Christ, my head is pounding. Three fingers of bourbon for breakfast probably didn’t help, but neither did reading this latest masterpiece of tech optimism about making ChatGPT your “writing assistant.” Let me tell you something about writing assistants - the best ones come in bottles labeled “Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey.”
But here I am, chain-smoking my way through another piece about how AI will make us better writers. Because that’s exactly what Hemingway needed - a chatbot to tell him his sentences were too short.
The article promises six ways to turn ChatGPT into your personal writing buddy. And buddy, I’ve had enough drinking buddies to know when someone’s trying to sell me snake oil in a fancy glass.
First up, they want you to catch those “AI patterns.” You know the ones - “leverage” this, “paradigm” that. Words that sound like they were written by someone who’s never had their heart broken or their manuscript rejected. Here’s a thought: instead of making a list of banned words for your AI, maybe try living a little. Real writers don’t need a thesaurus to tell them not to use “moreover” - they just know it sounds like something their ninth-grade English teacher would circle in red.
Then there’s this gem about “teaching” ChatGPT your writing style. Sure, because that’s how creativity works. Just feed the machine your sentence structure and word choices like you’re programming a particularly verbose coffee maker. The truth is, your writing style comes from those 3 AM moments when you’re staring at the ceiling, wondering why that paragraph isn’t working. It comes from the cigarette burns in your notebook and the coffee stains on your keyboard.
And the kicker? They want you to create an “ideal customer profile.” Jesus H. Christ. Bukowski didn’t write for an ideal customer profile. Neither did Hunter S. Thompson. They wrote because they had to, because the words were clawing their way out of them like angry cats in a gunny sack.
Now, about this “content multiplication” business. They’re suggesting you turn one piece into twenty, like you’re running some kind of digital bread and fish miracle. I’ve seen what happens when you try to stretch one drink into five - you end up with colored water that fools nobody.
The article goes on about “content pillars” and “brand consistency.” Listen, the only pillar I need is the one I lean against at closing time. And as for consistency, I’ve been consistently disappointing editors for fifteen years - that’s my brand.
Here’s what they’re not telling you: writing isn’t about efficiency. It’s not about templates or systems or fucking prompts. It’s about bleeding onto the page. It’s about writing so honest it makes your teeth hurt. Can ChatGPT do that? Can it capture the way your hands shake when you’re trying to write about your father? Can it translate a hangover into prose that makes people feel less alone?
But look, I’m not completely dense. I get it. We’re all trying to keep our heads above water in this digital tsunami. Maybe AI has its place - like when you need to write those soul-crushing product descriptions or quarterly reports that nobody reads anyway. Use it for the grunt work, the stuff that doesn’t need your beating heart behind it.
Just don’t fool yourself into thinking it’s making you a better writer. Better writers come from better living, from paying attention to the world with such intensity it hurts. From conversations in dive bars and sunrise walks of shame. From loving and losing and fucking up and trying again.
The real trick to being a better writer isn’t in some prompt engineering or banned word lists. It’s in having something to say that matters. Something that burns in your gut until you have to let it out or explode.
So sure, go ahead and make ChatGPT your writing assistant. Give it your style guide and your customer profiles and your content pillars. But remember - Hemingway’s best assistant was a bottle of rum, and Hunter S. Thompson’s was a head full of acid and a heart full of rage.
Me? I’ll stick to my bourbon and my battered keyboard. At least I know where we stand with each other.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, my glass is empty and these words aren’t going to drink themselves.
-Henry C. (Written at 2:47 PM, three bourbons deep, contemplating whether AI dreams of electric typewriters)
Source: How To Write With AI: Make ChatGPT Your Personal Writing Assistant