Monthly Archives: September 2021

When I was in high school, I read The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde¹. Since it was published in 1891, I’m just going to assume that what I’ll say here about the novel doesn’t require a spoiler alert. (But, alas, if you want to avoid such a spoiler, kindly skip to the next paragraph now.) What I loved about the novel was the extreme (and incredible) juxtaposition between this dashing young man and the gruesome portrait that hid his true inner reality. He was morally and psychologically bankrupt, a secret held by his portrait. On the inside, he was empty.  

Why bring up such a tale in a blog with the subtitle, scientific writing – part 2, you ask? In the paragraphs that follow, I want to argue that writing well, especially writing of the scientific variety, requires the development of certain internal characteristics. It’s not enough to have a Dorian Gray kind of face. We need to do some inner work to effectively engage scientific writing. That is what this post is about.  

Before I lose you on the thought, “this doesn’t apply to me because I’m not a scientist! I don’t need scientific writing!”, let me address this erroneous thought head on. In your classes you are engaging scientific work and talking about it, sometimes in written form. That is scientific writing. Many of you will continue to engage these primary resources in future careers. However, even those of you who don’t: the practice of clearly delineating and communicating evidence, at the core of scientific writing, is also key to communication in general. The specific formats and expectations about details (APA style, for example) may vary, but the practice of clear thinking and information storytelling—this is something you will use well beyond your classroom years. As such, in this and future blogs, when I talk about you, dear reader, as a “scientific writer,” this is not a mistake. This is for you.  

Now, back to the rodeo. 

Developing the Disposition of a Scientific Writer 

As a graduate student, I remember co-authoring a manuscript that would become my first peer-reviewed paper published in the well-respected journal Child Development. I remember the excitement of feeling like I had something to contribute, something to say. I had an emotional connection with my paper. It—and by proxy I—was awesome. 

And then came peer review. 

The peer review for this paper was critical and hard to digest. But in the lengthy process of revision (which took multiple rounds, each with new critical peer review comments), I started to learn some valuable lessons, lessons that I want to share with you today. Reflecting on my experiences with peer review that started in graduate school, I have learned that scientific writing is more effective when I, as the writer, am committed to the ongoing development of a growth mindset and a disposition of curiosity. I believe that good scientific writers share these traits, traits that can—good news—be learned.  

Good Scientific Writers have a Growth Mindset 

Elsewhere in the CSHB blog archives there are discussions on the growth mindset. Mindset is an idea developed by Dr. Carol Dweck, a developmental psychologist at Stanford University. She argues that there are different ways of thinking about traits such as intelligence. We can consider intelligence (and intellectual capacity) to be relatively fixed—stable and enduring across the lifespan—or malleable—able to be grown and developed with effort. These beliefs about intelligence being fixed or malleable represent two ends of a continuum, with people existing at and between the extremes.  

Although Dweck’s work started with intellectual ability, it has expanded to include beliefs about traits like artistic skill, athletic ability, business acumen/leadership, relational capacity, etc. It just makes sense that we could also talk about our beliefs about writing ability. Let’s take a quick check on your beliefs: do you believe that, with practice, feedback (including criticism!), and more practice (and criticism) that you could get better at writing? Or, do you think that you are, more or less, as good as you are going to be? Think about the last paper you wrote: how many times did you read and revise it? Do you think the revision process valuable? Did you seek out critical feedback? When your professor made a suggestion, what kind of reaction did you have? I would bet that students who believe that practice and feedback are a valuable part of improving their writing abilities will spend more time revising, visiting the University Writing Center, and meeting with their professor to review drafts. These efforts are not just because they want a good grade, but because they believe these behaviors are an important part of the process of their writing skill development. This is consistent with a growth-oriented mindset, the belief that effort is directly related to skill growth and associated outcomes. What Dweck’s work shows, in general, is that the belief that you can develop and improve in an ability, like writing, leads you to behave in a way that makes it so, for example by practicing, revising, and seeking out feedback for improvement.  

