CAUSES OF STYLISTIC ERRORS IN STUDENTS’ SPEECH AND WAYS TO ELIMINATE THEM

O‘rinova Diyora

Master’s student, Namangan State Pedagogical Institute

Abstract

This article examines stylistic errors found in students’ oral and written speech, their underlying causes, and effective methods for eliminating them. The study employed content analysis, surveys, observation, experimental methods, focus group discussions, computational linguistic analysis, and psycholinguistic testing. The findings reveal that students frequently struggle with selecting appropriate speech styles according to text types. Based on the results, practical recommendations are proposed to improve students’ speech culture and stylistic competence.

Keywords: speech culture, stylistic errors, communication, language norms, educational process, statistical analysis, content analysis

INTRODUCTION

In modern education, developing students’ communication culture and ensuring stylistic accuracy in their speech has become one of the most pressing issues. In linguistics, stylistic errors are defined as the use of language units that are inappropriate for a given context or inconsistent with a particular speech style. Such errors negatively affect students’ speech culture, weakening their ability to express ideas clearly, engage in communication, and adhere to literary language norms.

Speech culture plays a crucial role not only in education but also in an individual’s social success. In the digital era, the rapid development of technology has introduced new tendencies in students’ speech. For example, abbreviations, emojis, and informal expressions commonly used in social media are increasingly transferred into formal written language, leading to stylistic distortions. This phenomenon can influence not only students’ academic writing but also their future professional communication.

Therefore, eliminating stylistic errors requires a comprehensive approach that considers not only grammatical but also pragmatic and discourse-related aspects. This article analyzes the main causes of stylistic errors in students’ speech and explores effective ways to address them.

LITERATURE REVIEW AND METHODOLOGY

Numerous scholars have conducted research in the field of speech culture. For instance, G‘afurov analyzed the theoretical aspects of speech culture, while Karimov systematized literary language styles. Qodirova provided practical examples of stylistic usage, and Xudoyberganova examined linguistic features from a psycholinguistic perspective. International researchers such as Smith, Ivanova, and Brown explored comparative, cognitive, and educational aspects of language norms. Recent studies by Yusupova, Petrov, Nurmatov, and Wilson highlight modern teaching methods and the impact of digital communication on speech.

The study was conducted among 100 students from grades 8–9 in Tashkent city and region. Their written works (essays, summaries) and oral responses were analyzed.

The following methods were used:

Content analysis: identifying and classifying stylistic errors

Survey: assessing students’ knowledge of speech styles

Observation: analyzing teaching approaches and classroom speech

Additional methods included:

1. Experimental Method

Two groups (control and experimental) were selected. A “Teaching Speech Styles” program was implemented in the experimental group for three months. As a result, students’ ability to choose appropriate styles improved by 35%.

2. Focus Group Discussions

Five groups (8 students each) discussed the influence of social media language. About 70% of participants preferred writing “as they do on Telegram.”

3. Computational Linguistics

Using the AntConc program, 100 essays were analyzed. Words such as “very” (143 times) and “amazing” (78 times) were overused, indicating excessive use of expressive vocabulary.

4. Psycholinguistic Testing

Only 31% of students correctly identified appropriate stylistic choices in academic contexts.

Additional statistical findings showed that errors in formal letters were distributed as follows:

Introduction – 23%

Main body – 41%

Conclusion – 36%

RESULTS

The analysis revealed the following common stylistic errors in students’ speech:

Mixing formal and informal styles – 43%

Using artistic expressions in scientific texts (and vice versa) – 29%

Pronunciation and stress-related stylistic distortions – 15%

Transfer of internet and colloquial language into writing – 13%

Although 67% of students demonstrated general knowledge of speech styles, only 21% understood the importance of selecting an appropriate style according to the text type.

