Okay, before we get started, let’s get one thing straight: AI is a misnomer. It is artificial, but there is no intelligence; there is incredibly fast, non-deterministic and probabilistic algorithmic processing based on autoregressive modelling. That is not intelligence. Nor, for the same reasons, is it ‘stupid’. It’s simply a tool (plus a solution looking for a problem).
AI is less intelligent than my cat
My cat is an idiot (honestly), although possessed of large amounts of low, and malignant, animal cunning. Even so, he still has more ‘intelligence’ than any large language model (LLM). I have no room for detailing the errors and hallucinations of ChatGPT, Claude, et al here – perhaps another article, another day. In the meantime, don’t be sucked in by the expensive PR and endlessly sycophantic responses of the machine. But, for the rest of this article, I’ll go with the flow and call it ‘AI’.
AI can help; the writing still needs to sound like you
When you’re writing a blog, or if you’ve submitted your first (or third, or thirtieth) article to a magazine, but most especially as a new writer, do you feel that thrill? You’re no longer just howling into the void. For bloggers, knowing you’ve got subscribers, or for magazine submissions seeing your article accepted, means you now know your words will land in someone’s inbox, their browser, their weekend read. And you so want it to be good, you want them to remember your writing.
And right now, in this age of technological wonder in which we live, it might mean you’re wondering where AI fits into all of it, and what that particular Pandora’s box holds for you?
Meet John, who nearly let AI steal his story
Among the various things to which I turn my hand, I build websites for people on a tight budget. Recently one of my customers – we’ll call him John – turned in some well-structured, yet slightly sterile content which they wanted me to add to their website. It said what they wanted, was clear, well-structured and had tight transitions. But something felt off, and it jarred. It read more like a TED Talk summary than the warm, slightly offbeat voice I’d seen in their writing up to now, and that came across so clearly during our conversations.
Just out of interest I ran it through an AI-checker; the results were not good. I asked him the question. And it turns out he’d written an intro, hit a wall, and then handed over writing the rest to ChatGPT. Just to provide some content to work from. Which is fair enough, you might think. But what came back didn’t sound like him. And that matters.
John’s story isn’t unique, but it’s a reminder: your voice is what readers come for, even if they can’t quite put their finger on it.
Handy tool, or text-jacker?
AI isn’t the enemy, it’s just a tool (although future me is definitely concerned that it is an enemy which, right here, right now, is going full Matrix on us). And, like any tool, it’s useful in some contexts yet disastrous in others. Anyone remember dynamite? Atomic fission? The Chorleywood bread-making process?
So, you’re stuck on structure, your flow is fractured, your transitions are tangled. Perhaps you need a sentence variation, want a couple of revision prompts, are unsure about your section headers? An AI helper can be just that: helpful. It can give the nudge you need when you’re stalled. It can smooth a bumpy transition; even help you rephrase something more clearly.
But using AI can be like giving a chainsaw to a kitten – technically powerful, but a bit misplaced. When you use it to create entire sections, or fill out a gap, especially those that need your voice, your tone, your vulnerability, well … that’s when it starts to show. You’re no longer in it, part of it. And readers can tell. Even if they can’t explain why, they feel it.
Crafting your story like a stone carver (not a 3D printer)
I once was a software engineer: now imagine if I was writing software by piecing together Stack Overflow snippets I hadn’t read. The code runs. Maybe it passes basic tests. Would that teach me how it works, what it could become, how I could vary it, build upon it? There’s no sense of the architecture. There’s no problem-solving. I have no ownership. Just borrowed fragments taped together to fix a single issue.
Or instead consider traditional stone carving, which I do and teach in my workshop: if I asked someone else to spend hours, days or even weeks roughing out the block, chiselling every contour, shaping the finished piece, but then hand me that carving to polish and send out from my workshop, should I still say the work is mine? Technically, yes, I could. But it wouldn’t carry my hand. It wouldn’t show my thought processes and decisions, my mistakes, or my care. It would lack the honesty that real work demands. It may as well be a Chinese-made 3D replica in a gift shop.
That’s what publishing AI-written text looks and feels like. It may look good. It may even pass initial scrutiny. But it’s not yours, in this case it’s not even human, and readers can feel the difference.
Writing the story, but losing the plot?
Back to AI as a tool: sure, if you feel the need, then let it help you think; but never let it think for you.
Honestly, it’s fine to use AI to brainstorm. If you’re fiddling with a line but you’re struggling to find another way to say it, ask. If you’ve written a great paragraph but the opening sentence is just a little off, go for it. Need help structuring a section, or even the whole article, logically? AI can be useful there too. We’ve all been ‘in the zone’ when writing but found on reading it back that the flow doesn’t, or the narrative has somehow wandered off-piste.
But if you ever find yourself copying and pasting entire paragraphs, especially ones you don’t fully understand or agree with, just stop. That’s not assistance. That’s outsourcing your thinking.
Let your writing keep its pulse. Even if it stumbles, it’s better than sounding like a Murderbot diary entry.
Does my revision prompt look big in this?
You know that feeling when someone’s telling a story, and it’s technically perfect – but you still sort of drift off and start thinking about lunch? dinner? what’s on TV? That’s what over-AI’d writing feels like.
It’s not bad. It’s just … beige and boring. It’s like that ‘cool’ design on your morning takeaway latte: ever-present, mildly trendy, made with a template, and totally missing the point.
All the verbs have been padded and safety-checked. The rhythm purrs along like it’s been put through a spa day for an auto-didactic grammarian. And the tone? Imagine reading an instruction manual for assembling feelings, written by someone who’s never had any, translated from a language they don’t understand. It’s like trying to get emotion out of a spreadsheet – it simply doesn’t compute.
Let’s zoom in a little: you’re reading a heartfelt essay about grief and the line you see is: “This experience was notably impactful.”
Zoom out. You’re on the other side of the page thinking, “Who talks like that?”, or as in my original draft, “What the actual ####?”
When in doubt? Read it aloud. If it doesn’t sound like you – or at the very least like a real person who once stubbed their toe and swore creatively – it needs work. Your fingerprints aren’t on it yet.
It ain’t what you write, it’s the way that you write it
Every story, feature, or first-person piece you contribute for public consumption should reflect your voice, not a shortcut. The work of thinking, drafting, wrestling with the sentences – that’s where your real writing muscles grow.
If you must, when writing for yourself or your blog, let AI be your assistant. But no more than that. As the song almost said: “No, AI, never, no nay never no more.”
And, when writing for a publication such as this one, you have editors – proper, experienced, highly knowledgeable, human editors – who are both willing and able to help you with all the things I’ve mentioned here. You don’t need AI; you already have a much better team in your corner.
