The Welcoming Fire: On the Contrast Between the Campfire and the Pulpit
There’s a common piece of advice for writers trying to build an audience: ‘Find your voice.’ It’s good advice, but it’s incomplete. The real question isn’t just *what* your voice is, but *where* it is speaking from. In the quiet work of connecting with readers, I’ve come to see two distinct, contrasting approaches: the voice from the pulpit, and the voice from the campfire.
The pulpit is a place of authority and declaration. Writing from the pulpit means standing above the crowd, delivering pronouncements. The sentences are often polished, definitive, and closed. They are meant to instruct, to convince, to awe. There is a clear hierarchy: the writer knows, and the reader learns. This voice has its place—in academic journals, in certain types of criticism, in manifestos. Its power is in its certainty. But its risk is alienation. The reader is an audience, a congregation listening to a sermon, but they are not invited to sit at the table. The space between writer and reader is formal, and often vast.
The campfire, by contrast, is a circle of light in the dark. Writing from the campfire means gathering readers around a shared point of interest. The tone is conversational, exploratory, and inviting. It is a voice that says, ‘Look at this thing I found,’ rather than ‘This is what you must know.’ The sentences might be a little rougher, the thoughts a little more meandering, because the goal isn’t to deliver a final verdict but to start a conversation. The writer is not an oracle on a stage but a fellow traveler sharing a story.
This distinction isn’t about quality or intelligence; it’s about posture and intent. A pulpit piece might dazzle with its brilliance, but a campfire piece builds trust through its vulnerability. One speaks *at* you, the other speaks *with* you. The campfire voice understands that the reader brings their own experiences to the circle, that their murmurs of agreement or questions are part of the process. It leaves room for the reader’s thoughts to breathe and mingle with the writer’s.
In an age of endless content and shouting headlines, the campfire voice is becoming a rare and precious thing. It doesn’t demand attention; it earns it through warmth and genuine curiosity. It’s the difference between a lecture hall and a living room. For those of us building an audience not just of followers, but of participants, the choice is clear. We must lay down the polished stone of authority and instead, strike a match. We must build a welcoming fire and save a seat for everyone who is drawn to its light.
Notes & further reading
A few pages I came back to while writing this: