Predictive text

I have a new toy for work. It's a tablet, which comes with a word processing application.  I'm writing this post on the device while attending a meeting.

So far, I have been able to write several sentences using the thing without having to type more than three or four letters for any given word. It amazes me how often I am able to make do without needing to write anything at all.  The predictive text isn't just predicting the word I've started to write, but also the word I'm likely to want next.

I don't know by what magic the device is doing this, but I suspect it has something to do with corpus linguistics.

Corpus linguistics  is a strange and slightly disturbing branch of linguistics that involves dumping entire texts into a database in order to find and analyze patterns.

One of the most interesting things to come out of corpus linguistics is the increased understanding of collocation (and, yes, the device has also been predicting the words corpus, linguistics and collocation).

Collocation looks at words that turn up next to each other (like "next to" and "each other"). We generate a lot of patterns when we speak and write, and certain words tend to follow each other over and over again (like "over and over again").

I think the predictive text used by this device has quite a lot of collocation built in.

When I type "next", the device instantly offers me "to", and when I  type "each", I  get "other" - I don't even have to type the first letter for these words, they are just automatically generated by the device.

I am making quite a lot of sentences by simply touching the next word offered to me.

In fact the next sentence is going to be written using nothing except the options given to me by the program:

I have been in contact with the new version of the world, but I think I can say that I have been able to get some good ideas about what we want to know.

I didn't type a single word for that.  Sure, it didn't exactly make sense, but that's beside the point.

Collocation.  It just might change the way I write in the future.

More on that later. 

Raise your girls to be strong. Teach your women to swim.

I was checking someone's references today when one of the articles he cited caught my attention and I had to read it for myself.

The article, by Joni Seager,¹ notes the fact that most natural disasters have a racial and gender imbalance in terms of the survivors.  In countries like America, black people are likely to be hit hardest by natural disasters.  All over the world, however, women are less likely to survive.

In some cases, the death rates for women have been as high as five times those of men.

People studying this phenomenon have noted that our prevailing stereotypes encourage women and girls to be weak and inactive.  As a result, they aren't strong enough to hold onto the trees.  They are less likely to know how to swim.

Additionally, they're likely to stick around to find and rescue the children, but they aren't strong enough to actually hold on to everyone who needs saving.

By continuing to foster an idea of femininity that doesn't include being physically strong and active, we are literally putting our women and girls in danger.

Let's try making the assumption that "strong enough to survive" is a trait both sexes should share.

1. Seager J. Noticing gender (or not) in disasters. Geoforum. 2006;37(1):2-3. doi:10.1016/j.geoforum.2005.10.004

The Yurt Game

And the word of the day is:  Yurt.

GurvgerCC BY-SA 3.0

I was chatting to one of my colleagues earlier about being in a "decluttering" phase (yes, I know how futile that is when you happen to be a very cluttered person), and I said I was trying to prioritise what I would want to keep if I had to move into a yurt.

She had never heard of a yurt before, so we spent several minutes looking up pictures of various yurts from the traditional tents of nomadic Asian tribes people to the "glamping" monstrosities of today.

There's a game I've been playing as I've been trying to sort out my bookshelves, and I invite you to play a similar game in your homes:

Say you had to move from your house into a yurt.  You can make up your own reason for why, that's not the important thing.

The important thing is that your yurt doesn't have space for your bookshelves.  You have stubbornly insisted on having at least one book shelf, but that's all you get.  One.  Singular.

If you are anything like me, you probably have several bookcases scattered around your house, each at various levels of fullness.  Imagine you have to reconcile all of those books to just one shelf.

I mean every book - fiction, how-to manuals, cook books, reference books... the lot.  Whatever you can fit on one shelf of one of your current bookcase is what you get to keep.

Now, before you start thinking about your answer to this question, remember that libraries exist.  And you probably have friends with similar reading tastes.  The vast majority of books currently taking up space in your house could probably be borrowed if you really wanted to see them again.

So, what goes on the shelf?

Books that are irreplaceable.  Books where that specific copy has some deep meaning to you.  Books you use all the time or consult frequently.  Books that are so close to your heart that you can't imagine any home of yours not having this book in it...

Tell me about a no-brainer - a book you know would definitely be on that shelf.  You can put it in the comments for this post, or submit it to your social media platform of choice with the tag #yurtbooks.

It will be interesting to see what matters to you.

If Agatha Raisin went to Lochdubh...

There are many different types of crime novels, but when it comes to series of crime novels there seems to be two overarching archetypes.

One is the series that involve a detective who actually has a reason to go around solving crimes.  This person is a police officer, a sheriff, a DCI, a Kommisar... whatever the local law enforcement happens to be.  He or she is paid to find murderers, so it makes sense that they would be asking awkward questions in pursuit of a killer.

This person is usually stationed at a particular place.  Quite often this is a country town - no doubt because country towns offer a nice range of eccentric recurring characters for the author to draw on.  However, this does mean that a lot of murders occur in that country down.

Quite a lot.  An inordinate amount of murders.  So many, that these little country towns seem to be vying for the role of "crime capital of the country".

It's a wonder the eccentric locals don't all leave to find some place less murdery.  And those stay would be forgiven for getting a bit blase about it all:

"There's been a murder!"
"Oh?  Well, I suppose it has been several weeks since the last one..."

The second main archetype for crime series involves the amateur detective.  This is the person who has no good reason to go around solving crimes, they just happen to be particularly clever and always in the right place at the right time.

It doesn't seem to matter where this person goes, death is sure to follow.  Thankfully, these people are usually quite interested in crime solving and enjoy the process of finding murderers, or they would surely find the amount of death rather disturbing.

"Thank you for inviting me to your birthday party - whoops, there's a murder."
"I'm just in town for a few days visiting my - whoops, there's a murder."
"I saw this place in a holiday brochure and thought it looked like a nice - whoops, there's a murder."
"I'm afraid I can't come to your wedding on that mysterious island, even though it sounds lovely, as I want everyone to make it out alive."

I can't help but wonder what would happen if one of these murder magnets found themselves visiting one of these crime capitals.  If Miss Marple wetn to Midsomer to visit a friend, would there be a mass killing?  Would multiple people die in multiple locations under multiple sets of mysterious circumstances which may or may not be connected?

If Agatha Raisin went to Lochdubh, would anyone make it out alive?

Some days I feel like a librarian

So, earlier today someone came to the desk and said they wanted to know where their grandfather could browse for books about medicine or books in French.

Without even looking it up, I said "the 610s for medical related books, and 840s for French literature".

She looked at me as if I was made of magic.

