Voices of UX
Going off script: A creative writer’s guide to user testing
When I was asked to script my first UX research session, I was terrified. Until I realized scripts for the stage and test screen aren’t as different as they seem.
Last month, I was asked to script my first user test. Needless to say, I was terrified.
Where was I supposed to begin? With very little design background and even less in developing and research, I found myself struggling to contextualize and construct user stories I could be proud of.
As a writer, I felt doomed. I knew how to write stories. I’d written plays before. But user test scenarios? Research sessions? Those were a different feat altogether.
Well. Unless it wasn’t.
When I first entered the UX field, parallels between UX writing and creative writing, especially playwriting, struck me.
I’ve written about how microcopy makes UX writers’ lines, and all the web’s their stage. I’ve shared how killing our darlings strengthens our UX copy. But these creative writing comparisons were all restricted to a content perspective.
Now, I’m making my first contributions to an open source project as part of a tight-knit research team. And I’m realizing my background in creative writing might come in handy here, too.
My UX testing beginnings were humble, to put it lightly.
After discussing use cases over a team call, I opened up a Google doc and started simple: Setting. Speaker name. Light descriptors.
USER enters the Google Meet. FACILITATOR turns on video and mic.
FACILITATOR: Hi, thank you for coming! I’m NAME and I’ll be guiding you through today’s session.
As I continued scripting the introductory lines, it hit me: This structure was just like playwriting, with a heavy emphasis on dialogue and less on stage directions.
If I wrote my epiphany into a scene, it would go a little something like this:
A clueless UX writer enters stage right. She approaches a desk piled high with papers.
CLUELESS UX WRITER: User testing, user testing… Oh, god.
She clucks her tongue. Papers rustle as she sifts through examples of past scripted sessions.
CLUELESS UX WRITER: Wait…
CLUELESS UX WRITER leans closer to a page. She squints.
CLUELESS UX WRITER: I know how to do this! I’ve done this before!
She jumps for joy. Papers fly everywhere.
(Well, maybe it wasn’t quite so melodramatic, but this is the theater version, after all.)
I hit the enter key and couldn’t help but smile. I could use my playwriting experience to help script this research story.
As I continued writing test-driven dialogue, I felt tempted to add more qualifiers. Should the facilitator smile here? Should I note whether they’re gesturing to elements on this screen share?
I added several directions to see how it would impact the script’s readability. And then it dawned on me: Actors rarely enjoy sifting through written interjections from playwrights, so why would test facilitators feel any different?
Alright, deleted. As I repeatedly tapped backspace, my first playwriting professor’s golden rule came to mind:
Write in room to breathe.
I hit the enter key.
Write in room to breathe.
What followed was nothing but dialogue, and necessary task-based cues. No prompts to smile. No superfluous gestures. Just the bare necessities to support the session. Just what my playwriting professor advised us to do with our stage productions: strip them down to bare bones.
Still, I felt pressure: Pressure to direct, pressure to construct the perfect user story.
This was my first user test script, so it had to be done right. It had to be seamless, intuitive. Effective. A struggling session could lean on supplemental copy; what would happen if I didn’t provide that structure? How could I restrict myself to bare bones when that would leave so much opportunity for oversight?
A play script saturated with setting and stage directions is restrictive. Often, directorial and production teams break past those written decisions anyway. Once a playwright passes their script along from the writing desk to the stage, their jurisdiction ends. They have little sway over what grows from their lines and the spaces in between.
The fact of the matter is, a playwright can choose to write in room to breathe. Or their stage team will simply take it.
The same, I realized, goes for user testing. I could write in adverbs and supplemental directions to my heart’s content, but that didn’t mean anyone would follow them. And, since test scripts don’t pre-write user responses, there was no guarantee those supplemental lines about delivery, tone, or physical gestures would even make sense in context.
Write in room to breathe.
I took a breath and blinked. My cursor blinked back at me. I’d found my ticket to approaching UX research, the playwriting way. Scripting for the test screen would be like writing for the stage — with ample room to breathe.
