The soul of human writing

A meditation on writing for connection

Photo by Helena Lopes on Unsplash

I spent the better part of 2024 wrestling with a new reality. As a professional writer, I wasn’t concerned that AI was “coming for my job” until spring of that year.

The timing of my concern certainly correlated with some vast improvements in the technology — but that wasn’t the cause. The cause was the shift in perception I was noticing.

Businesses, organizations, news media and individual experts alike were increasingly using AI “for efficiency.”

It was the first time I had seen writing and efficiency so intimately related.

When I considered the implications, I realized that writing as a communication medium was actually breaking in two.

Now, there is writing for connection …

and there is writing for information transfer.

Writing for information transfer can and is being automated by AI tools and workflows. There are issues there that still need to be worked out, including hallucination, misinformation and bias — but that’s beyond the scope of what I want to explore here.

Writing for connection is different from writing for information transfer. It connects two human beings — the writer and the reader. When you add a robot intermediary, you separate the two humans.

I’m not saying that we shouldn’t use AI to improve our connective writing — I use ChatGPT as a thesaurus, to help me come up with better analogies, and to “talk” through my thought process.

But if I want to reach a reader — connect with that human, create resonance with them, and engage them in my ideas — I have to put my fingers to the keyboard and write to that reader.

Not long ago, a woman told me in conversation that she had paid to subscribe to a Substack, and the writer had begun delivering AI-generated articles. She was furious that she had paid for that.

Why was she furious?

I believe it’s because in paying for that subscription, she believed she’d be connected to that writer and his ideas. And when he generated his Substack content with AI, that connection wasn’t there. Her trust was broken when she saw the writing was devoid of the writer’s human soul.

In my professional life as a consultant and copywriter in recent years, I’ve leaned more and more toward working with businesses that have a genuine heart for their customers. It felt better to write for companies that cared about their audiences. Now, I realize where that feeling came from: writing for connection.

Even when the writing was for a welcome email or a webinar registration page, I wrote it with the intention of creating connection between the company (my client) and their audience. It was never purely informational for me. I put human soul into every word — and it made a difference in both the customer experience and the client’s bottom line.

Sadly, fewer companies operate like this anymore. Most companies are looking for efficiency in every crevice — including their marketing content. They put words down on the page purely for information transfer, and they automate whatever they can. From a purely economical standpoint, it’s understandable.

But I wonder how long it will last.

We’re craving human connection. Post-pandemic, there is an epidemic of loneliness. Writing for connection might not be a panacea, but it helps. How long will human audiences put up with soulless writing before they actively shut it out, no matter who it’s coming from?

I write for connection. Full stop. Therefore, I’m still figuring out where I fit into the new AI paradigm professionally.

But one thing I’m absolutely sure of is that whatever corner of the world (or internet) I’m writing for — including this Substack — will remain soulful, meaningful and ultimately human.

I’m glad you’re here to connect with me.