OK, so we started using advanced AI because,
well, it promises speed, right? And a technically
perfect draft every single time. But now there's
this strange thing happening, that perfection.
It's actually stripping the writing of its its
human voice and ends up sounding robotic Forgettable
really and that's the really tricky part now
is an article that sounds perfectly, you know
safely AI generated That's almost worse today
than something a bit clumsy, but clearly written
by a person worse how so because that robot voice
signals Well, it signals a lack of honesty a
lack of care readers. They want a connection
not just an algorithm spitting out text Welcome
to the deep dive. We get it. You need to gain
knowledge fast, but you also want it to stick,
to be effective. Yeah. So our mission today is
to figure out how thoughtful writers like you
can use AI's power without letting it erase your
unique personality. Exactly. We're going to move
past the usual, oh, just write better prompts,
advice. That's part of it, sure. But we're really
focusing on the editing phase, the human touch.
We found five specific kind of sneaky robot signs
that show up in AI drafts. And we've got practical
ways to fix them. And it's interesting, digging
through the sources, we realize these patterns,
they're not just machine things. Yeah, I know.
They're really signs of weak, maybe even lazy
human writing that the AI just amplifies because,
well, they're common, statistically safe. Right,
so learning to spot and fix these actually makes
you a stronger writer overall, AI or not. Okay,
so where do we start? That initial feeling when
you first use these tools? Oh yeah, that initial
magic moment. It's powerful. You put in a prompt,
chat GPT or whatever, and boom, a whole article.
1500 words, outline looks great, grammar's perfect.
You think, okay, this is it, the ultimate shortcut.
I still wrestle with that myself, honestly, that
feeling. After churning out a bunch of articles,
I look back and notice, yeah, they were professional.
They were neat. But they didn't sound like me
anymore. The soul was gone. Where were the messy
sentences, the random thoughts, the jokes? Only
I find funny. And to fix that, we've got to understand
why the AI writes like that, what's actually
happening under the hood. Right. So a large language
model. Think of it simply as a system predicting
the next most likely word. It's read, like everything,
billions of examples. Every textbook, every news
article, every comment section. Exactly, so it's
just choosing the statistically safest word to
put next, what comes up most often in that context.
And the result of that mechanism is, well, safe
writing, predictable writing. Yep, common patterns,
staying neutral. And it loves balanced rhythmic
structures, loves them. Because they're everywhere
in the training data, right? Billions of times.
Yeah. So the outcome is smooth, like frictionless.
But there's no surprise. No real motion. OK.
So here's a question, then. If the AI defaults
to these safe repetitive structures, what's the
core job, the essential task, for the human editor
looking at that first draft? Our job is, well,
it's to break those patterns, deliberately. To
inject life, maybe some friction, definitely
surprise, back into the text. Okay, let's dig
into the first couple of traps. These are structural
ones. We'll start with sign one. The three -part
rhythm trap. Ah, the rule of three. Yes. AI absolutely
adores it. You see it everywhere. Slogans, commands,
lists. It's fast, simple, and powerful. That
kind of thing. It feels organized. It does feel
powerful initially, but I see this, and yeah,
I fall into it too sometimes. It sounds authoritative
maybe, but use it too much, and the whole piece
starts sounding like a... like a pre -programmed
speech, like someone reading cue cards. It just
flattens everything. The rhythm gets monotonous.
Totally. It's like music where every single beat
is exactly the same. Thump, thump, thump. So
the fix is, well, it sounds simple, but it needs
intention. You got to break that rhythm. Stop
using three equal sentences or three equal phrases
all the time. OK, that sounds good. But, you
know, when you're on a deadline, reaching for
that rule of three is just, it's fast. How do
you actually force yourself to slow down and
vary it? in a real workflow. You have to consciously
edit for cadence. Try this. Write one really
short, punchy sentence. Almost blunt. Then follow
it immediately with a really long, complex one.
