The Silent Reader

Never underestimate the value of your words to inform, persuade but also to comfort.

One of the more discouraging things a writer or fellow advocate can hear is, “You’re just preaching to the choir.”

A fellow writer said something very much like that to me recently. I understood the frustration behind the remark.

When you spend time thinking, editing, and carefully choosing your words, only to be met by silence, it’s easy to wonder whether you’re simply spinning your wheels. It’s easy to conclude that the only people reading are the ones who already agree with you. I suspect every writer has felt that at one time or another.

It doesn’t help that we live in a world increasingly driven by slogans, memes, fifteen-second videos, and headlines stripped of context. Complex subjects compete with content designed to be consumed in seconds. Social media seems to reward speed and brevity. That can leave anyone who writes thoughtfully wondering whether depth still has a place.

I think it does.

The truth is, none of us really knows what happens after we hit “publish.” We don’t know whose mind we might change, when it might happen, or whether an essay disappears by tomorrow morning or stays with someone for months.

I know this because I’ve been that reader myself.

I read posts and comments from people with whom I strongly disagree. Most don’t change my mind. But every so often, a sentence catches me. A fact sends me searching. A perspective causes me to reconsider something I thought I had settled. I rarely announce those moments. I simply carry the thought with me.

That has made me wonder how many silent readers there are for all of us. They’re the people who never click “Like,” never leave a comment, yet may quietly bookmark an essay or return to an idea weeks or months later.

Real persuasion rarely happens in a single moment. More often, it builds over time through conversations, articles, books, essays, and thoughtful exchanges that slowly accumulate. No single piece of writing can explain decades of history, untangle a complicated conflict, or undo years of misinformation. But neither can a slogan. Understanding almost anything worthwhile takes time. So does changing a mind.

A neighbor/friend once sent me a message that my posts were too long for FB, that people don’t have the patience. Yet what I see online tells a different story. There are innumerable examples of longer form writing that are shared widely too.

Brevity, in my opinion, can be overrated. It can leave you hungry for more. A ‘fast’ message can be more easily misinterpreted because it leaves out nuance. That’s where we come in.

There’s another thought I’ve had.

Even if some of our writing reaches people who already agree with us, is that really such a bad thing?

Communities need encouragement too. Allies need information. People carrying the same burdens need reminders that they aren’t carrying them alone. Not every piece of writing has to persuade or be Pulitzer worthy. Sometimes its purpose is simply to steady someone.

We’ve also been taught to think that “preaching to the choir” is a failure. Nope. To the contrary, it bears all the attributes of a gift.

If our words educate someone new, wonderful. If they encourage someone who was already standing beside us but needed a little reassurance, that’s valuable too. In fact, sometimes I write with a single person in mind. Because something he or she said has weighed on me and I want to explore it in greater depth. Like now.

Communities aren’t built by persuasion alone. They’re also built by reminding one another why we showed up in the first place.

So if you’ve ever been told you’re preaching to the choir, I hope you keep writing anyway.

You may be changing a mind. You may be strengthening a friend. Or you may simply be helping one silent reader feel a little less alone.

To me, that’s reason enough to keep going.