I Am Diminished

This morning I read this piece on Electric Literature, and a single phrase stuck: “I am diminished.” That sentence carries more weight than any argument about tools, trends, or tech. It speaks directly to something deeper. Something harder to put into words unless you’ve felt it.

At Lightspress, I advocate for writing in physical journals. I read physical books and collect physical media. I have never used a digital tabletop, not because they’re bad, but because I prefer sitting across from people—faces I know or want to know. The methods I publish are story-first. The books offer narrative tools, emotional architecture, and design techniques meant for real human use, at real tables.

None of this is an attack on digital tools. A preference is not a critique. But it is a statement of values.

Lightspress doesn’t use AI. We don’t post on social media. When someone accuses our books of being AI-generated because the grammar is clean or the structure is sharp, it reveals a deeper problem. The tools have trained on the same editorial traditions we follow: clarity, rhythm, simplicity, usefulness. But we arrive there through craft, not computation. Accusing a book of artificiality on “vibes” alone diminishes the work, the writer, and the reader alike.

Technology is a tool. So are rituals, relationships, and rules. Over-reliance on any one of them creates a flattening effect. The stories suffer. The people using those tools suffer.

The point is not whether something was written by hand or keyboard, plotted by spreadsheet or by candlelight. The point is how it makes you feel. Whether it connects you. Whether it honors the strange, fragile act of telling stories to one another across a table, or across a page.

When that connection disappears, we are all diminished.