The Hidden Work of a STEM Research Report Introduction – Part 1

Person works out a logic problem at a whiteboard

September 22, 2026September 22, 2026 ~ cwcrrccr

Vol 9. No 1. (Fall 2026)

Elisabeth van Stam is a Writing Advisor on the Graduate and Postdoctoral team and STEM Resource at the University of Waterloo’s Writing and Communication Centre (WCC). Trained as a professional biologist, she brings extensive experience conducting and communicating scientific research to her work supporting writers and colleagues at the WCC. Her pedagogical approach is student‑centered and genre‑aware, drawing on firsthand STEM writing experience to foreground global structure and meaning‑making while positioning students as experts in their disciplinary knowledge and communication goals.

Have you ever heard or given the advice to write an introduction section of a research report last? For experienced STEM writers, this is often a reasonable strategy. However, I would argue that for developing STEM experts (undergraduate students) and novice STEM researchers (graduate students), this advice is often counterproductive and that we should be careful about giving it when supporting students in the post-secondary writing centre. This is because, while undergraduate and graduate students engage with research in different ways, both groups are still learning how disciplinary knowledge is constructed, communicated, and justified through STEM academic writing.

Writing an introduction last is not inherently wrong, nor is it necessarily bad advice. However, for novice STEM writers, writing the introduction last can postpone critical engagement with their research topic. Why does the research matter? How does the research extend existing knowledge? How are research questions or objectives shaped by the answers to these questions? These are the questions that STEM research report introductions are designed to answer. In doing so, introductions establish the context of a research topic, articulate the motivations for a study, and define the objectives that drive it (Lim, 2012; Pun & Cheung, 2023; Swales, 1990).

Consequently, when novice STEM writers do not engage with these questions before drafting their research reports, they postpone the essential rhetorical work that shapes both how research is designed and communicated (Drake & Han, 2025) as well as how readers evaluate its relevance and strength (Armağan, 2019). That is, without carefully considering what information belongs in their introductions and why, novice STEM writers often struggle to develop a coherent narrative that establishes the study’s motivations and objectives. These motivations and objectives, in turn, guide the remainder of the research report (Armağan, 2019). Similar to writing an argumentative essay without a clear thesis, delaying the rhetorical work of establishing a study’s motivations and objectives often affects sections beyond the introduction itself. Without this underlying logic to guide decision-making, novice STEM writers may struggle to determine what information belongs in their Methods, Results, and Discussion sections and why, resulting in writing that is unfocused, incomplete, or misaligned with the report’s intended purpose (Armağan, 2019; Day, 1998; Drake & Han, 2025; Jirge, 2017; Tavakol & O’Brien, 2023). In other words, introductions do not simply present research; they help shape it.

When Research and Writing Become Disconnected

So why do so many STEM students struggle with writing introductions? I suspect part of the answer lies in how STEM students often conceptualize research itself. For many STEM students, research is understood primarily as experimentation: designing methods, collecting data, and analyzing results. Within this framework, writing becomes something that happens after the “real” research is complete. Consequently, introductions are often viewed as explanations of completed work rather than as an important component of the research process itself. However, the problem with this view is that it reduces the introduction to a record of what was done rather than an explanation of why the study was worth doing in the first place.

However, the challenge is not simply that STEM students frequently view research as experimentation. In many STEM contexts, students can successfully participate in “research” while remaining largely disconnected from the process through which research questions are formulated and justified. This is particularly true when students are conducting structured laboratory exercises as part of their coursework, working on projects whose research direction has already been defined by a supervisor, or participating in data mining — an often criticized but surprisingly common practice of collecting data first and determining how to use it later. In these situations, students can participate in research activities, generate results, and even complete substantial portions of a project before they are required to articulate the rationale for the study or its contribution to existing knowledge.

These misconceptions about the research process can help explain why many STEM students view introductions as something that can be postponed until the end of a study—and why they often struggle to write them when they finally reach that stage. However, they do not explain why writing instructors and experienced STEM researchers so often recommend this strategy.

For readers familiar with humanities research, the relationship between inquiry and writing is likely self-evident. As a result, it is unsurprising that writing instructors with this academic background might recommend writing an introduction last. From their perspective, the rhetorical work of motivating and justifying a study should already be complete if the empirical work underlying that study is complete.

