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FAQs
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Which is the best business to start?
The good business to start which are worth investing time and money are to start a franchise, they are best in light of the fact that most franchisors help franchisees build up a strategy for success. Numerous components of the arrangement are standard working techniques set up by the franchisor. Different parts of the arrangement are modified to the requirements of the franchisee. The most troublesome part of another business is its start-up. Scarcely any accomplished administrators think about how to set up another business since they just do it a couple of times. Be that as it may, a franchisor has a lot of experience collected from helping its franchisees with start-up. This experience will help diminish botches that are expensive in both cash and time. A franchisor ordinarily offers a few promoting points of interest. The franchisor can get ready and pay for the advancement of expert publicizing efforts. Local or national promoting done by the franchisor benefits all franchisees. What's more, the franchisor can give counsel about how to create compelling promoting programs for a neighborhood. This advantage for the most part has a cost in light of the fact that numerous franchisors require franchisees to contribute a level of their gross pay to a co-agent advertising store.It is conceivable to get help with financing another franchise through the franchisor. A franchisor will frequently make courses of action with a loaning foundation to loan cash to a franchisee. Loaning organizations locate that such plans can be very gainful and generally safe in light of the high achievement rate of establishment tasks. The franchisee should in any case acknowledge moral obligation regarding the advance, yet the franchisor's contribution as a rule improves the probability that an advance will be endorsed. An appealing component of most establishments is that they have a demonstrated arrangement of task. This framework has been created and refined by the franchisor. A franchisor with numerous franchisees will ordinarily have a very refined framework in light of the whole experience of every one of these activities.The best franchises I can suggest you now a days are Online services, They are the franchise options for many reasons, low cost and less initial space are the two important features of it.Look out for a company like Phixman. This company is India’s one of the best Online Mobile Repair Company, this is the best investment because smartphones are becoming a basic need in everyone’s life and we can’t live without our phone for a day. Phixman is the company that takes your smartphone from your doorstep, repairs it and then delivers it back to your doorstep, all you have to do is place your order. It is India’s one of the fastest growing franchises and is the best franchise to start in 2019.
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How was Linear B deciphered?
The decipherment of Linear B is justly famous as the first time when someone succeeded in deciphering a script without the aid of an (explicitly) bilingual text of some sort. The co-decipherers were the architect and gifted amateur linguist Michael Ventris and John Chadwick, a trained specialist in the ancient Greek language who had also worked as a code-cracker in Bletchley Park during the war.The first observation about Linear B was the number of signs used in the script — somewhere between 80 and 90, with about 20 signs being comparatively rare. Alphabets tend to have between about 20 and 40 signs, rarely a couple fewer (e.g. the younger Futhark) or a couple more (e.g. Avestan). But Linear B had ca. 60 common signs plus about 20 rarer ones, so it was in all likelihood a simple syllabary (i.e. the signs represented not phonemes, but syllables: da, du, di, etc.)I happily accept correction in the matter, but if I am correctly informed then all languages admit syllables of the pattern da, du, di (i.e. Consonant + Vowel), whereas some do not admit syllables of the pattern ad, ud, id, etc. (i.e. vowel + consonant). So, for a simple syllabary one therefore expected signs of the pattern C + V. (Signs of CV plus signs of VC would exceed 90 easily, and no language has just VC syllables.) Other syllabaries of this sort are known (e.g. the classical Cyprian syllabary), as well as the tricks involved to do things such as writing e.g. initial double consonance (e.g. write a dummy vowel after the first consonant) or writing word-final consonants (e.g. omit them if they are predictable).The key observation after that was made by one Alice Kober who deserves much of the credit (and did in fact receive said credit from Ventris and Chadwick) for the eventual decipherment. Miss Kober correctly observed that many sign-groups differed in the final sign only — i.e. the first three signs, say, were identical, but the fourth sign was different. In an inflected language this might represent with nouns a distinction of case or of gender or of number; and the signs involved might often enough have the same consonant, but a different vowel.Next, the meanings of a few words on the tablets were known from context. Many of the tablets are lists of persons. The layout of such tablets is often as follows:a group of signs, a space, a little stick-man, a marka group of signs, a space, a little stick-man, a marka group of signs, a space, a little stick-man, a marka group of signs, a space, a little stick-man, a marka group of signs, a space, a little stick-man, a marktwo signs, a space, a little stick-man, five marks.The two signs in line 6 appear again and again in the final line of such lists; and they evidently mean “total”. Occasionally, however, instead of a little stick-man, it’s a little woman-sign, and in this case in the final line we find the same first sign as in the man-lists, but a different second sign. Presumably the two different final signs shared the same consonant, but had a different vowel; and this was indicating a switch in gender.Ventris’ great contribution was to compile an exhaustive “grid” of all such cases.The final observation involved the publication of the tablets from Pylos on the mainland. The texts from Knosos in Crete, long since published, contained a few sign-groups which upon inspection never appeared on the Pylos tablets. Ventris guessed that these were toponyms unique to Crete, and he decided to experiment with some syllabic values taken from the toponymy of Crete. For one very common such sign group he tried ko-no-so (Knosos — sic!). For another three-sign group he tried pa-i-to (Phaistos). For a four-sign group he tried a-mi-ni-so (Amnisos). He then started plugging these values into the grid. The masculine word for “total” came out then as to-so. This was suspiciously like Greek τόσοι, /tosoi/. Well, then, try to-sa for the feminine word for “total” (i.e. Greek τόσαι, /tosai/). He then plugged the hypothetical sa into the appropriate points of the grid, and the process continued like one gigantic crossword puzzle. Things kept coming out suspiciously close to Greek. Ventris finally arrived at a three-sign group which tended to stand next to a little drawing of what was self-evidently a tripod. If, however, there were two or more marks after the little drawing of a tripod, a fourth sign was added to the group of signs in front of the drawing. Thus:signs A B C, space, drawing of tripod, one markor:signs A B C D, space, drawing of tripod, two or more marksThe values which