FROM THE EDITORS

BEING SCHEHERAZADE: THE IMPORTANCE OFSTORYTELLING IN ACADEMIC WRITING

We have two jobs as scholars: Answering inter-esting questions and telling the story. Numerousbooks, articles, and “From the Editors” columns arededicated to the former, but precious little atten-tion is given to the latter. Indeed, many in our fielddo not recognize the importance of storytelling toacademic success.

The written word is the principal medium weuse to transmit our ideas to the world. If we wantour insights to influence management research andpractice, we need to pay as much attention to thecraft of writing and storytelling as we do to identi-fying and answering interesting questions. This ap-plies equally to quantitative and qualitative re-searchers. Nothing puts a knife through our heartsquicker than someone referring to our job as pro-ducing “research reports.” If that’s how you thinkabout what you write, the battle is already lost.Your interesting ideas and findings will be buriedunder a desert of barren prose, revealed only tothose willing to endure the tedious archeologicaldig necessary to excavate them.

In this column, our goal is to highlight key ele-ments of storytelling and how they can enhance theimpact of your academic writing. We will not dis-cuss writing and publishing in the social sciencesgenerally (e.g., Huff, 1999), how to write clearly(e.g., Ragins, 2012), or the ins and outs of grammar(e.g., Strunk & White, 2000). While these are impor-tant topics, they’ve already been given excellenttreatments. Instead, we focus on the narrative ele-ments of storytelling, and the process of crafting astory. We draw insight from books on effectivewriting by novelists and writing experts. UnlikeScheherazade, the storyteller of One Thousand andOne Nights, keeping our readers interested isn’t amatter of life and death. But, we can make our

stories stronger and enhance their impact by spend-ing time inside the heads of master storytellers.

NARRATIVE ELEMENTS OF STORYTELLING

Although there are many important narrative el-ements relevant to storytelling, we focus on three:(1) the human face, (2) motion and pacing, and(3) titles.

The Human Face

Every story, even the driest, has a human face. Drawit well and put it on display, for to readers it is amirror and a magnet.

–Flaherty (2009: 1)

One impediment to effective storytelling is thelack of a human face—actors acting and the humanemotion imbuing all of our experiences (Flaherty,2009). All too often, academic writers remove thehuman elements from their storytelling in an effortto sound “scholarly.” They engage in arid, context-free theorizing, of interest only to the most ardentspecialists in their domains.

Novelist Stephen King writes, “[readers] want agood story . . . that will first fascinate them, thenpull them in and keep them turning the pages. Thishappens, I think, when readers recognize the peo-ple in the book, their behaviors, their surroundingsand their talk” (King, 1999: 160). This is often ac-complished through anecdotes. Examples or rhe-torical questions that readers can relate to on apersonal level are also effective and can be moreeconomical if space is tight.

New York Times business editor Francis Flahertyemphasizes that, “A story should be dry-eyed, ofcourse. It should not be like some hysterical badopera. But too many stories are bloodless andbland, with the human emotion washed out” (Fla-herty, 2009: 13). The same can be said for muchacademic writing. This does not mean academicarticles should be dominated by the research con-text. Nor need they employ flowery language. But,as scholars of human behavior and action, we

We would like to thank Jason Colquitt and our fellowAEs for helpful feedback on drafts. We would also like tothank Amy Colbert, Don Hambrick, and John Hollenbeckfor their insights, and Ted Baker, Amy Colbert, Jim andNatalie Detert, and Kisha Lashley for their book sugges-tions over the years. All errors in syntax remain our own.

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should be able to identify and portray the humanface in our theorizing and storytelling without sac-rificing theoretical focus or importance, regardlessof the level of analysis.

One exemplar study for putting the human faceon a powerful theoretical argument is Chatterjeeand Hambrick’s (2007) study of CEO narcissism.Chatterjee and Hambrick draw us in early, estab-lishing the importance of CEO characteristics tostrategic decision making, noting that “almost noattention has been devoted to one of the most vividqualities seen in some CEOs: high levels of narcis-sism” (2007: 351). They go on to discuss the atten-tion that narcissistic CEOs receive from journalistsand analysts, providing quotations that readers canrelate to and may have seen in the popular press.They quickly establish the academic veracity andtheoretical importance of narcissism. In developingtheir theory, Chatterjee and Hambrick relate thetale of Narcissus from Greek mythology, move tothe clinical definition of narcissism, and then dem-onstrate how narcissism is treated in organizationalresearch. This sets the stage for their theoreticalarguments about when CEO narcissism is good orbad for a firm.