Just then I was doing some research for an assignment, and this is the first thing I typed into the search box:

((non-native* OR "non native") w/3 speaker*) AND (english w/3 language) AND (textbook* OR "text books" OR text-book* OR (course w/3 material*))

The first thing.

As in, I didn't even try to go to the guided search options, or start with a couple of words and see what happened - I just went straight for a search string involving several layers of brackets, multiple truncation and phrase searchers and half a dozen proximity searches.

I am a librarian.  This is how I roll.

Lecturers should do their own assignments

The more I re-engage with education as a student, the more I realise lecturers really need to stop marking assignments until they've actually tried doing those assignments themselves.

I recently had an assignment (an annotated bibliography) graded and given back to me, and for pretty much everyone of my lecturer's comments I had the following response¹:

"Yes, I know, I thought of that, too - but there was this word limit, you see, and I couldn't fit that in without leaving something else out."

I played it out fairly evenly across the board - I left some things out of one entry and left different things out of another.  She noticed every single oversight.

I have a feeling that, had she had to do that assignment within those limitations, she would have missed out on important pieces of information as well.

But, as she was marking the assignment, not writing it, she was in a position to see the limitations in my answer, rather than the limitations imposed by the question.

At least the question was a reasonable assessment task to begin with.

At the reference desk of an academic library, I often see students come for help trying to answer really, really stupid assignment questions.  A surprisingly large part of my job involves helping students compensate for bad assessment design.

There should be a rule somewhere that states a lecturer cannot set an assignment for students until after he or she has satisfactorily completed it him/herself.


1. Not that I actually "responded".  Giving feedback on an assessment piece or its mark isn't done - although I'm sure there's something to be gained from it.

The Professor

For nine and a half hours (not consecutive), I have been listening to James Wilby read Charlotte Bronte’s first novel, The Professor, and I think I can safely sum it up in one word:

Interminable.

That book could easily be abridged.  It should have been abridged.  It wants for nothing more than a good abridgement.

Well, a good abridgement and a character who was less of an annoying jerk.

At several points during the novel, Wilby’s narration and the fact that it was a CD in my car stereo where the only things stopping me from hurling the book across the room in a fit of annoyance.

For those of you who thought Charlotte Bronte only wrote one novel, the story actually goes like this:

The Bronte sisters, having spent most of their childhood writing poetry and short stories to keep themselves amused, decided to try their hands at writing novels.  They formed their own private writing circle and worked on three novels - which they intended to publish at the same time under the gender-ambiguous pseudonyms of Currer, Acton and Ellis Bell.

Charlotte (Currer) wrote The Professor, Acton (Anne) wrote Agnes Grey and Ellis (Emily) wrote Wuthering Heights.  You may have heard of the last one.

Now, Anne and Emily’s books were both accepted for publication, but The Professor was rejected.  Probably on the grounds it of being, by turns, boring and irritating.

I just want to point something out here – Agnes Grey was accepted for publication, but The Professor wasn’t.  Agnes Grey is a romance novel in which nothing happens.  A governess puts up with children nobody likes while pining after a man who barely looks at her.  The book is roughly three-parts “my goodness, rich people’s children are obnoxious” and five parts “oh, if only he would look at me”.  Right at the end our patience is rewarded with the following exchange:

“So you do love me, then?”

“Yes.”

This book is, it must be said, kind of boring.  It’s still miles better than The Professor.

Charlotte then went on to write Jane Eyre, which you may have heard of.  That book was a roaring success – although, in hindsight, it could be regarded as Agnes Grey on spooky-pants steroids.  She also wrote Shirley (which is interesting) and Villette (which is a brilliant book, even if it has a stupid ending).  Anne went on to write The Tenant of Wildfell Hall (which is less famous than anything her sisters wrote, but more famous than her other novel).  Emily went on to die before writing anything else.

The Professor was never published in Charlotte’s life-time, and I can see why.  It’s terrible.  It was so terrible that she could never convince anyone to publish it, even though her other books made her a well-loved and respected novelist.

Okay, granted, it's not "my goodness, my mental faculties are damaged after reading this book" kind of terrible - and a Bronte completist probably shouldn't avoid it - but it's really Not Very Good.  Anyone who had the misfortune to read this book before any of her others would probably assume she was a pretty rubbish author and never read anything else by her.

It was the first full-length novel she wrote, and it appears someone told her that the trick for writing a novel (as opposed to short stories and novellas) to fill it with pointless drivel.

The first-person narration by William Crimsworth features large sections of the character yammering on endlessly about such subjects as the moon, the misery of old maids, the character of people with big foreheads and the two-facedness of Catholics.

Apart from the fact that he just seems to be talking trash for no reason other than padding out the book, the diatribes are also largely offensive as it becomes quite clear that our Mr Crimsworth is an egotistical bigot.

He is quite unpleasant, and Wilby did well to make him sound like someone not-entirely-terrible.  This is the kind of man you would meet at a party, think was a reasonably nice guy for the first few minutes, but then come to dislike the longer you listened to him talk.  At the end of the party you would probably never voluntarily seek out his company – and may even try to avoid him.

Crimsworth has a low opinion of pretty much everyone who doesn’t fit into his ideal of upper-middle-class English Protestantism.  Are you French?  You are loose of morals.  Are you Catholic?  You are a conniving, inveterate liar.  Are you Flemish?  You’re an idiot.  Are you a woman?  Your faults – whatever they may be, are somehow much, much worse than those of your male brethren.

The man is racist - that's the only way you could describe him.  And to make things weirder, he takes his racism out on Flemish people.  I dread to think what he would have said if he came in contact with a Moor.

I found myself pitying the woman who had the misfortune to be his ideal woman.  The way he spoke about her – the way he talked about how she “grew” under his “stern” tutelage…

It was just a little bit creepy.  I really hoped she would run away with his best friend, but she didn’t.  Instead they lived happily ever after – with his wife continuing to call him “monsieur” for the rest of their married lives (supposedly because she couldn’t pronounce “William” comfortably).

Charlotte, I know you’re dead, so this advice won’t do you any good, but – really, girl, you need to stop idolising Byronic jerks.  And grow a bit of self-esteem, will you?

At a Primary School (Teacher’s) Reading Level

Over the many years I have spent reading about education and reading books designed for educators, I have had several encounters with works written specifically for primary school teachers.

It is the strangest thing, but books and journal articles written for people who teach the lower grades for a living are written at a different reading level than those for high school teachers, which are also at a different reading level than those for tertiary-level educators.

