Writing That Heals: The Power of Non-Assaultive Storytelling

Posted on 08/23/2024 Evan Swensen

This story is inspired by an insightful email from Daniel Janik, a physician and Publication Consultants’ author, whose reflections on transformative authoring offer profound lessons for writers and educators alike. In his email, Janik delves into the neurobiological foundations of learning, contrasting the traditional, often traumatic teaching methods with a more humane and effective approach—one that could equally apply to how we write and communicate.

Janik’s insights stem from years of research into the neurobiological foundations of learning, as detailed in his book Unlock the Genius Within. He emphasizes a crucial distinction: teaching, in its traditional form, is an “outside” force that seeks to mold learners into a predetermined shape. In contrast, learning is an internal process driven by curiosity and discovery, where mentors play a supportive role rather than an authoritative one. This shift from an assaultive approach to a more nurturing method is not just an educational philosophy; it is a call to action for writers who wish to inspire rather than dictate.

Imagine a classroom where the teacher stands at the front, dictating facts students are expected to memorize. The room feels sterile, and the atmosphere is heavy with the pressure to conform. Now, contrast this with a space where the teacher steps back, allowing students to explore, ask questions, and engage with the material in their own way. The air here is different—alive with the buzz of curiosity and the excitement of discovery. This latter environment is what Janik champions, not only in education but also in writing.

For writers, this approach demands a delicate touch. Consider the difference between the assaultive activism in works like Mein Kampf or The Art of the Deal and the more gentle, transformative narratives that encourage readers to think for themselves. Assaultive authoring, as Janik calls it, mirrors the forceful methods of teaching that he critiques. It seeks to control the reader, to hammer home a point with such force that the reader has little choice but to submit. While perhaps effective in the short term, this writing style often leaves lasting scars—emotional discrimination, as Janik describes it, where the reader feels judged rather than enlightened.

On the other hand, transformative authoring opens doors. It invites readers to enter a world of possibilities where their curiosity guides them. This type of writing doesn’t shy away from difficult truths but presents them in a way that encourages reflection rather than resentment. It’s the difference between a book that tells you what to think and one that shows you how to think.

Janik’s work, including Sourdough Scott’s Bedtime Fairy Tales, exemplifies this approach. These stories are not just bedtime tales but invitations to explore, question, and discover. In them, Janik blends the ancient Greek tradition of logos—reason and logic—with the transformative power of narrative. His stories do not force a moral or a lesson upon the reader; instead, they create a space where the reader’s understanding can take root and grow.

The implications for writers are profound. In a world where information is often weaponized, where words can be wielded like swords, the responsibility to write with care has never been greater. Writers must ask themselves: Are we guiding our readers gently toward new understandings or bludgeoning them with our own beliefs? Are we opening minds or closing them off to anything but our perspective?

As Janik points out, this is not just a literary concern but a neurobiological one. Much like the heart, the brain responds differently to force than encouragement. When readers are free to explore ideas on their terms, they are more likely to internalize those ideas and carry them forward in their own lives. This is the essence of transformative learning and transformative writing.

Janik’s email is a powerful reminder that the pen, like the scalpel, must be wielded with precision and care. Writing can heal, inspire, and transform, but only if it respects the reader’s autonomy. As writers, our role is not to dictate but to guide; not to assault, but to invite; not to close minds, but to open them.

Let this be the guiding principle for every word we write: to lead our readers on a journey of discovery, where the true transformation happens not in the pages of the book but within the hearts and minds of those who read it.

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