A similar assumption can emerge among experienced STEM researchers. Through years of participating in disciplinary research, they have internalized the process of determining why a study matters, what need it addresses, and what it seeks to accomplish in response. For them, this work is often so deeply embedded within the research process that it no longer requires significant conscious attention. Consequently, it can be easy to overlook the extent to which novice STEM researchers are still learning to engage with these questions and how important that work is to conceptualizing and communicating their research.

However, neither of these perspectives necessarily applies to novice STEM researchers, who are still developing their academic identities, building disciplinary knowledge, and learning research practices within their fields of study. Consequently, when they write their introductions last, they are not simply postponing the writing of an introduction. They are postponing the intellectual and rhetorical work of determining why a study matters, what it seeks to accomplish, and how those decisions should shape the rest of the research report.

Why This Matters in the Writing Centre

Because introductions establish the logic that guides the remainder of a STEM research report, it is critical that writing centre practitioners understand how these introductions function rhetorically. Doing so allows us to interpret student writing more accurately and provide feedback that helps STEM writers determine what information is relevant, how it contributes to the introduction’s purpose, and how it should be articulated to establish rhetorical value and a coherent narrative—even when we do not share the writer’s disciplinary expertise. This understanding is important when working with undergraduate (UG) writers, who are developing an understanding of how introductions frame disciplinary learning (Hajan et al., 2024; Parkinson, 2017). It is equally important when working with graduate writers, who must position their work within ongoing scholarly conversations in ways that demonstrate both their research significance and credibility as researchers (Carter, 2016; Martín & León Pérez, 2014). In both cases, effective writing support requires more than attention to sentence-level clarity or refining individual claims; it requires understanding how STEM disciplinary expectations shape the rhetorical work of an introduction, particularly how STEM disciplinary inquiry is motivated and how its objectives are articulated within a given context.

What a STEM Introduction Actually Does

In a STEM research report, the introduction does far more than provide background or ease the reader into a topic. It performs essential rhetorical work by introducing a disciplinary topic, establishing the motivations for a study, and articulating clear research objectives (Drake & Han, 2025; Pun & Cheung, 2023; Swales, 1990, 2004; Swales & Feak, 2004; Tavakol & O’Brien, 2023). Specifically, the introduction serves two essential functions:

• It articulates research motivations by explaining why the research is necessary and situating the study within an existing body of disciplinary knowledge—that is, within an ongoing scholarly conversation (Carter, 2016; Day, 1998; Martín & León Pérez, 2014; Swales, 1990; Swales & Feak, 2004). These motivations are not simply contextual; in STEM writing how a research problem is motivated directly shapes what research questions can be asked, how narrowly or broadly these questions can be framed, as well as what research investigations are appropriate (Armağan, 2019; Codina, 2022; Day, 1998; Gustavii, 2017; Hanna, 2019; Jirge, 2017; Swales & Feak, 2004).

•It articulates the research objectives or goals by clearly specifying what the report sets out to accomplish in response to the motivated problem (Pun & Cheung, 2023; Swales, 1990; Swales & Feak, 2004; Tavakol & O’Brien, 2023). Where research motivations determine what questions can be asked, the research objectives shape how those questions are investigated and answered—guiding the selection of methods, the relevance of results, and their interpretation in the discussion (Codina, 2022; Day, 1998; Gustavii, 2017; Hajan et al., 2024; Hanna, 2019).

Taken together, these functions highlight that the introduction is not just a formality to get through before the “real” content begins, but a section that establishes the logic governing the entire research report. The introduction determines not only what content should be included, but also how that content should be framed (by the writer) and interpreted (by the reader) (Codina, 2022; Day, 1998; Swales, 1990, 2004).

However, understanding that introductions establish research motivations and objectives is only part of what is required to effectively support STEM writers. As writing centre practitioners, we also need ways to identify how the rhetorical work of a STEM research report introduction is realized in practice and how its various elements establish the logic that guides the remainder of the research report.

Conclusion

Throughout this post, I have argued that STEM research report introductions do far more than provide background information. They establish the significance of a research topic, motivate the need for a study, and articulate the objectives that guide the remainder of the research report. As a result, introductions help shape both how research is communicated and how it is understood.