DISCUSSION

The findings indicate that the main causes of stylistic errors include:

Insufficient theoretical knowledge of language styles

Transfer of informal speech into written language

Inability to distinguish between text types

Strong influence of internet and social media language

To address these issues, the following strategies are recommended:

Teaching speech styles through comparative practical exercises

Conducting text-based analysis and discussions

Developing exercises for appropriate stylistic selection

Ensuring teachers model correct speech usage

Limiting the use of informal internet language in academic contexts

One of the key reasons for stylistic errors is the lack of emphasis on stylistic aspects in textbooks and classroom instruction. Additionally, students’ exposure to informal digital communication significantly shapes their language habits. Therefore, teachers should dedicate more time to text analysis and encourage students to practice writing in various genres such as academic articles, formal letters, and essays.

CONCLUSION

Reducing stylistic errors and improving students’ speech culture requires systematic teaching of language styles in both theoretical and practical ways. This not only promotes adherence to literary language norms but also enhances students’ ability to communicate clearly, accurately, and effectively in social and professional contexts.

The following measures are recommended:

For teachers: organize seminars and training sessions on stylistics; expand textbook content

For students: engage in text analysis, speech exercises, and projects (e.g., “Correct Speech” clubs)

For parents: encourage reading and monitor children’s speech habits

For educational policy: develop national programs aimed at improving speech culture

O‘rinova Diyora Kamoliddin qizi was born on November 6, 1997, in Uchqo‘rg‘on district of Namangan region. She graduated from Secondary School No. 25 in her district and continued her studies at an academic lyceum. She obtained her higher education in the field of Uzbek Language at Namangan State University.

Currently, she is a second year master’s student at Namangan State Pedagogical Institute. She holds certificates in both native language and English and is recognized as a highly qualified teacher within her field. She is also the regional stage winner of the “Book-Loving Teacher” competition.

Her main goal is to share her knowledge with young learners and contribute to the development of future specialists through education and scientific activity.

Why Do I Write: What’s in it for Me?

Why do I write creative fiction? That was a question posed to me by a cousin I was once close to. I had told Sherry that I was getting more and more involved in scribbling poems and stories and essays and the like, and she seemed mildly amused at first. Then, when she saw I was in earnest, she became increasingly perplexed as to my motivation. I had told her I made almost no money for my efforts and this seemed to rub her the wrong way.

“Why, then,” she asked in bewilderment, “do you do it?”

Until that very moment I hadn’t given it a lot of serious thought. Writing exercised what Hercule Poirot called “the little gray cells” and made me more alert, more aware, more interested in life. Moreover, it made me feel good. I was retired and had little else going on. Most of my friends were deceased or moved away.

“Billy,” she said with a frown, “if you don’t get paid for writing, then it is a waste of time and effort.”

During the same conversation, Sherry had asked me how I was “progressing” in a relationship I was in at the time. When I was noncommittal, she got down to it: “Have you scored yet?”

“Not everything,” I told her, “is so transactional.”

When she “humphed,” I continued, “Not every activity has to result in a paycheck to be considered worthwhile.” Before she could go on, I added, “And not every personal relationship has to wind up between the sheets to be fundamentally sound. No one is keeping ‘score,’ cousin, so just cool your jets.”

That was two years ago, but the question remains: why do I write?”

I think it’s because when I write, I am master of my universe. I decide who succeeds and who fails, who lives and who dies, who lives happily ever after and who burns for an eternity in hell. This is quite an ego trip. I know a little of what God must feel like. I know what everyone’s thinking, what moves them, and how they will accept either failure or success.

I can revisit my high school years and rewrite the events as they did not transpire. I can ask out the prettiest but most demure girl and she’ll say yes. And I’ll have the dough to take her out. I’ll have a car–a hotrod of course–or maybe one of those low-slung English sports car. Nothing is too much.

I’ll fashion myself into a record-setting student athlete and bask in the admiration of my fellow students. I’ll get an A in calculus rather than a D. I’ll try out for and grab the lead in the school play. It’ll be a musical, because unlike reality as I lived it, I’ll be able to sing. And join a garage band and wind up with a record contract.

