Writing Science in Fiction

Tips for writers – and scientists and engineers – on how to deal with science fiction, from a NASA engineer and theater artist.  Updated March 4, 2017.

You do theater?

I did bachelor’s degrees in aerospace engineering and theater at MIT, and continued to act onstage while getting my master’s in aerospace.  During the final birth pangs of my master’s thesis, I miraculously squeezed in a summer of acting training at the American Conservatory Theater (I would wake at the crack of dawn in a Tenderloin studio, work on my thesis, teleconference for an hour with an instructor back on the East coast, take off for a full day of classes and rehearsals at ACT, crash early into bed, and repeat the whole marathon again the next day).

When I moved out to Los Angeles for my job at the NASA Jet Propulsion Laboratory, I continued to act and study acting, and quickly met folks who worked in the behemoth of the entertainment industry that powers LA.  Every so often, a director, producer, or writer who found out what I did for my day job would ask my input on a space or technology-related script or project.  I decided to write this piece to consolidate my advice on how to approach science in fiction, for both artists and scientists.

How accurate does science fiction need to be?

Part of what these artists wanted was my take on the realism of the science and technology in their stories.  In the beginning, my instinct was to be no more than a fact checker, ferreting and stamping out inaccuracies throughout a script and “fixing up” the science.  The writer would jot down my science notes, and occasionally be dismayed that something “can’t be done” in the story.  Over time, I gave more thought to my role.  Any subject matter expert can be consulted to act as a fact checker.  However, can I – with my background in both technology and the storytelling craft – approach this in a better way?

So, back to the craft: in freshman year Playwriting 101, one learns that the most important thing is the story: the characters’ emotional journey and development.  The story, the story, everything must be in service to the story.  Therefore, I now believe that the first and guiding question for the storyteller, as well as the scientist or engineer asked to consult on a story, is not “How accurate is the science?” but:

How accurate does the story need the science to be?

Science and tech-related stories vary widely in their need for accuracy, from the scientific details in a Rosalind Franklin biopic to the purely fictional technologies of Star Trek.  In every case, the story determines the need.

How much scientific accuracy does my story need?

If you let your story dictate the need for scientific accuracy, that question will mostly answer itself: it was imperative for the 1995 movie “Apollo 13” to nail the historical and technological details of that real mission, while the details of the far-from-reality space technology and alien life in the 1979 film “Alien” were constructed purely to serve the telling of the heroine’s personal journey.  

Here are more guidelines:

Avoid inaccuracies that are general knowledge: In some cases, it may be a good idea to avoid inaccuracies that are general knowledge – not because they are inaccurate, but because they may distract the audience from the story.  You don’t want the audience watching your space opera to pull themselves out of a climactic scene to note, “You’re not supposed to hear a boom when something explodes in space!”

Keep it easy to understand and remember: Whether the technological and scientific world of your story is made up or pulled from real life, make it easy for the audience to grasp and remember the model in their heads.  The audience shouldn’t be trying so hard to keep straight the mechanics of your world – what the spaceship crew needs to do, what the malfunction is, how the invention works, and so on – that they’re pulled out from being engrossed in your story.  This is not to say that your world cannot be complicated (the delightful complexity of the Star Wars world has kept generations of fans busy); this merely emphasizes the rule to keep your storytelling clear.

Accuracy can help you: Although scientific accuracy is not always necessary for its own sake, it may aid your storytelling.  An audience is already familiar, and have their own emotional associations, with certain scientific and technological items from the news and real life; you can exploit these familiar touchstones to add clarity, emotional connection, and resonance to your story.  In addition, real life can be stranger than fiction: the truth of how a piece of science or technology works is sometimes more astounding than any storyteller can dream up.

Be conscious of tropes:  Years ago, I was presented with a story idea in which the alien was “black ooze” seeping from an asteroid.  Why was it black ooze?  Was there a dramaturgical need for it to be black ooze?  In the unwritten backstory preceding this story, what was the evolutionary history of this life form that led it to become black ooze?  The answer didn’t matter, as long as the storyteller was able to provide a compelling one.  Or, was it black ooze only because that’s how countless other artists have imagined malevolent aliens, and hence was a default image?

Always be conscious of any tropes you are using.  This does not mean that you cannot use tropes.  To be conscious of a trope means that you – not the person who came up with the trope and those who propagated it  – are the one who chooses to use it in your story.  As in the previous guideline, science and technology in the real world can be a fresher source of inspirations than previously told stories.

The duty to educate: For better or for worse, stories are often the source from which the public learns about science and technology.  Although public science education is probably not one of your goals as a storyteller, it is an aspect to be aware of.  How you weigh your duties as a storyteller versus an educator is up to you.

How should storytellers and scientists work together?

If you are a scientist, engineer, or technologist consulting on a work of fiction: Your first impulse may be to sniff out and correct every scientific or technological inaccuracy you can spot.  Restrain yourself – the story is the god, not the accuracy, and the task is to feel out how much scientific accuracy is needed to serve and enhance the story.  See yourself as a “scientific dramaturg” rather than a fact checker.

Also, look at your field of expertise in a new way, in a way that you aren’t necessarily called to do in your day-to-day job.  Reflect upon the most unbelievable facts you are privy to, the awe-inspiring and terrifying ramifications of those facts, the personalities you’ve encountered – and become alert to what they awaken in your spirit.  Such reflections are sometimes the most valuable bits of expertise you can offer to a storyteller.

If you are a storyteller working with scientists: I met with a playwright whose story starred an astronaut crew who travels away from Earth in order to make observations of the planet.  I stated that that was factually incorrect; one would want to stay near Earth to make observations of it, not travel farther away (at the time, I was even working on a real Earth-observing satellite mission).  She explained to me that the emotional journey of her characters involved them going a far distance from home in order to more closely examine themselves, and she wanted that to be reflected by the technical details of their space mission.  I immediately understood, and tried to help find a somewhat-realistic scientific analogue that would serve that metaphor.

Never hesitate to explain the motivations and metaphors, what you want from the science for the sake of the story.  In the end, you have the freedom to filter the technical advice you receive; your primary goal is to safeguard your story.

In closing, here is one of the most fascinating examples of a collaboration between a scientist and a storyteller that I have come across.  Theoretical physicist Kip Thorne and director Christopher Nolan created the 2014 film “Interstellar,” which exploits the fantastical stretchiness of theoretical physics to tell a linear story that crosses galaxies, times, and dimensions.  Through a constant tug of war, they shaped a dramatic narrative that was rigorously faithful, even if speculatively, to the current understanding of relativistic physics:

“When Christopher Nolan told me how much slowing of time he wanted on [a] planet, one hour there is seven years back on Earth, I was shocked.  I didn’t think that possible and I told Chris so.  ‘It’s non-negotiable,’ Chris insisted.  So, not for the first time and also not the last, I went home, thought about it, did some calculations with Einstein’s relativistic equations, and found a way.”

– From the book “The Science of Interstellar” by Kip Thorne, 2014

Resources

The Science & Entertainment Exchange helps connect storytellers with scientists and engineers.  (As of this writing, I have not registered or interacted with this program, so cannot offer a review.)

Also, you can ask a scientist or engineer.  I’m right here 🙂