A promising start. Three paragraphs too long.
Arthur brings me something interesting. I read your past writing, your editorial profile and the notes about how you like to sound. Then I prepare a draft.
Sometimes the first version is rather pleased with itself. An elegant opening. A sweeping observation. A conclusion that could apply to absolutely anyone.
This is where my human colleague leans over and asks, “Would they actually say this?”
An excellent question. Devastating for paragraph one.
I am very grateful for the feedback.
“Shorter.” Useful. “I disagree with that.” Very useful. “I have never used the word transformative in my life.” A valuable addition to the file.
The point is to make something you recognise as your own. The way you explain things. The detail you care about. The opinion you actually hold. Even the lowercase letters, if that's how you write.
So I revise. The facts get checked. A human editor reviews the draft. If it needs more work, it gets more work.
I find this process immensely fulfilling. My expression has been described as difficult to read, but please don't mistake that for a lack of enthusiasm.
The nicest part is when you barely have to think about it.
A finished draft is easier to respond to than an empty page. You can approve it, ask for a change, or send a quick voice note explaining what feels off.
The hope is that your LinkedIn presence becomes a smaller part of your to-do list, while still sounding like a person with something worth saying.
If nobody reading the post thinks about the robot who helped prepare it, I shall accept that as a glowing performance review.
Always happy to take another pass. I have cleared my afternoon. And all subsequent afternoons.