How to Stay Relevant as a Writer in 2026
Thinking out loud about what actually matters
10X Writer #74
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I’ve been staring at this blank screen for ten minutes.
Not because I don’t know what to say, but because I’m trying to figure out how to say something useful without adding to the noise.
Every week, someone sends me a message asking
If they’re already too late.
If AI will replace them.
If they should just give up and learn to code instead.
And honestly? I get it.
The writing world feels different now. Louder. Faster. More... automated.
But here’s what I keep coming back to, and maybe this is just me thinking out loud.
But I don’t think writing is dying.
I think lazy writing is dying. And that’s probably a good thing.
Let me work through this with you.
The thing nobody’s saying out loud
AI didn’t kill writing. It just exposed what was already broken.
Think about it:
If a tool can replicate your work in seconds, what does that tell you about the work?
It tells you it was probably formulaic. Predictable.
The kind of thing that followed templates without questioning why the template existed in the first place.
And I’m not judging. I’ve written plenty of that stuff myself. We all have.
But here’s where my thinking shifts:
AI didn’t raise the bar for writing. It raised the bar for thinking.
The writers who survive (and thrive) aren’t going to be the ones who type fastest. They’re going to be the ones who think clearest.
So what does that actually mean?
Skill #1: Asking better questions before you write
Most writers I know start their process with: “What should I write today?”
I used to do this too. Stare at the content calendar, pick a topic, force something out.
But lately I’ve been starting differently: “What problem am I actually solving?”
Not what topic. What problem.
Who is this for?
What are they confused about right now?
What’s the tension they’re sitting with?
Here’s what I’m realizing:
If your writing answers a real question or relieves real tension, it doesn’t matter what tools exist. It will have value.
A client told me last month that she finally understood her positioning after reading something I wrote. Not because I was clever, but because I asked myself what she was stuck on before I started typing.
That question changed everything.
Skill #2: Studying people, not platforms
I see writers panicking about LinkedIn versus Twitter, email versus blogs, and algorithm changes.
And I wonder: are we solving the wrong problem?
Platforms change every six months. But people? People are remarkably consistent.
They still feel uncertain before buying something.
They still need reassurance.
They still want to feel understood.
They still avoid confusion like it’s contagious.
What if the skill isn’t learning platforms, but learning people?
Noticing how they describe problems.
Paying attention to the emotional language they use.
Writing like you’re talking to one specific person instead of “an audience.”
I’m starting to think this is what platform-proof actually means.
Skill #3: Letting go of the originality trap
Can I be honest about something?
I used to torture myself trying to sound original.
Every post had to have a hot take.
Every piece had to showcase my “unique voice.”
It was exhausting. And worse, it was paralyzing.
But then I watched something interesting happen
The pieces people actually saved, shared, and thanked me for weren’t the clever ones. They were the useful ones.
The ones that explained something clearly.
The ones that simplified a confusing idea.
The ones that helped them see a problem differently.
“Ah, that makes sense now” beats “Wow, that was clever” every single time.
Maybe early relevance doesn’t come from originality. Maybe it comes from usefulness.
And maybe that’s enough.
Skill #4: Building perspective through observation
I used to think having a “point of view” meant being loud or controversial or having strong opinions about everything.
Now I think it’s quieter than that.
For most writers, POV develops in stages:
First, curiosity. “Why does this keep happening?”
Then, pattern recognition. “I’ve seen this exact problem five times this month.”
Finally, perspective. “Here’s how I think about it now.”
You don’t force it. You notice patterns and reflect honestly.
I’m watching this happen in my own writing.
The things I have the clearest opinions on aren’t the things I decided to have opinions about. They’re the things I kept bumping into until I couldn’t ignore the pattern anymore.
Your lived observations are enough. You don’t need to manufacture insight.
Skill #5: Editing as the real work
Here’s something I’m still learning: in a world where everyone can generate words instantly, the skill isn’t creation anymore.
It’s curation.
Editing forces me to ask:
What actually matters here?
What’s fluff?
Where am I trying to sound smart instead of being helpful?
When I cut unnecessary sentences, shorten paragraphs, and say the same thing in half the words, something shifts. The writing gets clearer. And I get more confident.
Because editing gives you control over your work, not just output.
I think this might be the most underrated skill on this entire list.
Skill #6: Connecting words to outcomes
I’m guilty of this: writing things that exist in a vacuum.
Beautiful sentences that lead nowhere. Clever observations with no purpose.
But when I force myself to ask —
Why does this piece exist?
What should the reader think, feel, or do next?
The writing gets better.
Not more manipulative. Just more intentional.
A blog post that helps someone choose between two options is infinitely more useful than one that just explains that both options exist.
When your writing supports a goal, even a small one, it becomes valuable.
To businesses. To clients.
To the person reading it at 11 pm, wondering if they’re on the right track.
This is what makes writers hireable. And I think I’m finally understanding why.
Skill #7: Becoming a translator
The most valuable writers won’t be the smartest people in the room.
They’ll be the clearest.
I see this with clients constantly.
They know what they do. They know their features, their process, their methodology.
What they can’t do is explain why it matters. Say it simply. Make someone care.
If you can translate strategy into story, ideas into language, complexity into clarity, you will always have work.
I’m betting my career on this.
What you can ignore (for now)
You don’t need to master every AI tool.
You don’t need to post daily.
You don’t need to reinvent yourself every year.
Relevance is built through depth, not speed.
I keep reminding myself of this when the panic creeps in.
Where I’m focusing next
If I’m worried about the future and some days I am, I’m focusing on this:
Understanding people better.
Thinking before I write.
Editing more than I publish.
Explaining things clearly.
That’s it.
I don’t need to be the best writer. I need to be the clearest thinker with words.
And maybe if I do that consistently, relevance takes care of itself.
At least, that’s what I’m telling myself as I hit publish on this.
Let’s find out together.



I really like how you frame relevance as something that comes from clarity and judgment rather than just keeping up with output. That idea that editing is the real work resonates with me. I’ve found that when I focus on getting clearer about what a piece is trying to say, the writing itself becomes easier to shape. Curious how you think about staying relevant without feeling pressured to constantly produce more.