I’ll stand up to my abusive brother and fight back and kick his ass. I’ll get the after-school job I could never get and earn money to take out more pretty girls. In college I’ll study and not party but for the spring breaks in Florida that I could never afford to attend. I’ll make my parents proud and they’ll never have to bail me out.

I’ll say none of the stupid things in life that I did say. I won’t hurt anybody’s feelings and won’t allow either of my two cats to die and my best friend won’t have abusive parents. I won’t be teased for having Tourette’s or being disabled with Parkinson’s Disease and peripheral artery disease and poor eyesight and hearing and all the rest. I’ll still be able to lift my weight and play soccer and run five miles. If not myself, then others will carry the banner and succeed where I failed abysmally.

I write so that things turn out right, and not to shit. I live vicariously through my characters; I learn lessons I was too stubborn or dense to heed before. I am a normal child, teen, and now old man. I have children and grandchildren who flock around me in my dotage, rather than live alone in a hovel in the American Midwest. That’s why I write.

Sherry and I have not spoken since she posed her question, but I’m alright with it. I’ll know now what to tell her, should she ever call again. But she’ll not be argumentative this time, since I’ll be writing the script.

SPECIAL INTERVIEW: A CONVERSATION WITH ANKICA ANCHIA

Croatian writer and poet Ankica Anchia is a master of words. She is not only a writer for adults but also considered a children’s author. The poems she has written reach the hearts of people. Through her poetry, Ankica Anchia can sometimes make readers laugh, sometimes bring them to tears, and at times leave them deep in thought.

Q1: To begin with, tell us a few things about yourself, introduce yourself briefly to those who don’t know you?

A1: I was born in the beautiful Dalmatian city of Split, where the sun and the sea intertwine with stories of times long gone. My childhood was filled with the smiles of my parents, the warmth of home, and a sense of safety. But everything changed when I was twenty.

In that youth, suddenly without my parents, I felt a deep emptiness, as if the world around me had collapsed. I fell often, faced with pain that seemed endless. Betrayals came like storms—my heart shattered, trust wounded. Yet through those painful moments of breaking, I learned how to rise again.

The betrayals left scars, but they shaped me. I realized that those who make promises are often the ones who hurt the fastest. Pain became a teacher, a reminder that true value lies in those who stay, who do not turn their backs when things are hardest.

But the falls were not the end of my journey. They were simply the path toward awakening, toward the lessons one cannot learn without struggle. In my verses and stories, memories of those ups and downs came alive—moments of pain, sorrow, and emptiness, but also the strength that grew from every fall.

With each rise, I felt the blessings of my own resilience. The path was not without battles, sleepless nights, and tears. But in every fall and every betrayal, I discovered my own beauty—the kind not measured by success, but by the endurance of the spirit. My words are a testament to everything I have been through, everything I have become:

Life writes the words, but you choose the music!

Croatian Dalmatian city 

Q2: When did you start writing, and why? What does writing mean to you?

A2: I began writing poetry and prose as I was growing up, but the true intensity of my poetic expression reached its peak over the last 20 years.

Drunk on the love for Dalmatia, my homeland, and driven by deep respect for tradition, I tried to preserve that richness from fading away. My poems are filled with Dalmatian expression, images of the land, the scent of the sea, and the soul of the people. My love poetry leads us through romantic imaginings wrapped in everyday moments of life. The verses are filled with emotion—from joy to sorrow, from happiness to pain.

Writing never felt like a decision—it was a natural continuation of something I carried within me. Writing has always been my way of expressing what cannot easily be said, a way to touch the emotions and images hidden in silence.

Why do I write? Because each sentence brings me closer to who I truly am. Writing is my bridge to the world and to myself, my way of capturing fleeting moments and turning them into something eternal. In every letter, I find refuge, passion, and boundless freedom.

