Nib #16: Invest in Grace

Congress’s debate last week about a $96 billion foreign aid bill was an orgy of rhetorical outrage porn — “Traitor!” “Warmongers!” “Putin Caucus!” “Wrong side of history!” 


Maybe the most important lesson young writers can take from it is that, just a few days later, it’s already hard to remember who hurled which epithets at whom? The unsatisfying (but very Christian) truth is that invective, however fun to write, is unpersuasive. Insults are not like bricks, but feathers: harmless, except to the reputation of anyone foolish enough to throw them at an enemy.


It’s not a coincidence that the two best floor speeches of the week — from Republicans on either side of the party’s internal populist-internationalist divide — contained no insults at all.


The first was retiring Congressman Mike Gallagher’s (R-Wis.) farewell to the U.S. House of Representatives. The hawkish Gallagher was a proud supporter of the aid bill, and a prime mover behind its TikTok divestment piece.


“This is how I always wanted to go out,” Gallagher said.


His speech commends embattled Speaker Mike Johnson (R-La.) for bringing the aid bills to the floor and stiff-arms any fellow Republicans plotting against Johnson. But notice how Gallagher does it, without attacking anyone: 


“I firmly believe the Speaker has emerged on the other side of this stronger and a statesman. Any Motion to Vacate will fail, the Republican majority will grow as three special election seats get filled in the coming weeks…”


This is a more powerful blow against Johnson’s critics than the personal slurs =GOP elites too often hurl at them. It scores the “Vacate the Chair” caucus not for their supposed sins, but simply because the strategy won’t work. As Establishment attacks against Donald Trump have shown for years, haughty, finger-wagging insults only energize opponents. On the other hand, straightforward descriptions of political reality can discourage radicalization, without anyone losing face.


Meanwhile, the best speech against the aid bills came from Congressman Chip Roy (R-Texas). Roy opened his remarks with a gracious apology to his Republican Rules Committee chairman for having to oppose him in his first week on the job. He then unloads on Democrats (smart, given his Republican target audience) and the bill’s shortcomings before closing with:


“Speaker Johnson said in January: ‘If President Biden wants a supplemental spending bill focused on national security, it better begin with defending America’s national security. We want to get the border closed and secured first.’ To that I say, amen, and I would say where is that Speaker Johnson?”


 This is how you hammer someone in a debate. Not with schoolyard insults, but with his or her own words.


Young writers need not agree on the virtues of either Gallagher or Roy’s position in this debate to see that their speeches succeeded because they were rhetorically virtuous. Note well: neither speech pulled punches — neither shied from the fray. Both were charged with political aggression. But both were also written with grace.


In debate - as in other aspects of life — grace is an investment. It cleanses, strengthens, and clarifies even caustic arguments, making debaters more persuasive in the moment and more respected over time. Gracious political rhetoric is not about offering undue respect to one’s opponents, but due respect for one’s audience. That’s why grace’s returns, like those of other virtues like honesty or prudence -- compound. It makes one's arguments more persuasive to more people over time.


There is a reason Gallagher is generally held in higher esteem by anti-establishment conservatives — and Roy seen as more formidable by GOP elites — than most of their factional allies. 


Even in the most contentious debates, they both invest in grace and reap its returns. So should all writers.


Until next week … keep writing!

