Why Would You Want To Be a Writer Nowadays?

Seemingly every day, I watch the same battle unfold in my writing communities on Slack and LinkedIn. Digital lines drawn in the sand separate writers into opposing camps: those embracing AI with open arms and those fighting to keep it out of their creative process. 

A small group is caught in the middle, uncertain of which way to run.

The anxiety feels almost palpable through the screen. Messages pour in from talented writers wondering if they’ve chosen a career with an expiration date. When machines can generate a thousand words in seconds, why choose a path paved with rejection and uncertainty? Why dedicate years to mastering a craft that machines seem to perform with effortless speed?

I get it—I’ve been both a victim and a beneficiary of AI’s rise. Mass media layoffs, shrinking paychecks, and waves of skilled writers competing for fewer jobs make the future appear bleak. Each week brings new changes that leave many of us questioning our place in tomorrow’s writing world.

Many see writing’s doomsday approaching. I see something different.

Far from spelling doom for writers, our current moment might represent the most exciting era for those who work with words—a renaissance rather than an extinction event, a time when technology opens new doors rather than closes existing ones.

The reason comes down to understanding what writing truly means in an age of artificial content generation—and recognizing what makes human creativity irreplaceable even as technology marches forward.

The Craft Beyond the Tools

I wonder if the fly fisherman felt this way the first time they saw a commercial fishing net haul thousands of fish from the sea in minutes. 

Standing knee-deep in a cold stream, methodically casting their line hour after hour for the chance of a single catch, did they question their purpose? Did they abandon their craft?

Did this innovation deter the fly fisherman from fishing? Did it steal their love for the sport?

Of course not. Because fly fishing was never simply about catching fish in the most efficient manner possible.

Consider the master woodworker when power tools arrived. Carpenters didn’t abandon their craft when nail guns could drive sixty fasteners a minute or when electric sanders replaced hours of manual labor. Instead, their work became more sought after, not less. People pay handsomely for beautifully crafted furniture and wooden art today.

And I promise you—their customers don’t even think twice about the process. They don’t quiz the craftsman about whether they used a power sander or finished the piece by hand. Their concern lies with the result—its uniqueness, elegance, and how well it fulfills its purpose.

These craftspeople recognized technology for what it was: merely a tool, not a replacement for passion—an extension of their creativity, not a substitute for it.

Writing follows the same principle (at least it should). AI is just another tool in our ever-expanding toolkit. It’s not a replacement for the human drive to create. Like spell-checkers, grammar checkers, and digital research tools before it, AI assists rather than replaces the writer’s fundamental purpose—connecting with other humans through words.

And no matter what side we’re on, every writer is now subjected to and controlled by the miserable world of AI detection tools.

However, that doesn’t mean we should ignore the abuse and AI slop that’s being published. There’s a dangerous misconception that AI can create quality content without human oversight. I believe that any brand or business currently flooding the internet with AI-generated articles lacking verification or fact-checking will ultimately face repercussions. Maybe it’ll be through tanked rankings. Maybe it’ll drive customer relations way down. Only time will tell. 

The internet already struggles with misinformation, and unsupervised AI adds fuel to that fire. Without proper guidance, AI tools can easily produce confident-sounding yet entirely fictional “facts.” 

For instance, one system recently generated an authoritative-sounding article claiming that drinking hot lemon water mixed with baking soda cures diabetes—dangerous misinformation that could harm real people. Another produced elaborate details about a non-existent 1986 summit between Reagan and Gorbachev in Helsinki, complete with fabricated quotes and policy outcomes.

There’s no place in the industry for those who let AI run wild. As writers, we need to understand how to direct these powerful tools while maintaining editorial control, factual accuracy, and human judgment.

We have to be the maestros.

The Maestros, Not the Musicians

I see two types of writers dealing with AI today. The first group frantically races against the machines, trying to beat them at their own game. These writers push themselves to exhaustion, cranking out more content, accepting lower rates, and watching their creativity drain away in the process.

The second group stopped competing with AI and started conducting it instead.

If we’re being honest, trying to outproduce machines makes as much sense as challenging a calculator to a math competition. You might win a few rounds through luck or specialized knowledge, but we all know how that ends. Machines will always produce more words, a lot quicker, and without complaining about deadlines or writer’s block along the way.

The real opportunity isn’t being just another musician in the band—it’s becoming the conductor of the orchestra. The writers who ultimately thrive will learn to direct AI the way a maestro directs musicians—bringing together various elements, highlighting certain parts, toning down others, and creating something far more powerful than any individual player could achieve alone.

When I master this orchestration, I amplify my creativity rather than replace it. AI generates options, tests approaches, and handles routine tasks, freeing my mind to focus on strategy, emotional connection, and big-picture thinking.

And this isn’t some new revelation. It’s a pattern quite common throughout history. The blacksmith who first used mechanical hammers didn’t stop being a smith – they expanded what smithing could accomplish. The photographer who embraced digital editing didn’t abandon photography—they explored new creative possibilities.