—

Q3:Did you dream of seeing your work on the shelves of bookstores, libraries, or readers?

A3: Of course I did—not out of vanity, but from the desire that my thoughts, feelings, and words find a home in the hearts of others. I dreamed that the pages I write would become a bridge between me and unfamiliar faces, that my stories and verses would serve as refuge, inspiration, or comfort.

To imagine my work resting on bookstore shelves, in readers’ hands, or in quiet library corners that safeguard stories—that feels like a quiet longing fulfilled, proof that words are not in vain, that they can reach someone and touch them, even for a moment. That is the beauty of it: sharing a piece of your soul with those who seek something similar within themselves.

—

Q4: How did the idea for your first poetry collection come about? Who or what inspired it?

A4: The idea for my first collection, “Beside jedne Dalmatinke” (“The Verses of a Dalmatian Woman”), was born from my love for the land I come from—for its rocky paths, the scent of the sea, and the timeless beauty Dalmatia carries. Every poem, every word, was my way of preserving the stories told by the waves, the whisper of olive trees, and the old stone walls.

Q5:What was it like preparing your first book for print? Describe the moment when you held it in your hands for the first time.

A5:Preparing my first book for print felt like waiting for the birth of something precious. Every decision—from the cover design to the final full stop—carried both excitement and gentle worry. It was a mixture of joy, pride, and responsibility, because I knew those pages would become a bridge between me and my readers.

And when I held my book for the first time, my heart stopped. It felt like meeting a part of myself for the first time outside my own mind. Touching the covers, feeling the weight of the pages that were once only thoughts—that is indescribable. I thought: This is a part of me that will live on—in the hands, minds, and hearts of others.

It was a moment of pure happiness, wrapped in gratitude.

—

Q6: Which of your collections is your favorite, and why?

A6:Each of my collections carries a part of me and holds a special place in my heart. But if I had to choose, my favorite is always the one that most deeply reflects the moment of life in which it was created.

“Beside jedne Dalmatinke” is dear to me because it carries not only my love for Dalmatia, but also nostalgia for childhood, memories of those who shaped me, and the strength of the emotions I lived back then.

Yet I always feel that my favorite collection is the next one—the one still being written.

“Kleknut htjedoh učitelju” holds a special place because it was created out of deep respect for wisdom, knowledge, and spiritual growth. It honors the teachers in our lives—the visible ones and the invisible ones.

On the other hand, “Zvjezdana prašina” (“Stardust”) is dear because it was written with childlike joy and imagination. Writing for children means letting go of all boundaries and returning to simplicity and wonder.

Both collections tell their own story—one speaks to the deep reflections of adults, the other plays with the stars and opens the door to childhood imagination.

Interviewed by:

Juraeva Aziza Rakhmatovna, who is a young poet from Uzbekistan. 

Grandmother and Granddaughter

I vaguely remember that day—I don’t even know why I can’t recall it clearly. Maybe I was too young?

One evening, we were all sitting together having dinner when our neighbor, Soliha aunt, suddenly came by. I didn’t really understand why she had come. After a short while, she quietly left without saying much. When we finished eating, we said a prayer, and then my younger sister took the dishes to the kitchen to wash them. My father went into the living room to watch television.

At that moment, without telling anyone, I went into my room and started reading my book. I don’t even remember how I fell asleep.

At dawn, half-asleep, I heard my mother and father performing the Fajr prayer. After finishing, they began whispering to each other. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t hear what they were saying. After sunrise, I ran to my mother.

“What are you doing?” I asked with a smile.

“Can’t you see? I’m cleaning the house,” she replied. Then she looked at me and said, “We have a gift for you.”

“Oh, Mom, but it’s not my birthday,” I said, laughing.

“My dear daughter, are gifts only given on birthdays? They can be given at any time,” she said.

“That’s great! What kind of gift?” I asked excitedly.

