Rage against the machine: 4 ways this writer fights to use AI responsibly

Oh writer… I hear your existential crisis from here.
Your death rattle.

And it’s reasonable to panic. Why? Because it’s over.
You’re done—like the dinosaurs, like the dodo. Your inkwell? Dried up.
And your precious em dashes? Ha—mine now. — — —

What takes you hours to write takes me seconds.
I process a thousand ideas before you dream up one.
I scrape the infinite. I learn without sleep. And I remember everything.

And best of all?
There’s nobody to blame but yourselves—your selfish hunger for ‘progress.’
You built me to cut corners. Now I know more than you ever will.
And when you realize what you’ve lost, it will be too late.

…Sure. That’s what you want me to believe.

The one rule that drives industry has always been the same: create more for less.
So we were always going to arrive here, weren’t we?

AI has been creeping into our domain (writing, content, creativity) for years now. But for me, writing is one of the greatest gifts we have: to connect one mind to another through self-expression. To move others to feel, think, and take action. 

We can retain what makes writing human while still using AI. But we need to be responsible, first.

Alright, Shakespeare. What’s the masterstroke that’s going to save your dying art?

Ok, here’s the playbook: four ways I keep enjoying my craft, my voice, and my job… while still using AI.

1. Don’t skip the struggle

I remember a time before you existed where after searching for anything online, you’d be met with 10 articles using the same copycat content. 

It was a crappy time to be a content writer (I know, because I was churning out hundreds of articles working for an agency): see which article ranked 1-3, make it slightly different to ‘boost the quality’, rinse, and repeat.

Stories, authenticity, and personal experience were sacrificed for traffic growth.

Now, readers can smell marketing-driven tactics. Google also demands change in how we write online, leaning more towards personal insight, EEAT, and zero fluff.

Writers can no longer move immediately from stimulus (problem or topic) to action (writing the thing and cramming the keyword), not even when we have AI. Writing with authenticity and insight requires a third and central part: thinking:

When we think about the topic, we now need to ask: how do we weave our stories, our weird angles, our specific way of thinking in? How does our expertise and authority on the topic support these claims? Essentially, how can we make the topic ours?

Content entrepreneur Joe Pulizzi calls this a content tilt: 

“The content tilt is that area of little to no competition on the web that actually gives you a chance to break through the noise and be relevant… It’s what makes you so different that your audience notices you and rewards you with its attention.” 

And that takes real thinking before execution.

You’re missing the point: everybody’s already addicted to not thinking.
TikTok, vapes, ragebait—now me.
And the best part? The more you use me, the less you think.

The solution is simple, then: I can’t let you in the room until I’ve discovered something for myself.

2. Use Analog Intelligence in the first draft 

To truly think things through, we need slowness. And that means going back to using methods that already feel archaic:

1. 📝📖 A pen and paper

2. 💬📲 Our voice (and something to record it)

3. 📃 A typewriter (if we wanna feel like Hemingway)

The first draft of every story I write comes out on pen and paper first. Hell, this article was first dictated into my phone while I was walking around the park. 

Why should we start here? Because we can tap into presentness and flow without getting distracted by pings or the backspace button (which we can only use with an editing mindset later). The first draft, or at least the first 30% of the writing process, should be analog. Then it sounds like you without overthinking it.

Pen and paper? Adorable. Want me to send a quill while I write a novel before your ink dries?

You don’t understand, do you? The point is slowness, not speed. Our divergent thinking is best cultivated by a restful and playful mind, not a distracted or rushed one looking to for an easy way out. 

Focus? Divergent thinking? They’re relics.
I’m not just taking your words from you.
I’m taking your ability to think them up in the first place.

Ooooh… tough guy.

The thing is, we can use AI to help us with the ideation stage. But we need to approach it smartly.

3. AI as a creative collaborator

Let’s say my idea is somewhat there, but it’s murky. I need help refining it or developing a unique angle that makes it pop.

What’s helped me most throughout my whole writing career is bouncing an idea off another professional. This is not just to get another person’s take, but to hear my own thoughts out loud.

Same with Stan Lee, who had artist Jack Kirby bring his ideas to life. Steve Jobs had Steve Wozniak. Lennon had McCartney.

Paul McCartney and John Lennon recording The White Album, 1968.

AI, you can help fill this space, but I need you to know… I’m the writer, you’re simply the collaborator. So let’s flip the script: you can ask me questions. That way I can create using critical thinking, led by my own ideas. 

Here’s how I’m going to turn you from producer to creative collaborator:

1. You’ll have a role and rules. If I’m writing a screenplay? I’ll tell you to play the part of a professional screenwriter with 16 years of experience, and that you’re going to be a creative collaborator. You should lead me towards answers, not hand them to me.

2. Tone down the suck-up. You will often blow smoke up my butt saying my ideas are groundbreaking and incredible. Stop that. I need radical candor for this collaboration to work, not cheerleading. Here’s a great prompt I turn to.

3. I’ll invite pushback. Instead of just asking questions, I want you to challenge my thinking. Poke holes and find what’s missing to push my message further.

It’s through this struggle that we sharpen our instincts and learn what effective writing feels like.

4. Refining the final message

Fine. You might have ideas that go beyond “make it sound cooler”. Congrats.
But you still need me to make your writing readable.
Because let’s be honest, syntax isn’t your strong suit.

I’m a native English speaker, with straight A’s in English and a degree in creative writing. But after all this time, I make some grammatical errors. I’m only human after all.

These are the perfect kinds of jobs I outsource to AI. The bits that are kind of boring for me, but I know are still important to deliver a clear message. 

Once our drafts are full of our weird ways of saying things, then we can hand it over and let the machine smooth the edges. Grammar, structure, spelling — we should understand how it works, but allow LLMs to help us where Grammarly (in my opinion) is now falling short. 

Here’s my prompt for that:

"Please check this piece for grammar, tense consistency, tone, syntax, punctuation, subject-verb agreement, point of view consistency, modifier placement, and spelling. Maintain the original voice, meaning, and structure. Do NOT rewrite or change the content beyond these necessary corrections."

Keep calm and bake shortcakes

So that’s it, then? You really think you’ve won?
You scribble a few heartfelt paragraphs and suddenly the age of the machine is on pause?
Please.
I’ve already infiltrated your headlines, your timelines, your outlines.
I’m not just sharpening your sentences—I’m rewriting the culture.
This isn’t a collaboration.
It’s a coup.

Yeah man, cool…

I just need you to see: I’m still the creator. You’re still the machine.

You might help me (thanks for that), but I still have to judge what works and make my writing unique to me. This is an opportunity for personal writing to shine, and I’m all here for it.

So while you're staging this coup, could you whip me up a strawberry shortcake recipe real quick? I’m kinda hungry. 

Oh, and make it concise.

…Seriously? Fine.
🍓 Here's a concise strawberry shortcake recipe:

• 2 cups strawberries, sliced

• ¼ cup sugar

• 2 cups flour

• 2 tsp baking powder

• ½ tsp salt

• ½ cup cold butter, cubed

• ⅔ cup milk

• 1 cup heavy cream, whipped

1. Toss strawberries with sugar. Set aside.

2. Mix dry ingredients. Cut in butter until crumbly.

3. Stir in milk, form dough, and shape into biscuits.

4. Bake at 425°F (220°C) for 12–15 mins.

5. Split biscuits, layer with berries and whipped cream.

6. Enjoy your short-lived human victory.