My experience with graduate school was that I was as much of a public speaker and a writer as I was a scientist in the lab. In my five years in a biomedical research PhD program, we were constantly under pressure to not only produce interesting data, but to communicate it clearly, quickly, and concisely, to a range of audiences. There was never a week where I was not preparing for an upcoming talk, drafting a research paper or an abstract for a conference, applying for a grant, or writing an article to convey science to the public. Fortunately, my training prioritized science communication just as much as technical science. As such, I left with strong training in scientific writing, but one piece of advice has remained the most effective.
Part of my grad school curriculum was a scientific writing course taught by Dr. Jai Lingappa, an HIV researcher at the University of Washington. Jai, who is known for his ability to write impactful grants that bring home serious funding, suggested that we adopt the mentality that a reader’s failure to understand what you’ve written is always the “fault” of the writer. This is to say that it’s the writer’s responsibility to make your audience understand what you’re trying to communicate.
Jai’s advice was hard to swallow, at first. Obviously, we all think our writing is clear, or we wouldn’t have written it. Likewise, when presented with negative or confused feedback on our written work, we often feel that the reviewers lacked some requisite knowledge that could be reasonably expected of them. However, it behooves every scientific writer to put in extra work on the front end to get ahead of potential misunderstandings and to make sure the reader will follow, first try. Take the example of the grant application: if your proposal is not understood—for whatever valid or invalid reason—it will not get funded.
This advice was given in the context of writing a research proposal, but it applies to any type of writing where information dissemination or persuasion is the goal. Once I fully accepted the responsibility of my readers’ comprehension, I improved every piece of technical writing that I have done since, including my current work as a regulatory writer in biotech. It’s a reminder that above all, I must be clear and anticipate how my writing will be interpreted by various audiences. As a lover of literary-style fiction–where much is left up to interpretation and understated prose is considered elevated–my personal bad habit is to approach scientific writing similarly, which will certainly backfire. Fiction readers feel smart when they “figure out” a metaphor or plot hint; technical readers feel smart when they understand a concept because they’ve been told exactly how it works.
Of course, a given audience may have a certain level of reasonably assumed understanding, and I’m not suggesting to write at the most basic level. However, there are simple and effective ways to include a one-line concept refresher without patronizing: we sometimes forget that our specific area of interest may not be what another person, albeit in the same field, thinks about all day. Reminders are always welcome. While you can include too much background or explanation, you can never be too clear.
By taking responsibility for your audience’s (lack of) understanding, you remove your ego from your technical writing, anticipate potential points of confusion, and avoid frustrations for both yourself and the reader. It is remarkably simple advice that functions as a highly effective guiding principle. With this approach in mind, I’ve improved my ability to write grants, scientific papers, technical regulatory documents, and even my creative writing. Good writing is clear writing, above all.
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