We’ve all encountered narcissists and can thinkof narcissistic CEOs. Our ability to relate to andunderstand the construct, and the way the authorsweave this personality characteristic into compel-ling theory about CEO decision making, keeps usinterested in learning how they test their argumentsand what they find. Their story is “dry-eyed,” butnot bloodless or bland. This may be why it receivedworldwide press attention and won a “Best Pub-lished Paper” award from the Organizational Be-havior Division of the Academy of Management—arare honor for strategy scholars studying firmperformance.

Motion and Pacing

Good stories are a brisk journey, and the reader canalways feel the breeze in his hair.

–Flaherty (2009: 70)

Another key element of effective storytelling ismanaging the story’s motion and pacing. Have youever gotten tired from reading an article, yawningand putting it down to grab coffee, check e-mail, ordo something else to wake yourself up? If so, theculprit is a lack of motion and poor pacing. Motionresults from action that propels the story forward.At the same time, “Writing requires pacing, an un-hurried, uncrowded revelation of facts that allows

the reader enough time to pause over an idea, ab-sorb it and reflect on it” (Flaherty, 2009: 86).

Motion and pacing can be managed in severalways. Flaherty argued that how the author employsaction and commentary, and the mix of the two, isessential. If the story is all action with no commen-tary “[the reader] will speed along but will absorblittle of the passing scene. The story will be spareand colorless” (2009: 75). However, if the writerprovides all commentary and little action, “thatstory will be a still life—pretty, but without a rippleof motion” (Flaherty, 2009: 75).

Academic articles with too much action and toolittle commentary often include rapid-fire state-ments of findings from other studies (e.g., “Study[1] explored [X]”; “Study [2] found [Y]”) but don’tdiscuss how these studies relate to each other oruse them to build hypotheses. Descriptions of thedata and methods lack crucial details, and there islittle interpretation of results or discussion of alter-native explanations. These articles may be shortand have motion, but the pace is a forced march,making them difficult to read.

Articles with too much commentary and too littleaction often have long front ends, extensive litera-ture reviews, detailed descriptions of context, re-petitive arguments, and long-winded descriptionsof measures. They take us under the hood of statis-tical techniques (usually with lots of equations),overinterpret results, and report every robustnesstest ever imagined (footnotes were invented for areason). Too rich in commentary and lacking ac-tion, their pacing is ponderous. Effective storytell-ing requires a judicious blend of action and com-mentary that keeps us moving forward, whileexplaining where we’re going and why.

Another inhibitor of motion and pacing is clut-tered language (Zinsser, 2006). Zinsser stated,“Clutter is the disease of American writing. We area society strangling in unnecessary words, circularconstructions, pompous frills and meaningless jar-gon” (Zinsser, 2006: 6). Indeed. Nowhere is thismore common than in academic writing. Mostbooks on writing advocate simplicity and invokeStrunk and White’s (2000) “Rule 17: Omit needlesswords.” Zinsser takes up this theme: “Every wordthat serves no function, every long word that couldbe a short word, every adverb that carries the samemeaning that’s already in the verb, every passiveconstruction that leaves the reader unsure of who isdoing what—these are the thousand and one adul-terants that weaken the sentence” (Zinsser, 2006:6–7). Weak sentences retard motion and pacing.

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Why do authors do this? King’s (1999) answerwas fear. Unsure writers believe passive verbs andobscure words and jargon lend an air of authority.Arrogance and the desire to demonstrate intellec-tual superiority is another culprit (Zinsser, 2006).We agree on both counts, and beg you: Please,please use active verbs, employ personal pronouns(they’re your ideas and analyses; take credit forthem), avoid adverbs and redundant adjectives,and resist the impulse to show off. Zinsser (2006)suggested an exercise for simplifying sentences. Af-ter writing a draft of your article, go back throughand bracket unnecessary words and phrases. It willsharpen your writing, enhance its motion, and helpyou pack more information within the pesky page-length guidelines journal editors impose.

