In praise of long form content
I’m writing this in a coffee shop on a Sunday afternoon, and as people come and go around me, it’s dawning on me that it’s going to take me a while to fully articulate the message I want to share with you today.
This might take me a while to write. And it might take you a while to read.
Incidentally, that’s the whole point of today’s post.
So with that, let me begin by asking you a question: When was the last time you wrote something in long form? For now (though I’ll challenge this idea in a second) let’s say that’s over 1,500 words.
Similarly, when’s the last time you read something in long form? (And I mean, you actually read it, not just skimmed over the bolded bits.)
If you’re guessing that I have an agenda in asking you this, you’re right.
It’s because I think long form writing and reading (or at least, longer writing and reading) is a pertinent skill group and practice that has direct and important application in the current moment.
It’s a skill group that’s being eroded. And I want you to fight for it, because you’re gonna need it.
We all are.
More and more, we are being trained to take in short, quick bursts of information. Social media has facilitated a lot of this, emphasizing short, minimal text within very limited word counts. And if something does surpass our ability to quickly scan and internalize the main ideas, we’re encouraged to use AI to “summarize” it. (I use quotations because ChatGPT doesn’t actually summarize; it’s worth understanding that.)
To be clear, communicating quickly and efficiently is an important skill.
But short form content can also involve oversimplification, causing both the reader and the writer to miss out on valuable and important nuance, jump to conclusions and incorrect assumptions (which may be fed by bias and logical fallacies), and perhaps most of all, erode critical thinking.
And we really need critical thinking right now.
Writing lengthier content — whether that’s a blog or newsletter, a thoughtful letter to a friend, an entire book, or something completely different — challenges us to think differently.
It depends on the content, but typically, longer content involves more complex ideas, and invites us to wrestle with those ideas in a more thorough way.
Again, longer doesn’t always mean better — absolutely not. Editing your work, which often involves shortening it, perhaps substantially, can clarify and sharpen your ideas. It can force you to figure out what you really want to say, and communicate those ideas more effectively. It can help you tell a better story that takes your reader on a focused journey (rather than a meandering exploration with a half dozen tangents.)
My concern is not taking the time to write in long form in the first place. Or, being so concerned with keeping things snappy, digestible, and easy to understand that we dodge the real work of writing — which is to say, the thinking.
Writing in long form says: “Hey, there’s a big idea here. And it can’t be expressed in just a few short bullet points. There’s something more to explore, something that is worthy of time to unpack and thoroughly communicate.”
From a thought leadership perspective, writing in long form invites you to dig deep into your ideas. Wrestle with them. Get messy with them. Research them, explore them from multiple angles and perspectives. Don’t deny their complexity; acknowledge and embrace it. Give them the time, care, and critical analysis they deserve.
Your ideas deserve this care, and so does everyone who might encounter them. The past fifteen years or so of marketing has put so much emphasis on sharing and spreading ideas, with a disturbing disregard for the ideas themselves. I think it should be clear by now: Spreading bad, poorly thought-through ideas has the potential for real harm.
On the other hand, I believe writing long form can be good for humanity — a genuine act of resistance.
When the dominant culture (read: fascism) wants you to make knee-jerk reactions, to spread harmful ideas without questioning them, to feel useless or thoughtless or hopeless, to outsource the most basic forms of human connection to AI, and simultaneously to be deprived of valuable information, then long form writing can be an incredibly potent alternative and antidote.
Taking the time to dig into your ideas and communicate them with time, care, and rigor, can be an act of positive resistance.
It not only helps you to share better, more informed, more appropriately complex ideas, it helps you to build your critical thinking skills. And that is powerful.
At the same time, long form reading can have a similar result.
Sure, there are plenty of badly written books out there with loads of dangerous ideas in them.
But the act of reading, especially with a critical and thoughtful lens, can be incredibly powerful, helping you to educate yourself, sharpen your thinking skills, and pushing back against the kind of cultural forces I mentioned earlier.
Just the act of taking the time to read a book (including a work of fiction) is a push-back against a culture where swiping, scrolling, scanning, and summarizing have become the communication default.
Long form reading says: “I refuse to try to ingest important ideas in the time it takes me to pee. Instead, I will read and not be rushed. I will look at these ideas, or hear these stories, and use my imagination. I will read through this research or examine this detailed argument and consider what it really means and make my own mind up. And maybe I’ll even have a conversation about it with a friend.”
If long form reading doesn’t guarantee all that, it at least invites us to do it.
So what does writing and reading in long form mean in practice?
Earlier, I suggested a long form read is over 1,500 words, but I actually think that’s too limited.
What if “long form” wasn’t a word count but a practice — a way of doing things that could apply to any type of communication?
From this perspective, long form might be the difference between texting your friend, and settling in for a 2-3 hour marathon conversation where you really get into it.
It might be the difference between just signing your name on the card, and writing a thoughtful letter.
It might be the difference between trying to produce a quick ten minute “Ted” style talk, and penning the keynote speech you’ve dreamed of giving (and finding the right stage for that.)
It might be the difference between hitting publish on something you wrote without much thought, and seeking added perspectives, digging into deeper research, and considering your blind spots.
It might be the difference between summarizing content into a neat, tidy sentence (or frankly, asking Chat GPT to do that for you), and instead breaking down the concepts into a more nuanced explanation that asks more time of your reader, but will ultimately reflect the true accuracy and subtly of what you’re trying to say.
It might be the difference between watching a 10 second Instagram reel, and taking the person’s book out of the library and reading it, making notes along the way and critically considering their ideas.
And yeah, it might be the difference between writing something quickly and “shipping it” without much thought, and sitting in a coffee shop on a Sunday afternoon for so long they’ve started vacuuming around you (I guess I should take the hint)... but not quitting until you’re satisfied that you’ve adequately communicated your ideas.
So, what do you think? If you’ve read this far, I’m guessing you might be in the long form game with me.
And I can’t wait to hear what you have to say!