Ventris plugged in as he worked through his grid were these:ti-ri-po and ti-ri-po-de. These again looked suspiciously like the Greek words for a tripod, namely (sing.) τρίπους, /tripous/ and (pl.) τρίποδες, /tripodes/. Again and again, things kept coming up that looked pretty Greek. It was often a weird form of Greek, but then again these texts were centuries older than any Greek hitherto known, and languages are constantly changing, so you wouldn’t expect things to look exactly like classical Greek. So it wasn’t too surprising when the words for “boys” and “girls” looked like ko-wo and ko-wa (Greek κοῦροι, /kouroi/ and κοῦραι, /kourai/, respectively), esp. since it was known that it had originally been /korwoi/ and /korwai/ in Greek (note the “w”).Around this point Ventris was invited to speak on a programme on the BBC about his work with Linear B, and one John Chadwick happened to have his radio on that day… Chadwick had dabbled with Linear B before, so he was familiar with the script and with the problems involved. Moreover, he was an excellent scholar of Greek. He had also worked, as mentioned above, at Bletchley Park, and, as he later put it, what Ventris was coming up with looked exactly like what he and the other code-crackers would come up with in the initial stages of decrypting a coded message. It was the right combination of things that appeared to be just intelligible and things that were still utterly opaque.Excited, Chadwick got into contact with Ventris, and the two of them worked the rest of it out; in 1953 they published in the Journal of Hellenic Studies.Interestingly, after the deciphrement was published, a brilliant if irascible scholar, Leonard Palmer, demonstrated that there was a way of proving that the language was Greek without even having to decipher it. Some of the tablets with tripods drawn on them distinguished different types of tripod. When this happened, a word was added to the putative word for “tripod”; and on the drawing of the tripod there appeared handles.Well, when four handles appeared, the word was a five sign group (call it A B C D E); and when there were no handles the sign group was F D E. One could plausibly conclude that D E meant “handled” and that A B C meant “four” and that F meant “no”. So far, so good.Also, many lists of personnel looked like this:group of signs, space, stick-man, one markgroup of signs, second group of signs, stick-man, two marksIn every case when there were two groups of signs with a stick-man followed by two marks, the final sign of the second group was the exact same sign. One could plausibly conclude that this sign was an enclitic word for “and”. As it happened, this putative enclitic word for “and” was the exact same sign as the first sign in the group of signs which meant “four”.Linguists out there, answer us this: How many languages are there in which the enclitic word for “and” is the same as the first syllable of the word for “four”?As far as I know, Greek is the only candidate. (Even in Latin the first syllable of “four” is not identical with the enclitic word for “and”. And even if there is another language out there for which the postulate holds true, given that the Linear B texts were found in Greece, why should that other language count as more likely than Greek?)To give an English example (as did Palmer whom I am shamelessly plagiarising here). Let us say we are deciphering an unknown language in an unknown script, and we can establish on the basis of contextual clues that a group of signs (A B C) means deus, and that the same group of signs reversed (i.e. C B A) means canis. For how many languages besides English would that relationship hold true? Even for closely related languages such as German and Dutch it does not hold true, and even if some dialect of North Frisian or Low German has the same relationship, if the script in question turned up in England, should not English count as the more probable candidate? Moreover, calling A B C deus and C B A canis and the language English commits you to the prediction both that A B is a common verb of motion and that C B is another common verb; and I am willing to bet that this will not hold true of that hypothetical other West Germanic language. Just one or two such examples, and you have identified the language. Palmer, to iterate the point, was brilliant.On the whole the decipherment worked as you would solve a gigantic crossword puzzle. As you make a few guesses, as long as you’re guessing correctly, probable answers emerge for other entries in the puzzle. If you’re guessing wrong, you rapidly run into impossible combinations, e.g. a five-letter word for ovis that starts with “ft-”. But when your guesses indicate that the five-letter word for ovis ends with “-ep”, you know that you’re on the right track. And even if you can’t guess the seven-letter word for “chapel” that has a “t” as the fourth letter, you’re not too worried, because nothing rules out the existence of a word with those characteristics. That was how the decipherment looked in the early days, but in the end everything pretty much fell into place with just some odd bits and pieces (e.g. personal names) remaining obscure.I’ve probably made the decipherment appear all too easy; be aware that it was years and years of painstaking work. Only in retrospect can one see that Miss Kober’s observation was a crucial step forwards and so on.
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What happens to the founder of a company backed by angel investors if the company fails?
He's taken to a special dungeon where we unmercifully tickle his belly button with a feather...or worse!Seriously, what do you think happens? The company is an incorporated entity in which everyone owns equity, which is now worthless. So the company is dissolved, everyone loses all of their invested money, and everyone goes his or her respective way:The investors, who are not happy, nevertheless chalk it up to the way the game is played.The founder, having just seen his or her dream crash and burn—along with multiple years of blood, sweat and tears—generally goes through the Five Stages of Grief, and eventually (typically after a year or so of recovery) starts again.
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What's the best way to self publish an e-book on social media, business, & self help?
I’ve been through the process of self-publishing on Kindle and learnt a few things. Now, I can share my tips, so you don’t make the same mistakes! I’m a commercially published author now, but I understand the frustrations of trying to break into conventional publishing, because it took me ten years to get my big break. [ http://graemeshimmin.com/a-kill-in-the-morning-shortlisted-for-terry-prachett-prize/ ] Before I got my publishing deal, I self-published a short story called Veronika, [ http://graemeshimmin.com/veronika-short-story/ ]using Kindle Direct Publishing (KDP) with modest success – it has been in the Amazon top 50. Self publishing does have the advantage of getting your work out there, which can lead to attracting attention and sales. Why Self Publish on Kindle? Amazon’s two main competitors, Apple and Barnes & Noble, both claim to have gained a 20+% market share of the eBook market, leaving Amazon with something like 60%. But surveys of self-published authors have shown that Amazon’s share of self-published eBook sales is much higher – more like 80-85%. Whether the true figure is 60% or as high as 85%, Amazon is the biggest market by a long way, and KDP makes the process of self publishing on Kindle relatively