Loose ends or a visitor in her former country

“So do you consider yourself a scientist or a writer?”

An undergraduate student asked me that question last fall when I guest-lectured about communicating research for a social-scientist friend’s seminar course. I immediately said, “A writer, but I write about science.” But I do understand why he was confused.

Even having done it, I wouldn’t recommend a Ph.D. in Chemistry as the direct route for getting on this particular career highway.  But the student’s question made me really sit down at the virtual mirror and process the reflected frequencies of light shooting back at me. And to some extent, I do have a dual identity, but wordsmithing is at the forefront of what I do, no matter in what context.

But that doesn’t mean that there aren’t any number of loose ends.

The business of creative endeavors (including science)

When I was reporting my most recent article for Science Careers– about the financial end of setting up a new academic laboratory— I couldn’t help but think about the parallels to the day-to-day nuts and bolts of my own work. Though I never set up an independent laboratory, it’s clear to me that both freelance writing and scientific research are “businesses” and that cash flow (and the management of it) is key to creativity, productivity, and progress.

Traditionally academic scientists are reluctant to talk about the management of their labs as “business” and starving artists are beyond cliche. But both groups face the challenge of finding a niche where you can find assignments, gigs, or grant support that achieve a delicate balance between paying bills and pursuing passions, teetering somewhere between the practical and the high-risk– and the adrenaline rush that comes with living in that space. Money clearly isn’t the only part of a creative endeavor, but if you have a creative career, it has to be part of the puzzle.

What comes back to me from my conversations with scientists about setting up their laboratories was this question: “What do I need to be successful?” And sometimes they have to be creative when negotiating that answer with the institutions around them. But as an independent writer, I need that question on my front-burner, too. No, I don’t need five- or six-figure equipment to do my job. But I do need a careful plan– and balance, of collaborative-time vs alone-time, project types and more. I have to remain in-tune and honest with myself about what’s working,  in terms of my personal goals, my clients’ needs, and an ever-changing media landscape.

Encouraging (women) scientists to opt in to academia

It’s an interesting week to talk about women in science. On Tuesday afternoon, I listened in on the end of a White House panel discussion about Title IX and its impact on women in both athletics and science and technology. Scientific American also reported on a new government study about the state of women in academic science, which indicates that women are at least as likely to be hired into tenure track science positions as their male colleagues. One problem is that women don’t apply for those positions in numbers that match their representation in science.

Academic science as a system still selects against women (and men) who might want a more flexible life before 40. Once you have tenure, you have autonomy, but for a decade (or two) you’re at the mercy of a sometimes merciless system.

I’m an out-opter, and I don’t regret my choice. I realized that academic science and I weren’t the best match, in part because I discovered that I loved writing, disliked labwork, and had broad interests. Another piece of the decision came from the stark realization in my late 20s that I was at least 10 years away from possible tenure. Academia, which had once seemed like this wonderful, flexible lifestyle, gradually became confining– long hours, low pay and little room for an outside life for another decade or more.

One quote from the Title IX discussion stuck with me:

You’ve got to SEE it to BE it. –Billie Jean King

King was talking about the dearth of women in high level positions in athletic departments. But although more and more women trainees see women scientists, but they don’t always see models that reflect all their goals of career and life entwined. Some of the tenured women in academia that I remember talking with spoke wistfully about something that they gave up: a relationship or the opportunity to have children. And let’s not forget the many women (and some men) who gave up their academic dreams to fulfill their familial urges.

Webb of Science gives fashion advice

Fashion is not normally my beat. But I’m a science writer who writes careers articles, the most recent one about dressing for job interviews. So, today anyway, I’m a writer who gives fashion advice to scientists.

Even though my workday fashion choices these days often remain within the home office, I do take pride in a looking professional (and fashionable) when I do head out for face time with clients and colleagues. One of my guilty pleasures in my Ph.D. student down-time was watching far too many episodes of What Not To Wear on TLC . (I saw the BBC version, too, but later, when I had better cable).

As an added bonus, here’s Clinton and Stacey’s take on job interview dress. Enjoy!

