Writing Is Still Hard (For Me, At Least)

“Your writing is not primitive,” an editor once assured me. I was starting out as a reporter and getting some feedback on my early attempts. ?The editor, a gentle soul, is one of the kindest people I know, and this was the nicest thing he could say about my writing. ?

Clearly, I was not a natural.

But I had help. I was working during the last gasp of a prosperous age for magazines when editors invested time and effort to develop the skills of reporters. My editors were incredibly patient, teaching me nut grafs, topic sentences, structure, character development, transitions, and so much more.

I persevered. Slowly and painfully at times. But I improved.

Writing is still difficult for me. It requires total concentration, and it always tests my tolerance for mental exertion when the sirens of distractions are so alluring and so easy to give into.

Most of the time, I don’t have the luxury of veteran editors looking over my work. But through years of making mistakes and learning from them, I’ve sharpened my tools of the trade. I recognize problems more quickly. I know how to spot what’s missing and what can be cut. I’m also generally more committed to the process and don’t get (quite) as discouraged when things don’t go well.

So, after more than two decades of writing, it’s jarring to enter a world where anyone can create copy on any subject in any style in a matter of seconds.

What has happened to the idea of writing as a monastic and often painful experience? The quote attributed to Gene Fowler—"Writing?is easy. You only need to stare at a blank piece of paper until?drops?of?blood?form on your forehead”—sums up what I’ve generally always believed.

Does Generative AI turn that upside down?

For a lot of writing, probably not.

No doubt, there are some good use cases. I, for example, like Ethan Mollick’s example of asking generative AI for summaries of complex information, which can then be edited and checked by a human. Nick Thomson of The Atlantic recently described using AI to summarize notes for a book that he’s writing.

But the work of writing authentic human stories that weave personal experience, research, and expertise is still hard.

I recently wrote an op-ed about my connection to an abolitionist and Civil War hero. I followed my normal routine, plotting out the themes I wanted to hit, developing a rough outline, and then organizing my research before I started to draft.

There just wasn’t a natural place to turn to AI. But as I started to finish drafts and wanted immediate feedback, I would occasionally upload my drafts to ChatGPT and ask for feedback. ?

In the end, the feedback wasn’t better than what I received from my wife and brother. But it kept me company in a sense, keeping me thinking about potential holes and weaknesses.

I recognize the fact that the AI we’re using today is the worst we’ll ever use. Even as it improves, writers will have to decide whether it’s worth it. Many highly skilled writers will have no use for it. Tech journalist Julia Angwin recently summed up this view. ?

“In my eyes, it’s looking less like an all-powerful being and more like a bad intern whose work is so unreliable that it’s often easier to do the task yourself,” she wrote.

A human-generated masterpiece

In this newsletter, I want to highlight some great writing. In this edition, I want to recommend reading and listening to Ken Burn’s commencement speech at Brandeis. Perhaps you already have—it has received quite a bit of buzz.

I raise it here because, number one, to me, it’s a masterpiece in speechwriting. Number two, there’s absolutely zero chance any of it was aided by generative AI.

The speech is the culmination of what comes from decades of telling stories about history—the expertise, the personal experience, and the insights that come with it.

The speech’s structure is straightforward, but crucial decisions lift it to artistry.

• Introduction and greetings, layered with humor: “…proud and relieved parents, calm and serene grandparents, distracted but secretly pleased siblings…”
• Thoughts on his professional mission. “It is my job to try to discern patterns and themes from history to enable us to interpret our dizzying and sometimes dismaying present.”
• What he’s learned from history. ?“Over those many decades I've come to understand a significant fact, that we are not condemned to repeat, as the saying goes, what we don't remember.”
• Historical anecdotes supporting his understanding of American history: Lincoln’s 1838 address, an interview with James Baldwin and a quote from Mercy Otis Warren.
• General observations about our country. “Our preoccupation with always making the other wrong at an individual as well as a global level.”
• Political commentary on the current moment.
• Reflections on broader themes of art through the story of Isaac Bashevis Singer. ?
• Advice to graduates. “Be curious, not cool. Insecurity makes liars of us all. Remember, none of us get out of here alive…”
• Call to action: Vote.

The expert braiding of history, anecdote, observations and personal experience is simply beyond the reach of a large language model. So are these rhetorical flourishes.

• Throughout the speech, listen to how he lowers his voice periodically with, “Listen, Listen.” It's a storytelling masterstroke. ?
• In a line about our insistence on arguing to win, he employed parallel construction with a killer landing…“we are dialectically preoccupied. Everything is either right or wrong, red state or blue state, young or old, gay or straight, rich or poor, Palestinian or Israeli, my way or the highway.”
• Knowing his audience, he ended with a quote from Louis Brandeis. "The most important political office is that of the private citizen."

Could you ask ChatGPT to write a commencement speech in the voice of Ken Burns? Yes, of course. Would it be as good as the real deal? Not even close.

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