AI Writes Better than I Do.

But the result is flawed, and fake.

Photo by Andrea De Santis on Unsplash

This morning, the air is cool, the humidity low, and an ongoing breeze wafts through the open doors. I am glad of it, after several days of heat advisories. As usual, I spend time on the porch while the dogs do their business, and I almost want a jacket or blanket to brush off the “chill” of 70-degree temperatures.

August has arrived, my summer in-person job has ended, and I am back to remote work: tutoring and teaching online. The start of the school year is just a few short weeks away, and teachers and parents, and tutors like me are already gearing up for the new academic year.

Yesterday, I saw a list of jobs and positions most suited to be replaced by artificial intelligence. Writers and authors were near the top of the list, as were journalists and news reporters. Teachers and tutors in general, as of yet, were not listed, but at least three post-secondary teacher positions (economics, business, and library science) made the “cut” (forgive the pun).

I am hoping my skills don’t become completely obsolete before I retire, which isn’t too terribly far off from now, but at the speeds at which IT and AI advance, who knows?

I would like to think that, as a writer, I have a unique voice, perspective, and style. And though reluctant to embrace AI, I have recently begun playing a little with ChatGPT. I have found it helpful for writing brief letters and emails, and also helpful in drafting project plans and reviewing options. This morning, I asked it to browse my newsletter archives and write a paragraph using my writing voice and style.

The result was a bit unnerving. ChatGPT writes better than I do:

Here's a general‑tone paragraph in a voice inspired by your Two‑Lane Renaissance writing—reflective, rural, quietly observant, grounded in place and personal insight:

I’ve been dwelling in the slow rhythms of West Virginia lately: the daily pull of dawn light across our hundred‑year‑old barn, the sapphire hush of creek water pooling beside old sycamores. There's something gentle but insistent in early mornings here—fields waking, birds murmuring, dew drying in invisible patterns. I’ve come to see renewal in the smallest things: new shoots pushing through last season’s leaf litter, fences mended with fresh boards, neighbors meeting across a weathered porch rail. In that tangle of nature and neighborliness, I find both pilgrimage and permission—to bear witness, to write, and to slow down into the cadence of rural rebirth.

But what ChatGPT has written is based on my work, based on my style, based on my writing. If it had not had my prompt and my archives, could it have written this so beautifully?

But of course, there are flaws. We don’t have any freshly boarded fences, don’t have board fences at all. And, there are no new shoots of anything this time of year; those are for the spring. Neighbors don’t meet and visit across weathered porch rails, and I am not sure what “I find both pilgrimage and permission” even means, though it sounds good and I like the alliteration.

When I think of all the ways I can use AI now, especially in writing, I feel deflated by the possibilities. What brain matter did I activate writing the prompt? What reflection and introspection did I receive from removing myself from the process? I have always thought writing was about the audience and readers, but in the end, I know it is about the personal process, about personal expression.

AI may write like me, and sound like me, and even, perhaps, improve upon me. But it is not me. Not me benefiting from the writing process, and a little too ponderous and too literary. It is beautiful — and stuffy. It is poetic, but also pretentious. I have never claimed to be either.

And while I try to wrap my brain around what this means to current writers and authors, I also, as a tutor, think about what this means for students. Students who want to be writers, students who hate writing. Is AI to today’s students what calculators were to my generation when we were in school? What is lost in brain activity, learning, and development when AI does the writing for you?

Multiple studies have already shown that different areas light up in the brain when writing on a computer and writing by hand. Writing by hand increases the ability to remember what has been written. Likewise, we are more likely to remember information read in print than on a screen. I know, personally, I would be lost without a calculator to help me deal with math. But how lost would we be without the ability to communicate well in writing? How lost are we when we no longer connect our own thoughts to the process?

I’m old. And I’m tired of QR codes, two-factor authentication, hashtags, SEO, and online assistance. I still like books (in print), and I have never yet fully learned the features of my smart refrigerator and smart dishwasher - both of which will “talk” to my cell phone and my computers. And yet, I already use AI every day, when I use a calculator or run spellcheck in Microsoft Word.

I feel like we’re losing our humanity. This development of AI, and the current political leadership, makes me feel as though we have already lost pieces and parts of ourselves that make us understand others, or even understand ourselves. If AI does my writing for me, what benefit do I get from that? What reflections have I made? What parts of myself have I explored? None.

AI may write like me, or even better than me, but it is not me. It does not help me process the world around me. It does not allow me to process emotions and thoughts and combine them into an authentic perspective.

I have to believe there is benefit in the process of writing. I have to believe that, though AI can produce an end product, the benefits of doing it myself make me human. And perhaps, in the future, humanity will be the key component of quality content.

Perhaps. But at this point, it’s hard to say.