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People want to hear from scientists. A 2026 Research!America survey finds that about 89% of Americans believe scientists should consider it part of their job to inform the public about their research and its impact on society. Yet the public perceives scientists as poor communicators: according to a 2024 Pew Research Center report, while 89% of people say scientists are intelligent, only 45% say they are adept at communicating.

How can we help scientists communicate effectively outside of their immediate field?

Effective communication is essential for the public to share in the benefits of scientific progress. Outreach to a nebulous “general public” is often considered an at-will activity designed to pique curiosity or sell the public on science in general. But effectively engaging audiences outside of one’s immediate field—such as communities, public administrators, industry, academics from different disciplines—throughout a project’s lifecycle can help foster connections among collaborators and give evidence a voice in public policy. The practice of articulation increases visibility and can strengthen bids for funding. 

Communication skill becomes especially important when moving from a dissemination model—where evidence is handed down from on high, such as journalism or much of social media—to an engagement model, in which scientists are available for sustained two-way conversation. Such engagement allows scientists to leverage existing knowledge and practices from communities; ask clearer, more pertinent questions; and design studies that are more elegant, more rigorous, and more relevant. In an engagement context, disagreements and uncertainty become more tractable.  

The alternative—saying nothing—creates a vacuum that mis- and disinformation is pleased to fill. At the same time, communicating poorly can backfire: it risks wasting time, damaging reputation, and causing real damage to trust in science. 

Communicating well is challenging. The language of academia is different from that needed to engage with communities and partners. Scientists are often skeptical of engagement techniques like storytelling as being at odds with the way they have been trained to communicate truth. Communication takes time away from research, and academic incentives prioritize publications and grants over positive impacts on policy and lives. 

Universities are starting to recognize the importance of supporting researchers in communicating, and dedicated communications and public engagement staff are working to fill the gaps. But these teams are tasked with meeting many institutional goals, and the bandwidth for 1:1 support is often limited. To meet the needs of the moment, we need more support for the kind of rigorous, engaging communication that scientists can use to build and restore trust in and support for science. 

Much science communication training today focuses on “last mile” tactics, such as rephrasing jargon or using humor to connect with an audience. These are important skills, but at the time of application, the narrative is already set. Simple narrative models like the ABT framework are a step in the right direction, but they fall short of the robustness required to truly connect with audiences.

To create a narrative that sticks, the work needs to start at a deeper level, to clarify thinking before writing ever starts and address questions like: Who needs to hear this, and why? Am I the person to tell it? Is this argument ordered for argument or for understanding? How much new information can my audience handle at once? How deep should my explanations go for this particular audience? Do my examples effectively illustrate my concept? Could this conceptual metaphor do more harm than good? How can I effectively handle objections?

I’ve seen this in my own work. I’ve interviewed more than a hundred scientists as an editor at Chemical & Engineering News and, later, as a freelance institutional science writer. I first began working one-on-one with researchers when I launched C&EN’s opinion section, work I later continued as a freelance opinion editor for Scientific American. Most recently, I’ve served as a writing coach for scientists preparing to speak at TEDxNewEngland. 

While line-by-line, they may write well, I’ve seen many people with interesting, high-potential research miss the mark. The issues can be as simple as burying the lede, or as complicated as not knowing which audience they’re writing for—or writing for them all at once. 

I’ve also seen what a little individualized support can do for these incredibly bright people’s communication abilities. 

The conclusion I’ve come to is that scientists need someone who can pressure-test their argument, serve as a stand-in for the audience, and help to foster the kind of internalized editorial instinct needed to communicate well.

In short, they need an editor.

Science editors possess all the skills needed to effectively and accurately engage audiences. 

In the writer-editor relationship in journalism, the editor: 

Of course, an editor is often a writer’s boss, so this metaphor only extends so far. What researchers need is not the harried, hard-boiled, chain-smoking stereotype, but an editor who is patient and invested in helping them find their voice. Finding one’s voice as a public scholar and thought leader is very different from finding one’s voice as an academic, and it has payoffs. Valuable ideas effectively communicated can have greater social benefit, create career opportunities for individuals, and bring institutions visibility and acclaim. 

