AI Wrote This, Part 3

As part of an occasional series, I asked AI (in this case, ChatGPT) to write this post for me. I did this on WORDS ON THE LINE twice before, in August 2024 and last month. I did not believe that either of those pieces said anything that I had said before over the past nearly 22 of hosting WORDS ON THE LINE. For this new post, I insisted that AI come up with something new. Here is my prompt:

Write a brief blog post about writing efficiently and effectively at work for the blog WORDS ON THE LINE by Philip Vassallo. Make the content unique to the blog.

In no more than five seconds, it gave me the content below, starting with the title. I have set it in Arial to distinguish between my writing and its. I like some of its original phrasing, at least for WORDS ON THE LINE: The expression "grammatically sound but operationally useless" is one I have not used before but will now. On the other hand, I find how the article uses friction to be a poor choice. And "Write to reduce the distance between understanding and action" seems like AI is trying too hard and ends up sounding overly philosophical.

My opinion is not the only one that matters. Yours does even more to me. I'd like to know what you think.

Write Less. Mean More. Get Work Moving.

For WORDS ON THE LINE by Philip Vassallo

Workplace writing is often treated as the final step in getting something done. First, we do the work; then we write about it. But writing is not the packaging of work. It is part of the work itself. A well-written message can eliminate a meeting, prevent a costly misunderstanding, or turn a stalled decision into forward motion.

The secret to writing efficiently and effectively at work is to stop measuring success by how much we write and start measuring it by what our writing enables others to do.

Begin with the reader’s next move. Before composing an email, report, proposal, or presentation, ask yourself: What should the reader know, decide, or do after reading this? That question gives your writing a destination. Without it, you risk producing words that are grammatically sound but operationally useless.

Put the point where the reader can find it. Busy professionals should not have to excavate your message. Lead with the recommendation, decision, request, or conclusion. Follow with the reasoning and evidence. Think of your opening as a promise: Here is why this message deserves your attention.

Treat every sentence as a workplace tool. A sentence should clarify an idea, establish a fact, explain a consequence, or prompt an action. If it does none of these, reconsider its place. This does not mean reducing every message to clipped commands. It means making every word earn its keep.

Edit for friction, not just length. A short message can still be confusing. An elaborate report can still be remarkably clear. The better test is how much effort readers must expend to understand your meaning. Replace vague references with specific nouns, identify who owns each action, distinguish deadlines from aspirations, and make the relationship between ideas unmistakable.

Build a personal system for speed. Efficient writers do not necessarily type faster; they make fewer avoidable decisions. Keep a library of reusable structures for recurring messages. Separate drafting from editing. Use templates as starting points, not substitutes for judgment. And when a message carries significant consequences, reserve time to review it from the reader’s perspective.

Here is the principle that ties these practices together: Write to reduce the distance between understanding and action. That distance is where workplace time disappears—in follow-up emails, clarification meetings, missed expectations, and decisions made on incomplete information.

At WORDS ON THE LINE, the measure of good writing is not merely whether the words are correct or the prose is polished. It is whether the words do their work. Write with purpose. Edit with empathy. Deliver with precision.

The best workplace writing does more than communicate work. It makes work work better.

BOOK REVIEW: The Heart and Mind and Soul of a Writer

The Book of Disquiet by Fernando Pessoa. Translated by Richard Zenith. Penguin, 1998. 540 pages.

It would have been too easy for Fernando Pessoa to call his magnum opus The Book of Solitude. Nearly the entire book unfolds as a private reckoning with isolation, boredom, and despair. Pessoa's self-reflections on identity and his probings into the elusive nature of reality keep coming at the reader like a tsunami of emotions. Yet Pessoa settled on the more apt title The Book of Disquiet, because solitude is merely the setting. Disquiet is the recurring condition that animates this fragmented and disjointed, but ultimately revelatory and life-affirming treatise.

This is not a fiction or nonfiction work in the conventional sense. Published after Pessoa’s death from pieces, some as short as a single sentence, written over many years, it offers no sustained plot and little forward movement. Its narrator—most often identified as Bernardo Soares, one of Pessoa’s semi-fictional literary personalities (he called them heteronyms)—is an assistant bookkeeper in Lisbon whose outwardly uneventful life gives rise to a vast interior drama. Streets, offices, rented rooms, passing clouds, and overheard conversations become occasions for metaphysical inquiry.