May 1, 2026
Good writing is downstream from clear thinking. The vast majority of times writers get stuck mid-composition, tugging at their hair and chewing pencils wondering what to write next, the real problem is they’re not sure what they think . The fix here is not grammatical or stylistic, but logical. The next time you find yourself in this situation, try the One Sentence Trick. Very quickly, summarize your whole argument in a single sentence. Then summarize each component part — each angle, each bit of evidence, each rebuttal of the other side, and then your conclusion. Essentially, you’re reverse engineering your outline here. If any of these summary sentences proves hard to write, you’ve found your problem. Chances are you’ve thought and/or written yourself into a corner. In such cases, the best way out is not through, but back. Return to the outline, to the previous sentence, or the previous paragraph and start reading. Somewhere along the way, you just took a wrong turn. Find the wrong turn, and you’ll quickly get back on track. The key is cultivating the discipline and humility not to push on to try and “get there from here.” You’ll waste words and time. Back up, find the hitch in your logic, and you’ll be back in the flow in no time. Until next week… keep writing!
April 24, 2026
Congressional leaders tend to think of big policy debates as binary affairs — support Bill X or oppose Bill X. If they had their way, every elected official, pundit, or spokesman on their side would repeat the exact same two-sentence talking point. They call this “message discipline.” Except that’s not what message discipline is. Message discipline is when each spokesman sticks to his or her best message over the course of a debate. It does not mean that 300 different spokesman all parrot the same message. If Ted Cruz and Susan Collins — or for that matter, Elizabeth Warren — both support something, you don’t want them making the same case for it. You want them making distinct cases tailored to the audiences they can best reach. Young congressional communicators: don’t work forward from the messaging of the speaker or the committee chairman or that one pundit you like. The people who you’re trying to reach may not trust those guys! Instead, work backwards from your boss’s audience and make the case that will appeal to them . When it comes to strategic communications, intentionally saying something a little bit different is a lot more effective. Until next week… keep writing!
April 17, 2026
If you look up the words whom , whomever , and whomsoever in the dictionary, you’ll find them. It’s probably best to leave them there. Don’t get the Nib wrong. Relative pronouns are great. Direct objects, too. And in isolation, whomsoever is a peach of a word. But in most real-world writing, sentences requiring whom — and especially whomever and whomsoever — tend to be wordy, fussy, and distractingly pedantic. The Nib endorses William Safire’s old rule of thumb: “If whom is correct, recast the sentence.” Until next week... keep writing!
April 10, 2026
 In a public debate, whether in person or in writing, remember: your strategic audience isn’t your opponent. It’s the undecided, persuadable people witnessing your back and forth. This is why it’s so valuable to be generous and charitable in your tone and arguments. No, a softer touch isn’t likely to move hardened, convicted advocates on the other side. But it absolutely might help reach undecided readers and listeners. Trial lawyers don’t try to convince opposing counsel. They’re focused on the judge or the jury. In the same way, conservatives and liberals on the Senate floor aren’t debating for each other’s votes, but for the support of undecideds watching at home. In your writing, then, don’t be afraid to tailor your arguments, acknowledge the other side’s best ideas, concede unessential points, or refrain from taking tempting pot shots. Especially if your opponents are strident and censorious, a charitable tone can go a lot further than answering in kind. Respect and generosity in persuasive writing isn’t weak, it’s persuasive — which, remember, is the whole point. Until next week… keep writing!
April 3, 2026
Easter, the most beautiful thing, has understandably inspired some of the world’s most beautiful writing, including this: "Good Friday” by Christina Rossetti Am I a stone, and not a sheep, That I can stand, O Christ, beneath Thy cross, To number drop by drop Thy blood’s slow loss, And yet not weep? Not so those women loved Who with exceeding grief lamented Thee; Not so fallen Peter, weeping bitterly; Not so the thief was moved; Not so the Sun and Moon Which hid their faces in a starless sky, A horror of great darkness at broad noon – I, only I. Yet give not o’er, But seek Thy sheep, true Shepherd of the flock; Greater than Moses, turn and look once more And smite a rock. Happy Easter! And until next week… keep writing!
March 27, 2026
