the researchers as well. Czarniawska (2004) and Gilgun (2005) make the point that this silence is contradictory to qualitative research that seeks to hear all voices and perspectives.

Also, the writing has an impact on the reader, who also makes an interpretation of the account and may form an entirely different interpretation than the author or the participants. Should the researcher be afraid that certain people will see the final report? Can the researcher give any kind of definitive account when it is the reader who makes the ultimate interpretation of the events? Indeed, the writing may be a performance, and the standard writing of qualitative research into text has expanded to include split-page writings, theater, poetry, photography, music, collage, drawing, sculpture, quilting, stained glass, and dance (Gilgun, 2005). Language may “kill” whatever it touches, and qualitative researchers understand that it is impossible to truly “say” something (van Manen, 2006).

Weis and Fine (2000) discussed a “set of self-reflective points of critical consciousness around the questions of how to represent responsibility” in qualitative writings (p. 33). There are questions that can be formed from their major points and should be considered by all qualitative researchers about their writings:

• Should I write about what people say or recognize that sometimes they cannot remember or choose not to remember?
• What are my political reflexivities that need to come into my report?
• Has my writing connected the voices and stories of individuals back to the set of historic, structural, and economic relations in which they are situated?
• How far should I go in theorizing the words of participants?
• Have I considered how my words could be used for progressive, conservative, and repressive social policies?
• Have I backed into the passive voice and decoupled my responsibility from my interpretation?
• To what extent has my analysis (and writing) offered an alternative to common sense or the dominant discourse?

Qualitative researchers need to “position” themselves in their writings. This is the concept of reflexivity in which the writer engages in self-understanding about the biases, values, and experiences that he or she brings to a qualitative research study. One characteristic of good qualitative research is that the inquirer makes his or her “position” explicit (Hammersley & Atkinson, 1995). We think about reflexivity as having two parts. The researcher first talks about his or her experiences with the phenomenon being explored. This involves relaying past experiences through work, schooling, family dynamics, and so forth. The second part is to discuss how these past experiences shape the researcher’s interpretation of the phenomenon. This is a second important ingredient that is often overlooked or often left out because the process is challenging and the lack of guiding resources (van Manen, 2014).

We suggest writing reflexive comments about what is being experienced as the study progresses—these might be observations during data collection or hunches about what the findings might indicate or reactions from participants during the study. These comments could be easily captured and retrieved using memo functions in qualitative software programs. Reviewing and then discussing how biases, values, and experiences impact emerging understandings is actually the heart of being reflexive in a study, because it is important that the researcher not only detail his or her experiences with the phenomenon but also be self-conscious about how these experiences may potentially have shaped the findings, the conclusions, and the interpretations drawn in a study. Thus, the act of writing a qualitative text cannot be considered separate from the author, the study participants, or the readers. The placement of reflexive comments in a study also needs some consideration.

The reflexive comments may be positioned in one or more positions in a qualitative study. Among the most popular placements involve the opening (or closing) passage of the study, a methods discussion in which the writer talks about his or her role in the study, and personal comments threaded throughout the study. It is not unusual to begin with a personal statement in a phenomenology whereby the authors disclose their backgrounds (see Brown, Sorrell, McClaren, & Creswell, 2006). Similarly, a case study may open with a personal vignette (see Stake, 1995) or end with an epilogue (see Asmussen & Creswell, 1995). As part of a methods description, a phenomenological researcher may disclose his or her experiences as health care provider for and a researcher of persons with HIV/AIDS as necessary for the interviewer to acknowledge and attempt to bracket those experiences (see Anderson & Spencer, 2002; Appendix C). Finally, the researcher may talk about his or her “position” in the introduction, the methods, and the findings or themes as is often the case in an ethnographic study (e.g., see Mac an Ghaill & Haywood, 2015; Appendix E).

Audience for Our Writings

A basic axiom holds that all writers write for an audience. As Clandinin and Connelly (2000) say, “A sense of an audience peering over the writer’s shoulder needs to pervade the writing and the written text” (p. 149). Thus, writers consciously think about their audience or multiple audiences for their studies (Richardson, 1990, 1994). Tierney (1995), for example, identifies four potential audiences: colleagues, those involved in the interviews and observations, policy makers, and the general public. More recently Silverman (2013) differentiated the expectations of academic and practitioner colleagues in that the former sought theoretical, factual, or methodological insights from our research, whereas the latter sought practical suggestions for better procedures or reform of existing practices. Identifying target audiences helps inform choices during the writing process. In short, how the report is structured depends on the readers you intend to engage with your writing. For example, because Fischer and Wertz (1979) disseminated information about their phenomenological study at public forums, they produced several expressions of their findings, all responding to different audiences. One form was a general structure, four paragraphs in length, an approach that they admitted lost its richness and concreteness. Another form consisted of case synopses, each reporting the experiences of one individual and each two and a half pages in length. More recently, MacKenzie, Christensen, and Turner (2015) discussed the challenges they experienced while trying to communicate their participatory research results with their indigenous participants.

Ravitch and Mittenfelner Carl (2016) discussed 14 questions related to the purpose and audience of a study. The following are adapted to inform writing decisions and should be considered by all qualitative researchers about their target audiences:

• For what audience(s) is this study being written? What informs these choices?
• What am I hoping to achieve with this report to my audience?
• What writing structures would my audience expect?
• Are there other audiences who could benefit from my learning and knowledge?
• How might I structure my writing to fit other audiences’ needs?

Encoding Our Writings

A closely related topic is recognizing the importance of language in shaping our qualitative texts. The words we use encode our report, revealing how we perceive the needs of our audiences. Earlier, in Chapter 6, we presented encoding the problem, purpose, and research questions; now, we consider encoding the entire narrative report. Richardson’s (1990) study of women in affairs with married men illustrates how a writer can shape a work differently for a trade audience, an academic audience, or a moral or political audience. For a trade audience, she encoded her work with literary devices such as the following:

Jazzy titles, attractive covers, lack of specialized jargon, marginalization of methodology, common-world metaphors and images, and book blurbs and prefatory material about the “lay” interest in the material. (Richardson, 1990, p. 32)

For the moral or political audience, she encoded through devices such as the following:

In-group words in the title, for example, woman/women/feminist in feminist writing; the moral or activist “credentials” of the author, for example, the author’s role in particular social movements; references to moral and activist authorities; empowerment metaphors, and book blurbs and prefatory material about how this work relates to real people’s lives. (Richardson, 1990, pp. 32–33)

Finally, for the academic audience (e.g., journals, conference papers, academic books), she marked it by the following:

Prominent display of academic credentials of author, references, footnotes, methodology sections, use of familiar academic metaphors and images (such as “exchange theory,” “roles,” and “stratification”), and book blurbs and prefatory material about the science or scholarship involved. (Richardson, 1990, p. 32)

Although we emphasize academic writing here, researchers encode qualitative studies for audiences other than academics. For example, in the social and human sciences, policy makers may be a primary audience, and this necessitates writing with minimal methods, more parsimony, and a focus on practice and results.