easy. Self publish on Kindle: Step 1 – Your Book First you’ll need to sign up for KDP. Then you start by clicking Add a Title. The important options to fill in are: 1. Book name 2. Description (up to 4,000 characters – use it to sell your book to the reader) 3. Book contributors (you as the author) 4. Categories (whichever genres you are writing in) 5. Search keywords (up to 7, add the themes of the novel, don’t duplicate the categories) These other items can just be left blank/default: Subtitle, Series, Edition Number, Publisher, Language,Publication Date, ISBN. Verify Your Publishing Rights As you are self-publishing your own work, and so you have copyright, select This is not a public domain work and I hold the necessary publishing rights. Convert your book to Kindle format KDP accepts three main formats: * Microsoft Word (.doc or .docx) * Ebook Formats (Html, Mobi, Epub) * signNow PDF It is possible to send Microsoft Word and signNow PDF documents direct to KDP, but the formatting is far from ideal if you do. If you want a really professional looking book then you should convert your book to Kindle’s HTML format yourself before uploading. I found the easiest solution was to convert the formatted manuscript [ http://graemeshimmin.com/manuscript-format-for-novel-submission/ ]into Kindle specific html. How to do this will be the subject of a separate answer. But, as we’re doing things the easy way for now, I suggest you just upload the manuscript and let Amazon reformat it for Kindle. Use Kindle Previewer If you have created an HTML format file then you can use Kindle Previewer, a downloadable Kindle emulator, to check how your book will look on various types of Kindle . What I found was that without careful tweaking, my book looked good on one type of Kindle but not on others. Kindle Previewer allows you to quickly switch between Kindle versions and see how the book will look on each type. Upload Your Book File Once you’re happy with the format, you can upload the file to KDP. The only option is Digital Rights Management. This is your choice. Choose Enable if you want to make it harder for people to copy your book, or Do Not Enable if you prefer to make your book available without restrictions. After you’ve uploaded, there’s an online previewer to check the text still looks right. Self publish on Kindle: Step 2 – Cover Photo There are two options, design your own cover or use the template-based Cover Creator. I recommend designing your own cover. The book cover is critical to attracting readers and a template based design is less likely to stand out from the crowd. The picture at the top shows what the cover I designed for Veronika looks like on the Kindle. Designing your own cover doesn’t have to be difficult. At the simplest, it’s just a question of finding a photo, making it the right size and adding the book’s title and your name to it. Find a Cover Photo There are two options: use an original photo or artwork of your own or download one from an image library. The cheapest and easiest option is to use your own photo. Make the Cover Photo the Right Size and Add the Title You’ll need some image editing software to make the cover the right size and to add the title and your name as the author. The free and easy to use image editing programs I recommend are iPiccy and Pixlr. Use the image editor to crop the photo so it is 1,563 x 2,500 pixels, as in the diagram below: The cover should also be in colour, despite the fact the most common Kindles only display black and white. This is because the Kindle Fire and the Kindle app on iPhone, Windows etc. can display colour. Both iPiccy and Pixlr have a variety of free to use fonts. Experiment with a few different ones until you find one you like. Upload the Cover This is simply a matter of clicking Browse for Image… selecting the cover you’ve designed and then clicking Upload Image. Design a cover using the Cover Creator Alternatively, if you just want a simple cover, use the Cover Creator. Step 3 – Rights and Pricing Verify Your Publishing Territories Select Worldwide rights – all territories. Your book will then appear on all the different Amazon sites around the world. Choose Your Royalty I suggest you set your price so that you receive the 70% Royalty – which means a minimum of $2.99 / £1.49 after that it’s up to you. You can set prices worldwide automatically, based on the US price, or customise your prices for different territories. It might be worth setting prices manually to exploit psychological price points like £1.99. Self publish on Kindle: Final Step – Publish! Now just click Save and Publish. That’s it. In a couple of hours your book will be on all the Amazon stores around the world. See – I told you it was easy! More Details There are more details, including links to all the tools mentioned, on my website at How to Self Publish on Kindle in Three Easy Steps [ http://graemeshimmin.com/self-publish-on-kindle/ ]
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Did Oscar Tay do all that interesting research himself? Or are they available in ordinary books for any student of doctorate in
rubs hands togetherThis is a long story.To illustrate how I would write an answer, I’ve chosen the first question to show up on my “Answer” tab, How do you say "king" in Proto-Indo-European, and does modern English have a cognate to it?, and I’ll be going through the process step by step.First, here’s what I know off the top of my head, without having to consult any sources:The English word “king” is from Old English cyning, from Proto-Germanic *kuningaz, which is itself literally “kin-ing” or “kin-person”. It has no direct Proto-Indo-European equivalent.The Latin rex (also “king”), however, does: it’s from a PIE word something like *regs, meaning “ruler” or “chief” or, roughly, “king”; it’s cognate with Hindi raj, English “rich”, German reich, and a Celtic word something like rix.The Celtic word for “bear” was ~artu, related to Greek arktos, also “bear”, whence “arctic”, literally “up where the bears are”. One Celtic name you’re familiar with was Artu-rix, “the bear-king” - the original Celtic name of King Arthur. This is the interesting sort of nugget I’d include in the final answer.From rex we get plenty of kingly words, including “regal” and “reign”, and plenty of others I’m not aware of or just can’t remember.It wouldn’t have been “king” in the same sense, though. The Proto-Indo-Europeans were a semi-nomadic society with individual groups or tribes ruled by a chief, so not quite the degree of power you’d be dealing with in a typical monarchy.To answer the question, while nothing like English “king” because of its derivation from “kin”, the PIE word was something like *regs, which is where we get Latin rex from, and from there English gets “regal”, “reign”, and some assorted others.I could post that as a semi-functioning answer. Fortunately, I would not do that, because a.) it’s not really complete, b.) it doesn’t do a good job of explaining the subject matter, and c.) it’s not all that interesting. It leaves open more questions:Why is the English word the way it is?Why didn’t the PIE root come down to English in the way it did to Latin or Sanskrit?Are there any other related words from other languages?What does this say about the different Indo-European societies?And so on. All those questions are rather boring for the average reader, so I’d have to find a way to make them more interesting, but that comes later, in the bit where I write the answer. Before I do that, I have to make sure what I’ve written here is correct.Etymonline and Wiktionary