The Joy and Perils of Writing Passionately, Part 1: Tone

“May love be worth the joy rather than the pain.”

AI has been a hot topic for a while now, and as such it affords people endless opportunities to read and write about it. As is my wont, now that everyone else has had their say (a few times over) I feel like weighing in—but not on AI. Instead, in line with my vocation as an editor, I offer my observations on why we write, how we write, and the sort of impact we have in the wonderfully crowded and cacophonous auditorium of human communication.

NOTE: What I have written on this topic is somewhat long, so I’m breaking it into two pieces. Part one comes out today. Stay tuned for part two next week!

I’ve now read (sometimes skimmed) dozens of think pieces about AI. Many discuss its impact on artistic expression and related occupations such as editing. A couple of patterns have emerged to me which relate to writing and the expressive impact thereof. The first pattern is tonal (specifically, a polemical tone), and the second is content-related (talking to oneself). I’d like to explore both along with some possible remedies.

Pattern One: Writing with a Polemical Tone

Key observation: Over and over, whether pro or anti, AI essays feel like they are preaching at the choir.

In a way which reflects much of modern discourse, these pieces often praise AI in a way that presumes that the reader already agrees or lambast it in the same fashion. Also at times, the writing takes passive or direct swipes at those who might disagree.

In full awareness of the irony, may I presume something basic: do we agree that writing is a relational phenomenon, a dialogue, between the writer and the reader? Is that safe to say? Perhaps you disagree, and I would be curious as to why, but this is the premise which informs what I’m about to say.

The vulnerability I see in writing at the choir (I say “at” rather than “to” because the latter implies some level of active recognition of the reader, which I don’t often find in these essays) is that it leaves no lively role for the recipient of the message. Whether one reads an ode to AI or a diatribe against it, that reader finds themselves drafted by force into the role of spectator. Their choices are confined to clicking the like and share buttons—or not—and echoing the writer…or not. As a final desperate act, some irate readers may lash out against the writer’s perspective in order to reassert their agency—their presence, so to speak, in the room.

But in none of these cases has robust listening, interaction, or authentic response occurred.

An ironic but equally possible inverse of this equation is that you, yes, you the writer, become the non-entity in your own words, as the reader picks up on the polemic tone and methodically scrubs you out of the picture while looking for precise confirmation of their own beliefs. Whether or not they find it, they may well forget entirely about you.

Whether or not a preachy tone was intended, writing which comes across this way reduces the options and involvement of the reader, and by extension the opportunities present for the writer. In brief, the more strident and unchecked the tone, the less connection takes place.

Remedy One (for much more than just Problem One): Find ways to demonstrate awareness of and respect for readers in your writing.

Before I expand on this, you may be thinking, Of course people either agree or don’t…don’t they? Well, in a way, that is true. I suppose the question becomes, what do you believe about human engagement? Is it a simple Yes/No, On/Off phenomenon, or does your experience tell you that human connection is more complicated? If you have not experienced this, is that complexity something you desire? What role, then, might communication play—might art play—for you, as a tool and arena for exploring and enriching the complicated reality of your human interactions?

Consider how deeply you wish to truly go with your communication (even if your goal is simply to convince). Consider that a better way than polemic to connect with your readers is to help them feel like participants in the discussion; a conversation which you have started, but which you promise not to commandeer.

One last thought on preaching at the choir, which is…

Remedy Two: Consider how the tone of your writing may impact your readers.

I confess that this is tricky. I am not suggesting that you remove your passion from your words. On the contrary, your passion is part of you and breathes unique life into your expressions! Your convictions are one ingredient of what makes your words yours and no one else’s.

No, I am simply observing that anyone you are writing to has passions of their own, and just like two people sharing a small elevator, when two sets of passions enter the same space (here, your writing), they will inevitably collide.

When you embark on the journey of putting yourself into words, you are faced with an implicit invitation to sign a writer-reader contract.

The agreement is to pay a certain amount of respect and deference to the mental and emotional reality of readers. You are not obligated to consent to it, but both you and your readers are enriched when you choose to sign.

How are you enriched as the writer, you may ask? Well, your results may vary depending upon factors like your personal psychological makeup, but some find that by holding space for the reality of others, they also discover untapped or underappreciated internal complexity. How often, when we yell at others, are we echoing a part of our own soul that has grown used to yelling at itself? The benefits of exercising compassion extend inward as well as outward.

Again: this is not about silencing yourself or capitulating to things you don’t believe. Think of this contract more like agreeing, along with your readers, to make mutual good use of the shared space you are creating when you write and they read.

To conclude these thoughts on pattern one, a writer’s very passion about a topic (itself an often-wonderful thing) represents a double-edged sword. As you write, consider proceeding with discernment, lest you inadvertently reduce the chances of connecting with your readers and, in the process, limit not only readers’ but your own opportunities for enrichment.

Come back next week, when we explore the pitfall of writing strictly to oneself and forgetting about the reader!