Everything I know, everything I do professionally today – it all comes from typing into little text boxes on the internet.
Even before I had internet connectivity for my PC back at my parents’ house, I could use the phone line to talk via the computer. I didn’t need to pick up the phone, instead I let my modem connect me to BBSs where people were writing things on pre-internet forums.
Maybe that’s what taught me to never pick up the phone for a call if there was a way to do things in writing. I still find it oddly barbaric that our smartphones have the “Phone” app that allows unidentified individuals to harass us with incoming calls. Why isn’t the EU protecting its citizens from threats like this?
We trained your AI
I’ve previously shared my history, stats and thoughts on blogging. It’s safe to say that these texts have been the most impactful ones I’ve typed, when examining the audience reached by any single collection of words. Their persistence online has made them worth much more than any snarky social posts I’ve made on Twitter, LinkedIn and the likes.
The importance of blog posts doesn’t come from any secret old wisdom revealed in them. It comes from the fact that they can be seen. They can be discovered. They don’t cease to exist when people leave the room.
Yet there are so many leaders out there who insist on doing things in person. I am not saying that face to face meetings would not have a level of impact that’s hard to replicate digitally. But what I am saying is that their impact evaporates rapidly. The words are lost in thin air the moment your lips spell them out.
For everyone who insist on phone calls, meetings and synchronous communication as the primary mechanism for getting work done, let me ask you this:
How much of the words said out loud in those events have been used to train the AI that many/most of us use today in 2025?
The answer is likely: none whatsoever.
Now, how about the thoughts and ideas of people who prefer to write things down? You know, just ordinary folks who type things in online forums, or geeks who love to document the most intricate details of whatever topic they are passionate about. What are the chances that the LLMs used today have seen their words?
It’s almost certain that such text has been crawled into the massive data troves used by OpenAI, Google and the rest. Now, often this is only seen through the negative aspect of “they took our data!”, which is a rightful concern. However, have you ever stopped to think about the possible impact?
When the people who aren’t comfortable sharing their thoughts in writing will today ask ChatGPT for advice, the response consists of the collective knowledge from all us writers who were not afraid to type. No one asked the talkers what they thought about anything. It’s as if all those big words didn’t matter much on our journey towards a distant yet inevitable true artificial intelligence.
Thinking through writing
It’s not merely the publicly available text that can be impactful. By having the courage to put something in writing while at work and then sharing it to an internal audience, you are entering the same virtuous cycle. Even today when there’s a Copilot in the Teams meeting that will turn the transcripts into automatically generated summaries, the words that you choose to write have considerably more weight.
Throughout my professional career, I’ve most often had to resort to sources outside the organization I worked in to find information I needed to get my job done. Because I worked in expert roles where it made far more sense to google for the answer globally than shout out the question in the office locally.
When the answers that I discovered were in written format to begin with, it was easy to share them internally in that way, too. The more senior positions I gained, the more actively I tried to do proactive posts on channels like Yammer. Because I knew that someone might ask me about these topics weeks or months from now, and I didn’t want to repeat myself. Not the search, nor the act of typing or speaking.
This shaped the person that I became, in many ways. Yes, there was the upside of being knowledgeable in the eyes of others. Jukka always had “a link for that”. I was pretty darn good at knowing what info was where. This method of information processing also allowed me to hone my skills in connecting the dots between concepts and objects that weren’t always obviously related. Some may call it systems thinking.
It also made me a difficult person at times. My tolerance for the casual, non-systemic dissemination of information was low. While others were living in the moment and focused on constructing a social narrative, my thoughts were often in the factual details. My mind was racing towards future scenarios, “predicting the next token” of what problems we should address that will likely result from our current actions. Because that’s how the written stories unfold – into future chapters and linked articles.
Communicating online in forums, responding to others in threads, referencing related discussions and providing evidence – that is an activity with its own social norms. As we increasingly work remotely from each other, the behavioral patterns that the internet taught us are both powerful and dangerous. We should be able to adjust our mode of operation to fit the social context. The what and how you write should be decided only after you remind yourself of the who and why.
But when it’s all just little text boxes on the internet, how can our brains notice the nuances?
Today, as a solopreneur, I sit in my private office typing this post. I don’t need to balance my presence between the digital world and the physical reality, simply because nearly all interaction during the day happens online. Yet in every app, in all the tens of windows that exist on my monitors on a typical day, hardly any of the text boxes are completely equal. I must remember what can be written where, and how.
Writing is all you need
Today, people have started to realize how big of a difference you can make by posting things online. Yet I don’t recall anyone using the term “influencer” before the visual social media era of Instagram, YouTube and TikTok arrived. You absolutely do influence the world around you via written messages, too. Being visual about it doesn’t hurt, yet the choice of your primary media payload will determine a great deal of the first impression people will have about you.
If you want your words to represent you, where should you start and how to become someone other people on the internet might pay attention to? Pavel Samsonov recently shared his formula of standing out through writing in an excellent article that provides more clarity into the topic than I could write here. So, start from there. (See, this is how it all works. People amplifying the writing of other people.)
Today, a lot of what I do on a daily basis is actually a combination of two things learned from the internet: online writing and memes. Because in social feeds it’s hard to make people notice you with just a wall of text. Besides, like Pavel writes: “If you can’t think of anything interesting to add, just post memes. Everyone loves memes.” You can’t go wrong with advise like that.
Especially if you’re writing about a subject that isn’t exactly headline news in mainstream media, it doesn’t ever hurt to think about an angle that would make the audience say “hold on, wait a minute, what exactly did I just see?” Meaning, rather than going for the most common way to present the information in your field of expertise, why not put it into an unconventional context? Memes are an excellent vehicle for visually making this happen. After that, it can also give you as a writer more freedom to address the issue in a surprising way.
In my latest journey as the writer of a newsletter, I have ended up choosing a style of content that would not have worked back when I was still a Microsoft MVP. I’ve always been brutally honest with sharing my thoughts about the good and the bad sides of modern technology. Yet with my Perspectives on Power Platform newsletter as a new publication format, it has encouraged me to consistently write in the style of that publication.
Ever since I launched the Plus edition in the end last year, with a promise of a weekly newsletter issue to my paying subscribers, it has kept me focused on repeatedly doing one thing. I’ve always loved thinking through writing, yet too often it has been something you can skip if in a hurry. Well, that’s no longer the case. Writing isn’t optional – it’s part of what I am.
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Cover photo by Wokey Factory on Unsplash
