How storytelling structures from fiction can deepen empathy, drive engagement, and future-proof your digital products.

I’m a user experience consultant, graphic and web designer, programmer, and a long-time observer of the tech industry’s rhythms, reinventions, and ethical dissonances. But having recently completed a cource in writing a novel it taught me something unexpected: narrative thinking isn’t just for fiction. It’s a critical, underused lens in UX design.

In an age where the interface is the product, where digital experiences are both immediate and intimate, thinking like a storyteller gives us tools to go deeper—beyond usability checklists and into the emotional architecture of our users' lives.

This article explores how narrative thinking, drawn from fiction writing, can be brought into UX design to create more engaging, ethical, and memorable digital experiences.

What Is Narrative Thinking?

Narrative thinking is the ability to frame experience as a story: with characters, stakes, tension, progression, and resolution. In fiction, it's second nature. In design, it's often sidelined by more technical frameworks: information architecture, flows, and patterns.

But narrative thinking isn’t about throwing story arcs at wireframes. It’s about seeing the user journey as an unfolding drama, where each moment carries emotional weight, consequence, and purpose. It's about recognising the user as a protagonist, not just a persona.

Why UX Needs Stories—Now More Than Ever

As emerging tech like AI, augmentation, and surveillance-capable systems bleed into everyday life, user experience becomes inseparable from ethical experience. We're not just designing interactions—we're designing influence.

Stories help us ask better questions:

What role is the user playing here?
What forces are shaping their decisions?
What are they risking? What are they resisting?
What kind of ending are we steering them toward—and do they want it?

The speculative world of the manuscript I was working on in my course is built around these exact tensions. My protagonist, Cassie, is pulled through a world of opaque systems, persuasive interfaces, and hidden agendas. She doesn’t know who to trust. And that’s not unlike how real users often feel navigating today’s apps and platforms.

In fiction, that's suspense. In UX, that’s mistrust—and churn.

Character Arcs, Not Just User Journeys

In UX, we map linear flows: Onboarding → Engagement → Conversion → Retention.

In narrative, we map emotional transformation:

Who was she at the start?
What did she overcome?
How did she change?

What if we treated our user journeys like character arcs?

Let’s say your app is about habit-building. Instead of designing a “gamified reward system,” think: what’s your user’s internal resistance? What inciting incident brought them here? What does success feel like? And what might failure cost them?

This approach doesn’t replace good UX practice—it deepens it. It reminds us to design for the invisible stuff: hope, fear, motivation, identity.

Moments of Friction = Narrative Beats

In writing, you don’t eliminate tension, you use it. Friction is where stories breathe. In UX, we’re taught to eliminate all friction. But not all friction is bad. Some friction is meaningful, it signals importance, prompts reflection, slows decision-making when it matters.

Think of:

Confirming a donation.
Deleting a profile.
Sharing a private photo.

These aren’t just “flows.” They’re beats. Narrative thinking helps us shape those moments with care, not just convenience. We’re not streamlining—we’re storytelling.

In my manuscript, a single moment of friction—Cassie rubbing a pendant at a club—triggers an electromagnetic event that derails a militarised agent’s brain. That was narrative design in fiction. But what’s the pendant moment in your app? Where does something small carry surprising weight?

Interfaces as Narrative Spaces

Most interfaces are structured like flat environments: menus, buttons, cards. But good interfaces can behave like scenes, places where the user’s goal, mood, and tension evolve.

A well-crafted dashboard, for instance, shouldn’t just “present data.” It should reveal change, highlight consequence, and offer choice, just like a good midpoint scene in a novel.

Ask:

What emotional tone does this screen convey?
What tension does it introduce or relieve?
Is this moment static, or is it progressing the user’s arc?

This mindset moves us from interface design to experience direction. From layout to meaning.

Microcopy: Dialogue That Matters

In fiction, every line of dialogue serves a purpose: to reveal character, move plot, or add tension. UX microcopy should do the same.

Error messages = dramatic stakes.
Tooltips = exposition.
CTAs = moments of choice.

Too often, we default to generic text: “Oops! Something went wrong.” But what kind of story is that? Why did it go wrong? What does that mean for the user’s journey?

Narrative thinking teaches us to write with intent. The microcopy on your site is the dialogue between user and product. Make it matter.

Designing Emotionally Credible Endings

Every user experience has an ending—even if it's abandonment. Narrative thinking pushes us to be intentional about closure.

Does the ending resolve the user’s tension?
Does it affirm their identity or complicate it?
Do they feel empowered, manipulated, or confused?

In my novel writing course, I crafted a layered ending, one that mirrored Cassie’s emotional arc, not just her external outcome. UX should do the same. A confirmation screen isn’t the end. It’s the last note of a larger melody.

Design endings that satisfy the user's emotional narrative.

Speculative Design: Writing the Future Through UX

In my book, I imagine a world where neural augmentation is normalised, and even empathy can be edited. But the ethical dilemmas aren’t fantasy—they’re extrapolations of now.

As designers, we’re not just building for users, we’re building futures. Narrative thinking helps us zoom out:

What world does this design assume?
What does it train people to believe is normal?
Who wins in this story? Who’s written out of it?

Design is political. So is fiction. Both shape culture by shaping what we imagine is possible. Narrative thinking brings that into conscious design practice.

How to Start Bringing Narrative Thinking Into Your Work

Map emotional arcs, not just flows.
Track how the user feels—at each step.
Name the tension.
What’s the obstacle or inner conflict? Make space for it.
Write better copy.
Your product is always speaking. Make sure it’s saying something human.
Use beats, not just steps.
Design moments with rising action, decisions, and reveals.
Prototype with plot.
Build use cases as stories: “A user who…” not just “A persona who…”
Ask: what kind of world does this design support?
If the answer feels dystopian—don’t ship it.

Final Thoughts

Bringing narrative thinking into UX doesn’t mean turning every app into a choose-your-own-adventure. It means treating design as storytelling, where each moment contributes to a larger, meaningful arc.

As both a UX consultant and novelist, I believe the products we build today are shaping how people see themselves tomorrow. So let’s craft experiences with the same care, courage, and curiosity we bring to story.

Because every click is a choice.
Every flow is a journey.
And every user is already in the middle of a story… we’re just deciding how we want to shape it.

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I’m Abi Fawcus, a user experience consultant, graphic and web designer, programmer, and long-time observer of the tech industry. My work blends design strategy with future-focused thinking, helping clients create better, more ethical products. Contact me for more information.