Richardson’s (1990) ideas triggered thoughts about how one might encode a qualitative narrative. Such encoding might include the following:

• An overall structure that does not conform to the standard quantitative introduction, methods, results, and discussion format. Instead, the methods might be called procedures, and the results might be called findings. In fact, the researcher might phrase the headings for themes in the words of participants in the study as they discuss “denial,” “retriggering,” and so forth, as was done in the gunman case (Asmussen & Creswell, 1995).
• A writing style that is personal, familiar, perhaps “up-close,” highly readable, friendly, and applied for a broad audience. Our qualitative writings should strive for a “persuasive” effect (Czarniawska, 2004, p. 124). Readers should find the material interesting and memorable, the “grab” in writing (Gilgun, 2005).
• A level of detail that makes the work come alive—verisimilitude comes to mind (Richardson, 1994, p. 521). This word indicates the presentation of a good literary study in which the writing becomes “real” and “alive,” writing that transports the reader directly into the world of the study, whether this world is the cultural setting of youths’ resistance to both the counterculture and the dominant culture (Haenfler, 2004) or an immigrant student in a school classroom (Chan, 2010; see Appendix B). Still, we must recognize that the writing is only a representation of what we see or understand.

Quotes in Our Writings

In addition to encoding text with the language of qualitative research, authors bring in the voice of participants in the study. A good rule of thumb is that quotes should be as illustrative as possible and be contextualized, interpreted, and incorporated within the text of the manuscript (Brinkmann & Kvale, 2015). Writers use ample quotes, and we find Richardson’s (1990) discussion about three types of quotes most useful. The first consists of short, eye-catching quotations. These are easy to read, take up little space, and stand out from the narrator’s text and are indented to signify different perspectives. For example, in the phenomenological study of how persons live with AIDS, Anderson and Spencer (2002; see Appendix C) used paragraph-long quotes from men and women in the study to convey the “magic of not thinking” theme:

It’s a sickness, but in my mind I don’t think that I got it. Because if you think about having HIV, it comes down more on you. It’s more like a mind game. To try and stay alive is that you don’t even think about it. It’s not in the mind. (p. 1347)

The second approach consists of embedded quotes, briefly quoted phrases within the analyst’s narrative. These quotes, according to Richardson (1990), prepare a reader for a shift in emphasis or display a point and allow the writer (and reader) to move on. Harley et al. (2009; see Appendix D) used short, embedded quotes extensively in their grounded theory study because they consume little space and provide specific concrete evidence, in the participants’ words, to support a theme such as the initiation phase:

Many of the women were juggling careers and family, so time out for themselves was another important benefit of physical activity. One woman explained, “I had a little time for me. I started enjoying it. I started liking it.” (p. 103)

A third type of quote is the longer quotation used to convey more complex understandings. These are difficult to use because of space limitations in publications and because longer quotes may contain many ideas, and so the reader needs to be guided both “into” the quote and “out of” the quote to focus his or her attention on the controlling idea that the writer would like the reader to see. Frelin (2015; see Appendix F) used longer quotes to describe the impact of time on the development of teacher-student relationships:

That you always have the time to spend with a student, and can sit down and talk if you see that something is wrong. You can always have a proper conversation with a student. Always. It is fantastic, but you can’t do that at compulsory school when you have a group of 30 and need to rush off to the next lesson. (p. 598)

Overall and Embedded Writing Strategies

In addition to these writing approaches, the qualitative researcher needs to address how he or she is going to compose the overall narrative structure of the report and use embedded structures within the report to provide a narrative within the approach of choice. We offer Table 9.2 as a guide to the discussion to follow, in which we list many overall and embedded structural approaches as they apply to the five approaches of inquiry.

Narrative Writing Structures

As we read about the writing of studies in narrative research, we find authors unwilling to prescribe a tightly structured writing strategy (Clandinin, 2013; Clandinin & Connelly, 2000; Czarniawska, 2004; Riessman, 2008). Instead, we find the authors suggesting maximum flexibility in structure (see Ely, 2007) but emphasizing core elements that might go into the narrative study. In so doing, Clandinin (2013) describes the writer as well positioned for matching the narrative structures to the particular study context:

As narrative inquirers, we need to hold open and to make visible the ways that participants, and we, struggle for that coherence, sometimes successfully, sometimes not. We must, in the composing, co-composing and negotiation of interim and final research texts, make visible the multiplicity, as well as the narrative coherence and lack of narrative coherence, of our lives, the lives of participants, and the lives we co-compose in the midst of our narrative inquiries. (p. 49)

Overall Structures

Narrative researchers encourage individuals to write narrative studies that experiment with form (Clandinin, 2013; Clandinin & Connelly, 2000). Researchers can come to their narrative form by first looking to their own preferences in reading (e.g., memoirs, novels), reading other narrative dissertations and books, and viewing the narrative study as back-and-forth writing, as a process (Clandinin & Connelly, 2000). Within these general guidelines, Clandinin and Connelly (2000) review two doctoral dissertations that employ narrative research. The two have different narrative structures: One provides narratives of a chronology of the lives of three women; the other adopts a more classical approach to a dissertation including an introduction, a literature review, and a methodology. For this second example, the remaining chapters then go into a discussion that tells the stories of the author’s experiences with the participants. Reading through these two examples, we are struck by how they both reflect the three-dimensional inquiry space that Clandinin and Connelly (2000) discuss. This space, as mentioned earlier, is a text that looks backward and forward, looks inward and outward, and situates the experiences within place. For example, the dissertation of He, cited by Clandinin, is a study about the lives of two participants and the author in their past life in China and in their present situation in Canada. The story does the following:

