You sound like yourself
Read at whatever pace the sentence wants. Speed up when you are sure of a line, slow down when you are not, stop halfway through to think. The words are still there when you come back, and nobody watching can tell you were reading anything.
The tell disappears.
Nothing interrupts the take
Your script fills the prompter and nothing else does. No message from your bank arriving across your face, no desktop glowing through the words, nothing sliding in at the forty second mark of a take you had almost landed.
One less reason to go again.
Nothing gets lost
Everything you have written stays together, filed the way you file things, kept as you type. When a client asks for that video again next quarter, the script is where you left it rather than somewhere in a notes app between a shopping list and half a phone number.
Nothing to hunt for.
Never start from nothing
Say roughly what the video should cover and something readable comes back beside what you already have, so nothing you wrote is ever at risk. Keep all of it, take the one paragraph that landed, or throw it away and write your own.
A rough draft in the time it takes to make coffee.
Rewrite without fear
Every version you were happy with is kept. Try a sharper opening, cut the bit that always trips you up, and if it read better before, it is still there — with the differences laid out so you can see exactly what changed.
The good version never disappears.
The video is already shot
Reading the script and filming it are the same act. It films while you read, from the camera you actually want to be seen on, and the finished take is waiting for you the moment you stop talking.
Finish reading, finish filming.
Comfortable at any distance
Set it up once for the way you actually work — how far back you sit, how bright the room is, the rig you already own — and then stop thinking about it. It stays readable whether you are at the desk or across the room.
Readable at two metres, not just at arm's length.