Now, theoretically, it doesn’t matter what level you are teaching – you still have at least one university degree to your name.  You have a tertiary level education yourself, and should be perfectly capable of reading works written at that level…

Yet, without fail, every book I’ve ever encountered that was aimed at a primary-school-teacher audience is written in a simpler, clearer style – usually with slightly larger text and a design that wouldn’t look out of place in a middle-school level textbook.

It’s not a bad thing.  In fact, last year I was secretly pleased that one of my textbooks was written for that market.  It was a nice change from the denser texts I’d been reading – the ones designed for university students and teachers of university students.  After a while, university level texts start getting a bit wearying. 

But I’m still always taken aback by the change in tone, text density and vocabulary – by the implicit assumptions about the audience for the book.

I’m currently reading a short “guide” downloaded from an educational website, and I couldn’t figure out why reading it was making me feel, well, slightly patronised.  It is clearly intended for teachers, but whoever wrote it chose to produce it in a level of language that boarders on simplified.

Then I realised – the target audience is primary school teachers.  This is the sort of stuff people give them to read all the time.

Why is that?  Is it because they spend so much of their day working with texts at very low/young reading levels and would find it taxing to suddenly shift to significantly harder, denser texts for professional development? 

That would make sense.  I find children’s books to be a refreshing read that allows my brain to regain some of its bounce.  If I spent most of my time with the bouncy texts, I expect a dense, jargon-ridden, technical piece of writing would feel a bit leaden and unpleasant.

Or, is it because people who teach at a primary level do so because they like the information they work with to be of a simpler nature?  If you wanted to work with Shakespeare you wouldn’t be teaching kindergarten, after all.

I can’t say.  All I know is that books and journal articles written for primary school teachers definitely seem to assume they can’t or won’t deal with the same level of textual sophistication as people who teach at higher levels.

And that’s interesting.

Lancelot mused a little space

He said "she has a lovely face.  God in his mercy lend her grace - the Lady of Shalott".

Shut up Lancelot.  You're a jerk and nobody likes you.

You know, you can't go around acting like a first class cad for most of the old texts and expect to get away with being everyone's favourite Arthurian hero.  For my money, you'll never be a patch on Gareth.  But does everyone talk about Gareth?  Does anyone talk about Gareth?  No.

And you went and killed him, didn't you?  Here was a knight who was *actually* chivalrous, rather than just being a smug git with an attitude problem, and you go and kill him.  And Gaheris, who was just hanging around Gareth (which seems to be all he really did - hang around with other, more interesting knights).  And Agravaine, but quite frankly he should have expected that - after all, he tried dobbing you into the king for being the first class tosser that you are.

And did you even apologise to their family?  Did you say something like, "hey, Gawaine, I'm really sorry about killing three of your brothers because they got in my way?"

No.  No you did not.

So, you know what, Lancelot?  I don't wanna hear whatever you have to say about the "Lady of Shalott" - especially since we all know that poem was a sanitised version of the Fair Made of Astolat, and you led her on, broke her heart and then acted all surprised when she topped herself.

Jerk.

Speak Latin whenever you can

I just acquired a new book, and it's walking a tight-rope between hilarious and brilliant.

Latin For Beginners by Wilkes (author), Shackell (illustrator) and Priddy (designer).

It's an introduction to Latin, aimed at children, and designed in exactly the same way as an introduction to French or Italian might be designed.

It offers the exact same language learning advice (use it whenever you can) and the exact same situations (at the restaurant, in your home, talking about your hobbies) that you'd find in any modern languages introductory book for kids.

Using this book, you'll be able to tell the waiter at the restaurant that you really like potato chips (amo poma terrestria assa) or talk about what time one watches television (quadrante post quintam televisorium spectat).

And the little visual jokes that would be mildly amusing in a book introducing Italian are downright hilarious in a book introducing Latin.

Connecting Clauses, or: Sharon's Notes, Conjunctiony Things, pt 1

I am preparing for a German exam.  You have been warned.

Okay, kids, we all know what a clause is, right?  Good.  Moving on.

Now, a clause can be a whole sentence and a sentence can be a single clause, but we tend to like smooshing multiple clauses together in our sentences.  Why, the sentence I have just written contains no less than three clauses.

When we stitch clauses together, we do it with the aid of conjunctions and punctuation.

That's what conjunctions are for - stitching clauses together.  And we all know why we shouldn't start a sentence with a conjunction, don't we?  But I digress.

There are two primary types of clauses:  main clauses (Hauptsatz) and subordinate clauses (Nebensatz).  Main clauses can float off on their own and form sentences all by themselves, but subordinate clauses (which supply further information to the main clause) need to attach themselves to a main clause to make a complete sentence - one can't just say "because there were rabbits".

You can combine these two types of clauses in a number of ways:

1.  You can attach a main clause and a subordinate clause using a conjunction like da or weil (because), obwohl (although), sodass/so...dass (in order to)... and, well, a whole bunch of others:  als, als ob, bevor, bis, damit, dass, nachdem, ob, obgleich, ohne dass, ohne...zu, sobald seit/seitdem, solange, um...zu, während, wenn and wie.

You'll notice these all have that same range of meaning - this information is giving more detail or context to another piece of information.  You can usually drop anything that follows one of these words and the sentence would still make sense, but if you dropped the other part of the sentence you'd be left with, well, rabbits of uncertain relevance.

When you combine clauses like this, the conjugated verb in the subordinate clause gets sent to the end of the clause (no doubt for some misdemeanour):

"Tom hat nicht geschlafen, weil Hasen dort waren."

2.  You can attach two main clauses using a conjunction like denn (because) and all the standard clause-joining conjunctions like und, aber, oder, sondern (etc).

In this case, because you have two complete clauses that can both go off and form their own sentences, the verb sits in the "normal" position for a main clause in both clauses:

"Tom hat nicht geschlafen, denn Hasen waren dort."

But wait, I hear you ask.  Why doesn't denn turn the clause into a subordinate clause, seeing as it means the same thing as da and weil?

Well, I have no idea.  I'm guessing it has something to do with the relative merits of the second clause (does it only exist to provide more information for the first clause, or is it more important than that?) and whether it would make perfect sense if the two clauses were, in fact, separated into two sentences placed side by side:  "Tom hat nicht geschlafen.  Hasen waren dort."

Either that, or it's magic.

Dunno.

3.  You can join two main clauses using a conjunction like like totzdem (however) or deshalb, darum and deswegen (various shades of "therefore").

In this case, the verb in the second clause hangs around directly after the conjunction:

"Hasen waren dort, deshalb hat Tom nicht geschlafen."