Moreover, an important feature of the growth mindset is the belief that you are not your work². The work that you produce reflects your effort, sure, but a critical comment (or comments—plural!) is not an inditement of you. Rather, it is feedback about your process, effort, or something that led to the work. This feedback is all a part of the learning and growing process. In a podcast on receiving critical feedback well, Mellody Hobson said something that really made me think: she argued that critical feedback is a gift, and not a right. When someone gives you feedback, no matter how hard it is to hear, it is because they love and care for you enough to give it to you. That, she says, is an opportunity that should not be squandered.  

When I receive critical peer review today—and I do!—instead of immediately succumbing to a negative emotional reaction, I reframe the feedback. This peer reviewer at least thought enough of my paper to take the time to read it and provide critical feedback. Their points are worth wrestling with. Even when I don’t incorporate the changes suggested by the peer reviewer, my paper is always better because I had to really think through why they thought what they did, what that means for my argument, and how I can strengthen what I have to say/how I’m saying it. This response is only possible when I don’t take the criticism personal, but instead use it as an opportunity to develop my ability to write more clearly, more persuasively, and more effectively. A growth mindset says that engaging feedback—especially critical feedback—is central to the development of writing well. 

Good Scientific Writers are Curious 

Although there are likely many more qualities of good scientific writers, the second I want to share here is that good scientific writers are curious. Curiosity is a core feature of good scientists (e.g., “why does the world work this way? What explains that phenomenon?), but it is also reflected in good scientific writing.  

Curiosity is reflected in a comprehensive literature review, a deep and developing understanding of all the relevant information to the present question. Curiosity is reflected in creative and clear methods, documented thoroughly to allow for an open and honest appraisal from others. Curiosity is also reflected in an openness to the data. When we, as researchers, look at data, we have our own ideas about why they are the way they are. These ideas come from a number of sources, including our command of the scientific literature and our own worldviews and experiences. Curiosity allows individuals to say, “this is how I see it,” without getting defensive when someone else says, “yes, but have you thought of this possibility?” That other possibility is just that—a possibility. For the curious, possibilities are exciting³.  

Back to Dorian 

Although the reading of Dorian Gray has stuck with me, high school was also many (too many) years ago. There are details of the story that I don’t remember. And still, I feel confident that Dorian Gray would not have been an effective science storyteller, as he lacked a growth mindset and curiosity (along with a bunch of other important traits). Of course, as a bit of an optimist, I think that even Gray could have, with the right motivation and mentorship, learned these skills. Just like I’m learning them and like I hope you will. It will benefit your writing—and so much more.  

I have more to say on scientific writing—and say I will. If you made it this far, I would love to hear from you: what do you find is your biggest barrier to writing well? Do these characteristics of good scientific writers resonate with you? What else might you consider adding to that list? Let me know with a comment below and stay tuned—there is more to come on writing well. 

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¹I have not seen the movie, so I can’t comment except to say, rooted in my own deep (non-scientific) convictions, the book is better.

²This is a great, short video introduction to the idea of mindset: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KUWn_TJTrnU. Pay special attention to the commentary on Jay and Anne’s work, and how that commentary (i.e., critical feedback) is interpreted.

³Here is a helpful guide for giving and receiving criticism in a way that is helpful: https://www.sciencemag.org/careers/2021/03/science-relies-constructive-criticism-here-s-how-keep-it-useful-and-respectful

If you found this blog helpful, check out the overview of the whole series here, so that you can find more useful information to develop your writing.

My pastor has the most creative sermon titles. There is a game that we play at the end-of-year volunteers’ party which(inevitably) includes a question to try to spot the fake sermon title among all the real ones. It is next level difficult. It is in that vein that I label this blog, My Little Pony Dungeons and Dragons though, really, this blog is not about that. Not directly. Intrigued? Read on.

Now that you are (mildly) intrigued, I’ll be honest with you: I have played an adapted form of Dungeons and Dragons with My Little Ponies trying to save the world through the power of friendship. Before you think I’m weird(er than you already know me to be), let me contextualize this as a game that my whole family plays on game night. In addition to the art (see the excellent pony made by my daughter, 4 years old at the time), the math (constantly adding and subtracting dice of various numbers), and the time together, there is story. That is really what this blog is about: story.

