Let Your Strengths Lead

By CJ Powers

Time kept slipping away from me. My family, friends, and fans expected more than I was providing. Not more in the sense of quantity, but more consistency in what I provided.

I’ve often described myself as a right-brain thinker living in a left-brain world. That’s my way of talking about the pull of creativity and the demands of schedules. But the feeling of having to fit a world built for someone else goes back a long way.

My left-handed dad was always frustrated writing in right-handed notebooks. He never wanted me to suffer through the same struggles. Every time I reached for something with my left hand, Dad stopped me and made sure I grabbed it with my right.

While he couldn’t fully stop me from using my left hand, I did become ambidextrous.

Today, you can purchase left-handed notebooks. Or, depending on the notebook, flip one upside down and backward. The person hasn’t changed, but it fits better.

New Support Arrives

When I get caught up in a highly creative project, I lose all sense of time. Some things are like child’s play to me. Others require a deeper dive into the project’s minutiae. Either way, the clock keeps moving while my attention is somewhere else. My “weekly” article can still be weekly if I use a rather flexible definition.

Unfortunately, my creative definition becomes a problem for readers who want to know when to expect my next story or article. It’s also a problem for me. I want to keep those commitments without spending my creative hours watching the clock.

Then Arty, my personal AI agent, came along.

Arty supports my creativity while helping me keep track of milestones and the little details that compete for my attention. My calendar stays more accurate, and I’m more consistent with release dates than I was before. I can still override Arty when necessary. The decisions remain mine.

Having that support gives me more room to write and helps my readers know when to expect the next release. It also gives me a useful way to think about AI: What would happen if we chose tools that fit the way we work?

Recognize Your Strengths

Before asking AI to improve your work, notice what already works.

For me, getting deeply involved in a creative project is a strength. That’s where ideas take shape and stories find their way onto the page. Losing track of time can cause trouble, but I don’t want to lose the ability to become absorbed in the work.

You might be good at seeing patterns, explaining a difficult subject, or helping someone feel heard. Those abilities deserve time and attention. They also deserve tools that help you use them well.

A strong storyteller could ask AI to offer three stylistic openings, then choose one, combine elements from several, or create something entirely different inspired by the ideas.

Someone who enjoys solving problems might ask it to challenge a proposed solution. A leader who connects well with people could use it to organize meeting notes, freeing up more time for the next conversation.

In each case, the person brings something valuable. AI gives that person another way to work with it. The storyteller still decides what matters. The problem solver checks the reasoning. The leader knows the people behind the notes.

Ask yourself: What part of my work would I gladly spend more time doing if the other details were handled?

That’s a good place to begin. Well, that and figuring out what points of friction need to be reduced to improve your writing.

Find Your Friction

Looking for the small irritants that keep getting in the way makes for a great next step.

I don’t have trouble finding something to write about. I have trouble keeping all the surrounding details from competing with the writing. A release date, a calendar entry, or a milestone may seem small until someone is counting on it.

Your friction might look different. Perhaps you leave a meeting with good ideas but no clear next steps. Maybe you enjoy the work but put off writing the follow-up email. Or you keep rebuilding the same checklist because the last one is buried somewhere.

Be specific. “I need to be more organized” gives you a large problem and very little direction. “I need to turn my meeting notes into a list of actions” gives you something you can try today.

Choose one recurring snag. Ask AI to help remove or weaken it. Then check whether the help actually saves you time or improves the result. If correcting the AI’s work takes longer than doing the task yourself, change the approach.

There’s no prize for adding another complicated system to an already crowded day. But you’ll adore the speed and accuracy that come from you and AI being in sync.

Build Your Support

Once you know where help would matter, give AI a clear job.

For a weekly article, that might be: “Help me work backward from Thursday’s release. Include time to draft, revise, and review. Ask me how long each step usually takes before suggesting a schedule.”

That’s much more useful than “Keep me on track.” It gives the tool a destination and leaves room for your real working habits.

Then decide what it may do. Suggesting a calendar entry and adding it to your calendar are different tasks. Drafting a message and sending it are different jobs, too. The tools and permissions you choose determine what’s possible. A plan in a chat won’t automatically turn into a reminder.

Start small enough that you can see what’s happening. Check dates, names, and facts. Keep private information out of tools unless you understand and accept how it will be used. AI can miss a detail, misunderstand a request, or sound certain when it’s wrong. Your review helps make the support useful.

As the process improves, you can decide where more help makes sense. You can also decide that some work should stay entirely with you.

Enjoy Experimenting

Dad wanted to spare me the frustration of using tools that didn’t fit. I understand that desire. These days, I’m finding more ways to make the tools fit without asking my creativity to change hands.