Though I’m still new to user research and testing, I’ve boiled my scripting approach down to sixmain objectives.
1. The plot should provide general direction.
Like bowling with bumpers, the test script should outline tasks and events for users to accomplish. Rather than give stage directions or write how participants respond, expect varying paths, almost like a choose-your-own-adventure book.
2. Test scenarios may be dramatizations, but they shouldn’t feel like fiction.
Resonant plays impact playgoers because their core characters, main themes, and plot points mirror situations we encounter in real life––even if they’re fictional.
Each test scenario operates the same way: it’s a scene inspired by real-life behaviors, motivations, and patterns. The general trajectory of each task or question should reflect how a user––and your product––will interact in real life. If the product you’re testing pulls medical images from the cloud, each task should explore the day-to-day goals associated with that function.
In short? User testing isn’t the venue for placeholder text. Try to build your test materials, plan, and script like you would a play: Coherent. Resonant. Applicable. If test subjects enter and leave the session with a clear idea of how your product accomplishes their concrete goals, you will, too.
3. Account for variability. Human interactions, even planned ones, don’t always stay on script.
Prepare for your test subjects to raise concerns, topics, or questions you haven’t written into your test plan.
Some of the best plays stand out because their actors improvise new lines or embellish the story. As you guide users through testing scenarios, don’t be surprised if they, as pseudo-actors, do the same. Some of the most memorable and impactful on-stage moments happen when they break away from the page.
The same might be true for your user test script. Your most useful feedback may not come from the interactions you planned.
4. Research your research.
Learn more about the personas you’re testing. What are their common use cases? Uncommon ones? What kind of user experience are they used to?
Research your product, too. What are its key functions, paths, and features? How are these elements named within it? And if the product is already available to users, what kind of reputation or image does it foster among them?
Answer these questions before drafting your own. In playwriting, we call this the exposition or antecedent scenario: the actions and relationships that shape the story before it even starts on stage. Playwrights use these elements to inform how their characters interact with one another and their surrounding world. Similarly, user test writers can use their users’ existing relationship with their brand or product to inform how they craft their research sessions.
5. Research your researcher.
Yes, you read that right. The only way to create an unbiased user test plan is to become aware of your own biases and keep them at bay.
6. You may be writing a script, but every moment can’t be scripted.
Be fluid. Open to change. Open-minded. As much as your test script guides your session, don’t be afraid to let the conversation grow beyond it. Think of your script as the foundation for each session. If meaningful dialogue sprouts from its path, you’re doing something right. Let it breathe.
Overall, UX test scripts set the stage for impactful research sessions. Use them as a guide, but don’t be alarmed if your user stories break past them.
I’ll admit: My first test script is far from finished. I’m still grappling with perfectionism and the desire to sculpt it into something great. While I know scripting tests isn’t the same as scripting plays, I still feel pressure to make my script dynamic, useful, and compelling. I want each word to have purpose, each scenario to have punch.
My roots lie in creative writing, so I won’t kick these impulses overnight––and that’s alright. I’ll work to redefine purpose and punch in a research context: My test scripts will find purpose in answering key UX/UI questions. They’ll find punch in the impact those insights have on product design, development, and implementation.
Compared to playwriting, UX test writing––UX playwriting––exists within different framework. It drives at a different mission. But both start with writing lines, scripting scenes, and releasing those scenarios into the wild.
As I continue to dive deeper into UX research and user testing, I’m excited to create more scripts and watch them spring to life.
Like my plays, I’ll research and write each scenario to mimic real-world patterns. I’ll use the playwriting parallels I’ve found to give my creative writing instincts an inquisitive spin. And if you’re thinking of trying your hand at scripting research sessions, I invite you along on that journey.
On stage and screen, scripts thrive when we give our actors (or readers) room to breathe.
Give your research facilitators and users similar space, and you just might learn the magic of going off script.
Have a story of your own? Write with us! Our community thrives on diverse voices — let’s hear yours.