Another way to enhance motion is by varyingsentence and paragraph length (Flaherty, 2009;King, 1999; Sword, 2012). King (1999) claims youcan determine if an article will be hard to read justby looking at the paragraph structure. Lots of shortparagraphs give the article motion; long, denseparagraphs portend a slog. This doesn’t mean everyparagraph should be just two or three sentenceslong. You aren’t writing for USA Today, and someideas and arguments require careful development.But paragraphs containing more than one thoughtor topic should be broken into shorter, more digest-ible chunks. Doing so enhances motion and pacing.

Varying sentence length is another way to en-hance motion and pacing (Flaherty, 2009; Sword,2012). It creates a conversational rhythm that iseasier to follow. Few people speak in long, com-pound sentences. So why write that way? If youcan’t read a sentence out loud in a single breath,consider breaking it into two sentences.

Titles

Like a hat on the head or the front door to a house,the title of an academic article offers a powerful firstimpression.

–Sword (2012: 63)

When you browse through a book store, how doyou pick which ones to buy? You may have a genreor author in mind, but if you’re like us, odds arethat titles and cover art first grab your attention.Likewise, when you are browsing the AMJ table ofcontents, articles with interesting and informativetitles catch your eye. Titles play a critical role instorytelling, because they represent your first andbest opportunity to capture the reader’s attentionand convey the essence of your article. An effective

title stirs curiosity, engages the reader, and conveysessential information with an economy of words(Flaherty, 2009). It also sticks in readers’ memories,increasing the likelihood of citation.

Klein, Lim, Saltz, and Mayer’s (2004) title, “HowDo They Get There? An Examination of the Ante-cedents of Centrality in Team Networks,” is aneffective example. The title starts with a pithy ques-tion that captures interest and reflects the topic,followed by a second phrase describing the study.By the title alone, we know the central content ofthis article. Although tastes differ, phrases frompopular culture (song lyrics, movie titles, famousquotes, or plays on words) are useful ways to en-gage readers, but they must relate to the maintheme of the article.

THE PROCESS OF CRAFTING A STORY

Effective storytelling rarely happens on the firsttry. It requires (1) writing a first draft and (2) gettingfeedback and revising.

Writing a First Draft

Shitty first drafts. All good writers write them. Thisis how they end up with good second drafts andterrific third drafts.

–Lamott (1994: 21)

What constitutes a good first draft? A completedfirst draft. How hard can this be? Well, it depends.Is an imaginary reviewer whispering criticism inyour ear? Does tenure lurk behind your screen?First drafts get sidetracked by lack of discipline,fear of failure, and perfectionism. You can neutral-ize these obstacles and complete a first draft bycommitting to consistent writing, in small pieces,without criticism.

Consistency. Write for an hour—or four—everyday, in the same place, at the same time. Wearnoise-canceling headphones. Shut off your wi-fi.All books on writing state that if you want to writewell, you have to write regularly. In How to Write aLot, Silva (2007) referred to “binge” writers, peoplewho believe they are most effective if they writeonly when feeling inspired and possessing largeblocks of time. Evidence suggests otherwise. Boice(1990) randomly assigned a sample of college pro-fessors to three strategies: abstinence (emergencywriting only), spontaneous (writing during 50 ses-sions when inspiration hit); and forced (writingduring 50 prescheduled and inflexible sessions).Writers in the forced condition wrote 3.5 times

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more pages than those in the spontaneous condi-tion and had 50 percent fewer days between cre-ative ideas.

Small assignments. Novelist Anne Lamott(1994) wrote about her brother who sat—over-whelmed and near tears—facing a pencil, paper, astack of books on birds, and a report deadline. Herfather’s advice: “Bird by bird, buddy. Just take itbird by bird.”

One way to avoid binge writing and get yourmanuscript started is to give yourself short assign-ments (Lamott, 1994). Write the methods section;define your construct; describe a measure; writereferences. Commit to a piece of writing so smallthat it can be completed that day, even if youhave only 30 minutes. As Clark notes, “tiny dropsof writing become puddles that become rivuletsthat become streams that become deep ponds”(2006: 220).

