I receive a lot of newsletters in my email, and many of the author ones offer writing advice. Makes sense, right? A writer talking about… writing. But one thing I often ponder is “what audience is this author trying to reach?” Because most readers probably don’t care much about the craft of writing. They just want to enjoy the fruit, not plant their own garden.
This isn’t to bash authors who offer writing tips—I’ve done it too. Rather, I wonder if the reason writers write about writing is because they’re afraid to show who they really are—people.
Think about it—have you ever followed someone on social media not for their name but because they share something in common with you? Probably most of us have. Sure, we may get warm fuzzies from rubbing shoulders with someone more famous than us, but really we’re attracted to their humanness.
In a culture of AI and quick content, more and more people are drawn to the authentic. Why? Because we can sniff out a fake a mile away. We might not be able to explain it, but we certainly know when that picture just doesn’t “look right.”
Enter the human element. When we put a real person behind the camera—messy hair, no makeup, dressed in whatever they wore to pick up their kids from school—that speaks to us. We ARE that person. And this, more than any good advice, is what engages audiences.
We crave human connection. And in a world saturated with the artificial, the distant, and the algorithmic, that authenticity speaks decibels above the usual noise.
Why then do we persist in writing ineffective content?
Because… being authentic means taking off the mask. It means showing that behind the polished and beautiful hardcover was years of hard labor, self doubt, imposter syndrome, and starting over. It means admitting we don’t have it all together, don’t have all the answers, and that yes… we need help sometimes.
This hard truth goes beyond writing a book. In my parenting, my worship, my hobbies—who do I portray to the world? As much as I’d like to say I always show the genuine me, that’s not the case. Because posting that filtered and curated picture on Instagram with a tidy caption is so much easier than the truth.
But doing so is nothing more than advertising. And we all receive enough noise from the artificial sources that haunt us.
So the question remains—are we brave enough to bare ourselves for the world? Do we have courage to share our failures, our struggles, our fears? Because these are what make us human. These are the things that shape us and refine us. And these are the things that set us apart from the unfeeling robots of the internet.
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Sydney Frusti
I’m a storyteller at heart. Regardless of the medium—fantasy or realism, the written word or the screen, static or experiential—I’m in the business of stories. Because stories move us. Shape us. Comfort us. Challenge us. Stories are relatable and bring disparate parts together. We learn from each other by the stories we share. And perhaps, most importantly, stories reveal truths that are too ugly or too beautiful to face head-on.
My experience with stories began in childhood when I escaped into other people’s worlds and dreamed of creating my own. Over time, I’ve learned to incorporate stories into all areas of my life—music, crafting, gaming, and of course, writing.
Though I wasn’t born here, I call the Sonoran Desert my home. The vibrant sunsets and rugged mountains inspire my fantasy landscapes, and I’m drawn to the resilience of the beings that dwell here.
When I’m not writing, I can be found visiting the library with my two daughters, sewing, baking sourdough, playing mandolin, and leading adventurers through tabletop gaming campaigns.
Become a Lore Keeper to join my community of fellow travelers.
