Can we talk about the The Thai publications attempts at the English language?

[Krillin]

The articles are supposedly written by native English speakers. And yet, some of the authors seem to firmly believe that every other sentence should begin with or otherwise include conjuncitve adverbs, discourse markers, or sentence adverbs. As a consequence, the sentences, at length, come across as, ultimately, unnatural in the end. Is there a known reason for this? I wonder whether the writers are asked by the editors to incorporate as many of those as possible, or whether the editors later go through each article and add them in. Does anyone know what I'm talking about?

[Etaoin Shrdlu]

The authors get paid according to word count.

[Will B Good]

Admittedly, your observation is, in many ways, astute. Nevertheless, one must consider the possibility that, stylistically speaking, many writers feel compelled — or perhaps, more charitably, inspired — to deploy discourse markers as though their careers depended on it. Moreover, it appears that, increasingly, such language has become a sort of lexical seasoning sprinkled liberally throughout otherwise serviceable prose. Consequently, the cumulative effect is, unsurprisingly, one of rhetorical fatigue.

 

Furthermore, editors — for reasons that remain, arguably, mysterious — seem, from time to time, to regard such linguistic padding as a hallmark of sophistication. Accordingly, and perhaps even regrettably, articles end up sounding less like writing and more like a TED Talk delivered by someone who just discovered the transition section of a grammar book. Therefore, it is entirely plausible that these flourishes are being added post-submission, retrofitted into the prose like ornamental gutters on a perfectly fine house.

 

Conversely, one could argue that these markers serve a useful function — namely, guiding the reader through complex arguments and, to an extent, simulating the flow of natural conversation. Nonetheless, in excess, they begin to feel less like helpful signs and more like someone yelling “NEXT POINT!” at the end of every sentence. In other words, the prose starts to sound as if it’s perpetually clearing its throat.

 

Ultimately, then, whether this phenomenon is driven by editorial mandate, linguistic insecurity, or an unconscious addiction to adverbial glitter, the result remains the same: readers, regrettably, must wade through a textual thicket of “consequentlys,” “moreovers,” and “interestinglys” just to locate the actual point. Indeed, it’s exhausting.