Another approach to getting started is to “trustyour hands” (Clark, 2006: 202) and let them writewhat they can. Write a letter to experts in the fieldabout your amazing research. Write what excites orpuzzles you about your findings. Write a 100 wordsummary. When you focus your attention on smallbites, you’ll gain clarity about your contribution.

No critics. A third rule for first drafts is to sus-pend judgment. What you write in the first draftwon’t be seen by others, but it serves an importantpurpose. It’s through uncensored writing that coreelements of your story emerge.

Your worst critic is the perfectionist in the mir-ror. Lamott writes, “Perfectionism is the voice ofthe oppressor . . . it is the main obstacle betweenyou and a shitty first draft” (1994: 28). Clark affirmsthe importance of limiting self-criticism in earlydrafts. He writes, “There is enough hard criticalwork to do and enough criticism to face. So beginwith a gift to yourself” (Clark, 2006: 235). Weaponsagainst self-criticism include writing fast, writingsmall assignments, or writing in an unusual form,such as a letter. Thus begins your story.

Getting Feedback

In many ways, Eulah-Beulah prepared me for liter-ary criticism. After having a two-hundred-poundbabysitter fart on your face and yell Pow!, the Vil-lage Voice holds few terrors.

–King (1999: 20–21)

After polishing your first draft with at least acouple of major rewrites, you need feedback—butseek it strategically. Clark (2006) advocates the de-

velopment of a group of “helpers,” each of whomserves a well-defined role.

One helper is to keep you going. Although criti-cal feedback is important, you need a supportivefriend who says, “Keep going. Keep writing. We’lltalk about that later” (Clark, 2006: 228). You alsoneed experts—on your topic, and on publishing. Acommon mistake new writers make is seeking onlysafe feedback, foregoing tough advice to protecttheir thin skin. If you want to improve your paper,get feedback from people more experienced thanyou, or who know more about your topic than you.A third type of helper is one with little expertise inyour area. This might be your neighbor, spouse, ora first-year grad student. Their questions and reac-tions will tell you if your narrative is interesting,accessible, and clear.

If you haven’t been blessed with a Eula-Beulah toprepare you for harsh criticism, this one may sting.But, you need feedback from someone with deepexpertise who lacks diplomacy. Rather than, “Keepgoing,” this person says, “If you submit junk likethis, you’ll never publish in AMJ.” Don’t argue!Early in his career, Clark (2006) decided never todefend his writing, because learning results fromlistening and discussing, not from resisting. Hisadvice is to react to the harshest criticism with aquestion: “Could you be specific about two majorflaws in my manuscript that stand between me andan R and R?”

It’s important to ask your helpers for specificfeedback (Clark, 2006). Nonspecific feedbackdoesn’t help because it contains no factual input(King, 1999). You might ask one person to reportwhat they found most interesting or most confus-ing. Ask another about motion and pacing, orwhether your analyses are clear. You can also askyour busy experts to review only small sectionsrelevant to their expertise.

Your final helper is a copy editor. If a profes-sional is unavailable, use the WritersDiet test(http://www.writersdiet.com/WT.php), a free sourceof writing feedback provided by Helen Sword.You’ll receive detailed, specific, and impersonalfeedback. An early draft of this column was rated“flabby,” but this version is mostly “lean and trim.”

INVEST IN YOUR WRITING

Complaining about bad academic prose is like dis-cussing the weather: talk, talk, talk, and no one doesanything.

–Toor (2012)

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We invest time at conferences and CARMA work-shops (http://carma.wayne.edu/) to build our meth-odological chops, but most academics invest littlein improving their writing skills. This is a call toaction! Whether it’s a week on summer break or anhour each Sunday morning, you’ll become a betterwriter by reading about writing. Potential payoffsinclude more publications, easier revisions, in-creased citations, and greater influence on the prac-

tice of management. Bad writing is rarely the ex-plicit reason for AMJ rejections; but diffuse, dense,and complex text is often a reason your reviewersdon’t see your contribution as clearly as you do.

Table 1 lists books on writing that are readable,practical, funny, and inspiring. They’ll improveyour ability to write a story with a human face, withengaging motion and pace, and with a captivating,informative title. They’ll remind you when to shut

TABLE 1Recommended Books on Writing

Book What It’s About

Clark, R. P. 2006. Writing tools: 50 essential strategies for everywriter. New York: Little, Brown.

