Let's Create A Slow Word Movement
Being intentional about the words we write and why it matters.
Years ago, when I traveled for the first time to France, I was knocked out by the amazing food. We traveled to Paris, and my then-sweetheart, now-husband, took me to an amazing restaurant called Taillevent. I'd never had anything like it. The service? Amazing. The wait staff was friendly and attentive but didn't hover. The table and decor? Glorious. They paid attention to every detail. They even came along with a tiny silver pen-shaped object, and, between the courses, scraped it across the table. I didn't know what it was, but I figured it out quickly. It was an elegant crumb grabber, deftly clearing the table of its halo of crumbs that had encircled my plate. Now, we had a clean blank slate.
Oh, everything was established to showcase the food, the star of the show. I’ll never forget the duck confit. Making duck confit is a multi-day process. First, it takes approximately twelve to seventy-two hours to cure the duck legs in salt and spices, which is then followed by two to eight hours of slow cooking in duck fat. Including the resting time and time spent crisping the skin before serving, the total time for creating this incredible dish can extend to several days. The result was so delicious, so unctuous, that it remains with me these many years later.
While my sweetheart and I were still enjoying Paris, I remember seeing a sticker on the door of one of the other restaurants. They proudly declared they were part of the slow food movement. Huh? I’m an American girl raised on promises (thank you, Tom Petty), and I grew up on McDonald's and Taco Bell. Fast food. Slow food, I thought. What a concept!
As I pondered this new concept, I reflected that it wasn't just the food that was slow. Yes, numerous dishes like duck confit are literally attentively cooked over a long period of time. The “slowness” was also in the service. Now, before you think I am being a snotty American, when I say we experienced slow service, saying service was slow as a judgment, I guess it could better describe it as service that allowed you to breathe and relax. At a restaurant in Paris, whether a fine dining experience like Taillevent or a sidewalk café, you could linger, enjoy your conversation, and indulge in a meal without feeling like the waiter was breathing down your neck to make you leave early so they could seat the next table.
It was wonderful. You felt like you could really unwind, stretch your legs out, have a deep conversation, and immerse yourself in conversation. There are definitely amazing restaurants in the United States, and there's definitely amazing food to be had here, for which I am super grateful, but I have noticed it is very rare to have a cafe or restaurant in the States where you really feel like you can take your time. This is reflected sometimes in the food and also in the quality and level of conversations we're able to have these days.
Similarly, when I compare how we eat to how we write in this day and age, I think about AI and how it is changing our writing experience.
As a book coach and publisher, often people will say to me in a hushed tone, “Don't hate me, but I use AI!” I am here to tell you, people, I don't hate you at all. I appreciate your candor. I, too, use AI for the mundane tasks. If I'm writing a memo or a press release. I find the speed with which AI can create these mundanities is just a great time saver. Having said that, I never, ever share anything from AI without reviewing it very carefully and ensuring that it sounds like me. Also, I do not use generative AI when I am writing. The only time I use it is with Grammarly. (Yep. Grammarly is AI!)