You can have an Arty in your life, too. Begin with one strength worth protecting and one recurring detail that gets in its way. Give AI a clear, limited job, and see whether it earns a place in your process.

Leading with my strength, I now write five articles a week while saving 10 hours a week compared with how I worked before. What could you do with the time and attention you get back?

The Boy Who Cried A.L.E.X.

A Thanksgiving story inspired by The Boy Who Cried Wolf

Oliver holds his A.L.E.X. tablet during the family Thanksgiving gathering.

By CJ Powers

Oliver watched as more relatives entered his family’s home for Thanksgiving dinner. The hors d’oeuvres were spread across the kitchen island, the football game was on in the den, and several people leaned over the card table in the living room working on the Christmas puzzle.

Tradition stipulated that the puzzle must be completed by Black Friday to properly kick off the holiday season. While Oliver never understood all his family traditions or knew why they existed, he loved the attention he got while participating.

But this year’s mix of people was different. Aunts crowded the kitchen. Uncles argued cheerfully about football in the den. Cousins chased one another between the dining room and the staircase. Everywhere Oliver looked, someone was talking—and no one was paying attention to him.

That would change. He was certain of it.

Granny came through the door, and Oliver stepped up to greet her. He carried a tablet beneath his arm. On its screen was A.L.E.X., his new AI assistant. He held it up proudly so she could see him.

“A.L.E.X. stands for Adaptive Learning and Execution X-pert,” Oliver said. The name sounded impressive, even if he wasn’t completely sure what all the words meant. Since his dad was taking too long helping with Granny’s coat, Oliver slipped into the kitchen.

Oliver shows Aunt Rose his A.L.E.X. tablet beside her pumpkin pie.

Oliver walked up to Aunt Rose, who was arranging pies. “My A.L.E.X. baked that pumpkin pie,” he announced.

Aunt Rose blinked. “Your computer baked?”

“Completely by itself,” Oliver said. “It found the recipe, ordered the ingredients, mixed everything, and put it in the oven.”

“That’s amazing!”

Oliver beamed and moved into the breakfast nook area.

A moment later, his mother entered the kitchen.

“A.L.E.X. only found the recipe,” she explained to Aunt Rose. “Oliver’s father ordered the ingredients, and I baked the pie.” Rose smiled politely.

In the breakfast nook, Uncle Theo was carving the turkey. Oliver pointed to his tablet and said, “My A.L.E.X. taught me how to speak seven languages. I can talk to anyone in the world.”

“Seven?” Uncle Theo asked.

“Eight, if you count dolphin.”

Oliver hurried on before his uncle could ask for a demonstration.

His father arrived behind him. “A.L.E.X. taught Oliver how to say hello in Spanish,” Dad explained. “He also watched half of a video about dolphins.” Uncle Theo made a unique face.

Oliver moved into the dining room and announced to his cousins, “My A.L.E.X. designed a robot that cleans my bedroom while I’m at school.”

“Do you really have a robot?” one asked.

“It’s top secret.”

Mom followed a few moments later.

“There is no robot,” she said to the cousins. “And his bedroom is not clean.”

The cousins laughed.

Oliver heard them, but instead of feeling embarrassed, he felt challenged. His next story would have to be bigger.

As he crossed the hallway, the family dog, Biscuit, trotted toward a food dispenser near the wall. Biscuit stared at it and barked.

“Woof! Woof-woof! Woof!”

The machine chirped. A fresh helping of food tumbled into Biscuit’s bowl. Biscuit gobbled it down.

Oliver stopped. “Huh.”

He found his mother carrying napkins to the kids’ table.

“Mom, Biscuit barked a pattern, and the food machine fed him.”

“Oliver, please,” Mom said. “Go play with your cousins—and try saying something true.”

“But I am telling the truth.”

Mom continued into the kitchen.

Oliver frowned, then entered the den. Grandpa, a couple of uncles, and two of Oliver’s older cousins were watching a football game. He walked up to Grandpa and said, “My A.L.E.X. predicted every winning team this season.”

“Every one?” Grandpa asked.

“Every single game. The professional teams call me for advice.”

Dad appeared in the doorway. “It correctly predicted one game,” he said. “Oliver chose the other team.”

Grandpa shook his head. Oliver’s cousins laughed.

Oliver marched away.

In the hallway, Biscuit stood in front of the dispenser again.

“Woof! Woof-woof! Woof!”

Chirp.

More food poured into the bowl.

Biscuit ate every bite.

Oliver ran into the kitchen. “Mom! Biscuit did it again. He made the food come out, and now he’s eating a second bowl.”

