“A word after a word after a word is power.” Margaret Atwood
These words by Atwood spoke of the depth and power words have. In the age of AI, they take on a different meaning. Words that can be generated in seconds do have a clear advantage. For those who struggled with writing earlier, or needed words at the speed of a prompt, this offers an instant answer, and that does help democratize writing.
On the other hand, the true power of writing lies in words that stay with you long after you finish reading, through narratives that shape your thinking and choices. And that power stems from the writer/storyteller’s original voice. This piece reflects on this duality, drawing on unforgettable lines from my favourite stories, at a time when more people are regurgitating content from the vast pool of words LLMs are trained on.
Writing as an act of belief:
The Great Gatsby ends with “So we beat on, boats against the current.”
The words linger as you replace the book back on your bookshelf. Isn’t that what we do every day as a founder speaking about that final pivot which changed our story from an experiment to the elusive post product market fit narrative? Or a climate report that shows the tension between destruction and repair in a way that inspires the reader to take real action. Words that name invisible human patterns, going against the known plots, contrarian not for the sake of standing out, but to find believers for causes that are still evolving.
Writing that forces clarity, with evidence: Data is often considered at the opposite spectrum of words. One is precise, the other flowing. But words that bring in the right data can cut through noise and drive insights built on evidence. Beyond sharing rhetoric that can influence minds, this helps build consistent, long term trust.
On this note, Orwell wrote, “Freedom is the freedom to say that two plus two make four.”
He was insisting that truth, once distorted, erodes everything built on top of it.
Writing that can hold a multiplicity of narratives: This is probably the deepest layer of powerful writing. It does not gloss over complexity or conflict. They are the reason the writing becomes unforgettable. Imagine being able to communicate both the founder’s conviction and the customer’s doubt with depth. Or the intent behind a policy and how the citizen’s experience lags behind that intent. It connects the promise of progress with the friction of systems where change takes time.
Toni Morrison captured this without apology when she said, “All good art is political,” because every act of storytelling chooses a centre, and that choice always carries consequence.
Think of a day a few years from now. AI driven writing is available everywhere, enabling the productivity and democratization it was meant to. But unforgettable human writing has also persisted through market cycles and technology shifts. In fact, it demands a premium precisely because it is more rare and hence more valued.
Imagine re reading or remembering Arundhati Roy’s line at that moment, “The only dream worth having is to dream that you will live while you’re alive.”
Writing that evokes wonder like this remains both my hope and my prayer.