Writing is programming for humans

Writing is Coding

As much as writing has always fascinated me, I've been equally amazed by the art of coding: the ability to open your laptop and create apps and programs from nothing but logic. The more I explore both crafts, the more convinced I become that they're the same discipline applied to different machines.

Writing is programming for human consciousness. Writers use language to create lines of text that render as images in the reader's mind. Characters compile into words, words into sentences, sentences into scenes. Programmers type characters that compile into software. Both writers and coders are architects of experience, building instruction sets to transform their target systems.

The crucial difference, and this is where it gets interesting, is that humans aren't deterministic machines. The same written "code" runs differently across different minds. That's both the challenge and the opportunity to create something special.

The beauty of variable output

When a programmer creates "an old man sitting by a window" in a game or app, they must specify everything: RGB values for the skin, exact posture coordinates, window dimensions, wood texture, lighting intensity. Every user who opens that app sees the identical old man: same wrinkled face, same blue shirt, same afternoon light through the same dusty window. The image renders identically across a million devices.

But when a writer types "The old man sat by the window," a thousand readers generate a thousand different old men, windows, and emotions. One reader sees their grandfather in a worn rocking chair by stained glass; another imagines a stranger on a train, watching landscapes blur past; a third pictures someone in a nursing home, waiting. This is one of the most elegant features of human consciousness: we run on hardware that interprets, improvises, and fills gaps with personal memories.

A single word changes the "program's" behaviour entirely. "He walked" versus "He limped" versus "He staggered"—each verb executes a different function and accesses different emotions in the reader's mind. The first suggests neutral movement, the second has a good chance to trigger sympathy, the third evokes concern or suspicion, depending on context.

Two statements: “The treatment has a 95% survival rate,” and “The treatment has a 5% mortality rate.” They’re mathematically identical; the difference is framing, which can change how we feel about the same fact. Objective reality is rarely how we make decisions. We make decisions based on the story we are told about that reality.

Precision and its consequences

At the same time, both disciplines also demand precision, though writing is perhaps slightly more forgiving. In code, a misplaced semicolon breaks everything. In prose, a misplaced comma can have the effect of completely altering the meaning. Consider the famous biblical quote: "Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise" versus "Truly I tell you today, you will be with me in paradise." In this example, the position of a single comma has ignited endless theological disputes for ages. One sentence promises immediate paradise, the other makes a promise about eventual paradise.

This biblical passage itself is, of course, a translation. The complexity only multiplies when crossing languages. Translators face a monumental task: ensuring the translated work captures the intent and essence the author encapsulated in the original. This act of preservation adds yet another layer of difficulty.

But this is the beauty of programming human perception through words: multiple possible meanings and multiple interpretations. Great "human programmers" understand that what is omitted is, in many cases, a lot more powerful than what is included. Hemingway's "Iceberg Theory" is a perfect example. The writer provides the 10% above the water, and in doing so, "programs" the reader to imagine the vast, unseen 90% below. This approach encourages the reader to engage more with the text and read between the lines to grasp the full meaning.

Testing your code

Like software, writing needs testing:

Unit tests: Read your paragraphs aloud, then give them to someone else to read. Did the intended image or emotion render? That metaphor that seemed brilliant at 2 AM might throw an exception the next day.

Integration tests: Check scene order and flow. Does your tension curve compile without runtime exceptions like confusion or boredom? Are problems resolved? Do setups have satisfying payoffs?

Performance optimisation: Are you using ten words where three would execute faster? Every unnecessary adjective steals CPU cycles from your reader's attention span.

The ethics of influence

Both coders and writers wield tremendous power. Algorithms determine what we see online, who gets loans, which resumes get reviewed. Stories shape how we understand ourselves, others, and what's possible. Every Facebook algorithm affects millions; every written story has the potential to rewrite someone's worldview.

Transformation

At their core, both writing and coding are acts of translation. Programmers translate human intent into machine language. Writers translate human experience into understanding. Both take the chaos of thought and structure it into something that can be transmitted, received, and executed by another system.

Code makes machines more human: responsive and adaptive. Stories make humans more aware: empathetic, conscious, capable of wisdom. Neither simply provides instructions; both enable transformation. They don't just tell machines or minds what to do, but change what machines and minds can become.

Both writing and coding demand clarity, structure, and the courage to ship. One runs on CPUs; the other runs on consciousness. Both can crash. Both can change lives.

Shipping software for the soul

I once came across a quote: "The next time you write, whether an article, short fiction, or novel, remember that you're not just telling a story. You're shipping software for the human soul. Try your best to make it bug-free. Make it beautiful. Make it worth running."

This is a statement I can stand behind.

A.O.