In this case, I think the entire first clause (plus conjunction) is taking up the role of the "first element" in the second clause.  And, as we all know, when another part of the sentence slips into the first position, the verb stays in the second position and just shoves the subject of the sentence to one side.

And, before I leave this topic and go home for the night, let's not forget the role of the comma.  It's there to separate out the two clauses.  It totally does this for all subordinate clauses, and it mostly does this for two main clauses when there are words like denn, deshalb and aber involved - but it doesn't necessarily do it for main clauses joined by und or oder.

Declination of Adjectives, or: Sharon's Notes, Adjectival things pt 1

I am preparing for a German exam.  You have been warned.

Okay, a lot of the stuff to do with adjectives in German hangs off the case declension thing.  That's going to be the topic of another post, so I'm just going to take it as read, for now, that cases exist and they make words do stuff.

Now, adjectives can be found hanging around in a sentence in one of two places:  after a verb like "is", "seems" or "remains", or in front of a noun.

Let's get that first one out of the way, shall we?  In a sentence like "the apple looks fresh", "the climate is torrid" or "my giddy aunt remains giddy", there isn't actually much happening.  Something is simply existing in a certain state, and the adjective is telling us what that state is.

The verb, in this case, is what we call a copula - it's actually joining the noun with whatever state of existence the noun happens to be in.  And the adjectives are what we call "predicative adjectives" - in that they form the predicate of the verb (a predicate is what you get when your verb doesn't have an object, but still needs to include a concept beyond the verb in order to make sense).

In German, predicative adjectives are free to loll about in their natural state, not taking on any particular ending at all:  "Das Auto ist rot", "Die Frauen scheinen wütend", "Der Mann bleibt dumm".

So, yeah.  That's it.  Predicative adjectives are covered.  Good.  Now onto the attributive adjectives.

Attributive adjectives are the ones that hang around in front of a noun and become part of the noun group.  The noun itself is modified by the adjective.  It's not just "the car" it's "the red car".

Attributive adjectives change their endings depending on:

• The case of the noun group
• The gender of the noun
• The presence of a definite or indefinite article in the noun group

And, while all of these things are highly important, but it's the thing about the article that tends to govern the way we think about German adjectives.

If the noun group has a definite article (die, der, das, etc) or any of the words that are treated the same way as definite articles (the "der words": dieser, jener, derselbe, welcher, jeder and alle [and all their sisters]), then this happens:

Nominative case (singular):  All adjectives, regardless of gender, will end in an -e. 
Accusative case (singular):  Masculine adjectives end with an -en, the others with an -e.
Dative and Genitive cases (singular):  Everything ends with an -en.
Plural nouns: Everything ends with an -en.

Lovely.  It makes no sense at all, but that's life in a German sentence.  At least it's reasonably clear.

If the noun group has an indefinite article (ein or eine, etc) or one of the "ein words" (mein, dein, sein, ihr, unser, euer and kein, etc), then this happens:

Nominative case:  The adjective kind of takes on the same(ish) endings as a definite article - M = -er, N = -es and F = -e. Plurals start forging separate identities, so the nominative plural ends in -e.
Accusative case:  As above, the definite article endings leach over into the adverbs - M = -en, N = -es, F = -e. Pl = -e.
Dative and Genitive cases:  Everything still ends with an -en.*

Mmmhmm.  Okay.  There is a pattern here, but it's a bit hard to see at present.

Things get slightly more sensible when you have an adjective in a noun group with no article.  In this case the adjectives really do replace the articles, so they are adopting more or less the same endings as der words:

Nominative case:  M -er, N -es, F -e, Pl -e.
Accusative case:  M -en, N -es, F -e, Pl -e.
Dative case: M -em, N -em, F -e, Pl -e.
Genitive case: M -en, N -en, F -er, Pl -er.

Basically, what happens is that, in the absence of a definite article, the adjectives take the definite articles' endings for themselves, to try to indicate the case and gender of the noun.

The patterns are really clear and obvious for Nominative and Accusative cases.  Dative and Genitive seem to be bumming around a bit.  This is because the indefinite article is still doing some heavy lifting for Dative and Genitive noun groups.  You'll notice they pull up their socks and start doing something useful when there are no articles at all.

Mind you, Genitive adjectives still seems to be a bit distracted - they haven't gotten around to remembering that Genitive case usually has an -es on the end of its articles...

So, all you have to do is keep track of the case and gender of your nouns, and the adjectives sort themselves out - but let the articles boss them around.

And remember, kids, adjectives stack.  When you have a series of adjectives sitting between the same article/noun combo, they all take the same endings:

"Das alte, verrostete, rote Auto ist noch gut..."



*In one of my textbooks, there is an indication that Genitive adjectives following indefinite articles en in -er.  I haven't seen this anywhere else, but it has left me feeling doubtful.

Perfekt, or: Sharon's notes, Verby things, part two.

I am preparing for a German exam.  You have been warned.

In my former post, Theophilus, I suggested the Perfekt (or perfect tense of verbs) was tricksier than the Plusquamperfekt (or pluperfect tense).

This isn't strictly true.

The fact of the matter is, the rules for making the perfect and the pluperfect in German are pretty dang similar.  The only real difference is the tense of the auxiliary verb.

In the Plusquamperfekt we had two parts of the verb:  the auxiliary, which was the simple past tense of haben or sein, and the past participle of the main verb.

In the Perfekt, we have two parts of the verb:  the auxiliary, which is the present tense of haben or sein, and the past participle of the main verb.

Plusquamperfekt:  "Ich hatte den Hund gekauft."
Perfekt: "Ich habe den Hund gekauft."

And all the stuff about verby rules in German that applied to the Plusquamperfekt also apply to the Perfekt:

• The auxiliary verb takes the position of the conjugated verb (second spot in a standard clause, or kicked to the end of the clause in a dependent clause), and cops all of the conjugation, while the past participle sits at the end of the clause and looks pretty.
• Haben is used for most verbs, but sein is used for verbs indicating motion towards/away from something or a change of state.

So really, when it comes to making the Perfekt, it's no more complicated than the Plusquamperfekt - you just need to know the past participle of the verb and you're sweet.

It's where and how you use the Perfekt that's a bit tricksy for English speakers.

In English, the perfect tense is made by... well, it's made by combining the present tense form of "have" with the past participle of the main verb:  "I have eaten."  Yes, that's pretty much what happens in German, but without much use for the "to be" verb (while they use it frequently).

English speakers use it to indicate something that happened in past - finished, done, dusted - that is relevant to what's happening now.  If you say "I have eaten", it's probably because someone just asked you if you wanted something to eat, and you are telling them that, in your world, at present, the eating thing has been resolved.