are the etymological dictionaries I usually consult. I’ve also got a copy of the compact edition of the Oxford English Dictionary (the two-volume set that comes with a magnifying glass), the American Heritage Dictionary of Indo-European roots (which picks up where the OED leaves off), and assorted others. Etymonline and Wiktionary are my main sources, though, because they are themselves a concise collection of all the etymological information in the OED or AHD. I’d only use the physical dictionaries if a word’s entry on either page were incomplete or if I needed examples of the word’s early use.The Etymonline page on “king” agrees with the etymology in my memory:a late Old English contraction of cyning “king, ruler” (also used as a title), from Proto-Germanic *kuningaz (source also of Dutch koning, Old Norse konungr, Danish konge, Old Saxon and Old High German kuning, Middle High German künic, German König).As does the Wiktionary page:From Middle English king, kyng, from Old English cyng, cyning (“king”), from Proto-Germanic *kuningaz, *kunungaz (“king”), equivalent to kin + -ing.Etymonline and Wiktionary agree here, but sometimes they don’t. When that happens, I’ll have to do a little more digging on the internet or in my physical dictionaries, with a hierarchy of sources I trust going from Etymonline down. (I would put the OED above Etymonline, but Etymonline takes its information from the OED as well as many other dictionaries, so it either has the same etymological information as the OED or better.)What I’d thought was correct, then. Good. As for rex, which I’m less sure on, Etymonline says:“a king,” 1610s, from Latin rex (genitive regis) “a king,” related to regere “to keep straight, guide, lead, rule,” from PIE root *reg- “move in a straight line,” with derivatives meaning “to direct in a straight line,” thus “to lead, rule” (source also of Sanskrit raj- “king”; Old Irish ri “king,” genitive rig).“Rex” is also an English word, borrowed directly from Latin. This is lucky. Etymonline is a source of English etymologies and English etymologies only. If I wanted the etymology of, say, Latin regalis, “regal”, it wouldn’t show up. I’d either have to consult Wiktionary, which has many languages’ etymologies, or I’d use Etymonline, but tricky this time.Etymonline’s got every English word’s etymologies, and it traces that etymology back to the source language. If a word in a language other than English happens to exist in some derived form in English, then I can go to that derived form for the word’s etymology. In the case of regalis, it exists in English as “regal”, so I can go to the etymology of “regal” for the etymology of regalis.Returning to the etymology of “rex”, where we can go straight to Latin this time, Wiktionary says:From Proto-Italic *rēks, from Proto-Indo-European *h₃rḗǵs (“ruler, king”). Cognates include Sanskrit राजन् (rājan, “king”) and Old Irish rí (“king”).Well, now we’ve got something of a disagreement. Etymonline says rex is from PIE *reg-, “to move in a straight line”, while Wiktionary claims it’s from PIE *h₃rḗǵs, “ruler”. Which one’s right? How do we know?Lucky again. Following the Wiktionary link on *h₃rḗǵs tells us it’s from *h₃reǵ-, also meaning “straight”, “direct”, “to move in a straight line”.It may seem there’s still a disagreement: Etymonline says *reg-, Wiktionary says *h₃reǵ-. But they’re the same word. Etymonline takes its etymologies from a few different sources, including the AHD. The AHD writes its PIE words in a simpler, friendlier-looking way that’s closer to how PIE would have been spoken in its later stages. For example, here’s Schleicher’s fable, the standard PIE story, in a form of that friendlier notation:Owis, jesmin wl̥nā ne ēst, dedork’e ek’wons woghom gʷr̥um weghontn̥s - bhorom meg'əm, monum ōk’u bherontn̥s. Owis ek’wobhos eweukʷet: K’erd aghnutai moi widn̥tei g’hm̥onm̥ ek’wons ag’ontm̥. Ek’woi eweukʷont: K’ludhi, owi, k’erd aghnutai dedr̥k'usbhos: monus potis wl̥nām owiōm temneti: sebhei ghʷermom westrom - owibhos kʷe wl̥nā ne esti. Tod k’ek’luwōs owis ag’rom ebhuget.*Reg-, with its basic Latin characters, fits nicely.Wiktionary does not do this. Wiktionary takes most of its Indo-European etymologies from the Brill Etymological Dictionaries, the most up-to-date comprehensive Indo-European etymological dictionaries. These use the most modern technical notation for PIE. Here’s the same text as above in this notation:h2áwey h1yosméy h₂wl̥h₁náh₂ né h₁ést, só h₁éḱwoms derḱt. só gʷr̥Húm wóǵʰom weǵʰed; só méǵh₂m̥ bʰórom; só dʰǵʰémonm̥ h₂ṓḱu bʰered. h₂ówis h₁ékʷoybʰyos wewked: “dʰǵʰémonm̥ spéḱyoh₂ h₁éḱwoms-kʷe h₂áǵeti, ḱḗr moy agʰnutor”. h₁éḱwōs tu wewkond: “ḱludʰí, h₂owei! tód spéḱyomes, n̥sméy agʰnutór ḱḗr: dʰǵʰémō, pótis, sē h₂áwyes h₂wl̥h₁náh₂ gʷʰérmom wéstrom wept, h₂áwibʰyos tu h₂wl̥h₁náh₂ né h₁esti.” tód ḱeḱluwṓs h₂ówis h₂aǵróm bʰuged.Wiktionary’s *h₃reǵ- is of this variety. It’s full of superscript characters and accents and h’s with numbers after them. It’s a lot uglier, but it’s more accurate, and so I prefer to use it in my answers.There you have it: Etymonline’s better for facts, Wiktionary for scope and technical bits. They complement one another wonderfully.And now we’ve got our two key etymologies:English king, from Old English cyning, from Proto-Germanic *kuningaz, common to all Germanic languages, all meaning “king”Latin rex, from Proto-Italic *rēks, from Proto-Indo-European *h₃rḗǵs, all meaning “king”, from *h₃reǵ-, “to move in a straight line”, “to be straight”, and by extension “to be just”, “to be correct”; as mentioned in Oscar Tay's answer to Why are right angles not called left angles?, the “rect” in “correct” is from *h₃reǵ-I could leave it at that. Fortunately - or not, depending on your opinion of my answers - I won’t. There are too many etymologies circling around *h₃rḗǵs to leave it at what the question’s after. What about Artu-rix? Raj? “Rich”? No, this seems like it ought to be an epic etymological wander-about. Rex and friends are scattered in odd places everywhere in Indo-European. I’ve never written about them on Quora. I may as well take this question to do so.You may have noticed that none of that research was original. There’s a lot of research, but all from other sources. I drew from my own knowledge, with Etymonline and Wiktionary for the specifics and to make sure I wasn’t making anything up.I don’t do original research. A linguist is someone who does do original research in linguistics, and since I don’t do that, I’m not a linguist. I’m a language teacher. That’s a totally different set of skills. As Gareth Roberts says in his answer to this question, I simply explain to non-linguists what linguists know.To answer your question, this is all available in ordinary books and websites and the like. Anyone could do what I’ve done to this point if they had a basic linguistics education. Hell, anyone could do this if they’d read enough books on etymology. (Which, I suppose, I have.) This is not that hard if you know where to look. I’ve just given out exactly where you need to look, what you need to do, and how to go about doing it.What comes next, however, is harder. It’s the most difficult part of writing any good answer on Quora. So far, I’ve made sure I have all the information I need. I’ve even started on explaining some of it. But I still have one very important piece to add:I have to make it interesting.That is: I have to make a complicated, confusing, and ultimately unimportant field, historical linguistics - historical linguistics! It almost sounds comic in its boringosity - interesting for an audience