If one reads critically much of what is written today in so-called scientific journals, he is forced to conclude that somewhere along the way instruction in many simple principles, which should have graced the training of an investigator, has been overlooked or skimped. Or, if it has been undertaken, too often it is of a slipshod kind which leaves the so-called scientific paper an awkward and grotesque skeleton for data, deformed by having few ideas to give it proper flesh and little style to make the telling of it pleasant. It rattles around in its bones, macabre and ghostly. The unwritten law of too many fabricators of research papers is that they must be dry and may be awkward. Some ancient guilt complex makes writers inflict some pain upon the reader, a retribution for the privilege of reading it.
Along broader lines than just writing, Dwight Ingle has confronted the