I'm having a one-way conversation with you. I'm talking to you, then imagining what you might think and say, and then thinking about how I can then talk about that. Iterate to the length of this post and you have our complete conversation, sans your side of the story. Let's play a game.
When I talk to you, I want only the most concise utterances to pass our hypothetical lips. I agonize first over my own words, then over yours as I'm suddenly forced to switch sides. Each sentence that survives the editing process is as carefully chosen as a move at a chess match, albeit one with only one player controlling both sides.
As the player I don't want to simply have one side crush the other, however, as the level of play is what determines the quality of content. When both sides of the conversation take their time and ponder carefully before making a move, the resulting monologue is not an unopposed diatribe, but a carefully reasoned and thought-provoking composition to be appreciated by others.
'Your Writing May Vary' since each game is different and the player is unavoidably biased, of course, but the ideal of the infinitely difficult game plagues the agonizing author, who restarts the game over and over again until the results are good enough. Our conversation branches into a thousand conversations, which eventually converge to form the final piece for display.