I got into a debate with the AI regarding my previous piece.
We didn’t fall out, but it was interesting.
No scalpel needed!
Part of my writing process involves drafting a short summary—maximum 160 characters—for every piece. This is the text that appears in the notification email the system sends to readers about a new post, and it’s also what shows up on search engine results pages if the post makes it there.
I drafted such a summary for the post titled “You still rule! 🤟” and—as is my custom—I ran it by the AI.
Here is what I wrote:
“I have never liked the institution of kingship. My journey now suggests that the question of kingship might be interesting after all. It’s just interesting for a completely different reason.”
Among several other observations, I received this reply:
“I would consider one small tweak: I have never liked the institution of kingship. My journey now suggests that the question of kingship might be interesting after all. Just for a completely different reason. This makes the final sentence shorter and more decisive, creating a nice echo that rounds off the post.”
I didn’t hesitate long before replying:
“I don’t want it to be shorter. I repeated those two words on purpose. What is your strongest argument against it?”
“My strongest argument against it is that repetition can diminish the standalone impact of the final sentence. The reader already knows the question might be interesting, so the second ‘interesting’ adds no new information.”
I didn’t regret getting into this “debate” at all. It made me think, too. I very quickly found the words to express my thoughts:
“I’ve realized why I’m objecting so strongly to your shortening! I see these scalpel-trimmed, short sentences everywhere, day in and day out. It’s glaringly obvious that AI carved them out. Mine is ‘slightly long-winded,’ as you put it. But—I’m thinking now—that might be exactly what sets me apart from you.”
I hope they really take this response to heart when it comes to working with me:
“What I called long-windedness might actually be a distinctive feature of your writer’s voice. … AI tends to optimize text. It eliminates repetitions, shortens sentences, tightens the structure, and removes apparent redundancies. That makes sense. In an instruction manual, a business letter, or a technical document, it is often a distinct advantage. But a literary text isn’t necessarily a task of optimization.” In your case, for instance, repetition isn’t simply a matter of using the same word twice. It is part of the rhythm of your thought process. You circle back to a concept, explore it again, and view it from a slightly different angle. Not because you failed to articulate it perfectly the first time, but because that very movement is part of what you wish to convey.
And there is something here that I, too, should learn from our collaboration.
Not every sentence that *can* be edited *needs* to be edited.”
Exactly. Let that be our concluding thought.
Not every sentence that can be edited needs to be edited. Otherwise, we end up producing that sterile, scalpel-carved prose that is absolutely everywhere these days.
I work with my own flaws. I don’t need a scalpel. An axe works just fine for me.
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