[It] looks backward to the past for her and her two participants and forward to the puzzle of who they are and who they are becoming in their new land. She looks inward to her personal reasons for doing this study and outward to the social significance of the work. She paints landscapes of China and Canada and the in-between places where she imagines herself to reside. (Clandinin & Connelly, 2000, p. 156)

Later in Clandinin and Connelly (2000), there is a story about Clandinin’s advice for students about the narrative form of their studies. This form again relates to the three-dimensional space model:

When they came to Jean for conversations about their emerging texts, she found herself responding not so much with comments about preestablished and accepted forms but with response that raised questions situated within the three-dimensional narrative inquiry space. (Clandinin & Connelly, 2000, p. 165)

Notice in this passage how Clandinin “raised questions” rather than told the student how to proceed, and how she returned to the larger rhetorical structure of the three-dimensional inquiry space model as a framework for thinking about the writing of a narrative study. This framework also suggests a chronology to the narrative report, and this ordering within the chronology might further be organized by time or by specific episodes (Riessman, 2008).

In narrative research, as in all forms of qualitative inquiry, there is a close relationship between the data collection procedures, the analysis, and the form and structure of the writing report. For example, the larger writing structure in a thematic analysis would be the presentation of several themes (Riessman, 2008). In a more structured approach—analyzing how the individual tells a story—the elements presented in the report might follow six elements, what Riessman (2008) calls a “fully formed narrative” (p. 84). These would be the elements of the following:

• A summary and/or the point of the story
• Orientation (the time, place, characters, and situations)
• Complicating action (the event sequence, or plot usually with a crisis or turning point)
• Evaluation (where the narrator comments on meaning or emotions)
• Resolution (the outcome of the plot)
• Coda (ending the story and bringing it back to the present)

In a narrative study focused on the interrogation between speakers (such as the interviewer and the interviewee), the larger writing structure would focus on direct speech and dialogue. Further, the dialogue might contain features of a performance, such as direct speeches, asides to the audience, repetition, expressive sounds, and switches in verb tense. The entire report may be a poem, a play, or another dramatic rendering. In previous chapters, we have described narrative studies that illustrate these narrative elements (see Chan, 2010; Appendix B), and we encourage you to review them for similarities and differences in how the studies are presented.

Embedded Structures

Assuming that the larger writing structure proceeds with experimentation and flexibility, the writing structure at the more micro level relates to several elements of writing strategies that authors might use in composing a narrative study. These are drawn from Clandinin (2013), Clandinin and Connelly (2000), Czarniawska (2004), and Riessman (2008).

The writing of a narrative needs to not silence some of the voices, and it ultimately gives more space to certain voices than others (Czarniawska, 2004). In addition, there can be a spatial element to the writing, such as in the progressive–regressive method (Denzin, 2001) whereby the biographer begins with a key event in the participant’s life and then works forward and backward from that event, such as in Denzin’s (2001) study of alcoholics. Alternatively, there can be a “zooming in” and “zooming out,” such as describing a large context to a concrete field of study (e.g., a site) and then telescoping out again (Czarniawska, 2004). Huber and Whelan’s (1999) retelling of the narrative of a teacher’s identity shaping refers to personal background influences as she talks about more current professional experiences. Similarly, Ellis’s (1993) personal narrative of a family drama enacted in the aftermath of her brother’s death in airplane crash is told by alternating between descriptions of childhood experiences and those surrounding the crash.

The writing may emphasize the “key event” or the epiphany, defined as interactional moments and experiences that mark people’s lives (Denzin, 2001). Denzin distinguishes four types: the major event that touches the fabric of the individual’s life; the cumulative or representative events or experiences that continue for some time; the minor epiphany, which represents a moment in an individual’s life; and episodes or relived epiphanies, which involve reliving the experience. Czarniawska (2004) introduces the key element of the plot or the emplotment, a means of introducing structure that allows for making sense of the events reported.

Themes can be reported in narrative writing. Smith (1994) recommends finding a theme to guide the development of the life to be written. This theme emerges from preliminary knowledge or a review of the entire life, although researchers often experience difficulty in distinguishing the major theme from lesser or minor themes. Clandinin and Connelly (2000) refer to writing research texts at the reductionistic boundary, an approach consisting of a “reduction downward” (p. 143) to themes in which the researcher looks for common threads or elements across participants. Clandinin (2013) describes these threads as important for composing multiple narrative accounts.

Specific narrative writing strategies also include the use of dialogue, such as that between the researcher and the participants (Riessman, 2008). Sometimes in this approach the specific language of the narrator is interrogated and is not taken at face value. The dialogue unfolds in the study, and often it is presented in different languages, including the language of the narrator and an English translation. An example is provided by Chan’s (2010; see Appendix B) story of one Chinese immigrant student and the affiliation this student had with other students, her teacher, and her family where dialogue between the researcher and the student provided evidence for each theme. Each dialogue segment was titled to shape the meaning of the conversation, such as “Susan doesn’t speak Fujianese” (Chan, 2010, p. 117).

Other narrative rhetorical devices include the use of transitions. Lomask (1986) refers to these as built into the narratives in natural chronological linkages. Writers insert them through words or phrases, questions (which Lomask calls being lazy), and time-and-place shifts moving the action forward or backward. In addition to transitions, narrative researchers employ foreshadowing, the frequent use of narrative hints of things to come or of events or themes to be developed later. Narrative researchers also use metaphors, and Clandinin and Connelly (2000) suggest the metaphor of a soup (i.e., with description of people, places, and things; arguments for understandings; and richly textured narratives of people situated in place, time, scene, and plot) within containers (i.e., dissertation, journal article) to describe their narrative texts.

Phenomenological Writing Structures

Those who write about phenomenology (e.g., Moustakas, 1994; van Manen, 2014) provide more extensive attention to overall writing structures than to embedded ones. However, as in all forms of qualitative research, one can learn much from a careful study of research reports in journal article, monograph, or book form.