Science, Journalism and Inform-vs-Educate

Almost 6 years ago, I attended a conference of scientists and communicators about issues of communicating global warming to the general public.  At that point I was still wearing my graduate student hat and was still learning the ropes of science writing. The issues related to global warming and the public were different– this was before An Inconvenient Truth, and folks were genuinely worried that no one was believing the growing body of science showing that the Earth’s climate was indeed changing, and probably not for the better.

Though I learned a lot that week, the discussion that sticks most vividly in my mind doesn’t specifically relate to climate, but the role that journalists play in that process. When it came down to the question of whose job it was to educate the public about climate change, many of the experienced journalists in the room had a violent, seemingly knee-jerk reaction: “My job isn’t to educate. My job is to inform.”

My scientist-turning-journalist brain did a 180. Huh? I hadn’t come across this cultural tidbit before. I listened for a while and even chimed in at a couple of points. At the time– even though I disagreed– I thought maybe I was just naive and, perhaps, I might come to the same conclusion as these veterans once I had been a working science journalist for a while. But, no, I still disagree, but my understanding of the issues is now more nuanced.

In part, I think the problem is boiling it down to the words inform and educate. In many cases, part of the friction that can sometimes come when a scientist-educator talks to a journalist-informer. A couple of years ago, A Blog Around the Clock described that divide:

The scientists want to educate.

The journalists want to inform (if not outright entertain, or at least use entertaining hooks in order to inform).

There is a difference between the two goals. The former demands accuracy. The latter demands relevance. As long as both parties are aware of the existence of two disparate goals, there is a possibility of conversation that can lead to an article that satisfies both goals, thus both participants.

That defines the divide. Journalists have to find relevance and a connection that convinces their audience to read what they’ve written. Scientists sometimes want us to write about information that, while important to their grand vision, may not be relevant to the individual story that we’re trying to tell.

But the problem is that science journalists rarely ever have the opportunity to simply inform, even if that is their stated goal. Even if we have an easy news hook of extending human life, possible life on Mars, or the newest iPhone-type gadget strapped to your thumb, we constantly have to define, explain and educate the public about the nuts and bolts of what we’re writing about. Does a sports reporter have to explain a free throw, a home run, or an ace? Do political reporters have to give a two sentence description of how the Supreme Court works every time we have a new nominee? Generally not– but I can’t write a general news story and use the word protein, DNA or cell without somehow explaining what those words mean and why they’re important.

So, I’ve always considered that part of my role is to educate. Part of that is  my scientific training. Part of that is that I worked in a hands-on science museum and watched kids explore the joy of science. The reason that I do what I do is to make science fun, interesting, useful and relevant to broader society. But to do that, I provide context and connections, the education within the relevant plot points that justify “why now?”

So, I will always embrace education in my work. But I also recognize that I’ve often done my job best when the educator is wearing an invisibility cloak.

Connecting science and life: a guest post by Jennifer L.W. Fink

Before I was a writer, before I was a mom of four boys – before I was the mother of one boy – I was a nurse.

Guess I’ve always been interested in science.  In high school, I loved biology and advanced biology.  In college, I studied anatomy, physiology, pathophysiology, microbiology, chemistry, biochemistry, nutrition and pharmacology (not to mention psychology and sociology).  To this day, I love watching the Discovery Channel and National Geographic, and I get as excited as my boys do when they make an interesting scientific discovery.  (The latest turned out to be an immature raccoon skull.)

But what truly intrigues me, endlessly, is the meeting of science and life.

As a nurse, all of that science mattered only because it helped me understand what was going on with the patient.  I needed that knowledge to visualize what as going on inside the body, to predict what might come next and to understand how and why certain interventions were helpful or harmful.  I needed that knowledge to help patients understand what was going on inside their bodies, what might come next and what might be helpful or harmful.

As a writer, I do the same thing.  The first national article I published was about labor induction.  I wrote that article because I wanted women to make informed choices.  There’s a science to labor and birth, and each intervention sets off a scientific cascade that affects the rest of labor.  How can women make informed choices about labor and birth if they’re unaware of the science?

