That type of copying is pretty normal, and they teach it in school. It's how you learn (and how you become depressed). But in the age of generative AI, there are many new kinds of copying. For instance, Wired reported last week on a tool offered by Grammarly, which briefly offered users the opportunity to put their writing through something called "Expert Review."
To deny one's own experiences is to put a lie into the lips of one's own life. It is no less than a denial of the soul. The concept I stick to - my core principle - is simple: I write in plain English, and only when I actually have something to say.
In clinical speech therapy, we use strategic pauses throughout a session with a client. This is similar to resting between physical therapy exercises. When we are teaching people how to use their speech sounds or helping them increase their vocabulary, it's helpful to let the mind rest in between sets.
I've interviewed over 200 people for articles, from startup founders to burned-out middle managers, and I've discovered something fascinating: intellectual depth isn't about fancy degrees or knowing obscure facts. It shows up in how we communicate. When certain habits dominate someone's style, it reveals a concerning lack of curiosity and critical thinking that goes beyond just being annoying-it fundamentally limits their ability to engage with the world meaningfully.
In Andor, I got chills when Mon Mothma warns the senate of a chilling truth: When we let noise, conformity, or fear dominate, we lose sight of what matters. We risk allowing the loudest voices, often the safest, the most predictable, to drown out individuality, identity, and truth. To me, this line... This line echoes a growing tension I feel in content design.
Ever notice how some people just draw you in? I used to think it was pure charisma, something you either had or didn't. Then I spent years interviewing over 200 people for articles, and something clicked. The most magnetic people, the ones who made me lose track of time during our conversations, all had something in common: They used certain phrases that made me feel genuinely heard and valued. It wasn't about being the loudest or most entertaining person in the room. These naturally charismatic
We've both fought against needless promotional content before and lamented that frontier AI platforms are falling into the same pattern. As designers and users, we've learned that "free" usually means putting up with interruptive, slightly creepy ads that feel more like a tax than a benefit - a frustration tax that now colors how we approach free‑tier services and now AI tools.
Many lawyers have eagerly adopted the buzzword "BLUF"-bottom line up front-as if invoking the acronym were synonymous with careful thinking. The catch is that almost no one stops to ask the important question: What exactly is meant by "bottom line"? The answer isn't obvious, and it shifts with context. In military writing, the "bottom line" is a concrete decision or action a commander must take-stated at the very start because the commander already knows the mission, the terrain and the stakes.
After interviewing over 200 people for various articles, I've become hypersensitive to the subtle ways trust builds or breaks in conversation. And here's what I've discovered: we all use phrases that quietly erode trust, often multiple times a day, completely unaware of the damage we're doing to our relationships and credibility. The fascinating part? These aren't obvious lies or manipulative statements. They're everyday phrases that seem harmless but trigger our brain's ancient alarm systems, making people instinctively pull back from us.
The human brain is engineered to ignore most of what it sees and hears, according to the neuroscientists I interviewed for the audio original Viral Voices. If that's the case, how are you supposed to make a memorable impression? The empowering news is that if you understand how the brain works, what it discards, and what it pays attention to, you'll be far more persuasive than you've ever imagined. Persuasive people have influence in their personal and professional lives.
"Editing is as much about knowing and growing your team as it is about elevating their copy," said Kathleen McGrory, an editor with The New York Times Local Investigations Fellowship. "As an editor, a key part of your job is understanding what makes your reporters tick and helping them reach their goals beyond any one story. It requires open communication, deep trust and really listening."
For the first time, speech has been decoupled from consequence. We now live alongside AI systems that converse knowledgeably and persuasively-deploying claims about the world, explanations, advice, encouragement, apologies, and promises-while bearing no vulnerability for what they say. Millions of people already rely on chatbots powered by large language models, and have integrated these synthetic interlocutors into their personal and professional lives. An LLM's words shape our beliefs, decisions, and actions, yet no speaker stands behind them.
I'm one of those authors whose books AI ate for lunch a few years back. At some point I might get a check to pay me for a dozen years' work on the three books it stole, but really, there's no way to compensate for the fallout. AI seems to think no, it can't think, only shuffle what real people thought that a machine can write as well as a person can.
Here's the good news: writing isn't a talent. It's a skill. And skills respond to the same cure as every other skill: reps. Not glamorous reps. Not the kind that gets applause. The kind you do in small rooms, when no one is watching, when you're a little uncomfortable, when you want to quit halfway through because the sentence you just wrote feels like wet cardboard. That's the work.