that potentially knows nothing about the field. They also have a limited attention span and a slew of much more interesting information at their fingertips. I have to, if only for a few minutes, hold that attention with only words and the odd picture.In the form of an essay.With a niche subject, remember. Comically niche.Where my main source of humour is an etymological dictionary.Without sacrificing facts for entertainment.Furthermore, I have to make sure they read the entire thing, learn everything I’ve lain out in said thing, remember that information, and then click the little blue button that says they’ve enjoyed it. Bonus points if they actually enjoyed it. Bonus bonus points if they laugh, or have their day otherwise improved, or share that information with a friend.This is - if you’ll forgive the hyperbole - pretty hard. Most people can’t do this part. Anyone can read a dictionary, but how many of us can make a friend want to read the dictionary? Or an essay about the dictionary? How about tens of thousands of strangers? How about making them enjoy the experience?Yet - if I may be permitted this - I am horribly, disgustingly lucky. I’ve got a thing wrong with my noggin that, among other things, makes this part intuitive. I can make students enjoy learning grammar. On Quora, I can make twenty thousand of them enjoy it at once. And I can get them to laugh while they learn it.I can imagine no higher compliment than for you, O Matías Damián, O original poster of this question, to say “interesting research”. “Research”? Sure, anyone can do that. I am honoured to be able to do interesting research.And, because I can explain anything in an interesting way, I can also explain how to explain anything in an interesting way in an interesting way. It is, I hope, contagious. Here’s how it works.I have my information: the etymologies, as stated above. Now we have to make people care about them. You may ask, how do you make them care about etymologies? But you don’t ask this yet. You want your audience to begin the story with curiosity. On Quora, all stories begin with a question, literally. That’s good. That creates curiosity. That tells your reader what to wonder, and what they’re going to be learning.You have to keep this curiosity going. If you start the story with the etymology as it is, that may answer any curiosity generated by the question, but if you want to make sure they keep reading, you have to create a hook.A hook. Not clickbait. A hook. Clickbait screams for attention; a hook merely suggests it. If you were in a market and had to choose between one vendor yelling at you to buy their product and another, quiet, friendly vendor with an interesting product you wanted to know more about, which would you go to?You want to make sure the question, or if not on Quora then the title, is friendly. Our question, again, is this:How do you say "king" in Proto-Indo-European, and does modern English have a cognate to it?The average person on Quora won’t know two of these words: “Proto-Indo-European” and “cognate”. A friendly question (or title) is one your audience will understand. How can we rephrase this question to be friendly? “Proto-Indo-European” is a proper noun, a name for a thing, and there’s no way to easily rephrase that. We’ll get to how to fix “Proto-Indo-European” in a moment.“Cognate” is easier. “Cognate” means “a word that’s related to another word”. This is an easy concept with an easy layman’s translation. We can edit this question to its friendlier variant:How do you say "king" in Proto-Indo-European, and does modern English have any words that are related to it?And there we are!: How do you say "king" in Proto-Indo-European, and does modern English have any words that are related to it?. To someone who doesn’t know what Proto-Indo-European is, the curiosity will translate to this: “I wonder how you’d say ‘king’ in this language, and if English has any words that are related to it.” Still not great, but this is a question someone else has asked, so we can’t mess with it more than clarification requires.We’re fighting with lukewarm curiosity now. There’s a few ways you could go about this. One method I used early on on Quora was to recount an abbreviated version of the story of Proto-Indo-European, as in this answer or this one, as an extension of the hook.It gets tedious if I have to do that for every mention of the language. Instead, what I’ve done is written a reference answer for PIE, Oscar Tay's answer to How do we know that a Proto-Indo-European language really existed? What is the evidence?, which I link to as early on in the answer as possible.Virtually all my followers, who form much of the readership of any given answer and the majority of views and upvotes and whatnot early on in the answer’s publication lifetime, have read this answer and/or have a good-enough understanding of PIE, so for them the question in question is a very friendly one indeed. For everyone else, I’ll mention Proto-Indo-European first thing or nearly first thing in the answer, link to that answer, and then carry on.And now the question, with some help from the answer, is friendly.How should we do the hook? Remember, not like clickbait. A clickbait introduction would be like this:Here’s ten word origins you won’t believe! [Include short paragraphs, gratuitous emboldened text and capital letters, and tangentially related stock photographs for each word.]Don’t do this. You’re writing a story, not a tabloid or BuzzFeed article, so write it like a story. The hook should give some hint about what this story is about while not answering any questions just yet. Or, if it does answer the question, then in a somewhat mysterious way; or, if it answers the question quite clearly, then it creates more questions.This time, I’ll begin this one like this:How do you say "king" in Proto-Indo-European, and does modern English have any words that are related to it?We have perhaps too many.Short, pithy, sort-of-answers the question in a vague enough way, and, most importantly, it builds curiosity. It tells the reader that this will be an etymological soup, with words connecting to one another in unexpected and seemingly impossible ways, but saves them. It’ll be good, it says, but you’ll have to read it.Lead into an introductory paragraph. This is where I’d put the link to the Proto-Indo-European answer. If the hook’s good enough, this is also where you’d put the boring expository information. Answer some easier part of the question, correct assumptions, preface one part or another, et cetera.The word is *h₃rḗǵs. It meant “king” or “ruler”, but not in the way you’d imagine your typical monarchy. The Proto-Indo-Europeans were a semi-nomadicNo. Not that. Say “semi-nomadic” if you’ve got to, but say something cooler if you can.The word is *h₃rḗǵs. It meant “king” or “ruler”, but not in the way you’d imagine your typical monarchy. The Proto-Indo-Europeans lived on horseback, herding animals from one bit of grassland to the next, building new shelters along the way or staying as another tribe’s guests for a time.Much better. You can squeeze more information into the flow there. Notice also that I’ve linked to other answers instead of explaining their matter again: the one about the laryngeals at the “3”; the one on the guest-host relationship at the end. (I’ve been told this has the side effect of leading to a rabbit-hole/web of answers one can fall into.)The word is *h₃rḗǵs. It meant “king” or “ruler”, but not in the way you’d imagine your typical monarchy. The Proto-Indo-Europeans lived on horseback, herding animals