Google defines story, in part, in reference to the plot of a thing, what it’s really about. Although our minds might immediately travel to fiction—or ponies protecting the world—in my work as a researcher I find it helpful to think about scientific writing as a particular kind of storytelling. Over the next few blog posts, I tackle scientific writing as story¹. (Can you see why I lead with ponies and dragons now? In theory, it has led you read at least this far.)

In this post, I want to introduce you to the basic premise of scientific writing. In future posts, I will explore how to approach the (sometimes daunting) task of writing well and I will frame some ideas around the different components in a scientific paper. If you’re lucky (or, as my dad would say, “a glutton for punishment”), I may even write a blog with some nitty gritty details, sharing examples from a recent paper I wrote (and re-wrote…and re-wrote again).

What is Scientific Writing?

Although you know what writing is, is anything changed by adding “scientific” as an adjective before it? To answer this question, we need to think about science. Science is the study of the natural world. Science describes how things are, explores how/why things work the way they do, and makes predictions about how things might/could/would work, given what we know. Science uses systematic observation—testing, observing, measuring things in the world in strategic and systematic ways—to draw conclusions about the world². There are many (many!) different empirical methods in science, but they share the common feature of systematic measurement and observation to acquire knowledge. Moreover, science is democratic and cumulative, meaning that debating conclusions based on (and building from) previous research in a public forum is inherent in how science works. The scientific community requires that statements about “the way things are/work” be backed up with verifiable and compelling evidence³.

By this understanding of science, then, scientific writing is the formal documentation of the scientific story with discovery as the core plotline. Scientific writing is how scientists document the verifiable and compelling evidence gathered by members of the scientific community to tell the story about how the world (and the people in it) work. Done well, scientific writing communicates the mystique and intrigue of discovery within the natural world⁴.

When I conduct a research study, I write it up in a manuscript which is submitted to a journal. The journal will send this manuscript to 2 or 3 reviewers (who are blind to my identity). This process of peer-review ensures that my paper—this piece of scientific writing—is of sufficient quality and caliber to contribute to science and warrant publication. Part of my job in writing the story is to tell the reader what they need to know in a logical, connected way⁵. (Remember, I can’t just write “this is how the world works: believe me, I’m cool; I play pony-dragons.” I have to, in my paper, document the whole process of my research so that when I ultimately claim that “this is how the world works”, my reader understands how my evidence—the research—led to that conclusion.)

So, in many ways, scientific writing is like all good writing; it differs in its content (an explication of empirically demonstrated evidence), but it is rooted in narratives of discovery.

This narrative of discovery has some formalized sections (i.e., the introduction, methods, results, and discussion sections of an APA paper). However, before we talk about these sections we need to talk about the scientific story writer. Before any words are on (digital) paper, it’s important for a scientific story writer to start with a helpful orientation to the process of writing, an orientation that is highly influential for writing successfully.

While you wait for part 2 (perhaps rolling up your own MLP dungeons and dragons character), I’d like to know: what kinds of experiences have you had with science writing? When I say “science writing,” what comes to mind/what assumptions do you have about what it is/isn’t?

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¹As I see it, writing on “writing well” is one of the most daunting topics I could choose. There are many who have written on this, and many who have written on this better than I will do here. Part of the point that I aim to make is that writing is a skill that is developed. That means that, like you, I am in development. However, if I waited until I could communicate about scientific writing skill development perfectly, then this blog would never be written and any potential benefit of this communication, imperfect as it may be, would be lost. As I will encourage you to do: start where you are and commit to developing, uncomfortable as it may be. Your product won’t be perfect, but perfect isn’t a requirement for progress. In writing this blog for you and I’m practicing what I’m preaching.

²Although many students might not immediately associate “psychology” with “science,” it should be clear that psychology is a science, even if it doesn’t share all the methods of natural sciences. That it would have different methods makes sense because it has different a subject matter; surely we can agree that we can (and should) study cells differently than human persons (even if the human persons are made up of cells).

³A very easy introduction to what science is, can be found here. If you are interested specifically in thinking about how psychological science works and fits into science, you can check out this introduction.

