On Em Dashes and Technology
Don’t want to read? Take a listen here.
Now that I’m blogging pretty regularly, I’ve noticed that my writing has a couple of patterns. For one, I like to use an em dash (“—”) when I write. I find it more forceful than the semicolon, and it sort of mimics the cadence in which I speak. Secondly, I like to present ideas in threes: a this, a that, and another thing, too. But lately and with increasing frequency, I find these habits called into question. Because I rely so heavily on these two patterns, people think I’m using AI to write my blogs!
Like many of you, I’ve experimented with Artificial Intelligence, and I’m amazed by the speed with which it continues to evolve. I use it to clarify ideas, format proposals, sort and organize data, and think out loud. And yes — I’ve even taught others how to use it, leading workshops through Aged Intelligence and co-presenting at a professional conference on AI in the workplace. I continue to learn my way around these ever evolving tools.
But it really bugs me to be told that I need to change my writing style because it makes readers think I’ve generated my thoughts through AI. If you know anything about me, you probably know that for the past nearly 30 years, I’ve lived with an editor. He knows my voice, my intent, and my interests far better than my friends Claude, Chat, or Gemini ever will.
Here’s what I mean. AI could pull together everything it “knows” about you from your digital footprint and writing samples — your particular patterns — but it will never know how you open a door for every stranger, how you thank a veteran for their service, or how you speak to hospitality staff. It might know how much you’ve donated to a particular cause, but it will never know why you did so, or how you make people feel when you talk about your passion and joy. It can’t capture your unique ability to land the right joke, at the right time, in the right setting. AI may know who you know on social media — but not in real life.
What I’m saying is this: AI can help us organize, clarify, and communicate — but it can’t replicate the particulars of who you are, or the experiences that shaped your voice. Those things are yours alone. And that, it turns out, is exactly what helps create legacy.
Legacy is the core of my work — what steps you can take today to ensure that you are remembered tomorrow, that the lessons you hold dear, the causes you care about, the stories that matter continue to live beyond your time. Storytelling, at its best, is inherently human. No algorithm gets to claim that.
And so while I will continue to use AI as a thought partner — and to help plan an itinerary (it really did give great suggestions for Mexico City!) — my writing will continue to be my own. Em dashes, thoughts in threes, and all the rest.
What’s your em dash — the quirk or habit that makes your communication distinctly you? And what do you do or say that no algorithm could ever capture? I’d love to hear your thoughts — please be in touch.
Fondly,
Kari
