As I began expanding on this TED Talk for my final project, I figured I’d learn how to better communicate scientific research to the public. Looking back on the experience, I definitely did. My early drafts of the talk had chunks of text that were too heavy on the numbers, making them difficult to understand without a visual aid, and they didn’t translate well into conversational speech. I put a lot of effort into breaking down the information, using visuals and clear explanations, and also learned how important it is to add some kind of human element or call to action when talking about research, especially in a TED Talk setting. Creating a TED Talk certainly made me a stronger science writer and speaker. Actually, though, my main takeaway from the TED Talk project − and the experiment sequence in general − was a better understanding of why I write.
Especially over the past several years, I’ve come to see myself as someone who writes because they love words, not because they stories. There’s a fair amount of truth in that belief. I’m fascinated by the way words and syntax work. I’m really good at words games and puzzles − my family is scared of playing Boggle with me. And I think there’s nothing more satisfying than tearing into an essay, making the sentences more succinct, slashing grammar mistakes and instances of the passive voice, editing for flow and voice. It’s this passion for making things sound good and make sense that inspires me to help out whenever a friend needs a paper edited. I also I think it’s part of the reason I seek out opportunities to write, both in my studies and extracurriculars.
Because of my self-perception as a practical writer, not a storyteller, I wasn’t too thrilled about the genre-bending, multimodal nature of the experiment sequence. On top of that, it had been a while since I’d done any personal or creative writing. But as I began drafting my first experiment, a fictional vignette, I was surprised by how familiar the process felt. I was reminded of my early childhood and elementary school years, when I’d create picture books for my family and write inventive, often multi-chapter mystery or fantasy stories. I also thought back to middle school and early high school, during which I’d written a few short fiction pieces and even part of a novel that made me really proud. Back then, I loved words just as I do now, but I also wrote to tell stories. My Writing 220 vignette wasn’t the best thing I’ve produced, but it did jog some reflexes.
In its own way, fully realizing my TED Talk also challenged me to tell a story. As I learned from working through several drafts and receiving ample feedback, a TED Talk can’t just be a regurgitation of a scientific paper; it needs to have an arc, some human appeal, a compelling conclusion. Successfully communicating what scientific results mean and why they matter means creating a narrative. Not only will this storytelling ability make me a better-understood scientist, but I now realize stories are part of the reason I write.
The experiment sequence opened my eyes to the fact that yes, I do love how words work, but I also write because some part of me − one that I’ve ignored in recent years − is a storyteller. I don’t just write for The Michigan Daily because I like editing, and I’m not just minoring in writing because I appreciate structurally sound sentences. I actually feel like I have something to say.
That being said, I’m still a force to be reckoned with in Boggle.