Overall Structures

The highly structured approach to analysis by Moustakas (1994) presents a detailed form for composing a phenomenological study. The analysis steps—identifying significant statements, creating meaning units, clustering themes, advancing textural and structural descriptions, and ending with a composite description of textural and structural descriptions with an exhaustive description of the essential invariant structure (or essence) of the experience—provide a clearly articulated procedure for organizing a report (Moustakas, 1994). In our experience, individuals are quite surprised to find highly structured approaches to phenomenological studies on sensitive topics (e.g., “being left out,” “insomnia,” “being criminally victimized,” “life’s meaning,” “voluntarily changing one’s career during midlife,” “longing,” “adults being abused as children”; Moustakas, 1994, p. 153). But the data analysis procedure, we think, guides a researcher in that direction and presents an overall structure for analysis and ultimately the organization of the report.

Consider the overall organization of a report as suggested by Moustakas (1994). He recommends specific chapters in “creating a research manuscript”:

• Chapter 1: Introduction and statement of topic and outline. Topics include an autobiographical statement about experiences of the author leading to the topic, incidents that lead to a puzzlement or curiosity about the topic, the social implications and relevance of the topic, new knowledge and contribution to the profession to emerge from studying the topic, knowledge to be gained by the researcher, the research question, and the terms of the study.
• Chapter 2: Review of the relevant literature. Topics include a review of databases searched, an introduction to the literature, a procedure for selecting studies, the conduct of these studies and themes that emerged in them, and a summary of core findings and statements as to how the present research differs from prior research (in question, model, methodology, and data collected).
• Chapter 3: Conceptual framework of the model. Topics include the theory to be used as well as the concepts and processes related to the research design (Chapters 3 and 4 might be combined).
• Chapter 4: Methodology. Topics include the methods and procedures in preparing to conduct the study; in collecting data; and in organizing, analyzing, and synthesizing the data.
• Chapter 5: Presentation of data. Topics include verbatim examples of data collection, data analysis, a synthesis of data, horizonalization, meaning units, clustered themes, textural and structural descriptions, and a synthesis of meanings and essences of the experience.
• Chapter 6: Summary, implications, and outcomes. Sections include a summary of the study, statements about how the findings differ from those in the literature review, recommendations for future studies, the identification of limitations, a discussion about implications, and the inclusion of a creative closure that speaks to the essence of the study and its inspiration for the researcher.

A second model, not as specific, is found in Polkinghorne (1989) where he discusses the “research report.” In this model, the researcher describes the procedures to collect data and the steps to move from the raw data to a more general description of the experience. Also, the investigator includes a review of previous research, the theory pertaining to the topic, and implications for psychological theory and application. We especially like Polkinghorne’s (1989) comment about the impact of such a report:

Produce a research report that gives an accurate, clear, and articulate description of an experience. The reader of the report should come away with the feeling that “I understand better what it is like for someone to experience that.” (p. 46)

A third model of the overall writing structure of a phenomenological study comes from van Manen (1990, 2014). He begins his discussion of “working the text” (van Manen, 1990, p. 167) with the thought that studies that present and organize transcripts for the final report fall short of being a good phenomenological study. Instead, he recommends several options for writing the study. The study might be organized thematically, examining essential aspects of the phenomenon under study. It might also be presented analytically by reworking the text data into larger ideas (e.g., contrasting ideas), or focused narrowly on the description of a particular life situation. It might begin with the essence description and then present varying examples of how the essence is manifested. Other approaches include engaging one’s writing in a dialogue with other phenomenological authors and weaving the description against time, space, the lived body, and relationships to others. In the end, van Manen suggests that authors may invest new ways of reporting their data or combine approaches.

Embedded Structures

Turning to embedded rhetorical structures, the literature provides the best evidence. A writer presents the “essence” of the experience for participants in a study through sketching a short paragraph about it in the narrative or by enclosing this paragraph in a figure. This latter approach is used effectively in a study of the caring experiences of nurses who teach (Grigsby & Megel, 1995). Another structural device is to educate the reader through a discussion about phenomenology and its philosophical assumptions. Harper (1981) uses this approach and describes several of Husserl’s major tenets as well as the advantages of studying the meaning of “leisure” in a phenomenology.

Finally, we like Moustakas’s (1994) suggestion: “Write a brief creative close that speaks to the essence of the study and its inspiration to you in terms of the value of the knowledge and future directions of your professional-personal life” (p. 184). Despite the phenomenologist’s inclination to bracket himself or herself out of the narrative, Moustakas introduces the reflexivity that psychological phenomenologists can bring to a study, such as casting an initial problem statement within an autobiographical context. In previous chapters, we have described phenomenologies that follow general outlines (see Anderson & Spencer, 2002; Appendix C), and we encourage you to review them for similarities and differences in how the studies are presented. Specifically, Anderson and Spencer’s phenomenology of how persons living with AIDS image their disease represented many of these overall and embedded writing structures. The overall article has a structured organization, opening with a quote from a 53-year-old man with AIDS, followed by a study introduction, a review of the literature, methods, and results. It followed Colaizzi’s (1978) phenomenological methods by reporting a table of significant statements and a table of meaning themes. Anderson and Spencer (2002) ended with an in-depth, exhaustive description of the phenomenon:

Results were integrated into an essential scheme of AIDS. The lived experience of AIDS was initially frightening, with a dread of body wasting and personal loss. Cognitive representations of AIDS included inescapable death, bodily destruction, fighting a battle, and having a chronic disease. Coping methods included searching for the “right drug,” caring for oneself, accepting the diagnosis, wiping AIDS out of their thoughts, turning to God, and using vigilance. With time, most people adjusted to living with AIDS. Feelings ranged from “devastating,” “sad,” and “angry” to being at “peace” and “not worrying.” (p. 1349)

A similar structured approach informed by Moustakas (1994) was taken in Padilla’s (2003) phenomenology of the lived experience of a disability of a woman who sustained a head injury 21 years ago. Quotes from the woman were used to begin and end the article and are embedded throughout—the only exception being the writer’s description of the background of the project.

Grounded Theory Writing Structures

From reviewing grounded theory studies in journal articles, qualitative researchers can deduce a general form (and variations) for composing the narrative. The problem with journal articles is that the authors present truncated versions of the studies to fit within the parameters of the journals. Thus, a reader emerges from a review of a particular study without a full sense of the entire project.