For writing centre practitioners, however, understanding the purpose of an introduction is only part of the challenge. We also need ways to recognize how this rhetorical work is accomplished in practice, particularly when it is still being developed by novice STEM researchers. In other words, we need ways to make this rhetorical work visible to students who are still learning it and to writing centre practitioners who help them articulate it.

This is exactly where the CaRS model becomes useful. In my next post, I explore the CaRS model and examine how it helps make the rhetorical work of STEM introductions more explicit, providing writing centre practitioners with a practical framework for interpreting student writing and discussing introductions in terms of purpose, motivation, and objectives rather than as a rigid template or checklist for constructing introductions.

References

Armağan, A. (2019). How to write an introduction section of a scientific article? Urology Research and Practice, 39(1), 8–9. https://doi.org/10.5152/tud.2013.046

Carter, M. (2016). Value Arguments in Science Research Articles: Making the Case for the Importance of Research. Written Communication, 33(3), 302–327. https://doi.org/10.1177/0741088316653394

Codina, L. (2022). El modelo IMRyD de artículos científicos: ¿qué es y cómo se puede aplicar en humanidades y ciencias sociales? Hipertext.Net, (24), 1–8. https://doi.org/10.31009/hipertext.net.2022.i24.01

Day, R. A. (1998). How to write & publish a scientific paper (5. ed). Oryx Press.

Drake, J. M., & Han, B. A. (2025). How to write a scientific paper in fifteen steps. PLOS Computational Biology, 21(9), e1013505. https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pcbi.1013505

Gustavii, B. (2017). How to Write and Illustrate Scientific Papers (3rd ed.). Cambridge University Press. https://doi.org/10.1017/9781316577189

Hajan, B. H., Anito, J. C., Jackaria, P. M., & Mastul, A.-R. H. (2024). Macrostructural Analysis of STEM Students’ Research Introductions in the Secondary Education Context: Implications for Pedagogy, Curriculum, and Teacher Professional Development. International Journal of Learning, Teaching and Educational Research, 23(3), 150–168. https://doi.org/10.26803/ijlter.23.3.8

Hanna, M. (2019). How to Write Better Medical Papers. Springer International Publishing. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-02955-5

Jirge, P. R. (2017). Preparing and Publishing a Scientific Manuscript. Journal of Human Reproductive Sciences, 10, 3–9. https://doi.org/10.4103/jhrs.JHRS_36_17

Lim, J. M.-H. (2012). How do writers establish research niches? A genre-based investigation into management researchers’ rhetorical steps and linguistic mechanisms. Journal of English for Academic Purposes, 11(3), 229–245. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jeap.2012.05.002

Martín, P., & León Pérez, I. K. (2014). Convincing peers of the value of one’s research: A genre analysis of rhetorical promotion in academic texts. English for Specific Purposes, 34, 1–13. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.esp.2013.09.002

Parkinson, J. (2017). The student laboratory report genre: A genre analysis. English for Specific Purposes, 45, 1–13. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.esp.2016.08.001

Pun, J., & Cheung, K. K. C. (2023). Developing and validating a genre awareness questionnaire for writing scientific reports. Frontiers in Psychology, 14, 1210240. https://doi.org/10.3389/fpsyg.2023.1210240

Swales, J. (1990). Genre Analysis: English in academic and research settings. Cambridge Univ. Pr.

Swales, J. (2004). Research Genres: Explorations and Applications (1st ed.). Cambridge University Press. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139524827

Swales, J., & Feak, C. (2004). Academic Writing for Graduate Students (2nd edition). University of Michigan Press.

Tavakol, M., & O’Brien, D. (2023). The importance of crafting a good introduction to scholarly research: Strategies for creating an effective and impactful opening statement. International Journal of Medical Education, 14, 84–87. https://doi.org/10.5116/ijme.6499.82af

Cover image credit: Photo by Jeswin Thomas on Unsplash

Decoding the Lab Report: Building STEM Genre Awareness

March 27, 2026September 23, 2026 ~ cwcrrccr

Vol. 7 No. 1

Although STEM students frequently engage in diverse writing and communication tasks throughout their degree, feedback from instructors and supervisors primarily focuses on discipline‑specific content rather than the writing itself (Berdanier, 2019; Carter, 2007; Rollins et al., 2020; Russell, 1997; Zhu, 2004). As a result, many STEM students seek support at their university writing centre for guidance on STEM‑specific writing conventions. However, in writing centres that support students across disciplines, within the Canadian context, it seems that most writing centre staff come from Arts and Humanities backgrounds. This often means they have limited formal training in STEM writing conventions and little experience producing STEM‑specific writing. Subsequently, when a STEM student walks in with a lab report, it’s completely reasonable to feel unsure about how to navigate conversations and feedback around the organizational patterns of a genre that isn’t familiar.

