Republished from Vernacular Nicely Said #47 —
You’re back! Come on in. Mind the step.
The other day over lunch my mate Chris asked me to explain the real value of a copywriter. As a digital whizz and AI enthusiast, he wanted to know why copywriters shouldn’t be so high up on AI’s hit list of endangered professions.
It wasn’t a wind up – he thought I should make people think harder before outsourcing their writing (and thinking) to ChatGPT and the likes. Maybe even state my case on Vernacular.co.nz. Not a bad idea – think I’ll do that.
Six months ago, I might have ranted on about LLMs remixing patterns rather than producing fresh ideas, writing that’s derivative, over used constructions, and formulaic slop. (I’ll stop there).
But I didn’t, because, well, I would say all that. And getting all defensive isn’t my thing. Plus, six months on, LLMs have improved and people are learning to use them in ways to avoid the obvious traps (see para above).
So, I stalled for time, sucked the ends of my soy-infused chopsticks (we had a Bento box each for lunch) and ransacked the far recesses of my mind for a convincing response. Fek, I needed more time – put down the sticks and lift the miso bowl, slowly, now… take a couple of wistful slurps and squint the eyes for extra thoughtfulness.
I began: “It’s never just about the writing, Chris, it’s…” I cut short that utterance. Wretched contrastive parallelism – AI’s favourite writing device. You know the one, you see it everywhere: “This isn’t just a challenge, it’s your chance to lead.” Sigh. I digress.
A flash of Peter F. Drucker’s famous quote flitted to mind – one my old boss Tim had printed on his PR agency’s company profile (remember those), across the top of a stylised ear (looks better than it sounds).
Drucker’s quote – written in a 1967 work titled Technology, Management and Society: “Communication always makes demands. It always demands that the recipient become somebody, do something, believe something. It always appeals to motivation”.
I didn’t recite the quote because I would have butchered it, but it helped form my next thought.
“Argument, Chris,” I said. “Good writing rises on a well-defined argument. A point of view that asks the recipient to become somebody, do something….”
I was waving my hands and a chopstick launched an escape, flying from our outside balcony lunch spot to the Ponsonby footpath below. I looked over the edge hoping not to see a luckless pedestrian clawing the world’s biggest teriyaki beef-flavoured splinter from their eye. A seagull perched on the railing beside our table tilted its head and blinked (yes, they blink – using a third eyelid called a nictitating membrane).
“Surely ChatGPT could help define an argument,” Chris countered.
“Not really, because Chat doesn’t know much if anything about your audience, their motivations, beliefs, likes and dislikes, the things that grieve them, and your feelings and instincts for all this – you know, all the human stuff,” I said, spearing a sliver of pumpkin tempura with my single chopstick.
I was on a roll. “You can’t form a convincing point of view without a solid grasp of the things that shape your audience’s world view. It’s a bit like your new family doctor saying ‘Chris, seeing patients is old school – just text me your symptoms and I’ll make a call and send you a script’. You wouldn’t trust that doctor or his advice. Writing is the same – your audience won’t trust anything you say if it neglects who, where, and how they are.”
I was down to the last crunchy bits of batter in my Bento box. Polite diners see that as a signal to stop fossicking. But I’m a savage. A sole chopstick wasn’t working, so I got busy with a fork. The seagull shifted sideways.
“It’s about proximity, Chris – getting up close to your audience and seeing the world through their eyes rather than looking at numbers and polishing prompts.”
He nodded, mashed a napkin into his chin and checked it for food stains.
“Proximity, eh. Who knew decent writing required so much thinking,” he laughed.
“That’s the problem,” I said. “Nobody does.”