So it's a continuum thing (timey-wimey stuff).  If the thing that is over and resolved is relevant to something happening in the present, you use the perfect tense.  If it is relevant to events that are also in the past, you use the pluperfect.

"I have eaten, but if you want to grab a cup of coffee I'll come with you." (perfect)
"I had eaten when Tom and Jack turned up at my house with a pizza." (pluperfect)

If you pay close attention, you may notice that the perfect tense occurs more often in "real-time" communication (like live conversations and email exchanges), while the pluperfect occurs more often in written communication and narratives.

When do we say "I ate"?  Well, mostly when answering questions or narrating events in the past without particular reference to how far in the past those events occurred in relation to other events.

"I ate the spaghetti."

This is the simple past tense - simple in construction, but also in terms of the time-space continuum.  It's just something that happened.

The simple past tense indicates the information is simply pertinent in and off itself, while the perfect and the pluperfect tense indicate the information pertains to other information.

If someone said "I at the spaghetti", we would be content to leave it at that, but if they said "I have eaten the spaghetti", we might feel compelled to ask "so?"

So, getting back to German.

In German, we use the Perfekt to cover both things that simply happened in the past as well as things that still have some baring on the current point in the continuum.  Actually, it even covers the progressive form (things that started in the past and haven't finished yet), which is the really tricksy bit.

So where we would notice a marked difference between saying "I ate the spaghetti", "I have eaten the spaghetti" and "I have been eating the spaghetti", in German - not so much.

"Ich aß die Spaghetti" and "ich habe die Spaghetti gegessen" are (so I have been told) much of a muchness.  Describing the exact same events (in the exact same point of the space-time continuum) you would be more likely to use the Präteritum (simple past tense/preterite) in written German and the Perfekt in spoken conversation.

They say that, in spoken German, you are also more likely to use the Perfekt than the Plusquamperfekt.

So, when talking to your peeps, you'll probably say "Ich habe die Spaghetti gegessen" - which could mean:

• you have eaten the spaghetti (so the spaghetti is all gone, now), 
• you have been eating the spaghetti (so the spaghetti stocks are decidedly lower), 
• you had eaten the spaghetti (earlier today, just before some other stuff happened) or 
• you ate the spaghetti ("but my sister had the pizza - why do you ask?")

Which makes the Perfekt the hardest working tense in spoken German, I'd say.

But, since you are more likely to hear people using the Perfekt as they chat on the street, but more likely to use the Präteritum or Plusquamperfekt in written German, that means you have to pay close attention for your exams and assignments.

Are you writing dialogue?  Use the Perfekt a lot.

Are you writing narrative?  Use the Präteritum and the Plusquamperfekt (unless, of course, you want to say something that actually requires the Perfekt:  "Er hat die Spaghetti gegessen, und will keine Pizza").

Plusquamperfekt, or: Sharon's notes, Verby things, part one.

I am preparing for a German exam.  You have been warned.

So,what's the deal with "plusquamperfekt"?

I'm glad you asked.  The pluperfect tense of a verb is the form we usually use to indicate something that had occurred even earlier in the past than the events currently being recounted.

It's the "had completed" in the sentences:  "I had completed my morning routine when the phone rang" and "When Jason came to see me I had already completed my resignation".  It indicates that something was done, over and finished by the time this part of the story was taking place.

"This dog had bitten postmen previously, so Todd was extremely wary of his 'friendly' greeting."

Notice that, in English, we have two components going into this verb?  There's the auxiliary, which is usually 'had' or 'was' (the simple past tense forms of 'have' and 'be') and the past-participle version of the main verb.

In German, this tense is created by using the Präteritum (simple past tense) of haben or sein as the auxiliary verb and the Partzip II (past participle) form of the main verb... oh, wait.  That's exactly the same thing we do in English.

For the record, the simple past of haben and sein are thus:

ich hatte du hattest er/sie/es hatte wir hatten ihr hattet sie/Sie hatten

ich war du warst er/sie/es war wir waren ihr wart sie/Sie waren

Which always trips me up a bit, because something in my head thinks 'hat' should be past tense - but it's not (it's third person singular present).  Er hat = he has.  Er hatte = he had.  Remember that, kids.

Now, the Plusquamperfekt is not exactly like English.  Some aspects of this are very German.

For example, the auxiliary and the main verb have to sit in particular parts of the clause.  In a bog-standard German clause, the verb always takes the second position:

"Der Hund biss den Mann"

But if there is an auxiliary verb and a main verb, then the auxiliary verb takes the second position (and cops all the conjugation) and the past participle of the main verb (sans conjugation) scoots to the end of the clause:

"Der Hund hatte den Mann gebissen"

Of course, that moves around a bit for more complicated sentences:

"Wenn der Hund den Mann gebissen hatte, warum klagte er nicht?"

Yeah.  Verbs.  The Germans probably think that sort of thing is reasonable.

Another thing that is quite German about the Plusquamperfekt is the choice of auxiliaries.  In English, we pretty much use "had" for everything.  We really only use "was" in certain dialects, and then really only for "go" and "do" ("I was done").

In German, however, you use "war" (and it's brothers) for any verb where something changes its position in the space-time continuum.  Or any existential continuum.  And it doesn't really have to "change" it's state.  It could be staying still.  Just ask yourself:  "is this verb, in some way, shape or form, about movement?"  If the answer is "yes", then it's highly likely you use "war".

Did you arrive?  Depart?  Stay?  Go?  Become?  Be?

Ich war angekommen.  Sie war abgefahren.  Wir waren geblieben.  Ihr wart dort gegangen.  Es war kalt gewesen.  Sie waren Lehrerin geworden.

This is also the case for verbs like flying, driving, running, walking... but also for verbs like sleeping, happening, growing, being born and dying.

"Wir waren nach Berlin gefahren, bevor es war passiert."

The Plusquamperfekt is actually pretty straightforward.  The hardest part is getting the past participle right.

The Perfekt, now, that's a bit odd.  But, as they say, is another story.

What's a Thesaurus?

I had an interesting conversation with a German native the other day, trying to explain what a thesaurus was.

Me:  Do Germans have thesauri?  I was trying to find one.
Her:  Do we have what?
Me:  A thesaurus.  Do you know of a good thesaurus for German?
Her:  What is that?
Me:  It's a book where you can find other words that mean the same thing as the word you know.
Her:  We have synonym books, if that's what you mean?
Me:  Sort of, but I was hoping for a good, proper thesaurus.  It's got more depth than synonyms - it breaks ideas down into chunks and gives you words that match those chunks.
Her:  Um... What?
Me:  Like, it would take the idea of furniture, break that into different kinds of furniture - like furniture you sit on - and then give you words for furniture you sit on.  Couch, divan, chaise-longue, chair.  That sort of thing.
Her:  Why on earth would anyone need that?