from one bit of grassland to the next, building new shelters along the way or staying as another tribe’s guests for a time. Different tribes were ruled by different tribal chiefs, and it’s these people who were called *h₃réǵes.I write in a style somewhere between formal/academic and informal/conversational, tending to one side or the other depending on the situation. I’ll switch from one to another from one paragraph to another. You don’t have to do this, but I find it’s a good balance between talking about a subject seriously and sounding like a human.Now that the boring expository first paragraph is out of the way, we can move to the interesting bits.Latin took *h₃rḗǵs, threw out the *h₃, and shortened the remaining regs to rex, “king” in its modern sense.This one’s the Latin branch. I usually start etymology stories with the Latin branch because it gives us the most words, and they tend to sound the same. The etymologies grow weirder as the answer progresses.Latin took *h₃rḗǵs, threw out the *h₃, and shortened the remaining regs to rex, “king” in its modern sense. It then took rex and pulled all sorts of new words out of it. The time when a king rules was his regnum, or règne in French, or “reign” in English; the rule itself is his regimen, which became “regimen” and “regime” and “realm”; the place where he ruled was a regionem, and that regionem lost its -em and fell on down as “region”. And the king himself? Regalis, “regal”, of course!The etymological derivation phrases never repeat. No “and this word comes from this word, and this word comes from this word, and this word comes from this word”; it goes “and Latin took this word and turned it into this word, and this word became this word, and this word was this word and then that word”. The sentences vary. If it’s the same sentence again and again, it’s not interesting.The best places to find these words are, again, Etymonline and Wiktionary, which have pages devoted to lists of words from a shared root. One more again, what I’m doing is not new research, but taking old, boring, dusty research and making it interesting for an audience who would not be able to read said research in the original.Go a further back from rex to *h₃rḗǵs and beyond and you’ve got *h₃reǵ-, “straight”, “to move in a straight line”, and by extension “to be just”, “to be correct”, as a king ought to be. As covered here, there’s plenty more from that route: “right” and “right” (the other kind) and the “rect” in “correct”; just one from that root in Latin is regula, “direct”, whose definition is echoed in all its descendants. From regula come “regulate”, and “rule”, and “ruler”, and “ruler”, even “rail”: tracks to direct a train, to rule where it goes.This one’s too long. Four to five, maybe six lines to a paragraph on Quora is what I try to stick to; a paragraph up, I left out regina, “queen”, because it would make the paragraph too long, it being already at six lines. This paragraph directly above has seven. Is there any way to break it up? If there isn’t, then we can leave it, because it’s not too far over the limit; but there is a logical spot where we can do this:Go a further back from rex to *h₃rḗǵs and beyond and you’ve got *h₃reǵ-, “straight”, “to move in a straight line”, and by extension “to be just”, “to be correct”, as a king ought to be. As covered here, there’s plenty more from that route: “right” and “right” (the other kind) and the “rect” in “correct”.Just one from that root in Latin is regula, “direct”, whose definition is echoed in all its descendants. From regula come “regulate”, and “rule”, and “ruler”, and “ruler”, even “rail”: tracks to direct a train, to rule where it goes.Flows better, looks nicer, less intimidating. More an aesthetics choice than a writing one, but aesthetics help any writing. Pictures every few paragraphs are great if you can fit them in and if they make sense. I forwent them in this answer because they wouldn’t make sense, but in others, where they do, it helps them be prettier.Away from Latin went *h₃rḗǵs as well, off to Germanic and Celtic and other branches of the family tree. In Germanic, it turned to *rīkiją, “kingdom” or “authority”, then Old English rīċe; stuck on the end of a word, it was the realm belonging to that word, as in “bishopric”. German, on the other hand, turned it to reich.Write it in storytelling-esque prose, too. Academics read papers. People read stories. Find some way to fit your subject into a story, whether or not there’s a real story there. Languages and words are not themselves alive, but I treat them as such and give them thoughts and opinions and wants and hopes and goals and so on, as for the suffix -ish in this answer.One way to make something into a story is to find a story already present within it and tell it instead. For instance, in Oscar Tay's answer to What is Linear B syllabary?, instead of saying “The Linear B syllabary was a writing system used predominantly in Crete in the latter half of the second millennium BC”, which sounds like an answer to an exam question, I told the story of its decipherment and the people involved. It’s a lot more interesting, fun, and likely to be remembered than stating just the facts of it.Then there was Proto-Germanic *rīkijaz, “rich” and “powerful” and “mighty” - kingly qualities, for sure. English whittled *rīkijaz to rīċe again, removed the e, swapped round some consonants, and made itself “rich”.That’s just a pun. I like puns.Then there was Proto-Germanic *rīkijaz, “rich” and “powerful” and “mighty” - kingly qualities, for sure. English whittled *rīkijaz to rīċe again, removed the e, swapped round some consonants, and made itself “rich”. The Romance languages liked that idea, so they looted the Germanic word-hoard and made off with ric or rico, as in Spanish Puerto Rico, literally “rich port”.More wordplay. Keeps it light while still being interesting and not sacrificing information for entertainment.Hardly content on staying within the realm of theAnother pun. I hide a lot of etymological puns in my answers. “Stellar”/“disaster” is my favourite.Hardly content on staying within the realm of the people-kings, *h₃rḗǵs ran over to Proto-Germanic again, dropped in as *rekô, and merged with *anadz, “duck”, to become *anadrekô: king of the ducks, manliest of the ducks, the *anadrekô, the male duck. Minus the first two syllables, we’ve still got it as “drake”.Making fun of the etymology. Always entertaining.In Celtic, our royal root decided it’d like to be rix. If you were an especially impressive king, with the strength of a bear, you might be known as the “bear-king”, artu-rix: Arthur.Wait. Is this true? I’ve heard it from somewhere, but I don’t know where. The name shows up on neither etymology page. I should check this first. As it turns out, this particular etymology is controversial and uncertain, so it wouldn’t do well to include it in the answer. Check to make sure your information is true, however much you’d like to include it.I’d also like to include mention of raj in this answer, but it would ruin how it works. If I added a paragraph on it at the end, since “raj” is the only English word from this root via the Indo-Iranian branch, it’d made the story anti-climactic. I need to lead into a section with more words than one in it.And I’ve got it: names. The root *h₃rḗǵs appears in name after name after name, given how cool it makes one’s name sound if you know what it means. “Richard” is boring and normal, unless you know it’s from *Rīkaharduz, literally “brave king” but with all the cultural associations of naming your kid “Emperor