Writing scenes, not just arguments: a narrative toolkit for academics
If you're used to academic writing, you're probably comfortable with arguments. You know how to structure a thesis, walk a reader through your logic, and cite the scholarship that backs you up. But when you start writing for a broader audience, one of the most powerful tools in your arsenal is something most academics were never taught:
The scene.
Scenes bring your ideas to life. They transport your reader to a place, a moment, a conversation. And they create emotional stakes—the thing that keeps someone turning the page not just to learn, but to feel.
In this post, we’ll look at why scenes matter in popular nonfiction, what they actually consist of—and how scholars can start weaving them into their own work.
Why Scenes Matter
Arguments are cerebral. Scenes are immersive. Most readers won’t remember your seventh sub-claim—but they’ll remember the moment you described a mother at a citizenship interview, a heated exchange at a protest or the smell of a Cairo café where a key discovery was made.
Scenes:
— Pull the reader into the story
— Humanize abstract concepts
— Help anchor theory in lived experience
— Provide texture, pacing and momentum
Let’s put that another way….
For academics writing for public audiences, scenes are what make your insights land off the page—in the reader’s memory, imagination and emotional world.
What Makes a Scene a Scene?
A scene is more than a description—it’s a moment in time with a clear sense of place, character and movement. Think of it like a mini-movie on the page.
To write a scene, you need:
— A setting: Where are we? Be specific.
— Characters: Who’s there? What are they doing?
— Sensory detail: What can we see, hear, touch, smell?
— Action or dialogue: Something should happen.
— Point of view: Who is observing this? You? Someone else?
A good scene shows before it tells. It might be followed by analysis or reflection—but it earns that space by first engaging the reader’s senses and curiosity.
Examples from Scholar-Writers
Consider how Isabel Wilkerson opens Caste with a scene of her attending a dinner party where a man assumes she’s the help. Or how Tressie McMillan Cottom in Thick uses moments from her own life—applying for a job, getting medical care—as anchoring events for larger critiques.
These are scholars. But they’re also storytellers. And they use scenes strategically: not just for colour, but for insight.
How to Find Scenes in Your Own Work
Even if your research isn’t “narrative” in a traditional sense, you probably already have material that could be reworked as scenes. Try asking:
— Was there a key moment in your fieldwork, interview, or archive that changed the way you saw your topic?
— Is there a historical event or turning point that encapsulates your argument?
— Can you open a chapter with a vivid anecdote from the lives of your subjects, informants, or case studies?
— Are there small details you’ve always found compelling—but left out of your writing because they felt “too literary”?
These are your raw materials. They’re not decoration. They’re part of the argument, told differently.
A Simple Scene-Building Exercise
Here’s a quick way to get started:
Choose a moment—a day in the field, an interview, a historical event.
Set a timer for 10 minutes.
Describe the scene without analyzing it. Just write what you saw, heard, or felt.
When the timer ends, reflect: What does this scene show that might be harder to explain abstractly?
You don’t have to be a novelist. You just have to pay attention to texture.
Don’t Abandon the Argument—Ground It
Scenes aren’t a substitute for analysis—they’re a foundation. They’re what give your analysis urgency, clarity and meaning.
Think of it this way: The scene earns the reader’s trust. The argument gives them the payoff.