Something detailed makes the reader pause and
think. Ah, change the pace. Exactly. Then maybe
end with a median length one. You're creating
a natural flow. Kind of like how a person actually
breathes when they talk. Not like a drum machine.
That makes a lot of sense. Connecting ideas,
showing depth, not just listing things. OK, let's
talk sign two, overusing parallel structures,
the not this, but that trap. Oh, this one is
everywhere, especially in business writing. It's
not about working hard. It's about working smart.
Right. This isn't just marketing. It's storytelling,
stuff like that. Yeah. It gives you that strong
contrast. AI likes it because it seems definitive,
easy to process. But the real issue here, the
deeper one, is that this binary framing, black
or white, this or that, it makes the thinking
feel, well, flat. Simplistic. Real life is messy,
right? It's full of complexity, contradictions,
all those shades of gray. If you only offer opposites,
you're missing the human part. Absolutely. So
the fix here for the human editor is to intentionally
embrace that complexity, even the contradictions.
OK, give me an example. Look at that leadership
example from the source. The AI draft might say
something flat -like. Leadership is not about
taking power. It is only about taking responsibility.
Sounds neat, right? Yeah, sounds like a slogan,
very clean. But the human rewrite, it accepts
that while power and responsibility are kind
of tangled up in reality, you can't always separate
them so cleanly. Right. So the rewrite adds a
personal perspective. It might say something
like, sometimes leadership is actually about
being quiet, about listening hard, and realizing
that power isn't something to just avoid, but
it's this. This volatile thing you have to manage
ethically, moment by moment. Ah, okay, so the
AI gives you the perfect, simple slogan. And
the human gives you a thoughtful tension. Something
to chew on. Okay, probing question time. Beyond
just editing the draft, how can we prompt the
AI initially to maybe avoid these simple opposites
and repetitive rhythms? Ask for complexity. prompt
it to explore connections, inherent contradictions,
maybe even specify using varied sentence lengths
from the start. Okay, so those first two were
about structure. The rhythm of the writing. Now
let's get into the traps that really kill the
voice itself. Starting with sign 3. Using too
many big reveal tricks. Yeah, that sort of canned
Q &A rhythm AI falls into. That fake drama. Like
what? Like, what's the secret to productivity?
And the next sentence is... It's simply consistency.
Oh, yeah. I see that. It's trying to create this
feeling of intimacy, like it's letting you in
on a secret, but without the writer actually
having to show any real personality, it feels
like. Like an awkward script you've heard a million
times. OK, so how do we fix that? You've got
to ditch the script entirely. Instead of that
chief secret, share a real confession or a moment
of insight you actually earned. Think about that
procrastination example. The AI draft just gives
generic advice. Break down your tasks into smaller,
manageable chunks. We've all heard that. Right.
Standard productivity tip. Super generic. But
the human rewrite, it turns that into a personal
admission. The writer confesses the real struggle
wasn't just breaking down tasks. What was it?
It was realizing the fear wasn't about the work.
It was about how totally unclear the goal, the
required outcome actually was. That's vulnerability.
And it's instantly more convincing. Way more
convincing. OK, moving to another voice killer.
Sign four. Weird emphasis or fake details? Ah,
yeah. When AI throws in these random specifics
to try and sound authoritative or create atmosphere...
Like the chipped blue mug on the desk. Exactly.
Or insisting an email arrived at 3 .47 p .m.
precisely. It does this because, in its massive
training data, specific details often show up
in writing that seems authoritative. But we notice
it, right? As readers, we spot the filler. Immediately.
If the detail doesn't actually matter, if the
color of the mug or the exact minute doesn't
change anything emotionally or informationally,
it just weakens the main point. It's noise. It
breaks the flow. And it kind of breaks trust,
too. You promised authority, but you just gave
me set dressing. Whoa. Just imagine scaling that,
though. Imagine the AI processing a billion examples
and noticing every single irrelevant detail in
them. Every dust mote, every pen left on a table.
Yeah. And it calculates statistically. OK, adding
a detail like this seems correlated with good
writing. even if that specific detail serves
zero purpose in this context. So what's our fix?
