Until the pandemic began, I dreamed of becoming a career scientist. Bench research in virology, Ph.D., work at the NIH…the whole nine yards.
In fact, even well into COVID-19’s emphatic spread, I planned to be a lab scientist. If anything, for a time the pandemic sharpened my desire to be a virologist and develop novel vaccines for hitherto unpreventable viruses.
Which is probably why, as misinformation about viruses and vaccine technology spiraled, I grew extraordinarily frustrated with the available scientific communication. “This isn’t that hard to understand,” I thought “but not enough people are explaining it well.”
When it came time to explaining how the SARS-CoV-2 virus worked, the articles circulating primarily adopted one of two approaches:
The first approach was to underestimate readers’ capacity for understanding. These articles relied on metaphors and vague connections, stopping just shy of a real explanation and hoping that the reader would simply take their word. Often, these articles weren’t providing wrong information, they just weren’t providing enough of it.
The second approach was to overwhelm readers with jargon and technical language, without providing the scaffolding for understanding that language. Having read dense and baffling scientific studies in biology and chemistry classes, I was also familiar with this kind of writing.
With a basic understanding of the immune system and misinformation the chosen target of my lockdown angst, I decided to take matters into my own hands. Over several days, I created an infographic explaining in accessible but thorough terms how the newly approved COVID-19 vaccines worked. I spent hours on Canva making the graphic, titled, “How do the Pfizer-BioNTech and Moderna-NIH Vaccines Work? A brief guide to immunological memory and mRNA vaccines.”
I remember sitting on the couch in my living room, working on my laptop in an intense, almost trance-like state. I felt helpless, like many at that time, and doing a good job explaining this one scientific concept felt like the most important thing I could possibly do.
I shared the post to my social media accounts. Friends and family read it, shared it, and told me they found it helpful. I don’t think it got far beyond my network. The impact the infographic ended up having on my future was probably far larger than any other impact it had. It awakened something I’d sidelined: my love of writing about science.
Compelling and understandable writing, I decided, would be something I prioritized in my future as a scientist. I would be a scientist that focused not only vaccines addressing global health crises, but on the role of communication in those crises. As we’ve all learned, a vaccine is only as good as people’s willingness to get it.
For a while, I was able to pursue this double role as a scientist and a writer. I was still an undergraduate student, so I poured myself into term papers and research presentations. When I spent a summer studying treatment for the Zika virus, I edited my poster presentation until I was confident I had the clearest narrative of what my research had been and why it mattered.
As I continued lab work, however, I learned how difficult it is to balance research with scientific communication. As much as primary investigators might like to write for a lay audience, most of their time is dedicated to securing grant funds and mentoring researchers. It is hard, I was repeatedly told, to run a lab and be a good scientific communicator.
The thing is, we still need science writers. And so that’s what I decided to be.
In my last year of college, I pivoted from lab science to science writing. I didn’t apply to Ph.D. programs. Instead, I would give myself two years out of the lab, writing about the research of others rather than my own. I am one year into a fellowship as Grinnell’s first designated science communications specialist. And I love it. This fall, I’ll apply to master’s programs in science writing. I can see now that my background as a scientist prepares me exceptionally well to be a translator of the “language of science.” My time pursuing research wasn’t a waste. Rather, I blend my research experience with my passion for engaging communication to bridge the gap between scientists and the people they serve. My work is still intimately intertwined with science, and I am grateful that I get to be a forever student, always learning and always creating.
Anika Jane Beamer ’22 is a writer with a background in the life sciences. Here is her bio in her own words: “I see myself as a translator, deconstructing the ‘language of science,’ to ensure that concepts and discoveries can be understood by a wider audience. My favorite science stories occur at the intersection of microbiology and the environment, but I’ve also been known to get stoked about earthworms, immune systems, manure, glaciers, bioengineering, and bison!
“I am lucky that my full-time job is thinking about science and that thinking tends to spill over into my hobbies. Whether hiking, birdwatching, running, reading, or painting, I’m often considering my place in nature and the science that surrounds me. Currently, I am the Science Writing Fellow in the Office of Communications and Marketing at Grinnell College in Grinnell, IA. I share the stories of research, faculty, and students in the STEM disciplines and create written and multimedia content that is shared on the College website, social media platforms, and beyond.”