As a mother, I quickly realized that there’s a huge difference between my sons and I, and that difference isn’t merely chronological or anatomical.  It’s a difference in how we think, how we act and how we perceive the world.  As I told my husband, “I’ve never felt the need to climb on the couch and jump off of if, just because.”

So I began digging into the science.  What I found intrigued me:

• Boys’ hearing is less acute than girls’ from day one
• Boys have more M cells than P cells in their retinas, meaning that their eyes are primed to detect motion
• Boys have more dopamine in their bloodstreams
• Boys (males in general, actually) have fewer connections between the hemispheres of the brain
• The areas of the brain that handle language mature, on average, six years later in boys than in girls

Once again, I’m trying to connect science and life.  I’m learning about the very real, brain-based differences between males and females and trying to understand how boys learn.  I’m sharing my knowledge with others.  (Come visit me at Blogging ‘Bout Boys.)  And I’m experimenting, always experimenting.

Luckily, I have four “lab rats” of my own.

New York State of Mind

Summer afternoon in 2004-- view from the Staten Island Ferry, the harbor tour on an intern's budget

Five years ago today, I arrived in Manhattan with two cats, dreams of a new career, and a little overwhelmed by my move from the college-town Midwest. At that point, that Sarah could have told you generally what she wanted her career to look like in 5 years. But the woman who miraculously found a parking space on her block to unload the Toyota, waiting for her new roommate to bring her apartment keys, couldn’t have imagined what my life would look like today.

My NYC move was far from unusual– I came for 6 months of internships. I’d spent little time in NYC before I uprooted my life to come here– one day as a tourist when I was in high school. But NYC somehow hit the balance that I’d never found in my bounces between college towns and mid-size cities in the United States and Europe. Urban exhaustion initially hit me much like language exhaustion did when I lived in Germany, but I was somehow “home”– finally living in a space that combined the best of the eclectic United States and the history and culture of Europe. Earlier I’d always felt that my personality was somehow divided into geographic– or even continental– zones.

So, first I fell in love with New York, and chose to stay on and cobble together freelance work “temporarily” until I found “a real job.” Soon after the decision to stay, I fell in love a second time, with the man I later married. And as my career evolved, I realized that freelancing was, in fact, my real job after all.

Moving to NYC was a risk well worth taking, and what I didn’t realize at the time was how well my graduate school years, though tough and tubulent, prepared me for what has become my freelance science writing career. So, though I don’t know if Sarah from 5 years ago would recognize me, I definitely didn’t jettison everything she learned in the laboratory–  more about life than chemistry.

1. Self-motivation— I learned how to independently manage a research project, plan experiments and budget my time. My current work is different, but the principles behind it are the same.
2. Research— I spent a lot of time looking for written information and finding people who could help me with my research problems– not all that different from finding, talking to, and evaluating sources.
3. Turning failure into a learning experience— Most scientific experiments fail on some level, but the learning comes from figuring out what went wrong. So near misses breed success. Failure also served as a catalyst for my writing career. The first time I applied for a writing internship in 2003, I was turned down– and completely devastated. If I hadn’t been sure that I wanted to do this, I might have given up then. I stiffened my resolve, got more clips, and moved on (and applied the next year). Resistance, failure, whatever you want to call it, serves as a gut-check. Does it mean that you need to make a turn and head in another direction? Or does it mean that you need to climb over or through the obstacle in your path?

Wandering through The Gates in Central Park in early 2005

So, here’s to five years– as a science writer and in NYC.  I’m excited to see what the next five bring.

The best part about my job

Puijila darwini © AMNH/D. Finnin

Is talking to enthusiastic scientists with a story to tell. When I was at the AMNH Extreme Mammals preview on Tuesday, I talked with Natalia Rybczynski of the Canadian Museum of Nature in Ottawa, one of the scientists who discovered this fossil, Puijila darwini. It’s an exciting find: a pre-pinniped (pinnipeds are a group of animals that include seals and– a personal favorite here– walruses). This animal could walk as well as swim and probably looked a little an otter. But other features, such as the teeth, make the connection to their coastal kin. Here’s the research paper in Nature, Nature‘s Behind the Paper (both require subscriptions), and a National Geographic News story.

