Strategy, Michael Porter wrote, is choosing what not to do. Now, the problem with knowledge work such as the one tech writers carry out is that it’s full of things that seem to require equally important, time-consuming decisions. While engaging in lengthy disquisitions might be alluring, endlessly combing the Zen garden of theory doesn’t solve the basic problem of the docs hierarchy of needs, which is writing the damn docs and making sure they’re accurate and useful.

This last weekend I created another LLM-powered tool, Impersonaid (all puns intended). It’s a docs user simulator: you provide the URL of a document (or its Markdown source), select the virtual persona, and start a conversation about the content. Right after I released it, I realized that I had been talking to an imaginary friend to create more fictional interlocutors to interact with. It’s not as bad as it sounds, though. In fact, I would argue this is what writers are meant to do.

A colleague recently asked how I find time to blog about technical writing after hours. The answer is surprisingly simple: I prioritize writing above other things. I could have posted that exchange on social media and called it a day, but there’s more nuance to that simple reply. Let me elaborate, it might be useful.

I spoke at the betterCode() ArchDoc 2025 conference a couple of weeks ago about the Seven Action Documentation model. It was a very nice experience and I thank the organizers for inviting me and letting me post the video. Here is the full recording of the presentation (it’s about 40 minutes long):

We all want to do a good job. Some of us also want to get better at our craft for a number of reasons, either practical or slightly delusional. Those include getting a raise, strengthening our résume, or simply ending the day with a fragile feeling of satisfaction after surviving failure for the nth time. They’re all good goals, though the ways of achieving them are not always straightforward. Moreover, the path to career growth is riddled with self-doubt and impostor syndrome.

While some developers wrinkle their noses at the sight of Copilot and similar AI-powered tools, tech writers find them to be great sidekicks. Creating a script to automate edits or content migrations takes at most a few minutes of tinkering. The same goes for code examples and snippets for dev documentation, docs sites’ enhancements, and even wacky experiments in retrocomputing. With local LLMs running at decent speed on laptops, not even carbon footprint is a concern.

I’ve recently upgraded some of the hardware I use for work and leisure, so it’s a good time to refresh my list of tech writing gear. At the same time, after working as a documentation engineer, I also picked up new favorite tools, especially AI-powered ones. Some I already use at work, while others I keep for personal projects. Let me tell you of some of the recent additions to my personal inventory and why I think they’re making me more productive.

In what is tantamount to a vulgar display of power, social media has been flooded with AI-generated images that mimic the style of Hayao Miyazaki’s anime. Something similar happens daily with tech writing, folks happily throwing context at LLMs and thinking they can vibe write outstanding docs out of them, perhaps even surpassing human writers. Well, it’s time to draw a line. Don’t let AI influencers studioghiblify your work as if it were a matter of processing text.

Demoralized by the advent of LLMs, I see tech writing communities break ranks and flee. In a world where coders who write seem to muster more respect than writers who code, the response from tech writers to the challenges posed by the intersection of automation, multichannel delivery, and docs-as-code is weak, if not absent. Conferences and blogs mostly focus on soothing anxiety and perfecting praxis. Nothing wrong with that, of course, except that it’s an intellectual dead end.

The part of my brain that rages against injustice stirs like a slumbering dragon when I read the words “Native English”. As a speaker of English as a second language, I find native to be a rather inadequate, if lazy, choice as an attribute meant to describe linguistic proficiency. You’re born with eyes, but that doesn’t automatically make you a competent watcher; you acquire a language, but that doesn’t automatically turn you into a competent writer.