I was working with ChatGPT recently exploring an article about the future of writing when it offered me this sentence: “The future of writing belongs not to those who surrender their judgement to AI, but to those who learn to direct it.” Sounds quite impressive, doesn’t it? There’s a pleasing symmetry, a confident rhythm, and the suggestion of a rather profound insight. There’s just one problem. The first half of the sentence is almost entirely worthless. Who, exactly, believes that the future of writing belongs to people who surrender their judgment to AI? Nobody I know. The machine has invented a position nobody seriously holds, simply to give the second half of the sentence something to triumph over. It’s a peculiar kind of rhetorical theater. The writer appears to be making a forceful argument, but the opposition has been manufactured for the occasion. Once you notice this trick, you begin seeing it everywhere. Consider another example: “Great editing isn’t about moving words around. It’s about revealing the strongest version of an idea.” Again, the construction sounds wise. But who seriously believes that great editing consists merely of moving words around? The first half contributes almost nothing. It’s there to make the second half sound like a revelation. For thought leaders and communications professionals, that is a serious risk. Once readers spot the trick, the sentence can instantly weaken the authority it was meant to project. Why AI Writing Tools Do This I think there are several reasons. First, they imitate the outward appearance of persuasive writing. Contrast is a powerful rhetorical technique. Good writers use it constantly. But a meaningful contrast requires two propositions worth comparing. AI can reproduce the grammatical structure without establishing that the opposition is intellectually justified. Second, they manufacture argumentative tension. A perfectly sensible observation can seem insufficiently dramatic. So the machine invents an opposing position, transforming a simple statement into an apparent confrontation.

During my years writing and editing for The Wall Street Journal, The Economist, and Bloomberg News, I tried to understand what the best editors I worked with were doing. Five habits of mind emerged from observing them and practicing the craft myself. They underpin what I teach in A Crash Course in Writing Well. Each habit begins with an aspiration. You may hear echoes of the following five aspirations in some of your favorite essays, speeches, op-eds, and nonfiction. 1. Comprehensible They strive to make the writing easy to understand. This means removing unnecessary complexity and making sure readers can follow the reasoning without having to work too hard. Simplicity and clarity are essential here. 2. Authentic They strive to make the writing sound honest. They remove jargon, pretentious language, and artificial posturing while preserving the writer’s personality and distinctive way of expressing ideas. 3. Beautiful They strive to make the writing flow well. They smooth out the rhythm and improve structure. This is the quality I call elegance. 4. Engaging They strive to make the writing hold attention and evoke a response. They use colorful details, vivid language, and well-chosen examples to help readers feel the significance of what they are reading. This is where evocativeness matters. 5. Effective They strive to make the writing achieve the purpose for which it was written. Whether the aim is to inform, persuade, teach, or inspire, every passage should contribute. Even a beautiful sentence may need to go if it distracts from that purpose. Through practice, these five aspirations — comprehensibility, authenticity, beauty, engagement, and effectiveness — become editorial habits. They are the gold standard I absorbed from exceptional editors who were unwilling to stop at prose that was merely serviceable.