Why Good Texts Sometimes Remain Empty

“There are texts that are clever, precise, and to the point—and yet they don’t move me,” says author Gabriele Ela Schellinger. That’s why she founded her literary company, ELA – Herz & Wort. In this article, she explains the longing for a different kind of language in our rather noisy world.

Texts are more than just words. “In recent years, I’ve noticed something very clear—in what I read, in what is reflected back to me, and also in what people share with me after readings, while I’m writing, or in feedback on my books,” says Gabriele Ela Schellinger.

Language has changed. It has become faster, more direct, and often harsher. Statements are made clearly, as are positions. Much of it is designed to be understood, categorized, and evaluated immediately. This has its place, and in many areas, that is exactly what is needed. And at the same time, something else is emerging: a palpable longing for a different form of language.

Texts that straddle precision and a lack of connection

I keep coming across texts that are really good. Intelligent, precise, well-thought-out—and yet they don’t resonate with me. Not because they’re lacking something, but because they leave no room for interpretation. They guide, they explain, they get to the heart of the matter, but they leave nothing open to interpretation. That’s exactly where the difference lies for me.

What cannot be held onto

Because there are things that can’t simply be summed up without losing their depth. Feelings are among them. Inner processes. Those subtle shifts that often become apparent only in hindsight—if at all. The more you try to define them, the further you sometimes drift from what actually defines them.

Texts, that do not claim to be exhaustive…

…and what emerges when you don’t explain everything. For me, this is precisely where a different kind of language begins. One that doesn’t explain everything right away. One that doesn’t have to be understood immediately. One that doesn’t aim to be self-contained. That is exactly what I work with in my writing. And I find that many people identify with it. Not necessarily because they understand everything, but because something within them is touched without it needing to be named.

Not theory, but experience—moments that make a difference

Second row, front left—a moment in itself. I still remember the reading clearly. A woman was sitting in the second row. As I read, I noticed out of the corner of my eye how she grew quieter and quieter. At some point, she reached into her bag, searched briefly, and pulled out a handkerchief. No loud crying, no sound—more like that withdrawal you feel when something strikes a chord deep inside. I kept reading. And at the same time, there was this moment between us.

After the reading, she came up to me. She stood there for a moment, as if she had to find the right words. And then she said that she had found herself so reflected in this text that she suddenly found herself back in a situation for which she had never had words. That she had felt something all along, but could never quite grasp it. And that in that moment, for the first time, she felt she had words for it.

The crucial difference

I looked at her—and I remember clearly that I had tears in my eyes. Not because I had explained anything. But because exactly what I strive for in my writing had happened. She simply said, “Thank you.” And that single moment spoke louder than any carefully crafted text.

Encounters like this are about more than words. That’s exactly what many people are missing. It’s not a lack of information—there’s more than enough of that. What’s missing is connection. A form of language that doesn’t just pass through, but stays. That isn’t just understood, but moves something. I see this reflected time and again. In messages, in conversations, after readings. People don’t say, “I understood everything.” They say, “I saw myself in it.” And that is a crucial difference.

Why poems have a different effect—and what poetry makes possible

Poetry doesn’t work through explanation, but through impact. It reveals something while simultaneously leaving room—for one’s own thoughts, memories, and feelings. This may well be the reason why poetry is once again gaining more attention. Many people have grown weary of language that merely functions, of clear-cut positions, quick judgments, and constant categorization.

A poem demands none of that. It simply stands there—and that is enough. It requires no immediate response, no evaluation, no decision. It is allowed to remain as it is. And therein lies a power that has been lost in many other areas.

When reading takes time again and can’t be skimmed

This way of reading has become unfamiliar. It doesn’t fit into a pace geared toward absorbing as much as possible in the shortest amount of time. A poem cannot be skimmed. It demands something else: attention, presence, the willingness to remain undistracted for a moment. Perhaps that is precisely why it is being sought out again. Because it brings back something that has been lost. Not as a step backward, but as a balance.

Where meaning emerges, there lies change

I don’t believe we lack words. I believe we often lack the space between them. And that is precisely where what really matters emerges. Not in what is clearly articulated, not in perfection, but in what reveals itself when something is not fully explained. For me, this is not a nostalgic development. It is a very contemporary one. People are once again seeking language that not only functions but also connects. Language that does not dictate everything, but allows something to emerge.

And perhaps that is precisely where the real change lies: not in saying more, but in perceiving once again what lies between the words.