However, supporting STEM writers does not mean writing centre staff must have STEM degrees or deep disciplinary expertise (Bryan Malenke et al., 2024; Soliday, 2005; Summers, 2016). What matters far more is having a working understanding of the structural conventions that govern how content is organized within STEM genres of communication (Bryan Malenke et al., 2024; Carter, 2007; Weissbach & Pflueger, 2018; Yeo, 2001). Put simply, effective STEM writing support doesn’t require mastery of scientific content—it requires recognition of how STEM genres work. When writing centre staff understand STEM genres, they can look past local sentence‑level issues to identify the organizational patterns shaping STEM writing, anticipate the recurring challenges STEM students encounter, and work with students to interpret the genres they’re using.

So, how do we strengthen our genre awareness to better support STEM students in the writing centre? To answer that question, I’ll draw on my background as a STEM researcher, communicator, and writing instructor and share how STEM genre knowledge has shaped the way I work with student writers. In this opening post, my goal is to highlight why genre awareness is foundational to supporting STEM writers and to introduce IMRaD—Introduction, Methods, Results, and Discussion—as a helpful framework for recognizing the structural patterns that underpin many of the STEM genres we encounter in the writing centre. This post also lays the groundwork for a series of subsequent posts, each exploring one major IMRaD section and offering practical, genre‑aware strategies that writing centre staff can use to support STEM writers with greater clarity and confidence.

From Intuition to STEM Genre Awareness

My background as a STEM researcher and communicator helps me build immediate trust with the STEM students who fill my writing centre appointment calendar. They often seek me out because they assume my disciplinary background means I am a subject expert who can follow their technical reasoning or that I “understand the statistics.” And while I am often familiar with their technical content and can follow their reasoning, my feedback is never about disciplinary knowledge or statistical tests. Still, students consistently leave appointments clearer on their writing goals and confident about next steps. Despite this consistent outcome, I couldn’t always articulate what, in my approach, makes my support so effective for STEM students.

That understanding began to take shape during an appointment with a student who arrived with a well‑structured Results section outline and wanted feedback on whether it was “good” before starting to write. At first glance, the outline appeared well-written and logical: writing centre staff unfamiliar with STEM writing might have asked about the student’s organizational choices—which the student could readily explain—and suggested a collaborative exploration of genre expectations—which the outline met. Instead, I asked to see their Methods section. Even without a shared disciplinary expertise, I knew that evaluating a Results outline requires comparing it to the research process described in the Methods. When the student and I reviewed the two sections side by side, we quickly identified missing content by noticing gaps between what the Methods promised and what the Results outline delivered. That comparison also revealed where the outline needed to be reorganized to create a clear, coherent narrative aligned with the described research process.

When the appointment ended, I felt briefly relieved—as if I had simply stumbled onto the right approach for supporting this student. But I quickly realized my support was not accidental. I had been supporting STEM students in this way for years, drawing on genre knowledge rather than disciplinary expertise. I was collaboratively establishing genre expectations, reading for structure, and assessing how well their writing aligned with the rhetorical patterns of academic STEM communication. Put simply, my guidance worked because I understood how genre shapes the presence, sequencing, and framing of information in STEM communication. This insight marked a turning point in my own understanding: genre awareness wasn’t new to me—it’s foundational to what we do in the writing centre—but this was the first time I could clearly articulate how that awareness functioned in STEM contexts.