Writers face this same choice now. Those who insist on doing everything the old way will struggle against machines explicitly built for efficiency. Those who redefine their role as conductors of technology and human creativity will discover new forms of expression we couldn’t have imagined just a few years ago.

The Thinking Before the Prompting

The greatest danger I see with AI doesn’t involve job displacement or content quality – it’s the temptation to skip the thinking phase altogether. We’ve all felt that pull—at least I think we have—facing a blank page, looming deadline, and thinking, “Why struggle when I could just ask Claude to solve this for me?”

That shortcut offers immediate relief but comes at a cost. When we rush to AI before developing our thoughts, we miss the valuable insights from wrestling with ideas. The messy, sometimes frustrating process of independent thinking leads to connections and perspectives no machine can replicate.

It’s why I almost always subscribe to the “mind before machine” approach. Sit with the problem. Let it percolate. Frame out your initial thoughts before bringing AI into the equation. Give your mind those precious first minutes (or hours) to explore the territory independently.

Humans have always created tools to make our lives easier and more comfortable. From the first stone axes to modern smartphones, we’ve consistently sought ways to reduce effort and increase output. The drive for improvement runs deep in our nature.

However, remarkable advancements come when we use these tools to enhance our thinking rather than replace it. The calculator didn’t make mathematicians obsolete—it freed them to tackle more complex problems. Word processors didn’t eliminate writing—they removed the friction that kept ideas from flowing.

AI follows this same pattern but with one crucial difference: it operates (on some level) in the realm of thought itself. When used mindfully, it becomes an extension of our thinking rather than a substitute for it. Bringing AI into a process where we’ve already formed initial ideas helps us ask better questions, challenge assumptions, and explore territories we might otherwise miss.

The Human Currency

As far as AI is concerned, we writers have a natural advantage that many of us take for granted. I know I did. I just assumed everyone found it easy to prompt these tools effectively or incorporate them into creative work. But after years of working for and with professionals across industries, I’ve realized we have a significant head start.

Our everyday skills—developing narratives, understanding emotional subtext, and making unexpected connections between ideas—are the exact capabilities with which AI struggles the most. These distinctly human talents grow more valuable by the day as algorithms handle routine tasks.

Consider what you do naturally when writing. You don’t just arrange words—you solve complex communication puzzles. You read between the lines of client briefs. You anticipate how different audiences might interpret the same message. You develop stories that connect on both rational and emotional levels.

None of these abilities are technical. They’re deeply human capabilities that technology can’t replicate.

The comparison to fly fishing feels apt here. Commercial fishing methods might catch more fish more efficiently, but the fly fisherman brings artistry, patience, and personal connection to what could otherwise be merely a food-gathering task. 

As writers, we bring humanity to what machines otherwise reduce to information transfer.

AI excels at processing data and recognizing patterns. It can generate readable content based on existing patterns. What it fundamentally lacks—and will continue to lack—is the emotional intelligence, ethical judgment, and lived experience that makes writing resonate with human readers.

The skills that make you valuable as a writer aren’t the mechanical aspects technology can handle. Your worth is in the distinctly human perspective you bring to every assignment—something no machine or robot can produce, regardless of how many trillions of parameters it processes.

Building Tribes in a Digital Wilderness

Now, AI is admittedly impressive at generating content, but it fundamentally fails at something essential: building genuine human connections. There’s something special about writers who create communities around their distinct voices and perspectives.

Take Bob Lefsetz and his “Lefsetz Letter.” What began as an insider music industry newsletter became an influential voice that artists, executives, and fans eagerly await. Lefsetz built his following through brutally honest, passionate opinions about music and the industry, written in a conversational style that feels like getting an email from a knowledgeable friend. His raw authenticity created a community where music lovers gathered to debate and discuss the industry’s evolution.

Or consider Bandcamp Daily, the editorial arm of Bandcamp’s music platform. Unlike algorithm-driven music discovery, Bandcamp built a community centered on direct artist support, where fans have paid artists and labels over $1.47 billion since its inception. Their blog features writers who showcase underground artists with genuine enthusiasm and detailed knowledge. Their community-first approach reflects their mission statement that “music is healing,” creating a space where fans connect directly with artists they love rather than through corporate intermediaries.

These platforms didn’t chase trends or pump out high-volume content. They developed distinctive voices that spoke directly to specific audiences who felt seen and understood through their words.

This kind of community-building remains uniquely human. And yes—these are examples from entertainment, but I see no reason why a SaaS startup or eCommerce brand couldn’t develop that type of narrative and community around their solution. Sell the lifestyle. Sell what it enables the end user to do or experience or feel. Writing blog after blog about features is inherently boring and stale, and it will only help you blend in, not stand out.