⁴Despite common assumptions, science is not a list of facts about the world. Science includes facts, but it not mainly a compilation of them. As such, effective scientific writing will communicate the mystique and intrigue of discovery, not just consolidate a list of findings.

⁵This has implications for the actual process of organization and writing that I will address in a future post. My metaphor hear is about maps and directions, but I’ll leave it be for now.

If you found this blog helpful, check out the overview of the whole series here, so that you can find more useful information to develop your writing.

A few months back, I decided to do something crazy. No, I didn’t sky dive (I’ve done that already). No, I didn’t wander out of a Beijing airport at 2am, totally jetlagged and confused, hoping I understood what I had been told to do (I’ve done that too). And no, I didn’t have a baby and then fly with said 3-week-old baby and her toddler sister to Oxford for 5 weeks (yep, I’ve done that crazy thing, too). This time I did something truly audacious: I sat down to write a three-part blog series on writing well, with the goal of helping my students (you!) think about research writing not as a chore to be dreaded (avoided, and finally—at the very last minute—begrudgingly completed) but instead as an opportunity to develop the skills required to turn ideas into words that inspire action and world change. Of the things I’ve listed in this paragraph, I’m not sure what the craziest item is. 

What I had originally set out to do in three blog posts is now eight (nine if you count this one). And, if I’m honest, I haven’t even said all the things I wanted to. But I still think that what I’ve done is crazy—and it just might be helpful. So, I wanted to spend a few more sentences outlining what to expect in this blog series. I will end with an invitation for you.  

In the first two blogs, I focus on some topics around orienting yourself to the task of writing. First, I address the question of what scientific writing is (hint: if you are reading this blog on this research website, you are likely have/are going to engage scientific writing at some point in your educational or professional career). Second, I explore two characteristics of effective science writers, characteristics that promote the skill development of writing well. 

In blogs three and four, I zoom in a bit and tackle how scientific papers are organized. Blog three covers the purpose of the different sections of an APA style research paper and blog four tackles how to organize a literature review of research as a stand-alone paper. For all things, including writing, I firmly believe that when we understand the purpose of something, we can engage in a way that increases the likelihood of fulfilling that purpose. In science writing, fulfilling the purpose includes clear and effective communication of discovery (e.g., what things are really like, why the world works the way it does), because discovery is the plotline of science.  

From there, blogs five through eight take a bit of a nosedive into the weeds of writing. I provide 4 examples of tools that I use in my own writing. I take the case example of a paper I recently wrote, a literature review, and I show a few of my steps from start to finish. I tell you about my Dear Mom Draft; I show you how I organize my early literature review search of research articles to deepen my understanding and preparation to start writing; I give you a peek inside my method for editing—especially how I go about deleting sentences that I know need to go but that are hard to let go of; I underscore how the writing process is the thinking process—revision isn’t just for more clarity of phrase, but for clarity of thought.  

Across all these blogs, my goal is to reinforce a basic truth about writing: it is a skill that is developed with practice. I hope that, across these blogs, you’ll be better prepared to engage in the practice of writing well and that you might learn a few tools that are useful in your own skill development.  

There are, of course, many other issues (tools, obstacles, ideas) about writing well that these blogs don’t cover. For example, I didn’t talk at all about reading as a fundamental to good writing (it is!) or specifics of focusing a research question and searching library databases for good sources (key concerns!). Another big one mentioned by a student of mine that I don’t really address is how to maintain motivation to write in the face of waning enthusiasm (and an approaching deadline). Perhaps I’ll take these up in another miniseries which I might call revenge of the writing well blog.  

Between now and the revenge, as these blogs go live over the coming weeks, I want to issue you an invitation. I invite you to engage these blogs as opportunities for your own development. Writing well is not just about the research, it’s about the world change that comes with effective communication and clear thinking. Sure, this might not come out of that paper you are writing for your class, but the skills that you are practicing may just prepare you to be able to do just that. In addition to this long-term invitation, I want to know at the outset: what is it about writing well that you want to learn more about? 

3/7/2022 Update: The University Writing Center, an excellent CBU resource for developing your writing skills, has also contributed their thoughts as a continuation of this blog series. You can (and should) check that blog out here.