I’ve been quiet for about nine months now, and here’s what happened while I was gone: AI learned to write an even better fundraising appeal.
Not a great one. Not one that really moves anybody. But decent. Clean, competent, grammatically correct. The kind of copy that used to take a junior writer an afternoon now takes about nine seconds and costs nothing.
Last year, week after week, I talked about how to write better. Kill the adverbs. Ditch “help us raise.” Cut the exclamation points. Every one of those lessons still holds, and I stand by all of them.
But I have to be honest with you about something: a machine can do most of it now with the right prompts. And unless you’re an expert at gauging the quality of its work, you’ll go with what it gives you.
A while back I wrote a post called “Don’t Fear ChatGPT,” and I meant it. I still do, though the tool I actually use now is Claude. I use it every day. It hasn’t flattened my craft. It’s sharpened it, and given me more time to think and more room to iterate. AI is a good tool in the right hands.
But after using AI for a few years now, I’ve learned something I didn’t expect.
When competent copy is free, competent copy stops being an advantage.
Think about that for a second. If every organization can generate a clean, correct appeal in seconds (and they can), then clean and correct is now the floor. It’s table stakes. The price of entry, not the edge.
So what’s the edge?
It’s the one thing AI can’t fake. The feeling at the center of your work. The reason you exist that has nothing to do with your programs or metrics. The thing a donor feels in their chest before they’ve understood a single word of your case for support.
AI can arrange words, but it can’t find your brand’s soul. It’s never cried at a “Little House on the Prairie” rerun (that’s me, and I’ve made my peace with it). AI holds no convictions. It’s never sat across from someone whose life your mission changed and felt the weight of that. AI can imitate feeling, but it can’t feel. And donors, give them some credit, can tell the difference.
Which brings me to why there’s a new name up top.
This isn’t Words That Work anymore. It’s Your Move.
That’s on purpose. Words That Work was about the craft of copywriting: the mechanics of language, the fixes, the tips. Useful stuff. But the mechanics aren’t where this gets won anymore. It gets won upstream, in the feeling and the why, long before a single word gets written. And that part isn’t my move to make. It’s yours.
So here’s how this works now. Once a month—not every week, because this deserves more room than a quick tip—I’ll bring you one idea worth sitting with, and leave you with one thing to actually do. Not “cut your adverbs.” A machine can do that. This month’s move is something only you can make.
Here’s your first one.
Your move this month
Write a single sentence that says why your organization exists.
Not what you do. Not how you do it. Why you do it. The belief underneath the programs. The thing that would still be true if you lost your funding, your building, and your name.
One sentence. It’s harder than it sounds. Most leaders can describe what their organization does in their sleep, then go quiet when you ask them why. That silence is the most expensive thing in your fundraising, because until you can name the why, your donors never will either. And they’ll never be moved, again and again, to engage with you.
So that’s your move. Find the sentence. Sit with it. Don’t hand it to a machine. This is the one part it can’t do for you.