ChatGPT Here I Come…

For years, my husband and I had a routine for our weekly writing. He wrote Thought Tools and I edited them. I wrote Susan’s Musings and it was his turn to edit. One of us would write the Ask the Rabbi answer and the other one reviewed it. We were more heavy-handed with the latter column as it represents a combination of our voices. Rather than only focusing on grammar or readability, the reviewer might add a paragraph with an entirely new twist.

Enter ChatGPT.

Time is a finite resource. Once spent, we can’t get it back. I began occasionally filtering my Musings through AI instead of sending them to my husband. Even if he only spent fifteen minutes or so per week editing, surely I was interrupting his concentration on another endeavor. I learned to tweak my AI prompt so that after telling me how brilliant my writing was (I wasn’t about to forego that ego massage!) the algorithm would make recommendations rather than re-writing my words.

While I didn’t utilize this tool every week, I did find it useful. Not only did it catch the typos, but it highlighted awkward sentences and softened or strengthened language—kind of like my husband used to do. Darned if it didn’t sometimes express a thought more cogently than I had! I was not using AI to organize my ideas or craft the Musing, but I was rephrasing some sentences and deleting some phrases.

My experiment was a success…until, perhaps, it wasn’t. I began noticing that I was enjoying some other writers’ pieces less than I used to. Columns that I enjoy reading were becoming less enjoyable. They were starting to sound formulaic and standardized. I no longer felt that I was getting a glimpse into the soul of the author. The writing might be technically superior, but I wasn’t an English professor grading a paper, I was an interested party wanting to relate through the written word.

I began to ask what would happen if I published two versions of this Musing—one with input from AI and one without? Which one would you prefer reading?

And so, I am turning to you. Have you noticed a change in my writing or not? I have no desire to insert grammatical errors deliberately to show that I wrote a column and I’m annoyed at being encouraged to stop using em dashes, to which I am partial, because AI utilizes them. Should I return to my original editor or stick with the new one?

P.S. I understand that your time is as finite as mine is, so I know that most of you will stop reading here. However, if you’ve had the same concerns as I do, you might find it interesting to see how ChatGPT modified this piece when I submitted it, atypically asking for a re-write rather than suggestions. Of course, it offered to deliver a second version as well and threw in a third one at the same time. I stopped at that point, though it was revved up to keep going.

ChatGPT version (minus the P.S.):

Subject: ChatGPT, My New Editor?
Preview Text: Or am I losing something?

For years, my husband and I followed a comfortable rhythm in our weekly writing. He wrote Thought Tools and I edited them. I wrote Susan’s Musings and he returned the favor. For Ask the Rabbi, one of us drafted the response and the other reviewed it—often with a heavier hand, since that column reflects a blended voice. The “editor” didn’t just correct grammar or smooth sentences; sometimes an entirely new paragraph—or perspective—would appear.

Then came ChatGPT.

Time, as we all know, is finite. Once spent, it is gone. I began, occasionally, to run my Musings through AI instead of sending them to my husband. Even if his edits only took fifteen minutes, I knew I was interrupting his concentration on something else.

I refined my prompts carefully. After allowing the program its obligatory flattery (I wasn’t about to give up that small pleasure), I asked it not to rewrite my work, but to suggest improvements. And it did. It caught typos, flagged awkward phrasing, and helped me strengthen or soften language—much as my husband had done.

At times, I’ll admit, it even expressed a thought more clearly than I had.

I wasn’t using AI to generate ideas or structure my essays. The voice and substance remained mine. But I did find myself accepting some reworded sentences, trimming others, polishing here and there.

At first, I considered the experiment a success.

Until I didn’t.

Gradually, I noticed something unexpected. Pieces by other writers—ones I had long enjoyed—began to feel different. Less engaging. More… uniform. Technically sound, even elegant, but oddly interchangeable. I no longer felt I was encountering a distinct voice, a particular mind at work. Instead, I was reading something smoother—and flatter.

It occurred to me that I might be participating in the same quiet erosion.