Overall Structures

Most importantly, authors need to present the theory in any grounded theory narrative. To do this requires the writer to engage in an iterative process: “It means going back and forth between the sections to rethink, revise, and sometimes recast and rewrite” (Charmaz, 2014, p. 285). As May (1986) comments, “In strict terms, the findings are the theory itself, i.e., a set of concepts and propositions which link them” (p. 148). May (1986) continues to describe the research procedures in grounded theory:

• The research questions are broad. They will change several times during data collection and analysis.
• The literature review “neither provides key concepts nor suggests hypotheses” (p. 149). Instead, the literature review in grounded theory shows gaps or bias in existing knowledge, thus providing a rationale for this type of qualitative study.
• The methodology evolves during the course of the study, so writing it early in a study poses difficulties. However, the researcher begins somewhere, and she or he describes preliminary ideas about the sample, the setting, and the data collection procedures.
• The findings section presents the theoretical scheme. The writer includes references from the literature to show outside support for the theoretical model. Also, segments of actual data in the form of vignettes and quotes provide useful explanatory material. This material helps the reader form a judgment about how well the theory is grounded in the data.
• The final discussion section discusses the relationship of the theory to other existing knowledge and the implications of the theory for future research and practice.

Strauss and Corbin (1990) also provide broad writing parameters for their grounded theory studies. They suggest the following:

• Develop a clear analytic story. This is to be provided in the selective coding phase of the study.
• Write on a conceptual level, with description kept secondary to concepts and the analytic story. This means that one finds little description of the phenomenon being studied and more analytic theory at an abstract level.
• Specify the relationship among categories. This is the theorizing part of grounded theory found in axial coding when the researcher tells the story and advances propositions.
• Specify the variations and the relevant conditions, consequences, and so forth for the relationships among categories. In a good theory, one finds variation and different conditions under which the theory holds. This means that the multiple perspectives or variations in each component of axial coding are developed fully. For example, the consequences in the theory are multiple and detailed.

More specifically, in a structured approach to grounded theory as advanced by Strauss and Corbin (1990, 1998), specific aspects of the final written report contain a section on open coding that identifies the various open codes that the researcher discovered in the data, and the axial coding, which includes a diagram of the theory and a discussion about each component in the diagram (i.e., causal conditions, the central phenomenon, the intervening conditions, the context, the strategies, and the consequences). Also, the report contains a section on the theory in which the researcher advances theoretical propositions tying together the elements of the categories in the diagram, or discusses the theory interrelating the categories. In previous chapters, we have described grounded theory studies that follow this general outline (see Harley et al., 2009; Appendix D), and we encourage you to review them for similarities and differences in how the studies are presented.

For Charmaz (2006, 2014), a less-structured approach flows into her suggestions for writing the draft of the grounded theory study. She emphasizes the importance of allowing the ideas to emerge as the theory develops, revising early drafts, asking yourself questions about the theory (e.g., have you raised major categories to concepts in the theory?), constructing an argument about the importance of the theory, and closely examining the categories in the theory. Thus, Charmaz does not have a template for writing a grounded theory study but focuses our attention on the importance of the argument in the theory and the nature of the theory.

Embedded Structures

In grounded theory studies, the researcher varies the narrative report based on the extent of data analysis. Chenitz and Swanson (1986), for example, present six grounded theory studies that vary in the types of analysis reported in the narrative. In a preface to these examples, they mention that the analysis (and narrative) might address one or more of the following: description; the generation of categories through open coding; linking categories around a core category in axial coding, thus developing a substantive, low-level theory; and/or a substantive theory linked to a formal theory.

We have seen grounded theory studies that include one or more of these analyses. For example, in a study of gays and their “coming out” process, Kus (1986) uses only open coding in the analysis and identifies four stages in the process of coming out: identification, in which a gay person undergoes a radical identity transformation; cognitive changes, in which the individual changes negative views about gays into positive ideas; acceptance, a stage in which the individual accepts being gay as a positive life force; and action, the process of the individual’s engaging in behavior that results from accepting being gay, such as self-disclosure, expanding the circle of friends to include gays, becoming politically involved in gay causes, and volunteering for gay groups. Set in contrast to this focus on the process, Creswell and Brown (1992) follow the coding steps in Strauss and Corbin (1990). First, they examined the faculty development practices of chairpersons who enhance the research productivity of their faculties. They begin with open coding, move to axial coding complete with a logic diagram, and state a series of explicit propositions in directional (as opposed to the null) form.

Another embedded narrative feature is to examine the form for stating propositions or theoretical relationships in grounded theory studies. Sometimes, these are presented in “discursive” form, or describing the theory in narrative form. Strauss and Corbin (1990) present such a model in their theory of “protective governing” (p. 134) in the health care setting. Another example is seen in Conrad’s (1978) formal propositions about academic change in the academy.

Another embedded structure is the presentation of the “logic diagram,” the “mini-framework,” or the “integrative” diagram, where the researcher presents the actual theory in the form of a visual model. The researcher identifies elements of this structure in the axial coding phase, and then tells the “story” in axial coding as a narrative version of it. How is this visual model presented? A good example of this diagram is found in the Morrow and Smith (1995) study of women who have survived childhood sexual abuse. Their diagram shows a theoretical model that contains the axial coding categories of causal conditions, the central phenomenon, the context, intervening conditions, strategies, and consequences. It is presented with directional arrows indicating the flow of causality from left to right, from causal conditions to consequences. Arrows also show that the context and intervening conditions directly impact the strategies. Presented near the end of the study, this visual form represents the culminating theory for the study. Harley et al. (2009; see Appendix D) advance a visual of the theory about the evolution of physical activity involving a main progression of three phases (initiation, transition and integration) along with two alternatives described as the modification loop and the cessation loop.

Charmaz (2006, 2014) provides an array of embedded writing strategies useful in grounded theory reports including a centering of the analytical frameworks. Examples of grounded theory studies illustrate imparting mood or emotions into a theoretical discussion, straightforward language, and ways that writing can be accessible to readers such as the use of rhythm and time [e.g., “Days slip by” (Charmaz, 2006, p. 173)]. Charmaz also invites the use of unexpected definitions and assertions by the grounded theory author. Rhetorical questions are also useful, and the writing includes pacing and a tone that leads a reader into the topic. Stories can be told in grounded theory studies, and overall the writing brings evocative language to persuade the reader of the theory.

Ethnographic Writing Structures

Ethnographers write extensively about narrative construction, from how the nature of the text shapes the subject matter to the “literary” conventions and devices used by authors (Atkinson & Hammersley, 1994). The general shapes of ethnographies and embedded structures are well detailed in the literature.

