The one sentence that changed my writing forever.

Out of 16 years in school, and thousands of lessons, there’s only one I remember word-for-word.  

It was one sentence long. 

It was taught to me by Professor Owen Jenkins, the most feared English professor at Carleton College.  

I'd heard rumors of his harsh criticism since Freshman year. He (allegedly) shredded one student’s paper and handed it back in a paper bag. He (rumor had it) ripped a chunk off somebody else’s paper and returned it with the comment “my cat wouldn’t swallow this.”  

On the first day of the class, he was a few minutes late, giving us time to fidget. When he arrived, he absolutely looked the role of the old-school, rumpled professor: tweed jacket, elbow patches, somewhat wild hair. 

He stood in front of us, rocking on his toes, smiling like a wise elder who wasn’t afraid to own it.  

Finally, he spoke: 

“Ladies and gentlemen. I am the last person in your lives who’ll be paid to read what you’ve written.” 

A bomb went off inside me. 

My inner monologue was a single word, repeated over and over. It's not printable. 

I had always been good at “school writing” - assignment essays for teachers and fellow students.  But that window would slam shut in three months. After that, if I wanted a reader to pay attention, I’d have to earn it. 

Owen made us earn it. He assumed the role of my future audiences, and he was merciless. He uncovered every bad sentence, lazy argument, and miscalculation about my real audience. That toughness was a gift. By the time I started my copywriting career, I needed every bit of it. 

I’ve told this story to every writer I’ve mentored or managed. It's one of the most critical lessons any writer can learn.  

Or any marketer, for that matter. Or business decision maker.  

Your message will fail if you expect attention instead of earning it. 

Your customers aren’t paid to read what you write. 

They’re definitely not paid to read what your AI writes. 

If you want them to stop, you’d better give them a reason.