‘Writing is the most boring part of what I do.’
‘She just knows how to write for publishing.’
‘It’s all about following the formula.’
These phrases, common in academic circles, reveal an unsettling truth: scientific writing often feels like an uninspired obligation rather than a meaningful craft. Despite its aim for clarity, much of academic writing is not enjoyable to read, even for those within its intended audience. It begs the question: why do we accept bad writing as an inevitable feature of science? Is this the cost of publishing?
Good academic writing is rare not because academics are poor writers, but because the system encourages adherence to rigid, formulaic conventions. Introductions cite sweeping statistics or legislation to emphasize the problem. Paragraphs close with robotic conclusions. Methods are previewed at the end of the introduction. Limitations are dutifully sandwiched between findings and a nod toward future research avenues, streets, and highways. Passive voice abounds. The resulting prose, while functional, rarely inspires or challenges the reader.
The issue is deeper than style. This mechanical approach to writing shapes thought itself, fostering intellectual autopilot. By locking ideas into formulaic patterns, the writing discourages originality and fluidity. It reduces the richness of scientific inquiry into predictable outputs, and we’ve convinced ourselves that this is necessary for rigor.
But rigor does not have to come at the expense of creativity. If academic writing were better, more people would read it—not just within the narrow confines of a disciplinary circle. And yet, the machinery of academic publishing, with its standardized formats and exclusive jargon, ensures that most scientific work remains inaccessible. This system encourages conformity at the expense of engagement – of both readers and writers.
If academic writing were better, more people would read it—not just within the narrow confines of a disciplinary circle
The distinction we draw between scientific writing and creative nonfiction, though deeply entrenched, is artificial. We assume that scientific texts must be methodical and devoid of literary qualities to achieve objectivity. This belief stems from an outdated positivist ideal of science, where objective knowledge was seen as achievable through strict adherence to method.
Modern philosophy and sociology of science have since moved away from this view, recognizing that knowledge is shaped by context, interpretation, and creativity. The insistence on formulaic writing lingers, not because it produces better knowledge, but because it aligns with an outdated notion of what science should look like.
What if we reimagined academic writing? Creative nonfiction shows us that prose can be disciplined and imaginative, precise yet compelling. Scientific writing can aspire to the same. It’s possible to communicate complex ideas rigorously while engaging readers in a meaningful way.
The question isn’t whether scientific writing can be better. The question is whether we are willing to demand better—because the cost of accepting mediocrity isn’t just bad prose. It’s diminished thinking and missed opportunities to connect, provoke, and inspire.
VALERIA CERNEI