The fragmentary form is essential to the book’s effect. Thoughts emerge and reemerge, contradict one another, and dissolve before reaching firm conclusions. Rather than weaken the work, this instability makes it persuasive: consciousness itself rarely proceeds in a straight line. Pessoa captures the mind as it drifts between observation and fantasy, self-knowledge and self-deception, longing and resignation.

That method can also make The Book of Disquiet demanding. Read too quickly or in long stretches, its melancholy and repetition may feel oppressive and disappointing. It rewards a slower approach: a few fragments at a time, with pauses for reflection. The pleasure lies less in discovering what happens than in encountering sentences that give exact form to feelings usually left vague.

Pessoa turns passivity into intellectual adventure and ordinary urban life into an inexhaustible mystery. His narrator may distrust action, intimacy, ambition, and even happiness, but his sensitivity to language and perception is intensely alive. The result is a strange paradox: a book about withdrawal that offers readers an unusually intimate companionship.

The Book of Disquiet is bleak, repetitive, and structurally unfinished—and these qualities are inseparable from its greatness. It does not resolve its narrator’s unease; it teaches us how carefully we can observe unease. For readers willing to surrender plot for atmosphere and certainty for introspection, Pessoa’s masterpiece remains one of literature’s most penetrating portraits of consciousness. I am one of those readers. Pessoa can make you one too.

The Other Way

There's always another way. Even the brainless Scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz knew that when he told Dorothy Gale, "Of course, people do go both ways. That's the trouble. I can't make up my mind. I haven't got a brain. Only straw." Knowing is one thing, and choosing another. Anybody can say, "This way or that way," and only a poet can urge us to take the path less chosen, but it's not as easy as all that.

Case in point, the way of doing something is tedious and exhausting, and the other way of doing the same thing is easier. But you might mess up doing it the other way. The broken plastic wall anchor that you drove into the sheetrock too hard, the day-old bread you microwaved to mush just because you would not wait ten minutes to heat it in the oven, the grease-stained blouse you are now wearing because you didn't want to put on the apron in the presence of company.

Then consider that other way of getting there can get you there quicker. But that way is far more dangerous. The corner around the building you cut too quickly because what were the chances of bumping heads with someone walking just as fast from the opposite direction, the light you ran because you were sure the other car you collided with would let you pass, the two stairs-per-step climb that caused you to lose balance and fall backwards.

And finally, you've got the other way of seeing things can make you more sensitive to the world. But seeing things that way might make them eat you up. Yielding the floor to someone out of respect who won't shut up, listening sympathetically to someone you knew all along was disturbed who now accuses you of sexual harassment, helping a blind man across the street just to later find he pickpocketed you.

You won't, no you can't, go both ways. You always have to choose. Even when you do something the way you've always done it, go the way you've always gone, see things the way you always have, you are choosing. And even when you do nothing, go nowhere, and see nothing, you have chosen. No sense in denying it. 

East Side, West SIde

Wednesday, September 30, 2026, 4:02 p.m. to 4:20 p.m. – Words heard during a fast walk on Forty-second Street, New York City, from Grand Central Station to Port Authority Bus Terminal: brother, you got some change, God bless you ... it's this way ,,, and then she said ... a latte ... about three thousand, I said three thousand for that ... now it's your turn ... get over here ... when she was in Amsterdam ... you can't get them now ... don't ask me ... he would have said the same thing ... it's the same difference ...  next week sometime ... it was the spark plugs ... that was then, this is now ... how can anyone blame you for doing that after what they did to you ... ya no viene acui ... once in a while ,,, how do you get there ... it was way more than I was willing to pay ... let's go somewhere else, the line's too long ... not until then ... so he walks in, turns on the light and we all yell surprise and the jerk walks right back out and we're like all surprised like what was that all about and the cake is sitting there in the middle of the table, you know, and nobody thinks of going after him or if they do they ain't saying nothing, so Louise, she's a pisser, she starts cutting the cake and says oh well, more cake for us ... whenever you want ... sir, can you help me for a meal.