Fearless”.I may as well make that the paragraph. Some editing later, you’ve got this:And content less softly yet with just regular words, the root *h₃rḗǵs ran through name after name after name, given just how cool it makes one’s name sound if you know what it means. “Richard” sounds boring and normal - unless you know it’s from Proto-Germanic *Rīkaharduz, literally “brave king” but with all the cultural associations of naming your kid “Emperor Fearless”.Or Eiríkr, the Viking name, come to modern-day English as “Eric”. Definition: eternal ruler. “Henry”, too, from *Haimarīks, “king of the home”; and “Fred” from *Friþurīks, “king of peace”; and “Derek” from *Þeudarīks, “king of people”; and finally “Raj”, from Sanskrit rāj, from the same root, all meaning simply “king”.And I even managed to fit “raj” in there!Normally, this is where I would tie together all the loose questions. This answer isn’t like that. This is an etymology-abouting answer, not an essay on some piece of linguistic history. I can still answer those questions here, if there are any. If you’re smart, like I’m not, you can think ahead and leave some question to end on here.Luckily, I forgot the first etymology, so I can put it in here:But what about English “king”? It’s related to the word all Germanic languages use, from German König to Dutch koning to Finnish kuningas, wherein Finnish is not a Germanic language but stole the word anyway. That word in Proto-Germanic was *kuningaz. (Ten points to Finnish for preserving it so well while the languages it belonged to in the first place tossed syllables away as they so pleased.)*Kuningaz is not from the same root as rex, as you might have guessed. Rather than deriving from some word for justness or correctness, it comes from a very human word, which is to say it comes from a word more or less meaning “human”: *kunją, ancestor of our English “kin”. Using a since-lost sense of “-ing” to mean “belonging to”, *kunją-ingaz became *kuningaz, “of the people” or “ruler of the people”.And add some vaguely meaningful line to the end to finish the content:The king, according to the Proto-Germans, belongs to the people he rules.Finally, the sign-off:Thanks for asking!The final answer is available here: Oscar Tay's answer to How do you say "king" in Proto-Indo-European, and does modern English have any words that are related to it?For more essay-type answers like this one, I’ll tie everything back with a summary, so a.) no one can say I didn’t answer the question, b.) if they’re not interested in the content they can just read the summary, and c.) if I made it too confusing, then to reiterate the point and make sure we’re all thinking the same thing. Like so:To answer your question, I do research for my answers - the resulting answer to that question is only 750 words, and my longer ones approach 5000, so scale that up accordingly and you’ve got however long that takes - but none of it is original. Anyone could do the research I did. If you want reading material for historical linguistics, I’ve got a list here.Then summarize anything in the answer you may have said that was not directly related to the question:That isn’t really the point. My job is not to expand the boundaries of human knowledge, but to translate the sliver of human knowledge occupied by linguistics into something regular humans can understand, learn from, and enjoy.And add some vaguely meaningful paragraph or two to the end to finish the content:To look at it another way, anyone could do the research I did. If you’re the kind of person to go on Quora, you’ve probably got your own field of interest and/or expertise, and you can do the research in the way I’ve done it in linguistics for your chosen field.If you can make what you write interesting, and explain it well - and this is difficult, so it may take quite a bit of practice - then you can improve the world as much as any scientist can, just differently. If you haven’t tried writing about your interests on Quora before, or have but haven’t had success with it, I’d encourage you to try again with whichever of these nuggets of writing advice you’ve found helpful.Finally, the sign-off:Thanks for asking!
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What are some amazing marketing success stories/innovative marketing campaigns or strategies that dramatically improved sales?
Coca Colas New Coke ploy was one of the best marketing campaigns in history. In the mid 80s coca cola changed their formula and introduced New Coke. it was completely replaced and the original coke was no longer available anywhere in the world. before New Coke was introduced, Pepsi was gaining market share with their new generation campaign and ended up dominating coke in supermarket sales. To appeal to the new generation coke needed to change. so they did. the response to that at the time was a complete shock. every news station, and newspaper across the country covered this. people went into panic and started hoarding hundreds of cases of coke in their basements. coca cola received 30,000 calls demanding the original formula. physiologists were brought in and found that the callers were showing signs of clinical depression. 7 months later coke brings back the original coke calling it coca cola classic and since then pepsi has been a far second and none has since dominated coke. coke was rolled back out with the cant beat the feeling campaign. While the world was happy to see coke again. one thing went under the radar. coke replaced cane sugar with corn syrup which is a cheaper alternative.the power of marketing is amazing. given that the product itself in reality downgraded in quality. not even breakfast cereal of the 80s or milk of the 90s come close to the marketing powerhouse that coke really is.
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How do I drive traffic to my brand new landing page?
Hey there, so there’s really just 2 main ways to get traffic to a page if you don’t already have an established list of contacts: Either SEO or paid media.The problem with SEO is that it takes a long time to get traction, and it’s never a guarantee. You’re fighting the long game.So that leaves you with the paid media option. Run ads to your page! That’s the easy answer. The two biggest platforms to do this on are Google and Facebook.Each traffic source is unique of course. If you want to target people “searching” for what you’re offering, try Google Ads.If you want to target people who are more passive and might not know they even need what you’re offering yet, try Facebook Ads.While yes, you have to spend money to do this, if you have a compelling offer and can ultimately drive sales, you’ll be able to quickly determine how much you are willing to spend on ads in order to generate 1 sale. Then, as long as you’re getting a positive ROI, you can scale this up.
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How can I get traffic to my dropshipping website?
How do I get traffic on my dropshipping website? There are many ways to get traffic on a dropshipping website.If you have target audiences in USA & Canada, you can utilize Craigslist and Kijiji to make free ads everyday. Kijiji also has a paid-ads area as little as $0.01 per click (really great for products!).Facebook ads are by far the most used, and best results driven paid ads area to drive traffic. Costs money though, and it can be extremely hard to learn. Facebook ads is a must for any successful dropshipping store. $5/day engagement ads to $5/day conversion ads. Do dozens of ads each day and kill of failing ones. You’ll learn it and...