For communication ability, there’s no substitute for the process of engaging with an editor. Critically engaging with one’s own work is difficult to do alone (hence the adage, “Everyone needs an editor”). While communication skills are transferable, they are a skill set gained by doing. There is no substitute for 1:1 support. This support is especially important early in a researcher’s career, when it can have the most impact.

We can see parallels with the creator-journalism movement, where journalists are leaving publications to connect directly with audiences. Scientists may similarly wish to engage with audiences on platforms like Substack. But those journalists have something that scientists don’t: editorial training. The success of journalists who have chosen to forego editorial support rests in large part to the extent to which they have internalized the editorial instinct.

How can we expect scientists to become mini-media companies without editorial support? When the risk to trust, time, and career capital is high, how do we get from point A to B with minimal mistakes? 

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For scientists to communicate effectively, they need the support of an editor-style relationship. 

Until rigorous engagement is integrated into every science curriculum, communication becomes central to institutional objectives, and adequate support becomes part of the infrastructure, editorial consultants can fill this gap. 

Consultants are nimble and can plug in where they are needed with no long-term commitment. During this time of systems change, editorial consultants are an investment in quality today and communication skills for the future.

Here’s how it works in practice:

The goal of such an engagement is to ready the researcher to communicate independently as quickly as possible, while providing follow-up support for particular challenges or additional modes of communication. I’ve seen what a difference just a single round of this process can make.

For example, I worked with an early-career researcher on a talk she delivered at TEDxNewEngland. At the time, she remarked on how much the preparation process improved her ability to explain her work to colleagues at her interdisciplinary research institute. Since then, she’s continued to improve: a year later, I happened to interview her for a news story on behalf of her institution. While the project we discussed was new, her ability to summarize it in an accurate and engaging narrative showed remarkable improvement. I believe these skills will continue to benefit her throughout her career. 

Of course, providing editorial support is not without its challenges. This support is most effective for long-form content such as essays, op-eds, talks, and newsletters, although messaging work benefits short-form content and in-person interactions as well. It’s an investment of time and resources. Some scientists are already communicating on their own, and working with an editor would improve the quality of the final product and make a better use of the time they are already investing. 

If this sounds like something AI can do: I disagree. This process is about helping someone find their voice outside of their immediate professional context. AI can get them part of the way, but we’ve seen what a flattening effect it can have on voice—not to mention fabrications, grandiose statements, and an insidious impact on framing.

This process requires the kind of vulnerability that is shared with someone with a name, a reputation, relationships, a corporeal body—in other words, someone with real skin in the game. Part of its value is in overcoming friction to internalize editorial instinct, and AI is entirely frictionless. 

If you would not expect a trial lawyer to deliver a ChatGPT-devised argument in court, why would you expect the same of a scientist communicating with the public?

Finally, the proposed OMB rule change could upend the science landscape as we know it. To quote media theorist Marshall McLuhan, “There is absolutely no inevitability as long as there is a willingness to contemplate what is happening.” I would encourage anyone with contemplative faculties to submit a public comment before the July 13 deadline. 

Yet the OMB rule’s targeting of communication also underscores communication’s incredible power. The system is now vulnerable to the wild swings of polarization. For the long-term resilience of US research, funding may need to diversify beyond federal grants—and the best way to establish new partnerships and funding streams is to communicate effectively.

Science communication must be rigorous and engaging. No one does rigorous engagement like editors—and few, even professional editors, can do it well alone.

Researchers should look out for opportunities to gain editorial skills in an individualized context. The universities and research institutes that employ researchers can support them beyond surface-level training, by funding and training staff, hiring consultants, and eventually, shifting the incentive structure to recognize the importance of communication in the university’s mission. Foundations invested in early-career scientists can further support this mission.

Editors can help scientists pressure-test their argument, understand audience needs, and internalize editorial instinct.

The best journalism comes from reporters engaging with the communities they cover. Science should do the same. Fruitful partnerships are founded on strong communication.

Putting yourself out there is scary. If more scientists had access to high-quality editing on demand, I believe more would be willing to take this leap, leading to a more dynamic and resilient science communication ecosystem. Increasing the interface between scientists and the public will put researchers in a position to engage more effectively—listening as well as sharing, and making science better as a result.

I’m Alex, a science writer and editorial consultant based in Western Massachusetts. I’m fascinated by media theory, complexity science, and communication’s role in scientific progress. See more of my work at alexandraataylor.com.