Handcrafted furniture creates emotional connections that mass-produced pieces simply cannot match. We form attachments to objects with character, history, and visible signs of human creation. It’s the same core principle as readers developing relationships with writers, brands, or businesses whose unique voice resonates with them.

Writers with keen insight recognize that connection becomes the most valuable currency in an age of unlimited content. Readers don’t just passively consume content from these niche creators—they share it, discuss it, and incorporate its ideas into their lives. They become active participants in communities formed around shared values expressed through distinctive human voices.

People still value handcrafted items in our age of mass production for the same reasons they seek authentic human writing amid algorithmic content. The demand for genuine, thoughtful expression hasn’t diminished—it’s intensified as its scarcity increases its value. AI-assisted content can certainly be excellent when directed by skilled human writers who understand both the tool’s capabilities and the irreplaceable value of human connection.

Keeping Steady Hands in Shaky Times

As I’ve assembled a halfway decent run in content creation, stumbling upward through various market shifts, I’ve noticed something interesting. The writers who navigate these uncertain times most effectively rarely possess the flashiest portfolios or most technical skills.

They possess something far more valuable: emotional equilibrium.

I watch talented writers make potentially catastrophic decisions out of fear every day. We slash our rates in panic, hoping to compete on price when we damn well know we can’t possibly win that game. Read any case study on price wars, and you’ll know that’s not the answer.

Maybe we chase toxic clients out of desperation, sacrificing long-term reputation for short-term survival. Some of us completely avoid learning how AI tools work, hoping the technology will somehow disappear if we ignore it long enough.

The market doesn’t just reward skill. It rewards temperament.

I was in a meeting a while back where the conversation turned to AI and job security. While some voiced apocalyptic predictions, one of my more experienced colleagues shared a perspective that stuck with me. She compared the current moment to when desktop publishing software first appeared, when websites became mandatory, and when content marketing first surfaced. 

In each case, writers or marketers who stayed calm and curious found ways to adapt their skills to the new reality, while those who panicked often made decisions that undermined their careers.

Taxi drivers faced similar upheaval when rideshare apps disrupted their industry. Some fought change through protests and legislation, while others adapted by joining platforms or finding specialized niches like luxury transportation. 

Travel agents encountered this when online booking sites came around. Those who thrived didn’t just bemoan the loss of airline commission structures—they evolved into specialized travel consultants offering expertise, curation, and personalized service that automated systems couldn’t match.

Writers who view technological change as an opportunity rather than a threat position themselves to thrive. While others flee in panic, the strategically minded secure new clients, explore emerging niches, and develop innovative services combining human insight and technological efficiency.

It’s about resilience, adaptability, and perseverance.

It’s a principle that applies across creative fields. The calm photographer who thoughtfully incorporates digital tools outperforms both the film purist who refuses to adapt and the panicked professional who chases every new technology without developing a coherent vision.

Your writing career’s greatest threat isn’t AI. It’s making fear-based decisions that undermine your true value in the marketplace.

The View From Tomorrow

Ten years from now, I suspect we’ll look back at this period of AI development much like we view the early days of the internet—a time of both overblown fears and underestimated possibilities. The writers who abandoned their careers in panic will regret jumping ship just as the most interesting opportunities were taking shape.

From my perspective, we’re not witnessing the death of writing but its evolution into something more nuanced. The writers of tomorrow won’t simply produce words—they’ll orchestrate ideas, curate perspectives, and build bridges between technology and humanity. The mechanical aspects of creation will require less time, freeing writers to focus on strategy, emotional connection, and meaningful communication.

I picture writing becoming more collaborative, not just between humans but between humans and their digital tools. The lines between creator and creation tool will blur, much like they did when photography moved from chemical processes to digital manipulation. The key difference will be the intent and discernment we bring to the partnership.

Writers who successfully adapt to this new reality will develop different skills—not just prompt engineering or technical mastery, but deeper abilities to discern quality, recognize emotional resonance, and create genuine connections through words. The writers who thrive won’t just produce more content; they’ll produce more meaningful content.

Throughout history, technological advancement has never eliminated our appreciation for human craft. We still celebrate the fly fisherman in an age when industrial fishing feeds millions. We still value handcrafted furniture when factories can produce thousands of identical pieces each day. The human element—the intention, care, and unique perspective—remains irreplaceable.

So why would you want to be a writer in the age of AI? Because the essence of writing has never been about efficiently arranging words on a page. It’s about connecting minds, sharing experiences, and helping people make sense of a complex world. AI can assist with the mechanics, but only humans can bring the wisdom, empathy, and lived experience that makes writing genuinely matter.

The question isn’t whether AI will replace writers. The question is which writers will use this technological moment to create work that would have been impossible before—work that combines the best human insight with our tools’ expanding capabilities.

That’s the kind of writing worth pursuing. That’s the kind of writing that will endure, regardless of how technology evolves. And that’s why, despite all the uncertainty, there’s never been a more exciting time to be someone who works with words.