It seems straightforward. It is. Replace those
irrelevant external props with living internal
details. Focus on the inner perspective. So instead
of the mug. Instead of the mug or the clock,
talk about the strange sense of relief you felt
after sending a really difficult email. Or the
knot in your stomach before a presentation. Got
it. The detail has to reveal something about
your perspective, your internal state, or actually
move the story forward. Okay, quick check. What's
the core rule then? How do you decide if any
detail should stay in? It absolutely has to teach
the reader something specific about your perspective,
or it has to push the narrative forward. No free
rides for details. Perfect. Okay, we're at the
final sign. And maybe the most important one,
because it kind of underlies all the others.
Sign 5. The missing personal fingerprints. Ah
yes, the deadliest sign. This is when the writing
is technically perfect. Factually correct, grammatically
flawless. But it's just too clean, too distant.
There's no person there you feel you can trust.
Because... AI can string words together. It can
synthesize facts, but it cannot generate lived
experience. It hasn't lived anything. That's
where the generic output feels so hollow. It
has no failures, no funny stories, only it remembers.
No scars, no triumphs, really. So generic advice,
like that old cliche, content is king. It's just
noise without your specific context, your story
behind it. So this is where the human editor
really has to step up. This is the intervention
step. Absolutely. You have to aggressively add
yourself back in. How wow, what does that look
like? Add your frustrations. Your little side
comments. Use unique comparisons like maybe writing
isn't like building a spreadsheet. Maybe for
you it's like trying to cook your grandma's really
complicated recipe from memory. Okay, okay. Mention
cultural influences, movies you love, books that
changed you. And crucially, admit mistakes. Show
your vulnerabilities. That active listening example
was really powerful here. The AI just says something
sterile -like. Right. Focus on the speaker and
show empathy by nodding occasionally. Thanks,
robot. Yeah, super helpful. But the human version,
that shares the anecdote, right? About the friend
who actually pulled them aside. Yes. And told
them bluntly, you know, talking to you is like
talking to a wall. You just don't listen. Ouch.
Yeah, ouch. But the friend wasn't being mean,
they were being honest. And that moment, being
called out like that, it was painful, but it
was transformative for the writer. And sharing
that. Sharing that shows the whole messy journey
of learning to listen. It's not just advice anymore,
it's hard -won wisdom, and it builds instant
trust because the reader thinks, okay, this person
messed up too, just like me. So the skill we're
really talking about here, it's not about avoiding
AI. That ship has sailed. Nope. Impossible now.
It's about using AI smartly. Use it for the first
draft, get the structure, the efficiency, but
then you have to carefully, maybe even painstakingly,
edit until that draft carries your unique fingerprints,
the stuff only you could add. So thinking about
that, if efficiency and structure, getting that
basic draft down fast is AI's biggest gift to
us. What's the one essential human thing we need
to bring to actually transform that draft into
something memorable, something that resonates?
We have to be wiser editors, I think, and maybe
more honest storytellers. We have to insert ourselves,
our real selves, into every single word. Yeah.
So the big idea to take away today seems really
clear. In this world just flooded with algorithms
and, let's face it, tons of generic content,
your biggest advantage, your superpower, is the
one thing AI can never truly copy, and that's...
Well, it's you. Precisely. It's not whether you
use AI anymore. That's not the interesting question.
It's how you're going to use it. Are you going
to let it lead you down the path to generic sameness,
or are you going to guide it with your own unique,
sometimes messy, authentic voice? You decide.
So our challenge to you listening right now is
this. Use the tech. Embrace it. But do it in
a way that makes you the memorable one, not just
another faceless name in the crowd. Okay, final
thought then. Something to mull over. Before
you hit publish on that next piece you drafted
with AI, ask yourself this seriously. What's
the one specific personal failure or maybe a
specific slightly obscure cultural reference
that only you could possibly share that would
instantly make that piece sound completely authentically
human?