Overall Structures

The overall writing structure of ethnographies varies. For example, Van Maanen (1988; 2011) provides the alternative forms of ethnography. Some ethnographies are written as realist tales, reports that provide direct, matter-of-fact portraits of studied cultures without much information about how the ethnographers produced the portraits. In this type of tale, a writer uses an impersonal point of view, conveying a “scientific” and “objective” perspective. A confessional tale takes the opposite approach, and the researcher focuses more on his or her fieldwork experiences than on the culture. The final type, the impressionistic tale, is a personalized account of “the fieldwork case in dramatic form” (Van Maanen, 1988, p. 7). It has elements of both realist and confessional writing and, in our opinion, presents a compelling and persuasive story. In both confessional and impressionistic tales, the first-person point of view is used, conveying a personal style of writing. Van Maanen states that other, less frequently written tales also exist—critical tales focusing on large social, political, symbolic, or economic issues; formalist tales that build, test, generalize, and exhibit theory; literary tales in which the ethnographers write like journalists, borrowing fiction-writing techniques from novelists; and jointly told tales in which the production of the studies is jointly authored by the fieldworkers and the participants, opening up shared and discursive narratives.

On a slightly different note but yet related to the larger rhetorical structure, Wolcott (1994) provides three components of a good qualitative inquiry that are a centerpiece of good ethnographic writing as well as steps in data analysis. First, an ethnographer writes a “description” of the culture that answers this question: “What is going on here?” (Wolcott, 1994, p. 12). Wolcott offers useful techniques for writing this description: chronological order, the researcher or narrator order, a progressive focusing, a critical or key event, plots and characters, groups in interaction, an analytical framework, and a story told through several perspectives. Second, after describing the culture using one of these approaches, the researcher “analyzes” the data. Analysis includes highlighting findings, displaying findings, reporting fieldwork procedures, identifying patterned regularities in the data, comparing the case with a known case, evaluating the information, contextualizing the information within a broader analytic framework, critiquing the research process, and proposing a redesign of the study. Of all these analytic techniques, the identification of “patterns” or themes is central to ethnographic writing. Third, interpretation is involved in the rhetorical structure. This means that the researcher can extend the analysis, make inferences from the information, do as directed or as suggested by gatekeepers, turn to theory, refocus the interpretation itself, connect with personal experience, analyze or interpret the interpretive process, or explore alternative formats. Of these interpretive strategies, we like the approach of interpreting the findings both within the context of the researcher’s experiences and within the larger body of scholarly research on the topic.

A more detailed, structured outline for ethnography was found in Emerson, Fretz, and Shaw (2011). They discuss developing an ethnographic study as a “thematic narrative,” a story “analytically thematized, but often in relatively loose ways . . . constructed out of a series of thematically organized units of fieldnote excerpts and analytic commentary” (p. 202). This thematic narrative builds inductively from a main idea or thesis that incorporates several specific analytic themes and is elaborated throughout the study. It is structured as follows:

• First is an introduction that engages the reader’s attention and focuses the study, and then the researcher proceeds to link his or her interpretation to wider issues of scholarly interest in the discipline.
• After this, the researcher introduces the setting and the methods for learning about it. In this section, too, the ethnographer relates details about entry into and participation in the setting as well as advantages and constraints of the ethnographer’s research role.
• The researcher presents analytic claims next. Emerson and colleagues (2011) indicate the utility of “excerpt commentary” units, whereby an author incorporates an analytic point, provides orientation information about the point, presents the excerpt or direct quote, and then advances analytic commentary about the quote as it relates to the analytic point.
• In the conclusion, the researcher reflects and elaborates on the thesis advanced at the beginning. This interpretation may extend or modify the thesis in light of the materials examined; relate the thesis to general theory or a current issue; or offer a metacommentary on the thesis, methods, or assumptions of the study.

In previous chapters, we have described ethnographies that follow this general outline (see Mac an Ghaill & Haywood, 2015; Appendix E), and we encourage you to review them for similarities and differences in how the studies are presented.

Embedded Structures

Ethnographers use embedded rhetorical devices such as figures of speech or “tropes” (Fetterman, 2010; Hammersley & Atkinson, 2007). Metaphors, for example, provide visual and spatial images or dramaturgical characterizations of social actions as theater. Another trope is the synecdoche, in which ethnographers present examples, illustrations, cases, and/or vignettes that form a part but stand for the whole. See Rhoads (1995) for an example of an effective opening vignette in an ethnography of fraternity life on campus. Ethnographers present storytelling tropes examining cause and sequence that follow grand narratives to smaller parables. A final trope is irony, in which researchers bring to light contrasts of competing frames of reference and rationality.

More specific rhetorical devices depict scenes in ethnography (Emerson et al., 2011). Writers can incorporate details or “write lushly” (Goffman, 1989, p. 131) or “thickly” a description that creates verisimilitude and produces for readers the feeling that they experience, or perhaps could experience, the events described (Denzin, 2001; Fetterman, 2010). The ethnographic study of the core values of the straight edge (sXe) movement illustrated many of these writing conventions (Haenfler, 2004). He told a persuasive story, with colorful elements (e.g., T-shirt slogans), “thick” description, and extensive quotes. Denzin (2001) talks about the importance of using “thick description” in writing qualitative research. By this, he means that the narrative “presents detail, context, emotion, and the webs of social relationships . . . [and] evokes emotionality and self-feelings. . . . The voices, feelings, actions, and meanings of interacting individuals are heard” (Denzin, 2001, p. 100). As an example, Denzin (2001) first refers to an illustration of thick description from Sudnow (1978) and then provides his own version as if it were a thin description.

“Sitting at the piano and moving into the production of a chord, the chord as a whole was prepared for as the hand moved toward the keyboard, and the terrain was seen as a field relative to the task. . . . There was chord A and chord B, separated from one another. . . . A’s production entailed a tightly compressed hand, and B’s . . . an open and extended spread. . . . The beginner gets from A to B disjointly.” (Sudnow, 1978, pp. 9–10)

“I had trouble learning the piano keyboard.” (Denzin, 2001, p. 102)

Also, ethnographers present dialogue, and the dialogue becomes especially vivid when written in the dialect and natural language of the culture (see, e.g., the articles on Black English vernacular or “code switching” in Nelson, 1990). Writers also rely on characterization in which human beings are shown talking, acting, and relating to others. Longer scenes take the form of sketches, a “slice of life” (Emerson et al., 2011, p. 75), or larger episodes and tales.