A good thesaurus - a true thesaurus - defines the universe.  It divides and subdivides all of the concepts within human experience and then offers you a vocabulary to use for those concepts.

It's more than a book of synonyms.  It's more than a dictionary, really - for it gives you the definition and then lets you find all the words that fit.  Well, many of the words that fit.  There are a lot of words in the world.

When I was in high school, Roget's Thesaurus was on the book list.  It became one of my most cherished tools.  I cannot imagine a world where this book does not exist.

As a librarian, I encounter other thesauri all the time.  The systems of subject headings (like MeSH) used by databases to classify and organise their entries are thesauri.  Whether the topic you are dealing with is the English language or the fields of medical knowledge, the point of a thesaurus is to ferret out the facets of a thing and give you a term you can use for any particular facet.

So, needless to say, I was absolutely flabbergasted recently when I read something that suggested English is unique in the word for having a thesaurus like Roget's.

Surely such a thing would be vital for any serious study of any language?  How could you take your language seriously and not have a thesaurus?  More so than a dictionary, a thesaurus maps the conceptual world of a language.  A dictionary will tell you the definition of a "divan" - a thesaurus will show you where the word fits into the grand scheme of things.

And, from a language learning point of view, a thesaurus would surely be the most useful of tools?  Rather than plowing through multiple dictionaries, trying to find the word that sort-of-maybe-kind-of matches the word you have in mind - constantly finding words that don't quite match up - you could just look up the definition of the word you want, and find the words that match that definition.

I have a book at home which is a multilingual exploded visual dictionary, and it is the most marvelous thing.  It's sort of, kind of, almost a multilingual thesaurus, only there are pictures involved.  You can find a word for the hilt of a sword in six language just by finding the picture of a sword and looking for the hilt.

That's what a multilingual thesaurus should be.  That's what it can do.

That's a powerful and useful thing.

So, applied linguists of the world, get cracking.  There's the whole of human language to map.

An idea for a thesis?

Probably not my thesis.  I'm probably going to fritter away my time doing one Masters or GradDip or GradCert after another.

And when I do do a PhD, it's probably going to be on materials design (at least, that's the plan).

But I had this idea while reading something in preparation for the text I'm going to take today (currently procrastinating), and thought it was worth writing down somewhere.  Maybe someone could get some use out of it:

Learner Identities in 2LLs in Rural and Remote Areas.  Using memoirs, diaries, and interviews, ask learners who are far away from metropolitan areas why they are learning a language (and why they have chosen to learn it the way they're learning it) and how they see their language learning process/progress.

Finding the learners may be a challenge, but it would certainly be interesting.

Algebra is not about maths

Dear every-maths-teacher-I-had-in-high-school,

About that algebra stuff you tried to teach me...  I'd like to have a word with you.

I know what you think this is going to be: one of those "I've never used this in my life and I can't believe you made me waste all that time on something pointlessly confusing for no good reason" rants.

You're wrong.

I mean, sure, a few weeks ago I would totally have gone with the "never-use-it, waste-of-time" option, but I sat down the other day and had a good think about things, and I've come to the conclusion that I regularly use transferable skills that can be taught with algebra - and that it is a useful thing that should definitely be taught to all students in high school.

Just not in a maths class.

You see, algebra is not about maths.  Sure, it involves maths, but it is not about maths.  It is about logic and reasoning.

Essentially, what you learn from algebra is deduction.  You have certain pieces of information in front of you, and you must use those pieces of information to deduce the information you don't have.

Now, maths is a particularly useful way of illustrating this principle, and the principle is particularly useful in mathematics - but quite frankly numbers are about as necessary for algebra as they are for sudoku.

I struggled with maths in high school.  This was surprising and depressing for me, because I was very good at it in primary school.  I regularly managed 100% results for maths tests and often topped the class for maths assignments.

Then I hit high school and suddenly nothing made any sense to me at all.  I realise, now, that this is because there were actually three different disciplines involved in the maths they teach you in school (perhaps more), and my brain couldn't accept them as being the same thing.

There's what I like to call "real world maths" - this is the stuff where the numbers equate to real things and you can see the connection between them.  The world is full of quantifiable things, and you can add to, subtract from, multiply and divide these.  If I have a pie, I can divide it into five pieces and I will then have five fifths of that pie.  Good.  Concrete.  Sensible.

Then there's that weird crazy-pants stuff that only makes sense in it's own universe.  They tell me that, mathematically, it all works.  However, you can't apply it to real life.  The simplest example I can give is dividing fractions.  If you divide a fraction by a fraction you get a bigger number.  That doesn't work in real life.  If I divide one fifth of the pie by two thirds of the people I don't magically get more pie.

Now, I'd like to think that if I wasn't meant to regard "real world maths" and "separate universe maths" as one and the same thing, I would have been able to work with it much more competently.  But, as it stood, I was constantly trying to reconcile the two versions of reality and failing miserably.

Then there's the third subject that gets bundled into the whole "maths" umbrella:  logic and reasoning.  This has applications to maths, but it is not maths specific.  It's a really good, useful set of skills to have, but in a maths class the focus is all wrong.  Rather than teaching the skills and applying it to maths, they try to teach the maths and hope the skills come out of that.

Algebra got caught up in that whole "real world vs pocket universe" issue that maths embodied for me, instead of being a very useful and practical skill that assists me in all sorts of things (like solving sudoku puzzles).

So, maths teachers of the world, do the future generations a favour and don't be quite so maths focused.  I know you find this hard to believe, but maths isn't the centre of the universe.

What is education worth?

Many years ago, for a relatively brief period of time, the Australian government decided that a tertiary education was so vital for the development of our country's economy and industry that they would foot the bill.  All Australians (depending, of course, on whether they met the entry criteria) could receive free university education.

This had a lasting effect on the country's psyche, and we (as a nation) are now convinced that university degrees should be free.  The entire concept of paying for an education is an anathema to the Australian people.

Now, we couldn't actually sustain the free university scheme.  We eventually had to create a Higher Education Loans Scheme to make sure people could attend university without paying up-front, but would need to pay the costs of the education off later, when they were earning a wage and could afford such things.

This was considered something of an affront by many Australians.  Every change, price increase or additional expense associated with getting a degree is considered an affront by many Australians.

