An award-winning science writer based in Boston, Massachusetts, Megan Scudellari works with editors, scientists, and organizations to craft compelling science narratives. With fifteen years of journalism, editing, and content development experience, she specializes in the life sciences and technology, with expertise in genetics and cell biology. She is also the author of the nonmajors biology textbook, Biology Now, which is entering its Fourth Edition.  

When biologist and professor Anne Houtman called and said we should write a textbook together, I scoffed. I was a journalist, a narrative writer who covered science news for magazines and newspapers. What would I know about writing a textbook? What value could I add? 

Anne, a tour de force of a biology educator, quickly opened my eyes to the value of storytelling in teaching. Traditional textbooks and learning methods often involve rote memorization (rather than active engagement in critical thinking), and often become quickly outdated—and students do not relate to them. Anne outlined her idea for a storytelling-oriented biology textbook, in which each chapter would be structured and written like a magazine feature, with stories straight from news headlines and quotes from working scientists. In this way, the text would be engaging, current, and directly relatable to students’ lives.   

I offered to give it a try, and we collaborated on a sample chapter. Guess what? Anne was right. Storytelling fit biology like a glove. To those of you who already use stories in your teaching, this comes as no surprise. Nonfiction narratives are powerful teaching tools for three key reasons: 

First, storytelling forges connections between people and ideas—and that includes college students and concepts in biology. For example, in Chapter 1 of Biology Now, “How to Survive a Mass Extinction,” students follow the hunt for an elusive snail species in the sunny valleys of Tahiti and observe the scientific method in action. In this way, students are introduced to concepts (such as hypothesis, variables, controls, and data) in the context of a compelling experiment, effectively connecting learner to idea. 

Additionally, stories are built upon familiar and engaging ideas—characters, mystery, conflict, relationships—allowing a reader or listener to be more open to learning. In Chapter 4, “Viral Invasion,” readers enter the trenches with virologists combatting a mutating coronavirus during the COVID-19 pandemic. Students lived through the pandemic, so a story from that time makes concepts such as viruses and eukaryotes seem familiar, rather than foreign or abstract. 

Finally, stories are sticky. Because they forge connections and are built on familiar ideas, stories are memorable. Numerous studies in psychology back this assertion: individuals are better able to recall stories and words embedded in those stories than lists of terms or expository passages.  

So where do the stories used in Biology Now come from? The final chapter in the Ecology Unit is all about ecosystems. This story originated when I saw a headline in Wired magazine, “Plastic Rain Is the New Acid Rain.” I read the article and thought, “This is a great narrative about ecosystems, and it really matters.”  

Plastic pollution has been in the headlines since the Great Pacific Garbage Patch was discovered in 1996 (though it was really more like a soup). Recently, however, scientists have found shocking evidence of how widespread plastics are in and across ecosystems. 

After seeing the headline about plastics, I sought out the paper behind it. The study by Janice Brahney, an ecologist at Utah State University, had been published in the peer-reviewed journal Science. In addition to Brahney’s paper on plastics in the atmosphere, in the journal Environmental Science and Technology Letters I found another recently published study about plastics in the oceans by Yuhe He, an environmental toxicologist at City University of Hong Kong. 

Anne, co-author Cindy Malone, and I agreed that the papers together told an important story about plastics reaching every corner of the earth. As a journalist, I knew the best way to tell a story is to get it directly from the source; in this case, that meant the scientists who conducted the research. So I reached out to each scientist to request a phone interview. Interviews enable me to both learn the story behind the paper and to record quotes to include in the chapter. By including quotes, students can hear the voices of those actively engaged in scientific research. It makes the scientific process feel real and timely, and it brings the story to life.  

Both scientists were happy to participate (which I have found is true across the board—biologists are very generous with their time when it comes to student education). I knew right away Brahney’s story would open the chapter, for it was a mystery. Brahney did not set out to study plastics at all. She planned to study minerals in the atmosphere by catching dust in filters set in remote wildernesses around the country. But when she brought the dust samples back to the lab and looked at them under a microscope, she kept seeing colorful specks. She thought her clothes might have contaminated the samples, or colorful bits of plants. But through observation and analysis, she identified the culprit—plastic. Tiny bits of plastic were, and are, floating through our atmosphere and raining down all over the planet, including in remote, pristine national parks.  

Yuhe He also had a compelling story to tell, starting with a long walk down the beach with his dog during the pandemic. The sight of surgical masks washing up on the beach made him wonder if those masks were contributing microplastics to the ocean and prompted a months-long experiment. Most of us wore masks at some point during the pandemic, so the topic was instantly relatable and intriguing.  

Once I interviewed the scientists, it was time to use their stories as a scaffold for the scientific content for that chapter, drafted by Anne and Cindy at the beginning of the process, before I had located a story topic. I write each chapter by carefully weaving the story and content together so students can see how biological concepts–such as nutrients, energy, biomes–directly apply to life. I use quotes and stories from my interviews in the text, and the scientists review it for accuracy. 

When the writing was complete, Anne and Cindy added compelling figures and pedagogical questions that add depth and visualization to the concepts while continuing to incorporate the story throughout. Altogether, the chapter is one of many examples of how storytelling can enhance science education: it includes a mystery (the contamination in Brahney’s “pristine” samples), everyday objects (masks, plastics), and a familiar experience (the pandemic).  

In the process, I learned something too. I learned a journalist storyteller—with the right team—can write a textbook. After the first edition, I was hooked on the format, and today, in our fourth edition, I am eager to find and write new, timely stories. Perhaps, back when Anne first asked me to join her in this endeavor, I should not have been surprised. Ultimately, students learn deeply about the science of life through weaving storytelling with science. For nonmajors biology educators already weaving storytelling with science, your work is so critical for the next generation, as storytelling in science brings students together, makes the experience memorable, and helps students see science all around them long after the course ends. Keep the stories coming.