It’s fun science, and I’m sure as a former laboratory scientist that I romanticize the whole field component of heading out into the wild world of the Arctic for a month in the summer to look for fossils. It’s hard work, too. But talking with her about the work, the excitement of the find, the work they hope to do this summer, I caught the buzz, too. One of the great perks of my job is the opportunity to talk with scientists who are passionate about the process and effuse that excitement. The fact that she just published a paper in Nature— well, that bit is great for her career and helps us sell a story. But, in terms of my personal enjoyment, it’s icing on the cake.

Science research to science writing: ten principles for making the switch

May 2009 marks a milestone for me: 5 years as a full-time science writer. Folks interested in the career (usually scientists) contact me occasionally about the transition, and I caution that it’s different for everyone. But here are my basic guidelines.

1. Look before you leap. It’s easy to have a bad week, month, semester, or even years in a laboratory. But does that mean that science writing is a better path? Not necessarily. It’s not a high paying career, and the entry barriers can be substantial. You have to know how to write and convince people to hire you, either into a staff position or regularly as a freelancer. You might need additional training such as writing courses or even a journalism degree. Do your homework. Read up on the career path (I’ve included some resources at the end of this post). Try writing for your campus newspaper or an alternative weekly. Start slowly: my career transition began in 2002, and it took me almost 2 years to figure out what I wanted to do and how to get there.

2. A writing program might (or might not) be the answer. In 2002, I read about a science writing course being offered at the School of Journalism at Indiana University (where I was a Ph.D. student in chemistry). I contacted the professor, Holly Stocking, about auditing the course. Our signals crossed, but when I showed up on the first day to ask again, she told me that I had to enroll if I wanted to sit in. I asked if I could sit in for one day and then deal with drop-add. Two hours later, I was scrambling around to find 3 credit hours of tuition money, and it was probably the best money I ever spent in graduate school.

But I chose not to do a full science journalism program. There are many wonderful programs out there, but I knew that I needed to be out of school and working in the real world. I got plenty of advice from seasoned journalists that said that a science journalism program provides “the path of least resistance.” I agree with that assessment, but I also think that I made the right decision for me. Particularly now, taking on that much student loan debt isn’t trivial, so it’s worth thinking carefully for financial reasons, too.

3. Find a mentor. This part is a lot like the research world. A good mentor opens doors, facilitates introductions, listens and offers advice. Holly, the professor at IU, made virtual introductions via email when I went to my first science writing conference alone, helped me plot strategy, and even just listened when I was frustrated with lab work.

4. Be prepared to answer the question “why are you doing this?” This question came up– in some form– in every interview that I had for at least the first 2 years that I worked as a writer, particularly when I was applying for internships. Potential employers, understandably, want to know who they’re working with and whether I was serious. It was a legitimate question: I had a degree that qualified me to work for a pharmaceutical company earning several times what I made as a magazine intern.

5. Don’t expect your old colleagues to get it. I actually never asked my former labmates outright what they thought of my transition. On the afternoon that I found out that I’d be a summer intern at Discover magazine, I walked into lab and announced it, excited, like I’d just gotten a dream postdoc. The first response? A lukewarm “Oh, that’s nice.” Another more distant colleague cornered me in an empty hallway with hushed questions about doing something “different” and what that was like.

6. Judge your audience carefully before pulling out the 3 magic letters . I don’t lie about my Ph.D., and I don’t hide it. However, I don’t introduce myself in professional settings as Dr. Sarah Webb. It varies depending on the situation. Unless I’m doing work that hinges on my technical background or writing for a researcher audience, it doesn’t  help much to tell people. Editors want to know that I’m a good writer– my degree doesn’t tell them that. In most cases, and particularly when I write for kids, I want sources to talk to me like a normal person and not like I’m a scientific colleague.

