Good day, sunshine.
It's high summer here in Boston. I want to tell you that my peach 🍑 is parked on a beach, reading. But it's not.
The truth is, I'm locked in a daily battle with tomato hornworms that are attacking my two precious plants. I'm hunched over their pots with the energy of a battlefield medic, peeling back leaves in search of worms thin as dental floss, the exact green of the tomato leaf itself.
I bought them (the plants, not the worms) for $2.50 each at the local Market Basket, under the self-delusion that for a few months a year I am an off-the-grid survivalist, growing my own salads.
I do this every year, even if I already know how things will end: Between the soil, containers, fertilizer, and the hours I spend pampering and scrutinizing these plants, the tomatoes I grow—if I'm lucky to get a few tomatoes—will run me about $39 each.
In love or in gardening... never, ever do the math.
* * *
So today (because
summer), I have a quick, skimmable one. It's part 1, giving you the first 12 of 24 questions. Part 2 will be in the next issue.
BTW: The "me/I" in these questions below refers to you, as the writer/creator. These are questions to ask yourself.
24 Questions to Ask Yourself About That Piece You're Writing Right Now
1. What's the weirdest or most delightful line in this piece?
If nothing jumps out at you and grabs you by the throat, add something that does.
2. Is there a line that makes me laugh?
3. Where might a reader pause? Not because they're confused—because they're intrigued.
Every good story has a moment like this.
4. Would this still make sense if I stripped away all the industry buzzwords & bizspeak & BS?
Imagine explaining it to a smart teenager or savvy grandparent. (Even you there, writing that post for B2B Global Enterprise Solution Partners LLC!)
5. Can I picture a real person who's reading this? What are they doing? What's their mood? What else is open in their browser tabs?
"Someone in marketing" isn't vivid enough.
"A survivalist poser worried about tomato hornworms" is vivid.
P.S. I picture you sipping coffee on your couch, in bed, or on your back deck. Are you?
6. Did I bury the real insight or quote-worthy idea under too much setup?
Dig it out. Thrust it onto center
stage.
7. Did I avoid using an em dash because people will think I'm AI?
Just kidding. I love em dashes! JUSTICE FOR EM DASHES!
8. Does
this feel AI-generated in any way?
Even if you workshopped it by hand or plink-plink-plink chiseled it onto a stone tablet—does it feel like it was generated by a robot?
9. Have I created an "aha" moment that changes minds or offers perspective? Or just an "uh-huh" one that nods and clicks away?
10. Did I invoke more than one sense?
Most of us stick to sight. Try layering in smell, sound, or texture. Perhaps texture as squishy as a meaty horned caterpillar, plucked
off a tomato plant. {{{shudder}}}
11. Is there something in it that might be shared on social as a quote? Or put on a workshop slide with my mug
next to it?
If not, maybe it's not sticky enough.
12. Where did I play it safe... and could I push it instead?
Could a little edge, opinion, or vulnerability strengthen the piece?
(I'll reveal questions 13-24 in the next issue, on August 10.)