His mother did not look up from the mashed potatoes. “I’m not interested in another A.L.E.X. story.”

“This isn’t about A.L.E.X.!”

“Then please stop making things up.”

Oliver opened his mouth to argue, but Aunt Rose entered with another pie. Oliver immediately saw a new opportunity.

“My A.L.E.X. can tell what people are thinking,” he said to Aunt Rose.

She raised an eyebrow. “What am I thinking?”

“That you want to give me the first piece of pie.”

“You don’t need AI to guess that,” she said.

Oliver moved into the living room, where Granny sat beside the fireplace.

“My A.L.E.X. wrote a bestselling book,” he told her. “A movie studio bought it, and I’m going to be famous.”

Granny studied him over her glasses. “What is the book called?”

Oliver hadn’t thought that far ahead. “The Secret Mystery of the Mysterious Secret,” he said.

“That does sound very mysterious,” Granny replied.

Mom came in behind him.

“A.L.E.X. helped Oliver write three paragraphs for a school assignment,” she said. “His teacher asked him to redo two of them.”

Oliver’s face grew warm.

He escaped to the hallway and found Biscuit at the dispenser once more.

“Woof! Woof-woof! Woof!”

Chirp.

A third pile of food dropped into the bowl.

“Biscuit, stop!” Oliver cried.

But Biscuit swallowed the food, licked the bowl, and waddled away.

Oliver raced to find his mother.

“Mom, you have to listen! Biscuit figured out how to make the feeder give him extra food.”

Mom sighed. “No more stories, Oliver.”

“It’s true!”

Dad stepped between them.

“That’s enough,” he said. “You have told so many lies today that no one knows when to believe you. People aren’t going to keep listening just because you want attention.”

“But Biscuit—”

“No more.”

Mom and Dad walked toward the dining room.

Biscuit wobbled over to the wall. He turned in a small circle, sat down, and leaned against it. His round belly bulged beneath him.

Oliver pointed. “Look! He doesn’t feel well!”

No one turned around.

Then Biscuit made a terrible, gasping sound. A moment later, his three Thanksgiving dinners came up—all over the hallway rug.

“Oh, Biscuit,” Oliver whispered.

He found paper towels, a plastic bag, and a cleaning spray. The smell was awful. The mess was worse. Oliver wanted to run away and make someone else handle it.

Instead, he cleaned the rug.

He put the mess in the garbage, brought Biscuit some water, and sat beside him until the dog’s tail gave a weak little thump.

Oliver sits sadly on the stairs with Biscuit beside him.

Then Oliver sat on the bottom stair and began to cry.

Granny found him there.

She lowered herself onto the step beside him. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

“Biscuit kept making the feeder give him food,” Oliver said. “I tried to tell Mom and Dad, but nobody believed me. He got sick because I’m a liar.”

Granny put an arm around his shoulders.

“Biscuit got sick because he ate too much,” she said. “But it’s true that your lies made it difficult for people to hear your warning.”

Oliver wiped his face. “I only wanted everyone to pay attention.”

“Did it work?”

“At first.”

“And afterward?”

Oliver looked toward the hallway. “Afterward, nobody believed anything I said.”

Granny nodded. “A lie can borrow attention, but it cannot keep it. Eventually, the truth sends a bill.”

Oliver thought about the stories he had told and about his parents following behind him, correcting each one.

“I had to clean up after Biscuit,” he said quietly.

“I know,” Granny replied. “That was honest work. You saw a problem, and you took responsibility for it without pretending someone else had done it. I’m proud of you for that.”

“Does that mean everyone will trust me again?”

“Not immediately. Trust is easy to lose and slow to rebuild. Very slow. But every truthful thing you say and every responsible thing you do will help.”

She kissed his forehead and moved to the dining room.

Oliver remained on the staircase with Biscuit resting beside his feet.

“Hey, Biscuit. At least you’ll trust me until others do,” he said. “I’m gonna have to tell only the truth for a long time, but it’ll make trusting me in the future a little easier than today.”

Biscuit lifted his head and licked Oliver’s hand. Oliver messed the hair on Biscuit’s head. Then Biscuit glanced at the food bowl.

“Don’t even think about it,” Oliver said.

Biscuit rested his head on Oliver’s shoe.

And for the first time that day, Oliver had told a story exactly as it happened.

Moral: A lie may win attention for a moment, but only the truth can build lasting trust.

© 2026 CJ Powers

Keep Your Brain in the Game

Four party guests in Jedi, Star Trek officer, witch, and rock singer costumes exchange puzzled looks.

By CJ Powers

Have you ever attended a murder mystery party in costume?

