While preparing a monthly meeting report recently, I gave one very explicit instruction: if it is unclear what someone said, do not fill in the gaps.

That may seem like a detail. Until someone rereads the report, assigns work or assumes a colleague has committed to doing something. A well-written sentence can then convey more certainty than the conversation ever contained. Whatever I add myself, someone else will have to put right later.

So the uncertainty remains visible until it has been resolved. The writing can still be polished. Anyone using the report needs to be able to tell what was agreed and what still needs clarification.

That is one reason I ask further questions: I want to understand what happens when someone builds on my work.

An article by Dado Van Peteghem and Rik Vera’s response made me reflect on these choices. Dado asks which qualities remain distinctive when machines, too, produce creative and critical work. Rik emphasises that these qualities have meaning for people, regardless of that comparison. Curiosity, collaboration and caring about others matter just as much.

Their exchange brought me back to my own work. To the moments when I notice something, ask more questions and, as a result, develop a text or a proposal differently. That is where those words become meaningful to me.

What I hear shapes what I make

I previously wrote about a day visiting five building sites. I was there to take photos. Along the way, there were also conversations, questions and an introduction to a new project manager.

On a day like that, I listen for what seems obvious to one person and what someone else still needs explained. I need that difference later. It helps determine which photo I choose and what I write alongside it for someone who was not there.

A photo shows what was in front of the lens. The accompanying text can provide the explanation needed to understand what you are looking at. To do that, I need to listen while I am there, even when the conversation is not about the photos.

That is why I am also interested in things beyond the original request. A passing remark may become relevant to work that only reaches my desk later. It is hard to commission something you have not yet noticed.

The benefit has to reach the other side too

While preparing a proposal, I wanted to understand what a different way of working would look like on an ordinary working day. What does it require of the business owner, and what changes for their customers?

Those customers have their own habits and expectations. A benefit to the business is not, in itself, a reason for them to go along with a change.

So I asked for the benefit to them to be worked out as well. The proposal needed to make clear what the change means for those customers and what they need to do. Otherwise, the thinking stays on one side of the table.

To me, that belongs in the same preparation as assessing feasibility for the business owner. Looking at both together can change the proposal. You discover what still needs explaining, or which part needs to be developed differently before you put it to someone.

That was a request made during preparation. Whether the proposal works in practice remains to be seen. That uncertainty is part of the process. It is also a reason to look carefully, in advance, at exactly what you are promising.

There has to be a reason to ask more questions

I like asking questions. But someone running a business has work to do. They are not waiting for an endless investigation into every decision.

So I need to be able to explain why I am looking further into something.

An unclear cost can affect feasibility. An ambiguous commitment can leave someone with work they had not expected. In that case, the answer affects the next step, and the question is worth asking.

Sometimes a short conversation is enough. Sometimes we need a document, or someone who knows more about it. And sometimes we know enough simply to get on with it.

After almost thirty years of working, I am quicker to recognise where a question touches on something else. A commercial promise has consequences for the person who has to deliver on it. A loose agreement can suddenly look final once it is on paper.

Experience helps me ask more focused questions. At the same time, I need to be able to let go of my first explanation. This business owner and this customer have their own circumstances. Someone may know something I do not yet know.

Then the answer is allowed to change my plan. Otherwise, there would have been no point in asking.

It needs to be useful when I am not there

A report will be read again later. A proposal will reach someone who was not involved in preparing it. A colleague will need to act on an agreement.

That is why, while I am working, I try to look at things from the perspective of the person who will use the result. What explanation do they need? What can I record as settled, and what needs to remain visibly open?

What I understand then needs to show up in what I make. In the choice of a photo and its accompanying text. In a proposal that also spells out the benefit to the customer. Or in a report where an open point really does remain an open point.

Much of that work is no longer visible in the finished result. But it is there.

As a baker’s son, I recognise that. What is on the plate is the result. The work that went into it is not written out alongside it.

That is why I keep asking questions. Until I understand enough to make something the other person can work with, without first having to put right what I assumed too quickly.

Inspired by Dado Van Peteghem’s article on creativity and critical thinking and Rik Vera’s response on LinkedIn. Their exchange inspired this piece; the examples and considerations come from my own work.