Why STEM Genre Awareness Matters in Writing Support

Genre awareness plays a crucial role in the effectiveness of writing centre consultations (Bryan Malenke et al., 2024; Carter, 2007; Dinitz & Harrington, 2014; Gordon, 2014; Hill, 2016). Specifically, without a clear understanding of how STEM genres of communication are organized, it can be hard to see when writing diverges from expected structural patterns or when a student is struggling with a global‑level issue they cannot yet name (Kiedaisch & Dinitz, 1993; Mackiewicz, 2004; Shamoon & Burns, 1995; Summers, 2016). Consequently, those of us who are less familiar with STEM writing may feel unqualified or overwhelmed when we encounter unfamiliar disciplinary writing conventions in student writing (Dinitz & Harrington, 2014; Robinson & Hall, 2013). In these moments, it’s natural for us to focus on the writing features we can readily identify (Mackiewicz, 2004)—sentence‑level features such as whether to use first or third person or author‑ vs. information‑prominent citations.

These sentence‑level features matter, but without STEM genre awareness it is easy to treat them as the defining characteristics of “STEM writing.” When local writing features take precedence over global features, we risk missing the deeper organizational challenges that most often affect students’ clarity, logic, and confidence in their writing (Bryan Malenke et al., 2024; Dinitz & Harrington, 2014; Hill, 2016; Kiedaisch & Dinitz, 1993)

Developing a deeper understanding of STEM genres helps us shift our attention to the structural conventions that shape STEM communication. With this global‑level awareness, we can more easily recognize when student writing departs from disciplinary norms, identify underlying issues in logic or organization, and engage students in collaborative conversations that help them evaluate and strengthen their writing (Bryan Malenke et al., 2024; Dinitz & Harrington, 2014; Mackiewicz, 2004; Rollins et al., 2020; Velez, 2022).

Not only does this global‑level awareness enable more effective guidance, but it also enhances writing centre staff confidence—something students notice immediately (Yeo, 2001). As our confidence grows, so does student willingness to participate in meaningful discussion and engage in the collaborative work of revision (Gordon, 2014; Velez, 2022). This creates a reinforcing cycle: as we apply our genre knowledge with confidence, students engage more deeply. In turn, increased student engagement opens space for more exploratory, student‑centered conversations—conversations where our core writing centre practices, such as asking curious questions, inquiring into disciplinary expectations, and positioning students as experts in their fields, become even more effective.

IMRaD as a Foundational Structure

One practical way to begin developing this STEM‑genre awareness is to start with the structural pattern post‑secondary writing instructors encounter most often: IMRaD. IMRaD is a foundational organizational pattern used in STEM communication (Mensh & Kording, 2017) and underpins a wide range of academic genres. Undergraduate STEM students—as emerging specialists—learn to report research using IMRaD as part of their disciplinary training. Graduate students use IMRaD—or a discipline‑specific iteration—to communicate their original research, extending these structural principles into advanced STEM writing.

STEM Writing is Not a Monolith

Before I go any further, I want to pause for a moment and clarify: STEM writing is not a monolith. Even though IMRaD plays a major role in STEM communication, not all STEM writing involves communicating research, and not all STEM disciplines use IMRaD in the same way. Students in applied fields like engineering or nursing often work within highly specialized professional genres that don’t follow IMRaD. Others write argumentative essays on STEM topics, which follow familiar academic structures across disciplines. And even within research‑based writing, IMRaD is adapted in different ways depending on the discipline (Moskovitz et al., 2024) and the expectations of instructors, supervisors, or journals. Because this is a blog post, not a book, I’m focusing on IMRaD as it applies to reporting empirical research—the structure we most often encounter with undergraduate and graduate students at the writing centre.

What to Expect in the Series

Over the next few months, I’ll share a post on each major IMRaD section as it appears in lab reports, and other IMRaD structured genres we commonly see at the writing centre. Each post will:

outline the section’s purpose and structural logic
highlight common challenges for students and writing centre staff
offer practical strategies for giving clearer, more targeted, structure‑focused feedback

My goal with this series isn’t to prescribe rigid rules, but to offer flexible, foundational knowledge that helps writing centre staff ask thoughtful, genre‑aware questions and engage more confidently with STEM communications. STEM writing isn’t a foreign language; it’s another dialect in a conversation we already know how to have. When we understand the disciplinary structures students are working within, our existing writing centre practices become even more effective.

I look forward to sharing what I know about STEM communication, hearing your experiences and knowledge, and continuing to build a shared understanding of STEM communication in the writing centre community.