7. Challenge perceived boundaries sooner rather than later. When I told my Ph.D. adviser that I wanted to be a science writer instead, she  tried to help, encouraging me to look at scientific journal work. It was a good idea, but it also felt too safe because I was trying to break the confinement of a single subject area. Instead, I focused on getting a mainstream media internship, and it paid off. Working at a monthly science magazine and on local  TV news (second internship through the AAAS Mass Media Program) helped me make the full cultural transition from science to journalism. As a freelancer, I do a lot of work for science  journals now, and I really enjoy it. But if I hadn’t dipped my toes into mainstream media early, I don’t think I’d have  the same career breadth that I do now.

8. Practice good cultural awareness. Sit back, listen, observe the cultures at work, and understand where you fit in the process. Scientists are worried about their results leaking out so that they can’t publish or that a journalist will misrepresent them. Journalists are annoyed when scientists ask them to read the story before publication because it’s a breach of ethics. Scientists, who read and comment on each other’s work all the time, don’t always understand that their version of factual review isn’t appropriate in a journalist’s world. These norms can vary depending on how researcher-focused a publication is and their individual policies.

In addition, science writers come in all types, from experienced general reporters who gradually made their way to the science beat to Ph.D. scientists who left the bench to others who switched careers from literature or art. I’m a firm believer that there’s room in the sandbox for everyone, and the variety of skills and perspectives are part of what makes this field exciting. If you’re an ex-scientist, you’ll always have to prove that you can write. If you’re an experienced reporter without a science background, you’ll always have to prove that you know your science.

9. Seize unexpected opportunities. One of the scariest parts of leaving science for me was the fact that my career suddenly wasn’t planned out. Instead of postdoc, academic job, tenure track, I had 6 months of internships followed by. . . . nothing. At one point I applied for an exhibit writing job with a graphic design firm– I was a science writer, and I’d worked in a museum before, why not? It turned out to be a great gig, work that I’m really proud of, and it was a steady job that helped me launch my freelance career. But I had no idea that it would turn out that way when I applied for it.

10. Don’t expect it to be easy. Science writing is a craft and is not correlated with having an advanced degree in science. It’s tough to get started. It’s not any easier than taking the academic track and building an independent career in a lab. It’s just different, and if it’s a good fit, it’s an amazing journey.

Want to know more about science writing careers?

• Science Careers ran an excellent package of stories about starting a science writing career. [Full Disclosure: I’m a regular freelance contributor though I didn’t write any of these articles.]
• Check out the National Association of Science Writers and the book, A Field Guide for Science Writers.

Epiphanies: chewing on a good problem

iStockphoto/James Group Studios

I got a phone call from my husband a few weeks ago when he was away doing dissertation research. “Well, I’ve had an epiphany,” he says. “I’ve realized why what I’m doing won’t work.” This explanation was so logical, delightfully simple. I’m sure he’s right, though he now has to rejigger his experiments.

After we got off the phone, I could have been disappointed (Logically, every partner of a Ph.D. student hopes that experiments will move quickly rather than slowly). But I’ve also slogged through PhD-dom myself, so I was actually excited. Why? Because that moment and his clear idea took me back to the joy of research that kept me going through the slog. Strangely the best moments of my Ph.D. were actually when I somehow managed to step back after weeks, months, or years, and had the clarity to look at the problem from a different perspective. Suddenly, after weeks, months or even years of approaching a problem as the same-old, same-old, I’d know exactly where I’d gone wrong.

Of course, each of those moments led to mounds of hard work, but always taught me something new. I learned new purification techniques and found new collaborations with other smart people. And I was suddenly trying to do chemical reactions in water. Mother Nature is a master at water-based chemistry– human beings, well, we have a few million years to catch up on.

Ultimately,that problem-solving was exciting for me in a way that the result wasn’t. Actual results– as in those that I could actually publish– were so hard-won that I was utterly exhausted by the time I actually got them. Accomplishing a goal was gratifying, but not ultimately satisfying. I just couldn’t stomach the grind of so much repetition– doing the same experiments over and over because of that one thing that didn’t go right last time.

But the problem-solving, that’s still fun. And the beauty of writing is that I get to problem-solve almost every assignment. Finding the person with the right perspective, listening for the perfect quote, and tinkering around to find the right words, the nugget of the right idea– that’s the puzzle that keeps me coming back every day.