Ethnographic writers tell “a good story” (Richardson, 1990). Thus, one of the forms of “evocative” experimental qualitative writing for Richardson (1990) is the fictional representation form in which writers draw on the literary devices such as flashback, flash-forward, alternative points of view, deep characterization, tone shifts, synecdoche, dialogue, interior monologue, and sometimes the omniscient narrator. Similarly, Wolcott (2008a) emphasizes the use of techniques for telling the story as a travelogue, life history, or organized around specific themes.

Case Study Writing Structures

Turning to case studies, we are reminded by Merriam (1988) that “there is no standard format for reporting case study research” (p. 193). Unquestionably, some case studies generate theory, some are simply descriptions of cases, and others are more analytical in nature and display cross-case or inter-site comparisons. The overall intent of the case study undoubtedly shapes the larger structure of the written narrative. Still, we find it useful to conceptualize a general form, and we turn to key texts on case studies to receive guidance.

Overall Structures

One can open and close the case study narrative with vignettes to draw the reader into the case. This approach is suggested by Stake (1995), who provides an outline of topics that might be included in a qualitative case study. We feel that this is a helpful way to stage the topics in a good case study:

• The writer opens with a vignette. This is so the reader can develop a vicarious experience to get a feel for the time and place of the study.
• Next, the researcher identifies the issue, the purpose, and the method of the study so that the reader learns about how the study came to be, the background of the writer, and the issues surrounding the case.
• This is followed by an extensive description of the case and its context—a body of relatively uncontested data. This is a description the reader might make if he or she had been there.
• Issues are presented next, a few key issues, so that the reader can understand the complexity of the case. This complexity builds through references to other research or the writer’s understanding of other cases.
• Next, several of the issues are probed further. At this point, too, the writer brings in both confirming and disconfirming evidence.
• Assertions are presented. These are a summary of what the writer understands about the case and whether the initial naturalistic generalizations, conclusions arrived at through personal experience or offered as vicarious experiences for the reader, have been changed conceptually or challenged.
• Finally, the writer ends with a closing vignette, an experiential note. It is to remind the reader that this report is one person’s encounter with a complex case.

We like this general outline because it provides a description of the case; presents themes, assertions, or interpretations of the researcher; and begins and ends with realistic scenarios. In previous chapters, we have referred to case studies that follow this general outline (see Frelin, 2015; Appendix F), and we encourage you to review them for similarities and differences in how the cases are presented.

A similar model is found in Lincoln and Guba’s (1985) substantive case report. They describe a need for the explication of the problem, a thorough description of the context or setting, a description of the transactions or processes observed in that context, saliences at the site (elements studied in depth), and outcomes of the inquiry (“lessons learned”).

At a more general level yet, we find Yin’s (2014) 2×2 table of types of case studies helpful. Case studies can be either single-case or multiple-case designs and either holistic (single unit of analysis) or embedded (multiple units of analysis). Yin comments further that a single case is best when a need exists to study a critical case, an extreme or unique case, or a revelatory case. Whether the case is single or multiple, the researcher decides to study the entire case, a holistic design, or multiple subunits within the case (the embedded design). Although the holistic design may be more abstract, it captures the entire case better than the embedded design does. However, the embedded design starts with an examination of subunits and allows for the detailed perspective should the questions begin to shift and change during fieldwork.

Yin (2014) also presents several possible structures for composing a case study report. In a linear-analytic approach, a standard approach according to Yin, the researcher discusses the problem, the methods, the findings, and the conclusions. An alternative structure repeats the same case study several times and compares alternative descriptions or explanations of the same case. A chronological structure presents the case study in a sequence, such as sections or chapters that address the early, middle, and late phase of a case history. Theories are also used as a framework, and the case studies can debate various hypotheses or propositions. In a suspense structure, the “answer” or outcome of a case study and its significance is presented in an initial chapter or section. The remaining sections are then devoted to the development of an explanation for this outcome. In a final structure, the unsequenced structure, the author describes a case with no particular order to the sections or chapter.

Embedded Structures

What specific narrative devices, embedded structures, do case study writers use to “mark” their studies? One might approach the description of the context and setting for the case in a chronology from a broader picture to a narrower one. The gunman case (Asmussen & Creswell, 1995) begins with a description of the actual campus incident in terms of the city in which the situation developed, followed by the campus and, more narrow yet, the actual classroom on campus. This represents a funneling approach that narrowed the setting from a calm city environment to a potentially volatile campus classroom, and this approach seemed to launch the study into a chronology of events that occurred. Another example is provided by the multiple case study of technology integration across three schools (Staples, Pugach, & Himes, 2005). Each case description begins with the technology context that existed prior to the study, the changes that occurred during the study, and concludes with future projections. The chronological approach seemed to work best when events unfolded and followed a process; case studies often are bounded by time and cover events over time (Yin, 2014).

The case study describing the relational practices of a teacher who negotiates educational relationships with students who have a history of school failure (Frelin, 2015; see Appendix F) also represented a single-case study (Yin, 2014), with a single narrative about the case, its themes, and its interpretation. In other studies (e.g., Chirgwin, 2015; Staples et al., 2005), the case presentations are of multiple cases, with each case discussed separately with no separate discussions of each case but followed by an overall cross-case analysis (Yin, 2014). Another Yin (2014) narrative format is to pose a series of questions and answers based on the case study database.

Finally, researchers need to be cognizant of the amount of description in their case studies versus the amount of analysis and interpretation or assertions (Merriam & Tisdell, 2015). In comparing description and analysis, Merriam (1988) suggests that the proper balance might be 60% to 40% or 70% to 30% in favor of description. An examination of the gunman case revealed a balancing of elements in equal thirds (33% to 33% to 33%)—a concrete description of the setting and the actual events (and those that occurred within 2 weeks after the incident); the five themes; and our interpretation, the lessons learned, reported in the discussion section. Writers must make these decisions, and it is conceivable that a case study might contain mainly descriptive material, especially if the bounded system, the case, is quite large and complex.

A Comparison of Writing Structures Across Approaches

Looking back over Table 9.1, we see many diverse structures for writing the qualitative report. What major differences exist in the structures depending on one’s choice of approach?