Covers all the elements of writing from grammar to flow toproductivity. Organized around 50 “tools” with a “workshop”for practice at the end of each tool.

Flaherty, F. 2009. The elements of story. New York:HarperCollins.

Covers all the elements of writing effective nonfiction, includingtopics not often covered elsewhere. Written from a journalist’sperspective.

Hale, C. 1999. Sin and syntax: How to craft wickedly effectiveprose. New York: Three Rivers.

A book on grammar that is funny and focuses on effectivewriting more than following the “rules of the road.”

Huff, A. S. 1999. Writing for scholarly publication. ThousandOaks, CA: Sage.

Excellent coverage of developing and crafting academic articlesin the social sciences.

King, Stephen. 1999. On writing: A memoir of the craft. NewYork: Pocket Books.

Memoir on the life events that shaped him as a writer,discussion of key elements of the craft, and recommendationson how to launch a writing career. Very funny andinformative.

Lamott, A. 1994. Bird by bird: Some instructions on writing andlife. New York: Anchor.

Memoir and reflection on writing and the writing process.Funny and very accessible.

Silva, P. 2007. How to write a lot. Washington DC: AmericanPsychological Association.

This is a no-nonsense book on how to be a more productiveacademic writer. It challenges the validity of our mostcommon excuses for not being more productive.

Strunk, W., & White, E. B. 2000. The elements of style (4th ed.).Boston: Allyn & Bacon.

Classic treatise on grammar usage and how to construct moreeffective prose. Should be on every writer’s bookshelf as areference.

Sword, H. 2012. Stylish academic writing. Cambridge, MA:Harvard University Press.

Systematic look at the practices employed by good academicwriters across a variety of disciplines. Her goal is to makeacademic writing more interesting and accessible.

Truss, L. 2003. Eats, shoots & leaves. London: Profile Books. This is a grammar book that made the New York Timesbestseller list. Need we say more?

Williams, J. M., & Colomb, G. G. 2010. Style: Lessons in clarityand grace (10th ed.). New York: Pearson Education.

A classic used in many writing courses, with helpful exercisesto improve your writing.

Zinsser, W. 2006. On writing well: The classic guide to writingnonfiction. New York: HarperCollins.

Discusses the key elements of effective writing and how to writedifferent types of nonfiction. The first five chapters read like anovel while giving you technical advice.

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your door and write, and when to open it wide andinvite the critics in.

Timothy G. PollockPennsylvania State University

Joyce E. BonoUniversity of Florida

REFERENCES

Boice, R. 1990. Professors as writers: A self-help guideto productive writing. Stillwater, OK: New Forums.

Chatterjee, A., & Hambrick, D. C. 2007. It’s all about me:Narcissistic chief executive officers and their effectson firm strategy and performance. AdministrativeScience Quarterly, 52: 351–386.

Clark, R. P. 2006. Writing tools: 50 essential strategiesfor every writer. New York: Little, Brown.

Flaherty, F. 2009. The elements of story. New York:HarperCollins.

Huff, A. S. 1999. Writing for scholarly publication.Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage.

King, S. 1999. On writing: A memoir of the craft. NewYork: Pocket Books.

Klein, K. J., Lim, B.-C., Saltz, J. L., & Mayer, D. M. 2004.How do they get there? An examination of the ante-cedents of centrality in team networks. Academy ofManagement Journal, 47: 952–963.

Lamott, A. 1994. Bird by bird: Some instructions onwriting and life. New York: Anchor.

Ragins, B. R. 2012. Editor’s comments: Reflections on thecraft of clear writing. Academy of Management Re-view, 37: 493–501.

Silva, P. J. 2007. How to write a lot. Washington, DC:American Psychological Association.

Strunk, W., & White, E. B. 2000. The elements of style(4th ed.). Boston: Allyn & Bacon.

Sword, H. 2012. Stylish academic writing. Cambridge,MA: Harvard University Press.

Toor, R. 2012. Becoming a stylish writer: Attractive prosewill not make you appear any less smart. Chronicleof Higher Education. http://chronicle.com/article/Becoming-a-Stylish-Writer/132677/. Accessed Feb-ruary 3.

Zinsser, W. 2006. On writing well: The classic guide towriting nonfiction. New York: HarperCollins.

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