Writing is Rewriting

There was a time when writing well meant knowing where the commas went. Back then, it was about grammar rules, red pens and looking up words in the dictionary.

Writing was lonely. Frustrating. Beautiful.

Then came word processors that checked our spelling and highlighted grammatical missteps in judgmental red squiggles. Grammarly and its kin began offering not just corrections but suggestions.

Now, AI can crank out an essay before you've finished your coffee. It can mimic authors, summarise complex research, or generate a business proposal with a simple prompt. It's tempting to think writing is dead. That practice is pointless. That we've been replaced by algorithms that never experience writer's block or deadline panic.

But while anyone can get an instant first draft, the real skill is knowing whether it’s any good.

That’s where the soul of writing still lives. Not in pressing “Generate,” but in pressing “Delete.” Not in what the machine gives you, but in what you demand from its work.

Good writers have always rewritten. Hemingway rewrote the ending to 'A Farewell to Arms' 47 times. Stephen King throws away entire chapters. F. Scott Fitzgerald rewrote 'The Great Gatsby' so extensively that it was essentially written three times.

I’m not some literary genius. My first drafts suck.

But I know how to tear them apart. I know when a sentence hides instead of speaks. I know when a story limps instead of runs. And I’m ruthless enough to fix it.

That’s the skill that matters now. Not producing more words. But giving a damn about the ones that stay.

You don’t need to be brilliant to start. The blank page is less intimidating when AI can fill it.

But if you want to stand out in a world drowning in AI-generated sameness, you better learn to rewrite like your work depends on it.

Because it does.