scholarly journals 5 Graybles with Sarah Kearns, science writer and KFG content fellow

Author(s):  
sarah kearns
Keyword(s):  
Nature ◽  
2009 ◽  
Author(s):  
Daniel Cressey
Keyword(s):  

Author(s):  
Earle Holland

Science writing at a university has to be one of the world's great jobs. If the institution is serious about its research, you're a kid in a candy store. In my case, at Ohio State University, with more than 3,500 faculty, the question is what to write about first—not where to look for stories. Big universities are that way, but the same rules apply for smaller places that are intent on doing great research. Let's begin with the basics. While public information officers at universities face a buffet of varying tasks—from covering boards of trustees' meetings to athletic scandals to student riots—the role of the science PIO is more focused: Concentrate on university research; explain what is new and why it is important to the public. Stated that way, the job seems simple, but science writers at a university may have to jump from astronomy to immunology to psychology to anthropology all in the same week. That represents a lot of intellectual gear shifting; but remember, the rules about reporting on research generally stay the same from field to field. What is the news? Why is it important? What is the context for the research? That is, what are the questions that drive it? Why should the readers care? And last, do the findings point us somewhere new? The only things that change from story to story are the researchers' language and the culture specific to their fields. Nearly every time I give a talk on university science writing—and there have been dozens—someone asks the classic question: How do you find your stories? The glib answer is “Everywhere;” but in truth, that's pretty accurate. Some people envision situations where top researchers have a “eureka” moment and then immediately get on the phone to the campus science writer to get the word out. Or perhaps the researcher's department chair or dean, ever attuned to their colleagues' work, is the one to pass along such news. I wish that were so; but sadly, it's more likely that researcher, department chair, or dean will never think about calling a writer until long after everything else is done.


Author(s):  
Robert Kunzig

A couple of years ago I learned something: I learned that black holes spin. And as they spin, they drag the fabric of space-time around with them, whirling it like a tornado. “Where have you been?” you ask. “That's a direct consequence of general relativity! Lense and Thirring predicted that more than 80 years ago.” It had escaped my notice. It made my day when I (sort of) understood it. I wanted to tell someone—and by a wonderful stroke of luck, I'm paid to do just that. Days like that are why I'm a science writer—a “gee whiz” science writer, if you like. A lot of my peers these days consider the gee whiz approach outdated, naive, even a little lap-doggish; investigative reporting is in. “Isn't the real story the process of how science and medicine work?” Shannon Brownlee said recently, upon receiving a well-deserved prize for her critical reporting on medicine. “I'm talking about the power structure. I'm talking about influence. I'm talking about money.” I'm not much interested in those things. I agree they're often important—more important, no doubt, in breast cancer than in black hole research, more important the more applied and less basic the research gets. One of the real stories about medical research may well be how it is sometimes corrupted by conflicts of interest. Power, influence, and money are constants in human affairs, like sex and violence; and sometimes a science writer is forced to write about them, just as a baseball writer may be forced with heavy heart to write about contract negotiations or a doping scandal. Yet just as the “real story” about baseball remains the game itself, the “real story” about science, to me, is what makes it different from other human affairs, not the same. I'm talking about ideas. I'm talking about experiments. I'm talking about truth, and beauty, too. Most of all, I'm talking about the little nuggets of joy and delight that draw all of us, scientists and science writers alike, to this business, when with our outsized IQs we could be somewhere else pursuing larger slices of power, influence, and money.


1980 ◽  
Vol 11 (2) ◽  
pp. 82-84
Author(s):  
Millicent E. Selsam
Keyword(s):  

1977 ◽  
Vol 7 (1) ◽  
pp. 21-25
Author(s):  
John Paul Kowal

Medical and science writing are identified as areas of specialization for writers. The role of creative distractions and the use of the nonconscious are explained. Research, self-judgment, criticism, and practice exercises are cited as methods to solve basic problems. Solutions to the problems of specialization, expertise, and the “shifting audience” problem are also offered. The creative possibilities in medical and science writing are illustrated in the juxtaposition of fiction and nonfiction writing. Four major areas of career opportunities are presented for the medical or science writer.


2007 ◽  
Vol 26 (6) ◽  
pp. 6-7
Author(s):  
Abby Vogel
Keyword(s):  

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