One of the first lessons I learned about managing a remote team was that a poorly written message can cost you an entire day.

If I brief a developer who works a completely different schedule from mine, they may not see my instructions until hours after I’ve logged off. If something is unclear, they either risk doing the work incorrectly or wait until I’m back online to ask for clarification. Either way, the project slows down because I failed to communicate clearly enough the first time.

In remote work, your writing is often the version of you that people experience most. It represents how clearly you think, how well you understand the work, and how much respect you have for the reader’s time.

Remote writing should reduce the amount of work required to understand the work.

Whenever I write an important email or message, I try to play two roles at the same time: writer and reader.

As the writer, I know exactly what I mean. I remember the conversations that came before it, which project I’m referencing, and all of the context living inside my own head. The reader doesn’t.

Before I hit send, I try to mentally move to their side of the screen and ask:

One of the easiest ways I reduce that burden is by adding links. If I reference a proposal, design, or task, I link directly to it instead of expecting someone to remember where it lives.

Remember that proposal? No? That’s fine. Here’s the link.

The less time someone spends searching, remembering, or interpreting, the faster we can both move forward. Speaking of moving forward…

Every communication should lead somewhere.

Whatever the purpose of your message, the reader shouldn’t reach the end wondering, “So... now what?”

Make sure the reader has the context they need, easy access to references, and a clear understanding of what happens next.

George Orwell famously advised writers to never use a long word where a short one will do, and to cut words whenever possible. It’s good advice, but brevity alone isn’t the goal.

“Please update this” is short. It’s also practically useless. It doesn’t tell the reader what to update, where to do it, or what happens after it’s done.

Sometimes clarity means cutting a paragraph. Sometimes it means adding enough context to prevent three follow-up questions.

Don’t aim to use fewer words. Aim to use fewer unnecessary words.

The goal of async writing isn’t brevity; it’s reducing interpretation.

AI has made editing communication easier than ever. I regularly use ChatGPT or Claude to shorten something I’ve written, improve its structure, or help identify places where my tone could be misread.

AI is excellent at helping me edit my thinking. But I don’t want it doing the thinking for me.

My best AI hack? When I draft a lengthy client email packed with updates, I plug it into an LLM with this prompt:

What usually comes back is a shorter, more actionable version of my email that still feels like something I would write.

Written communication isn’t an inferior substitute for conversation. In some circumstances, it’s better. It gives us a record of what was discussed, decided, approved, or assigned without relying on everyone to remember it the same way.

We keep receipts.

Writing clearly takes a little more effort upfront, but it saves time for everyone involved. It prevents unnecessary meetings, reduces avoidable back-and-forth, and keeps remote work moving when the people involved might be hours or even continents apart.

Before you send your next message, ask yourself one final question:

How much work am I leaving for the reader to do?