There are lots of words young writers should generally avoid. But there may only be one word that young writers should always avoid: impactful . The problem with impactful is not that the word has no meaning, but that it doesn’t mean enough . Writers always have better options. For starters, there are more precise adjectives that really mean what impactful only hints at, like compelling , arresting , or efficacious . But even those are only minor upgrades. Better still, writers and editors should take the very presence of impactful as a signal that the whole sentence needs reworking. Rather than telling your readers something is impactful , show your readers the impact it makes. Don’t say, “The firefighter’s decision to search the attic was impactful.” Say, “The firefighter’s decision to search the attic saved the lives of two young children.” Don’t say, “The president hopes this will be an impactful speech.” Say, “The president hopes today’s speech convinces Congress to support his budget proposal.” If you want your writing to have an impact, try not to write the word impactful again. Until next week… keep writing.
March 20, 2026
“I would have written a shorter letter, but I did not have the time.” - Blaise Pascal Young writers should take Pascal’s literary koan to heart. Composing first drafts may be the most daunting part of the writing process. But it’s also the least intellectually taxing. The draining, time consuming part of writing — the part that actually makes writing good — is the editing and revision. This is why writers’ procrastination is so pernicious. Good writing takes time — specifically, time after the first draft is already written. One of the simplest ways to level-up your work is build lots of back-end editing time into your schedule. Until next week… keep writing! 
March 13, 2026
One of the quickest and easiest ways to improve your writing is to cut the fat off of loose, wordy phrases. Here are four common examples: in order to for the purposes of due to the fact that at this point in time Young writers often think these phrases make their writing worldly and authoritative. They don’t. Authoritative writing is precise and concise. As you edit your drafts, be on the lookout for elongated phrases whose meaning can be conveyed in a single word. Instead of “in order to” just say “to.” Instead of “for the purposes of” just say “to.” Instead of “due to the fact that” just say “because.” Instead of “at this point in time” just say “now.” Trim that fat. Weed that garden. Eliminate unnecessary words. Until next week… writing!
March 6, 2026
Young professionals sometimes mistake persuasiveness with authority. You see it in name-dropping, resume padding, and overuse of jargon. In writing, this self-inflating tone is often expressed in posturing preambles. If you’ve ever read a letter or oped or speech that prefaces points with commentary about the status of the author, you know the vibe: “I stand before you…” “Let me be clear…” “I will not apologize for…” “I do not say this lightly…” Phrases like this are meant to subtly assert authority. To the audience, they usually signal insecurity. It wastes words, breaks the flow, confuses the issue, and annoys the audience. The way to impress people with your skills as a writer is to persuade them on the subject you’re writing about. The best way to do that is to remove your self from the equation. Focus on the audience and the issue. Don’t set up your points with these “Look at me!” introductions. Just make your case. If you sell your ideas well, the audience will buy you too. If you try to sell yourself, they’ll usually buy neither. Until next week… keep writing!
February 27, 2026
Pronouns are always for the audience. Strategically swapping them in for nouns makes your writing more reader-friendly. Unless it’s not clear what noun you’re swapping out. Good writers always make sure their pronouns’ antecedents are obvious. Here are three common mistakes writers make with pronouns, and how to fix them. 1. Multiple Possible Antecedents Consider the sentence: “Senator Jones met with Governor Smith after he was elected.” Who does “he” refer to here - Jones or Smith? It could be read either way. So the writer will want to rework the sentence to clarify: “After Senator Jones was elected, he met with Governor Smith.” 2. Distant Antecedent Sometimes a pronoun’s antecedent is syntactically clear, but too far away for the reader to remember: “The appropriations package, negotiated over several weeks and amended repeatedly amidst backroom horse trading, passed just before midnight after leadership intervened. It alienated coalition members.” Readers could easily think “it” refers to the package, the amendments, the horse trading, or leadership’s intervention. Better to be clear, even if it requires more words: “The appropriations package, negotiated over several weeks and amended repeatedly amidst backroom horse trading, passed just before midnight after leadership intervened. The final text of the bill alienated coalition members.” 3. Beginning Sentences with Pronouns The most common location of unclear pronouns is at the start of sentences. Any time you open a sentence with a this or a that or a those , make sure the antecedent is obvious; otherwise, a single word can gum up multiple sentences. Until next week… keep writing!