First, we are struck by the diversity of discussions about narrative structures. We found little crossover or sharing of structures among the five approaches, although, in practice, this undoubtedly occurs. The narrative tropes and the literary devices, discussed by ethnographers and narrative researchers, have applicability regardless of approach. Second, the writing structures are highly related to data analysis procedures. A phenomenological study and a grounded theory study follow closely their data analysis steps. In short, we are reminded once again that it is difficult to separate the activities of data collection, analysis, and report writing in a qualitative study. Third, the emphasis given to writing the narrative, especially the embedded narrative structures, varies among the approaches. Ethnographers lead the group in their extensive discussions about narrative and text construction. Phenomenologists and grounded theory writers spend less time discussing this topic. Fourth, the overall narrative structure is clearly specified in some approaches (e.g., a grounded theory study, a phenomenological study, and perhaps a case study), whereas it is flexible and evolving in others (e.g., a narrative, an ethnography). Perhaps this conclusion reflects the more structured approach versus the less structured approach, overall, among the five approaches of inquiry.

Chapter Check-In

1. Do you see how authors use several broad writing strategies in their published qualitative studies? Select one of the qualitative articles presented in Appendices B through F.
   1. Begin with identifying the four strategies described (i.e., reflexivity and representations, audience, encoding, and quotes) as they have been applied in the journal article. Note the influence of which strategies are apparent and which are more difficult to identify.
   2. Identify the intended audience for each of the articles. Consider how the other strategies might be adapted if a different audience was targeted.
2. Do you see the overall writing structures within a particular approach to qualitative research and then can you adapt it to guide your own work? Select one of the qualitative articles presented in Appendices B through F that fits your particular approach.
   1. Begin with diagramming its overall structure by identifying the flow within its components. How does the article start? With a personal vignette, a statement of the problem, a literature review? What comes next? How does the article end?
   2. Then look within each component and identify the embedded strategies used—for example, metaphors, quotes, and diagrams.
3. Can you identify the characteristics of “good” writing to develop a deeper understanding of the embedded writing structures in a qualitative study? Read qualitative journal articles or books that adopt different strategies, such as progressive–regressive methods in the narrative study of Ellis (1993), creative closings in the phenomenology of Anderson and Spencer (2002), visual diagrams in the grounded theory study of Morrow and Smith (1995), tropes in in the ethnography of Rhoads (1995), and the funneling approach in the case study of Asmussen and Creswell (1995).
   1. Underline examples of the embedded strategy the authors use, and consider the effectiveness of their strategy.
   2. Could the strategy be used as effectively in other approaches?
   3. How would different audiences impact your use of various embedded writing structures?
4. Can you identify the characteristics of thick description to apply our understandings to a practical experience in writing qualitative research? To do this, turn to novels in which the author provides exquisite detail about an event, a thing, or a person. For example, turn to page 14 in Paul Harding’s (2009) award-winning book, Tinkers, and read the passage about how George repaired a broken clock at a tag sale.
   1. Write about how Harding incorporates a physical description, includes a description of the steps (or movement), uses strong action verbs, draws on references or quotes, and relies on the five senses to convey detail (sight, hearing, taste, smell, touch).
   2. Use this type of detail in your qualitative descriptions or themes.

Summary

In this chapter, we discussed writing the qualitative report. We began by revisiting ethical considerations and then by discussing several rhetorical issues the writer must address. These rhetorical issues include writing reflexively and with representation, the audience for the writing, the encoding for that audience, and the use of quotes. Then we turned to each of the five approaches of inquiry and presented overall rhetorical structures for organizing the entire study as well as specific embedded structures, writing devices, and techniques that the researcher incorporates into the study. A table of these structures shows the diversity of perspectives about structure that reflects different data analysis procedures and discipline affiliations. We concluded with observations about the differences in writing structures among the five approaches, differences reflected in the variability of approaches, the relationships between data analysis and report writing, the emphasis in the literature of each approach on narrative construction, and the amount of structure in the overall architecture of a study within each approach.

Further Readings

In addition to many of the resources already suggested in earlier chapters, which include strategies and guidance for writing and communicating qualitative research, we highlight a few here focused on information about procedures and issues about writing. The list should not be considered exhaustive, and readers are encouraged to seek out additional readings in the end-of-book reference list.

Denzin, N. K. (2001). Interpretive interactionism (2nd ed.). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage.

In this second edition, Norman Denzin expands his guidance about how “to do” interpretive interactionism—that is to make the lived experiences successfully accessible to a reader.

Gilgun, J. F. (2005). “Grab” and good science: Writing up the results of qualitative research. Qualitative Health Research, 15, 256–262. doi:10.1177/1049732304268796

Jane Gilgun presents compelling historical and contemporary arguments for the use of first-person voice and guidance for writing qualitative research.

Richardson, L. (1990). Writing strategies: Reaching diverse audiences. Newbury Park, CA: Sage.

Laurel Richardson offers an important resource for guiding qualitative writing and how it needs to be adjusted based on the target audience.

Strunk, W., & White, E. B. (2000). The elements of style (4th ed.). Upper Saddle River, NJ: Pearson.

William Strunk and E. B. White convey the principles of English style in an accessible manner with illustrative examples accompanying detailed descriptions. This is essential reading.

Sword, H. (2012). Stylish academic writing. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Helen Sword describes the elements of stylishness for scholars writing for larger audiences. Of particular note are her chapters on “tempting titles” and “hooks and sinkers.”

Van Maanen, J. (2011). Tales of the field: On writing ethnography (2nd ed.). Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press.

John Van Maanen unpacks the styles associated with written representations of culture. In so doing, he offers valuable advice to an ethnographer through illustrative examples and practices.

Weis, L., & Fine, M. (2000). Speed bumps: A student-friendly guide to qualitative research. New York, NY: Teachers College Press.

Lois Weis and Michelle Fine provide an excellent resource focused on reflexivity. Specifically, they clearly explain the potential impact of qualitative writing on readers, audiences, and the participants studied.

Wolcott, H. F. (2008b). Writing up qualitative research (3rd ed.) Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage.

Harry Wolcott leads the reader through a time-tested process of interpreting and communicating qualitative research. Noteworthy are his guidance with respect to perseverance in writing and tightening the message.