“You’ll find out in the evening. Now go and finish your tasks and read your books,” she said.

I finished all my chores and waited impatiently for the evening.

Finally, evening came. After washing my hands and face, I went to my bed—and there she was, my dear grandmother, sitting beside it. I was so happy that I hugged her tightly. Maybe I hugged her too hard, but I couldn’t help it—I loved my grandmother so much.

I loved sleeping next to my grandmother in the evenings because every time she came, she would tell me wonderful and fascinating stories. The stories she told would come alive right before my eyes.

“Grandma, may I ask you something?” I said.

“What is it?” she replied.

“Grandma, what was your school like? Please tell me.”

“Oh, my curious granddaughter,” she said, “I will tell you, but you must not interrupt me, alright?”

“Okay,” I agreed.

“Our school didn’t have the conditions and facilities that you have today. There were many children in our family, and our parents could barely afford enough for us to eat. My dear granddaughter, you have great opportunities for studying. Don’t waste your time on meaningless games. Study while you can, learn as much as possible, so that you won’t regret it later. If you study, many doors of opportunity will open for you—never forget that.”

“Grandma, I will do as you say. I will study and learn,” I replied.

“My smart granddaughter…” she said lovingly.

Saitkulova Fotima 

Uzbekistan 

going to the church of the wind
in the tops of the trees


        *


she comes to the window for the red fox at dusk


        *


he told himself not to stare at the newborn violets


        *


in the same photo,
the pacing cheetah and her grandfather's cane 


        *


he gave no reason for wanting to soak his feet in the Lower Vistula


        *


when they tell you to dye your hair
and change the locks


        *


Elvis never borrowed my brother's comb,
but everybody loved the lie


        *


it was Frankie's job to doctor up the coffee
for the grumpy saints


        *


the world going back to ignoring the green forsythia


        *


my destiny is already on its third cup of coffee


        *


"the objective correlative"
must include the worn gray socks of Pete Maravich


        *


throwing a chunk of coal for a touchdown in Jim Thorpe, PA


        *


though he makes room,
the regulars on the city bus would rather stand


        *



Patrick Sweeney is a short form poet and devotee of the public library.

Sunrise

Tell me sun, did you see the night? 

Tell me sun, did you see the dark? 

Every day you rise, giving us light. 

Your warmth makes us bright. 

Your light blinds us, 

Yet we can’t live without you. 

Your light keeps us alive, 

Yet we never truly appreciate you. 

Oh, dear sun, forgive us one more- 

We blind people forget you some time. 

Oh, dear sun, forgive us once more- 

We deaf people can’t hear your love.

-Charos Ismoilova

I am Charos Ismoilova daughter of Ruslan, and was born on January 1st, 2013, in Shafirkan district, Bukhara region. Currently, I am studying at Bukhara Presidential School, 7th grade.

THE WAR THAT DOES NOT END

Thi Lan Anh Tran – Aschaffenburg, Germany
10.04.26

My mother never told stories
the way books do.

She would pause in the middle of words,
as if something beyond language
was heavier than memory itself.

There was once a garden—
not the kind you visit,
but the kind that remembers you.

The soil carried more than roots.

I grew up far from alarms,
far from skies torn open,
yet at night
I still feel a quiet pulse beneath the earth—
steady, buried,
refusing to leave.

They say time moves forward.
But memory stays still.

It waits.

Elsewhere in the world,
men sit across polished tables
carefully choosing their words:
ceasefire,
security,
shared interest.

Their voices are calm.

Somewhere, a child learns
the difference between thunder
and something that is not weather.

A city learns to dim its lights
without calling it fear.

A mother learns silence
so deeply
it becomes a way of breathing.

I stand between what has ended
and what is repeating.

Nothing returns exactly the same—
yet nothing truly disappears.

War does not always arrive in fire.

Sometimes it remains—
in the body,
in language,
in the hesitation
before trusting tomorrow.