But why do we think an education is something we shouldn't pay for?  Do we think the educators, administrators and support staff don't deserve to be paid for their time and expertise?  Is there anything else of any real value that we think should just be handed to us?

The true value of a thing is the amount we are willing to pay for it.  And in Australia, it seems we would rather not pay anything for a university education at all.  So how much do we value it?

And why do we think an education is something we don't pay for?  Is the entire university system supposed to operate on a budget of air and magic?

It's not free.  If we expect the government to pay for our education, then we are expecting the taxpayers to pay for it.  Why should all of those kids doing apprenticeships to learn how to be boilermakers and electricians pay for someone else to do a Bachelor of Arts?

The Australian Defence Forces have an interesting arrangement.  They will pay for your degree, but then you need to work for them for the next few years to justify their costs.  What if the government offered a similar deal?  They cover the costs of your degree, but then you work for them (in the job and location where they most need you) for a number of years to make it worth their while - and, by extension, make it worth the while of the community whose taxes made your education possible.

If you don't want to work for the government, then you can pay for your own education - if you think a tertiary education is worth having.

There are many people in Australia who would be affronted by that idea, just as they are affronted by the idea that one would expect them to pay a cent for their education - either now or in the future.  But if it is worth having, then it's worth working for or paying for.

If you really want a free education, one completely funded by the government and the taxpayers of Australia, then find your local library and start reading.

Q&A: Helfen

The question has been sitting on a piece of paper on my desk for a while now, but I haven't quite found the time to find the answer:

What's the difference between "hilf mir, bitte" and "helft mir, bitte"?

I can't even remember where I saw these, to be honest.  I just wrote them down in the hope that I would eventually get off my blessed assurance and find the answer.  It's a praxis thing, you see.  I never really understand something until I challenge myself to question it deeper, and then think about how I could explain it to someone else.

I'm not 100% sure of this, because I'm piecing this together from two separate conjugation tables which are each giving me half the story.  I may be wrong, but I'll discover that later.

In "hilf mir, bitte", helfen is clearly in the 2nd person informal singular (2PISg) imperative form.

I think, although I'm not sure, that in "helft mir, bitte", it's in the the 2nd person informal plural (2PIPl) imperative form.

Now, I'm not sure about this, because one of my conjugation tables lists "helft" as the standard present tense form for 2PIPl, and as far as I know you usually drop the present tense endings for an imperative.

But at the same time, I'm pretty sure I've never encountered imperatives for 2PIPl before, so I have no idea if they should have the ending or not.

In my other conjugation table, it *does* include "helft" on the list of imperatives (along with "hilf" and "helfen"), but doesn't put a pronoun next to it (like it does for almost everything else), so I can only assume it's for 2PIPl.

So, I think the difference between "hilf mir, bitte" and "helft mir, bitte" is the number of people you are asking for help at the time.

Role plays are always terrible

I studied Speech and Drama for about twelve years, and then I taught both Drama and English for two years.

I have, on more than one occasion, flirted with the idea of undertaking a thesis on the confluence between performance and language learning by examining whether drama class activities designed to improve performance can be successfully used in a language classroom to improve oral language skills.

It is my considered opinion that role-play activities suck.

They just do.

It's like there's something in the genre that is inherently terrible.

You know what I'm talking about.  You have to pretend to be Harold, who has something terribly ordinary or mundane to do.  Your partner plays Mildred, who wants to talk to Harold about something equally mundane but clashing with Harold's mundane plans.  You must pretend you care about these mundane things and try to negotiate some sort of conversation or compromise.

Blah.

Scripted drama/sketches have the benefit of actual thought.  Improvisations (proper improvisations - like those found in theatre sports) are kept aloft by the participants entering into the spirit of the game and have an air of anything-can-happen danger.  Role-play activities lack both the game and the thought, and always seem to trudge along like a lame duck caught in an oil slick.

Role plays in classroom situations can have some limited benefit, in that they get the participants to start thinking about ideas from different perspectives, and they prompt the use of conversational skills like listening and turn-taking - but they're almost always boring and horrid.

Turn a role-playing activity into an assessment item, and then they become boring, horrid and terrifying.  Not a good combination.  Role plays can, possibly, be used as a spot of scaffolding on the way to a less horrible assessment item, but I would really recommend something else.

Anything else, really.

Might I suggest: a proper script, a proper improvisation or a decent vox-pop?  These are all good alternative to role plays.

Chooseable path?

So, I’m currently reading “To Be OR Not To Be” – a chooseable-path version of Hamlet written by Ryan North, who I suspect may be some sort of genius.  Or an idiot savant.  I’m not sure.  Maybe there isn’t a difference.

And “reading” is a bit of a loose term for this book.  “Playing” comes closer.  I’m playing a book.  I get to a point where the book says “do you want to go back to Denmark or become a pirate?” and I can’t help but shout “Pirate!”  Which causes no end of consternation in my household.

What is causing *me* no end of consternation is the fact that, if I loose my place, I can never find it again.  This book is labyrinthine.  I’m deliberately making choices I know will send me down dead ends, just so I can see which end it sends me to, but when I try to go back to find the original thread I branched off...

Judicious use of bookmarks hasn’t saved me as often as I would have liked.

I always hated “choose your own adventure” books when I was a kid.  They seemed unnecessarily light on plot, and that whole second person thing was always a bit naff.  This one, however, is totes rad, bro.  It’s oozing radditude.

There’s even a “chooseable path” book within the “chooseable path” book – to replace the play-within-a-play in the heart of Hamlet.  Sweet.

It may have also been written entirely in that weird post-surfer/skeghead slang that often perpetuates internet chatrooms and is notable in movies like “Dude, Where’s my Car?”.

Anyway, I was just sitting here, flicking through a grammar book for a German assignment, when it suddenly hit me:

Do you know what would make an awesome chooseable path book?  A book on grammar, that’s what.

No, seriously. 

Although, by “awesome”, I may just mean “seriously interesting to people who like this sort of stuff”, and possibly useful for other people”.

Imagine it:  You are given a sentence or some dialogue, and then given options as to which mini-lesson you want to branch off from that passage.

Das Mädchen will nicht sein Frühstuck essen, weil das mit der Katze spielt.

