I Don't Type Every Word You Read
Most modern work is already mediated by machines. Writing is just late to admit it.
Commerical pilots rarely fly planes by hand anymore. Chip designers do not solder transistors. Photographers do not grind their own lenses. Infrastructure engineers rarely flip physical switches in a datacenter.
In all of these fields, the work did not disappear. It moved upstream.
Writing is undergoing the same shift.
Where the Work Actually Is
I do not type every word you read here.
That does not mean this writing is automated, synthetic, or detached from real experience. It means the locus of effort has changed.
The work now lives in:
- deciding what is worth saying
- knowing when something is wrong
- recognizing when a paragraph feels hollow
- choosing what to delete
- setting constraints
- maintaining direction
The model generates text. I decide what survives.
That distinction matters.
How I Actually Write Now
Most posts start the same way they always have: with a thought that will not leave me alone.
Sometimes it comes from building something. Sometimes from frustration. Sometimes from noticing the same pattern repeat across tools, systems, or conversations.
I outline roughly. I write fragments. I ask an LLM to help me move past blank-page friction, not to decide what I believe.
I frequently discard its output entirely.
I interrupt it mid-paragraph when it drifts. I reframe prompts when the tone is wrong. I delete sections that feel technically correct but experientially false.
The process is not faster because I think less. It is faster because I spend less time fighting inertia.
Delegating Friction, Not Thinking
This is the part people often get backwards.
I am not delegating authorship. I am delegating friction.
The same way a pilot delegates routine control to an autopilot in order to focus on situational awareness, failure modes, and judgment.
Automation does not reduce responsibility. It increases expectations.
When something goes wrong, there is still a human in the loop. There always is.
Is This Still Worth Reading?
That is the question people tend to circle without asking directly.
If a post reflects real experience, real constraints, and real judgment, I do not care which tool helped shape the sentences.
Authenticity does not come from keystrokes. It comes from context.
You can feel the difference between writing that emerged from lived systems and writing that emerged from nowhere. Tools do not erase that distinction.
They amplify it.
Writing Did Not End. It Moved.
We already accept this shift everywhere else.
We do not demand that pilots prove their worth by flying without instruments. We do not ask engineers to manage infrastructure without automation. We do not measure photographers by how manual their camera is.
We judge outcomes, judgment, and reliability.
Writing is no different.
The work did not disappear. It moved.
And learning where it lives now is part of the craft.