How to Write Like a Person

There are many articles about how to spot or avoid writing like AI, but they usually focus on sentences or paragraphs. That’s also why neurodivergent authors, or authors whose first language is not English, are often falsely accused of using AI.

Much less attention goes to what is happening below the surface.

I won’t argue about spotting “fake” writing, because it’s unreliable unless you know how a particular person’s mind works. We already notice what feels off in AI-generated text: the words and structures that are overused. It’s not so obvious what readers are missing when they read these pieces, and it’s worth talking about.

#1: Anecdotes

You can use AI to generate anecdotes that illustrate something, and it will construct them from patterns in its training data. The training data are very similar across models, so if you ask a few of them to generate a story about walking into a café and meeting someone, the stories will be very similar. And if you ask different models to add a surprising twist, those twists will feel familiar.

What’s missing is the felt sense; AI stories don’t feel lived in. They don’t have the vulnerability that is always there in personal memories or relationships.

In one example, I asked AI to generate an anecdote about a painter who spots a woman in a café and asks her to be his model. In the other example, I told AI something that actually happened, and told it to sum it up in 100 words (to make sure it’s written in the same style).

Can you tell which one has something real?

A: Marco had been nursing the same espresso for an hour when she walked in — red coat, paint-stained fingers, a sketchbook tucked under her arm. He watched her settle by the window, the afternoon light carving her face into something he’d been trying to paint for years without knowing it. He crossed the room, heart loud in his chest. “Excuse me,” he said, holding out a card. “I’m a painter. Would you consider modeling for me?” She looked up, amused. She turned the card over — blank. “Better,” she said, pulling out a pen. “Let’s negotiate.”

B: She was on her cappuccino — no sugar — when Daniel appeared at her table. They were classmates, same seminar, third floor. He was ten years older than most of them, with a fine arts degree already tucked away somewhere. The café by the building was packed. She said yes to the chair, then retreated into her book. He cleared his throat. He’d noticed her, he said — in class, for a while now. She had a spiritual vibe. She blinked. Was he high? He wanted her for a Madonna sketch. Female spirituality, non-religious. No ulterior motives, he added quickly. She sighed. God. “I’d honestly have preferred you asked me out.” “I’m taken. Sorry.” They laughed. Ordered more coffee. Talked about the Hopper exhibition until closing.

Be inspired by things that happened to you, or to people you know. Don’t be afraid of being imperfect, sometimes a bit irrelevant, even a bit inconvenient. In nonfiction, to illustrate (and sometimes replace) abstractions, you can use a few anecdotes, not just data. Take up some space and be human: we tend to remember things that are shared, rather than explained.

More to come.