Writing is rock and roll. Not the stadium kind with fireworks. The kind played in a damp basement where someone’s amp buzzes, the drummer is late, and everyone pretends this might still work. That’s the first myth about writing. That it is calm. That it is polite. That it happens in quiet cafés with tasteful notebooks. Writing is louder than that. Writing is plugging in and hoping the noise becomes something recognizable. Connect with me: https://www.jimhansenmedia.com/

Writing used to feel like a place you went to think.

Now it often feels like a place you go to perform.

We open a blank document and immediately start asking the wrong questions: Is this strong enough? Will this land? Is this post-worthy? The thinking comes later, if it comes at all. Connect with me: https://www.jimhansenmedia.com/

I don’t trust writing that sounds too sure of itself. I trust the voice that slows down. The one that leaves room for doubt. The one that admits where it guessed, where it learned the hard way, and where it is still figuring things out. The writing that sticks does not arrive polished and finished. It shows just enough imperfection to remind you there is a person on the other side of the screen. Not a brand voice. Not a framework. Not something built to impress. Connect with me: https://www.jimhansenmedia.com/

Trust shows up in the margins. In the sentences that admit uncertainty, the ones that reveal process instead of polished results. In the parts where the writer stops trying to impress and starts trying to be human. It forms when the writer says this is what worked for me. This part surprised me. Here’s what I still don’t have figured out. Connect with me: https://www.jimhansenmedia.com/

Good articles do more than explain something. They help the reader move. Not in big, dramatic ways. Not with sweeping reinventions or bold declarations. Just enough movement to feel steadier than they did a few minutes earlier. Connect with me: https://www.jimhansenmedia.com/

Before you publish, it helps to pause and ask one quiet question. If this were sent to me privately by someone I respect, would I keep reading? Not would I like it. Not would I agree with it. Just would I stay with it. That question changes how you write. Connect with me: https://www.jimhansenmedia.com/

When something is small, they let it stay small. They do not inflate it to justify the post. That kind of restraint reads as confidence. It tells the reader you are not trying to impress them or hold them hostage until the end. You are simply sharing something you believe is worth their time. In a place that rewards volume, speed, and certainty, restraint feels almost countercultural.

But it is often the difference between writing that gets skimmed and writing that gets trusted. Connect with me: https://www.jimhansenmedia.com/

In improv, a good scene doesn’t happen because someone has the wittiest line. It happens because the performers listen, respond, and commit to the truth of the moment. You can write the perfect joke on paper, but if it lands without connection, it falls flat.

The same is true for writing. You can craft an SEO-perfect post, a flawless blog, or a polished LinkedIn article, but if it doesn’t feel human, it won’t stick. Readers don’t remember clever. They remember real. Connect with me: https://www.jimhansenmedia.com/