I had attended one, but was the host countless times. They were a lot of fun and generated weeks’ worth of conversations. Some comments showed up 1-2 years later—a great memory maker for work teams, family reunions, and other special groups and occasions.

Most people shy away from throwing complex parties because they know the incredible amount of work involved. Besides, who has the time these days to put one on?

Thanks to AI, we all do.

You’re the Host, Not AI

Imagine asking AI to create custom invitations for your guests. Each one would include costume suggestions, what their character is like and what they know about the murder, and what to keep secret, including whether they are the murderer.

Since it only takes AI a handful of minutes to create the individual invites, a mini-poster insert, and the logistics sheet, you feel amazing, especially with how gorgeous it looks. Since we can’t wait for our incredible party, we tend to quickly glance at the invite materials and send them off.

Then a day or two later, someone makes a comment about the party on Friday, and you scheduled it for Saturday. In your excitement, you didn’t go through the party details as a good host would. Instead, you assumed AI had it covered.

The faster AI gets, the more we tend to trust it. But we should never trust it to do our part, only its own part. You are still the host.

When Easy Feels Finished

There’s a lot to like about getting help with a first draft. A blank page turns into something we can work with, or an idea we’ve been struggling to explain begins to make sense. With that much going well, we may forget to question or push back on aspects that don’t quite feel right.

A 2026 Elon University survey found that 39% of people who use large language models said they were growing overly dependent on AI’s answers instead of thinking for themselves.

Many users also reported gains in learning and creativity, so there’s useful help in the picture along with that concern. These are people’s reports about their own use of AI. The survey doesn’t prove their brains are getting weaker or that everyone asking for help has stopped thinking.

Still, it’s worth noticing what we do after an answer arrives. If we like the sound of it, do we read any further than we have to before accepting the information as truth?

The Trouble Looks Normal

A wild mistake is easy to catch. If the murder mystery invitation tells your guests to bring a folding chair and a live giraffe, you’ll probably read it twice. Friday instead of Saturday is much easier to miss, along with a changed detail, a wrong name, or a promise you never meant to make.

Consider what that might look like in a meeting summary. The notes say the client will consider the proposal, but the AI says the client approved it. Someone reading the summary could start work on a project the client hasn’t agreed to buy, even though most of what they read was useful and accurate.

To catch the change, we’d have to compare the summary with what actually happened in the meeting, rather than giving it a quick glance and trusting AI’s accuracy rate.

AI researcher and writer Ethan Mollick described the risk this way: “People really can go on autopilot when using AI, falling asleep at the wheel and failing to notice AI mistakes.”

His warning gets at the part we have to own, even when the rest of an answer is helpful. In other words, we can’t catch what we don’t bother to look at.

Leave Room for You

Before asking AI for help, take a moment to decide what you’re trying to say, solve, or make. Without some idea of a good result, whatever appears on the screen can start to look like the plan.

For the murder mystery party, you’d want the day, time, place, and what guests should bring clear in your mind. In a meeting summary, you’d want to keep track of which choices were made and which are still open. Those details give you something to compare the draft against, rather than relying on how well it reads.

There’s room to play with the answer, too. Ask AI to explain a suggestion or offer another option, then weigh the ideas for yourself. Maybe it finds a better way to welcome the team or your friends, even if one line makes your murder mystery sound like the opening of a theme park.

Keep what works and lose the trumpet fanfare.

A host checks printed invitations beside her laptop before sending them.

Before You Hit Send

Once you have a draft, read it beside the real information. Names, dates, amounts, and promises deserve a close look because someone else may act on them—you don’t want someone awkwardly showing up a day early.

A fact or a quote needs a different kind of check: open the source and see whether it supports the claim. Asking the same tool “Are you sure?” isn’t a substitute for that look.

The care we give a draft should fit what we’re using it for. If your project affects someone’s money, health, or safety, it requires greater care and the right expertise. Saving three minutes isn’t much of a win if someone else spends an afternoon fixing the result.

As you read, see whether you could explain the answer in your own words. If part of it leaves you puzzled, ask questions and work through it before deciding whether to use it. You may come away with a better draft and a clearer understanding of the subject.

Your Name Stays Attached

Regardless of the degree of help you request of AI, your name is still on the invitation or report. That means the responsibility for the copy is on you. So if AI makes a mistake, you’re responsible for the person showing up on the wrong day.

In an awkward situation, the person isn’t going to think, “Hmm, I wonder if AI was used and made this mistake?” Instead, they’ll wonder why you didn’t care enough about your guests to proofread everything.

So enjoy getting help from AI with the more complex tasks, but make sure you do the human thing of looking out for your guests. Keep your brain in the game.

© 2026 CJ Powers. All rights reserved.