Why Balance is the Secret to Trustworthy Writing

 
There’s a deep and essential difference between a preacher and a commentator. Between a politician and a journalist. Between a spin doctor and a critic.

And that difference can be summed up in just one word: agenda.

It’s not that we mistrust preachers, politicians, or PR flacks simply because they lie—although let’s be honest, some of them certainly do. It’s because we instinctively know they’re giving us a version of the truth that serves their interests. A curated, filtered, often weaponized truth. Not the truth—their truth.

A preacher will claim divine authority—he alone has the answers. And if you disagree? You're not just mistaken, you’re damned.

A politician will feed you selective data—talking up the positives, burying the negatives, re-framing failure as success. All while ridiculing dissent and dismissing alternate perspectives as irrelevant, ignorant, or dangerous.

A modern spin doctor is trained in deflection. When something awful happens, they’ll pivot to something else entirely—find a silver lining, re-frame the narrative, soften the blow. It’s all calculated, clever, and manipulative.

And here's the thing—we're not entirely powerless in the face of all this. If we’re thinking critically, if we’re paying attention, we can spot the agenda.

We can choose to be skeptical, cynical, or cautiously aligned. We can accept, reject, or question.

But we can’t do any of that if we’re only given one side.

This is where the true value of balance comes in—and why it matters more than ever, especially to writers.

Whether you write fiction, nonfiction, or journalism, your first duty is to the truth—not your version of it, not a selective highlight reel, but something closer to the whole, unvarnished picture.

That means resisting the urge to preach. It means stepping out of the spotlight and letting the ideas—not your personal opinions—do the heavy lifting.

In fiction, this balance is critical. If one character expresses a strong belief, another should counter it. Not for the sake of argument, but for integrity. 

 

If you champion a worldview without examining the opposition, your work becomes propaganda. And readers can smell that a mile away.

You don’t want to sound like you’re standing at a pulpit—barking orders, moralizing, or demanding obedience. Because the moment you start preaching, you break the sacred bond between reader and writer. And once trust is gone, it's almost impossible to win it back.

Good writing should feel like a conversation, not a lecture. It should present multiple perspectives, not just echo your own.

In fiction, that means crafting villains who aren't just evil but complex. It means heroes who are flawed, who make mistakes, who learn. It means showing why people do bad things, not just that they do them.

In nonfiction—especially in journalism, articles, or reviews—balance is your credibility. If you’re reviewing products, don’t push just one as the "obvious best." Give the reader context, pros and cons, and let them decide. Otherwise, you risk looking like a shill—or worse, like you’ve been paid to say nice things.

Readers are smart. They don’t need you to draw conclusions for them. In fact, they prefer you didn’t. What they want is insight—from all angles—so they can make up their own minds. When you trust your reader in that way, they’ll return the favor.

So here's the golden rule:
When in doubt, strive for balance.

If you find yourself leaning heavily into one idea, one character’s viewpoint, or one political stance, pause. Ask yourself: What would the opposing voice say? What other truth might exist here? Can I be fairer?

Because here’s the beautiful paradox:
When you try to present everything, you actually earn the right to be trusted as someone who sees more than most.

That’s not to say you can’t write with passion or conviction. But let it come through your characters, your stories, your themes. Don’t hammer it into the reader. 

Weave it in subtly—let the truth emerge organically.

And yes, there’s one big exception to all this: advertising. In sales copy, bias isn’t just permitted—it’s essential. That’s where you put your full weight behind one product, one idea, one action. But that’s another conversation entirely.

For now, in your writing—fiction or nonfiction—choose balance.

Because balance is what gives your words weight. It’s what earns trust. 

And it’s what separates the amateur from the master.

Until next time,

Keep writing!

Rob Parnell