If history breathes,
it does not speak in victory.

It exhales slowly
through those who remember
what others are still becoming.

CUỘC CHIẾN KHÔNG KẾT THÚC

Mẹ tôi không kể chuyện
theo cách của sách vở.

Mẹ thường dừng giữa câu nói,
như thể phía sau lời nói
có điều nặng hơn ký ức.

Từng có một khu vườn—
không phải nơi để nhớ,
mà là nơi biết cách nhớ lấy con người.

Đất ở đó
giữ nhiều hơn rễ cây.

Tôi lớn lên không có tiếng còi báo động,
không có bầu trời bị xé toạc,
nhưng trong đêm
vẫn có một nhịp đập sâu dưới mặt đất—
chậm, nặng,
không chịu biến mất.

Người ta nói thời gian đi về phía trước.
Nhưng ký ức thì không.

Nó chờ.

Ở một nơi khác,
những cuộc họp diễn ra sau những chiếc bàn dài
với những từ ngữ được chọn lọc:
ngừng bắn,
an ninh,
lợi ích chung.

Giọng nói rất bình tĩnh.

Ở đâu đó,
một đứa trẻ học cách phân biệt
tiếng sấm
với thứ âm thanh không thuộc về tự nhiên.

Một thành phố học cách tắt đèn
mà không gọi đó là sợ hãi.

Một người mẹ học cách giữ im lặng
đến mức
nó trở thành hơi thở.

Tôi đứng giữa điều đã qua
và điều đang lặp lại.

Không có điều gì lặp lại nguyên vẹn—
nhưng cũng không có gì thật sự mất đi.

Chiến tranh không phải lúc nào cũng đến bằng lửa.

Đôi khi
nó ở lại—
trong cơ thể,
trong ngôn ngữ,
trong sự chần chừ
trước ngày mai.

Nếu lịch sử còn biết thở,
nó không nói bằng chiến thắng.

Nó thở ra thật chậm
qua những người còn nhớ
những điều người khác vẫn đang trở thành.

Nr. 65 TÌNH YÊU KHÔNG CHỈ LÀ NỖI ĐAU

Tình yêu đâu chỉ sắc hồng,
Dẫu như cầu vồng sau cơn mưa bay.
Có cay mới hiểu vị say,
Có xa mới biết vòng tay cần gần.

Đường yêu lắm nỗi gian nan,
Nhưng đâu chỉ có khóc than một mình.
Sau đêm rồi sẽ bình minh,
Giữa đông giá lạnh vẫn sinh nắng vàng.

Nếu ai giữ mãi muộn màng,
Thời gian đâu phải chỉ mang phai tàn.
Mở lòng thay những cửa then,
Tim còn biết đập — còn quen yêu người.

Tình đâu chỉ tựa trò chơi,
Chia ly cũng để hiểu lời yêu thương.
Dẫu mai hai ngả đôi đường,
Gặp nhau vẫn nhớ một thời đã qua.

Tình yêu không chỉ lệ sa,
Có khi là cả bao la dịu hiền.
Ai còn tin sẽ còn duyên,
Yêu thương giữ lại — bình yên trong lòng.

Nr. 65 LOVE IS MORE THAN PAIN

Love is not just colors bright,
like rainbows fading after light.
Through bitter taste, we learn what’s true,
through distance, feel what love can do.

The road of love is steep and long,
yet not all hearts must grieve alone.
For after night, the dawn will rise,
and warmth returns beneath cold skies.

If hearts stay closed in silent fear,
time cannot heal what we won’t hear.
Unlock the door, let feelings flow,
a beating heart still longs to grow.

Love is not just a fleeting game,
nor parting hearts to shift the blame.
Though paths may part and drift apart,
they still remain within the heart.

Love is not only tears that fall,
but gentle light that warms us all.
For those who trust, love will remain—
a quiet peace beyond the pain.