References

Berdanier, C. G. P. (2019). Genre maps as a method to visualize engineering writing and argumentation patterns. Journal of Engineering Education, 108(3), 377–393. https://doi.org/10.1002/jee.20281

Bryan Malenke, L., Miller, L. K., Mabrey, P. E., & Featherstone, J. (2024). How genre-trained tutors affect student writing and perceptions of the writing center. The Writing Center Journal, 41(3). https://doi.org/10.7771/2832-9414.1336

Carter, M. (2007). Ways of Knowing, Doing, and Writing in the Disciplines. College Composition and Communication, 58(3), 385–418.

Dinitz, S., & Harrington, S. (2014). The role of disciplinary expertise in shaping writing tutorials. The Writing Center Journal, 33(2). https://doi.org/10.7771/2832-9414.1769

Gordon, L. M. P. (2014). Beyond generalist vs. Specialist: Making connections between genre theory and writing center pedagogy. Praxis: A Writing Center Journal, 11(2). https://doi.org/10.15781/T26970D7F

Hill, H. N. (2016). Tutoring for transfer: The benefits of teaching writing center tutors about transfer theory. The Writing Center Journal, 35(3). https://doi.org/10.7771/2832-9414.1842

Kiedaisch, J., & Dinitz, S. (1993). “Look back and say ‘So what’”:The limitations of the generalist tutor. The Writing Center Journal, 14(1). https://doi.org/10.7771/2832-9414.1286

Mackiewicz, J. (2004). The effects of tutor expertise in engineering writing: A linguistic analysis of writing tutors’ comments. IEEE Transactions on Professional Communication, 47(4), 316–328. https://doi.org/10.1109/TPC.2004.840485

Mensh, B., & Kording, K. (2017). Ten simple rules for structuring papers. PLoS Computational Biology, 13(9), e1005619. https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pcbi.1005619

Moskovitz, C., Harmon, B., & Saha, S. (2024). The structure of scientific writing: An empirical analysis of recent research articles in STEM. Journal of Technical Writing and Communication, 54(3), 265–281. https://doi.org/10.1177/00472816231171851

Robinson, H. M., & Hall, J. (2013). Connecting WID and the writing center: Tools for collaboration. The WAC Journal, 24(1), 29–47. https://doi.org/10.37514/WAC-J.2013.24.1.02

Rollins, A., Lillvis, K., Diehl, S., Owens, S., & McComas, C. (2020). Improving students’ comprehension of STEM writing conventions. WLN: A Journal of Writing Center Scholarship, 45(1), 10–17. https://doi.org/10.37514/WLN-J.2020.45.1.03

Russell, D. R. (1997). Rethinking genre in school and society: An activity theory analysis. Written Communication, 14(4), 504–554. https://doi.org/10.1177/0741088397014004004

Shamoon, L. K., & Burns, D. H. (1995). A critique of pure tutoring. The Writing Center Journal, 15(2). https://doi.org/10.7771/2832-9414.1287

Soliday, M. (2005). General readers and classroom tutors across the curriculum. In C. Spigelman & L. Grobman (Eds.), On location: Theory and practice in classroom-based writing tutoring (pp. 31–44). Utah State University Press. https://doi.org/10.2307/j.ctt46nxr5

Summers, S. (2016). Building expertise: The toolkit in UCLA’s graduate writing center. The Writing Center Journal, 35(2). https://doi.org/10.7771/2832-9414.1804

Velez, M. (2022). Like speaking a blueprint: STEM writing tutors’ disciplinary and writing identities. Across the Disciplines, 19(1–2), 47–61. https://doi.org/10.37514/ATD-J.2022.19.1-2.04

Weissbach, R. S., & Pflueger, R. C. (2018). Collaborating with writing centers on interdisciplinary peer tutor training to improve writing support for engineering students. IEEE Transactions on Professional Communication, 61(2), 206–220. https://doi.org/10.1109/TPC.2017.2778949

Yeo, R. (2001). An integrative approach to the teaching of technical communication skills. Innovations in Education and Teaching International, 38(1), 93–100. https://doi.org/10.1080/147032901300002891

Zhu, W. (2004). Faculty views on the importance of writing, the nature of academic writing, and teaching and responding to writing in the disciplines. Journal of Second Language Writing, 13(1), 29–48. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jslw.2004.04.004

Image credit: CSIRO lab notebook entry, via Wikimedia Commons, CC BY