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Why is the "default setting" for Western music the C major scale? Why not A major? Why were the white keys on the piano assigned
Short answer: C major's role as the key with no accidentals is the result of historical practices that were established and developed in medieval vocal music, before the invention and standardization of the modern keyboard layout and also before the adoption of fixed major and minor scales and keys. Keyboard design is not a reflection of what is objectively simplest and most efficient from our modern standpoint; it is based in the pre-classical system of Western music theory, and was modified several times in its early history to become in some ways more technically efficient for the player. ...It's difficult to satisfactorily answer this question without a somewhat technical discussion of medieval music theory. I'm happy to try to answer any questions.Medieval hexachords and the Guidonian hand: not Grandma's theoryThe Guidonian hand, developed by the Benedictine monk Guido d'Arezzo (ca. 991 - 1033) was a mnemonic device for teaching musical pitches and intervals to singers (plainchant) which predates our modern conception of seven-tone scales. It was the basis of Western music theory for hundreds of years, waning out of focus by perhaps the early XVII century.We are accustomed to the system in which most music conforms to one of two types of seven-tone scales, the major and minor; and when we talk about 'G' or 'D-flat,' we mean a pitch of a certain, scientifically pinpointable frequency. But pitch as frequency in the medieval era was not as clearly defined, and pitches according to the Guidonian hand were organized in terms of hexachords, which are six-note groups, of which three specimens were defined: The hexachord on G, or hexachordum durum ("hard" hexachord):G(ut) A(re) B(mi) C(fa) D(sol) E(la)The hexachord on F, or hexachordum molle ("soft" hexachord):F(ut) G(re) A(mi) B(fa) C(sol) D(la)The hexachord on C, or hexachordum naturale ("natural" hexachord):C(ut) D(re) E(mi) F(fa) G(sol) A(la) In this way, Guido was able to account, with considerable overlap, for all seven possible diatonic pitches. Chromatic pitches, the A-flats and C-sharps of the world, were not yet conceived of as we think of them today. These six-note patterns, used separately or together, were capable of expressing the various tonal modes common at the time. The names of the solmization syllables, incidentally, were taken from the first syllables of lines from a verse honoring John the Baptist: Ut queant laxis. As has been pointed out, the names of these syllables are still the basis for identifying pitches in much of the world. The use of letters of the alphabet is practiced only in English and German-speaking countries. It's tempting for us today to think of these hexachords as being something like keys as we understand them--as incomplete versions, say, of G, F, and C major. They certainly look like scales, and we know that scales correspond to certain tonalities. But the medieval system of notation was more fluid than this: each one of these three hexachords, or more than one in combination, could be used in the service of any of several medieval tonalities. Guido's system amounts to the earliest form of movable solfège. Ut was eventually changed to do, since ut is a rather awkward syllable to sing (you're trying it now, aren't you?) In Guido's system, the distance between mi and fa is always a half-step while all the other distances between adjacent syllables are whole steps. We are accustomed to thinking of intervals in terms of fixed relationships between pitch letter names, but this was not the practice at the time: letter names denoted slots on the musical staff, but did not as cleanly map to specific pitches. There was not yet a pervasive need for specific, immovable pitch names in the medieval world, since virtually all written music was for singers. Unlike instruments with discreet, labeled strings, keys, and so forth, singers (at least at that time) did not require fixed labels for note names. If I were to go up to a modern pianist and say "all your Cs are Fs now," or, "HA! I just changed your Gs to Cs!" this would understandably prompt some confusion, as Garrick Saito has shown in his answer. But singers learning a six note pattern with one interval in it that's not like the others just need to know where that smaller interval is, and in the Guidonian hexachord it is always fixed between mi and fa, whatever the pitch that one assigns to ut/do as a starting point. (You may notice that the three hexachord variants correspond to the three types of modern clef, G, F, and C, which is no accident.) There was no fixed center of pitch or pitch reference like A=440; a medieval chanter simply intoned a pitch (not wholly arbitrarily, but also not usually with any exactitude), designated it in relation to C, F, or G depending on the music being performed--this was partially governed by the composer trying to fit his or her particular melody on the staff without having to use ledger lines, in addition to actual acoustic and aesthetic considerations--and then everyone started off on the same footing, good enough for the purposes of the time. The B problem: Don't B careless, it causes accidentalsThis hexachord system had some theoretical inconsistencies, chiefly the role of the pitch B. do re mi fa sol la G A B C D E F G A B C D (A to B is re to mi in the G-hexachord, a whole step; but in the F-hexachord it is mi to fa, where a half step is expected. Oops.)Unlike the other pitches, the relative character of B had to be adjusted depending on which hexachord one was using--that is, relative to the other pitches, it could represent a slightly different pitch depending on which hexachord one was dealing with. In the G-hexachord, the distance between A and B is the distance between re and mi, a whole-step. In the F-hexachord, the distance between A and B is the distance between mi and fa, the half-step. For this reason, the G-hexachord was referred to as "hard," while the F-hexachord was referred to as "soft." Dur and moll, coming from Latin words meaning "hard" and "soft," are still used in German to designate major or minor keys (a usage adapted to the major-minor axis rather than descriptive of the original hexachords). Also, the origin of the flat sign in music notation is the graphical depiction of a "soft B," while the natural sign originated as the depiction of a "hard B." The C-hexachord was called the "natural" one because, consisting only of [C D E F G A], it avoided the awkwardness of B altogether. {It was possible, and common, to rapidly switch between hexachords within a musical passage. For instance, since E is not contained in the F-hexachord, to complete an ascending medieval Lydian scale--a figure corresponding to the modern ascending F major scale [F G A Bb C D E F]--a medieval musician might typically think of the figure as the first four notes of The F-hexachord [F G A Bb] followed by the first four notes of the C-hexachord [C D E F]. This practice is still evidenced in shaped-note notation where, for instance, B and E share a notehead shape and the syllable designation mi since they are each mi in a different hexachord (G and C, respectively). So in shaped-note singing of the variety practiced, say, in some rural U.S. churches, the major scale is still represented as the combination of two medieval hexachords.}Early keyboard design and the segregation of C majorKeyboards--reflecting the music of the time itself, really--became fully chromatic through the adoption of the practice of musica ficta (lit. "artificial/contrived music,") the late medieval/Renaissance idea that you could actually construct a Guidonian hexachord beginning on pretty much any pitch, not just G, C, or F, resulting in the creation of chromatic pitches not part of the "natural" (by contrast) Guidonian system. For instance, if I build a Guidonian hexachord on D [D E F G A B], I must raise the F, or the mi, by a half-step (to what we now call F-sharp) to create a half-step distance rather than a whole-step distance between mi and fa, that is, F natural and G natural. Thus it becomes easy to see how "soft B," or B-flat, was the first accidental because of the initial configuration of F- and G-hexachords--the others came later, through wider application of a starting principle. Early designs of the chromatic keyboard, which needed to account for all twelve possible pitches as we know them today, tended to oscillate between a system of eight "white keys" and four "black keys" on the one hand, and of seven whites and five blacks on the other, as shown in the XIV century illustration above. The latter system, pictured at top, eventually won out.In the discarded 8x4 system, there were separate white keys for soft B and hard B (or for B and H, to use the German nomenclature for B-flat and B-natural still observed in that language); in the latter, soft B was assigned to a black key, thus creating a C major scale consisting only of white keys, and of all the white keys. A little later on, many early keyboard instrument designs featured "split keys," or black keys split into two halves, to allow for subtle differences between, say D-sharp and E-flat according to the tuning systems of the day, which did not hold those two pitches as being synonymous. This was phased out as new tuning systems came into fashion.As has been noted in some of the comments in this question thread, the "racially segregated" nature of C major isn't related (to any greater extent than described above) to technical considerations of keyboard playing. In fact, while C major is an easy key to negotiate for beginners playing beginning music because it uses no native black keys, and is in that respect maybe the easiest key to read, it's for precisely this reason that it is a relatively difficult key for pianists at the advanced level in some applications: the lack of black keys makes it a difficult key to "grip" ergonomically at the keyboard, particularly for quick runs up and down the surface. Having no black keys to lend a tactile topography to the motion of the hands renders playing in C major a bit like ice skating. When teaching scales and exercises to pupils, for example, Chopin would usually reserve C major for last, as he considered it the most technically awkward key in which to play with great velocity.Contrast this with orchestral wind instruments, many of which read transposed music in which the written key of C corresponds to the sounding key of whatever pitch the instrument is naturally tuned to, or a closely related key (B-flat, A, F, E-flat, most commonly). This is done, again, because C major is widely considered the easiest key to read.
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