To a) Find out why the conjugated verb is suddenly at the end of the sentence, go to p18

b) Find out what happens when you use “mit” in front of a feminine noun, go to p26

c) Find out why we call the girl “it” rather than “she”, go to p29

d) See what happens to this sentence when you change the tense, go to p35

You pick “b” and are taken to a minilesson that uses that sentence (and others) to explain that “mit” is a preposition that must always be followed by the dative case, and feminine nouns switch their articles from “die” to “der” in the dative.  Then:

To a) See more dative prepositions, go to p15

b) Find out what happens to feminine nouns in the genitive case, go to p21

c) Try an exercise to test your knowledge of noun genders, go to p42

You choose your own grammar lesson!  And it’s based entirely on prompting you to ask a question and go looking for the answer - which means the answers are likely to be more meaningful for you, and you might be more likely to remember them!

It takes parsing sentences to a whole new level!

That’s exciting.  Try to at least pretend you think it’s cool.  

The "best" way to learn a foreign language?

Well, quite by accident, I've been running an experiment over the past five years to determine the best way to learn a foreign language.

Note:  I used the word "foreign" on purpose.  This is for languages that aren't part of your language environment, and therefore aren't really second languages and aren't supported in any way, shape or form by informal learning in the community.

And I should probably also clarify that this is for adult learners, as children have access to language learning approaches (such as regular, relatively easy classes, being an exchange student and going on camps).

I've done:

• the thing where you buy a commercial teach-yourself package with books and CDs, and try to teach yourself.
• the thing where you hire a private tutor and have regular one-on-one classes.
• the thing where you attend a two hour evening class once a week for ten weeks.
• the thing where you have two-week intensive classes in the country where they speak that language.
• the thing where you do a proper university degree via distance education.

I haven't done:

• the thing where you have a two week intensive course in your own country (but I'm thinking of doing that)
• the thing where you study a proper university degree and turn up to on-campus classes (but I wish I'd done that).

And, having done all of this, I sat down the other day and thought about what had given me the best results, and what I should do if I want to actually move forward with this whole language learning thing.

And then I realised that the advice I was about to give myself is actually my answer to "what is the best way to learn a foreign language?"

My answer:

• Buy yourself a good textbook package - like you would be using if you were doing a proper university course - and also buy yourself a good teach-yourself package that's a little less intense.  Then,
• Hire yourself a private tutor who can help you work through both books, provide correction and feedback, give you someone to interact with in your target language and keep you on track.  Then,
• After you've covered the basics with your books and tutor, take some short courses every now and then to give you the benefit of a classroom.  A short course in a place where your target language is actually spoken outside of class is a magical thing for locking in the things you've learnt with your books and tutors. And,
• Above all, do homework.  There are activities in those books you paid a fortune for.  If you actually did them, you would be better off than if you just read over them

I struggle with the last point, myself.  I try to power through and cover the information, and forget that there is a real benefit to actually applying it to an exercise.  Taking the time to think about the question and trying to write (or speak) and answer is probably the most useful thing I'm not doing at the moment.

So, this is what I'm going to try to do with my two target languages this year (and next).  Textbooks, tutors and short courses, with a touch more self-discipline in the homework stakes.

I was going to try to spend some quality time in Austria the next time I went to Europe, and I'd say a language intensive is on the cards.  I'll have to see if I can squeeze another one in Estonia in at the same time...

Why learn Esperanto?

Sometime over the course of the past year, I've shifted from learning about Esperanto to learning Esperanto.

I'm doing it very slowly (which is ironic, seeing as one of the "selling points" of Esperanto is that it's quick to learn), but then I'm really only giving it five minutes a day and an extra 20-30 minutes a week.  In that light, it's actually a testament to the facileco of the language that I've picked up as much as I have.

One of the things you notice most when you start looking at Esperanto, is how often the question "why" tends to turn up.  It seems as if everyone struggles with understanding the point of it.  I did, initially, before I was won over.  It seems people who don't understand what Esperanto actually is are constantly asking why anyone would learn such a thing, while those who are learning Esperanto are constantly trying to give other people a good reason for it.

When I mention to others that I'm learning Esperanto, most people (if they've heard of it) ask me why - as in "why bother?" or "what's the point?" or "where will you use it?"

Well, to quote a character from Tashi:  "It doesn't matter!  You always ask the wrong questions!"

To be perfectly, strictly, completely honest, I'm learning Esperanto for the same reason one might take up quilting, amateur astronomy or chess.  I secretly suspect a lot of other Esperantists have taken it up for the same reason.

It's a hobby.  An amusement.  A diversion.  A chance to enjoy myself by engaging in something that pleases me.

Like quilting, I'm playing with pieces and patterns (only of words, rather than material), and as I learn more I can put the pieces together in the patterns in a way I find intellectually and creatively stimulating.

Like amateur astronomy I'm exploring part of the universe through a particular lens - picking up enough of a science I find fascinating (in this case, linguistics) to make new discoveries about the way it all works while keeping it light and fun.

As as for chess?

Well, chess is probably the best analogy for Esperanto I can think of.

When someone takes up chess, you don't ask "why" - the answer is incredibly obvious:  you take up chess in order to play chess.  And nobody asks you who you will play chess with, because that answer is also obvious:  You play chess with other chess players.

Why learn Esperanto?  Well, duh - you learn Esperanto to speak Esperanto.  Who will you speak with?  Other Esperanto speakers.  It's not rocket science.

And, just like taking up any other hobby, it opens up the world in a way that you'd never notice or appreciate unless you gave it a try yourself.

You can find a greater purpose or a more noble reason if you want to go looking for it - but you don't need it.  Esperanto is it's own reward.

Structure of a Paper

I found this in my notes from when I was doing the Graduate Diploma of Education (Tertiary Teaching).  It's the basic structure of a paper (for a journal).  I thought it was worth keeping - but it's also worth sharing.

These sorts of visual structures are gold, when you have never written something before, and you are trying to work out what it should look like:

Structure of a Paper

1. Set the scene
2. Present the Question/Problem your paper will address
3. Literature Review
4. Method
1. participants
2. data collection
3. data analysis
5. Present the Findings
6. Discussion (tying the findings to the literature review)
7. Conclusion.

Oh, and here's some heads-up about  one of the core differences between writing an essay for a journal and writing one for an assignment:

In a journal article, it is perfectly acceptable to talk about the fact that you are writing a paper.  You can use things like "we did X and we thought it would generate Y but it produced Z instead" and "this paper will explore the effect A has on B in the context of C".  However, you should try to stay as objective and neutral as you can - try to keep things general and professional, and avoid personal comments as much as possible.  The more scientific your article, the less "okay" it is to use personal pronouns (you still avoid contractions and colloquialisms, regardless of what you are writing).

In an academic essay, you avoid mentioning yourself (don't use personal pronouns) or drawing attention to the fact that you are writing an essay (although some lecturers will want the "this essay will" statement in the introduction, many consider it poor writing - find out what the person marking your essay expects).