After all, I’m not an English professor grading a paper. I’m a reader seeking connection. And when I write, I hope to offer that same connection in return—not merely correctness, but presence.

So I began to wonder: What if I published two versions of this Musing—one shaped with AI assistance and one left untouched? Which would you rather read?

And that brings me to you.

Have you noticed any change in my writing? Do you feel a difference, or not? I have no interest in inserting errors just to prove authorship, and I confess I bristle at being told to abandon my beloved em dashes simply because AI favors them.

So I ask you: Should I return to my original editor—or keep the new one?

Chat GPT then offered to give me a punchier version. It provided two options when I said yes.

Option 1: More Provocative / Edgier

Subject: Is AI Improving My Writing—or Erasing It?
Preview Text: I’m not sure I like the answer.

For years, my husband and I had a dependable writing partnership. He wrote Thought Tools; I edited. I wrote Susan’s Musings; he edited. Ask the Rabbi was a joint effort, often revised so heavily that the “editor” became a co-author. We didn’t just fix grammar—we challenged, expanded, and occasionally redirected each other’s thinking.

Then came ChatGPT.

Time is finite, and I began to wonder whether I really needed to interrupt my husband’s work for a quick weekly edit. So, experimentally, I turned to AI. I trained it to offer suggestions rather than rewrites (after graciously accepting its compliments, of course).

It was efficient. Impressive, even. It caught errors, improved phrasing, and occasionally sharpened a thought better than I had.

At first, it felt like a win.

But then something unsettled me.

Other writers I admire began to sound… different. Cleaner. Smoother. More polished. And strangely, more alike. The edges were gone. The quirks softened. The voice—the thing that makes writing feel human—seemed diminished.

Technically better, perhaps. But less alive.

And I began to wonder: Am I doing the same thing?

Because I don’t write to produce flawless sentences. I write to connect. To reveal something of how I see the world. And if that gets polished into something indistinguishable from everyone else’s voice—what have I gained?

Or worse, what have I lost?

So I’m considering an experiment: publishing two versions of the same piece—one AI-assisted, one untouched.

Which would you prefer?

Before I do, I’d like to ask you directly: Have you noticed a change in my writing?

I refuse to deliberately insert mistakes just to prove I’m human. And I’m not ready to give up my beloved em dashes simply because AI overuses them.

So tell me honestly—should I go back to my original editor?

Or is this the future?

Option 2: Warmer / More Humorous

Subject: My New Editor Doesn’t Need Coffee Breaks
Preview Text: But I’m not sure that’s a good thing.

For years, my husband and I had a comfortable editorial routine. He wrote Thought Tools and I edited. I wrote Susan’s Musings and he returned the favor. When it came to Ask the Rabbi, one of us wrote and the other reviewed—often with such enthusiasm that entire paragraphs mysteriously appeared in the final version.

Then along came ChatGPT—an editor who never gets tired, never gets distracted, and (conveniently) never minds being interrupted.

Time being what it is, I began occasionally running my Musings through AI instead of my husband. After all, even a fifteen-minute interruption can derail someone deep in thought.

I quickly learned how to manage my new assistant. First, accept the compliments (why not?), then request suggestions rather than rewrites. To its credit, it delivered. Typos disappeared. Sentences tightened. Occasionally, it even found a clearer way to say what I meant.

Annoyingly impressive.

I wasn’t outsourcing my ideas, just polishing my words. It seemed harmless—helpful, even.

Until I noticed something peculiar.

Writers I’ve long enjoyed began to sound… a bit alike. Still good. Still readable. But somehow flatter. Less like sitting down with a distinct person and more like reading something professionally “produced.”

And that gave me pause.

Because I don’t read essays to admire grammar. I read to encounter a voice. A perspective. A personality.

Which made me wonder—am I smoothing away my own?

So now I’m toying with an idea: publishing two versions of a Musing—one with AI polish, one without—and seeing which you prefer.

But before I do, let me ask you: Have you noticed any change?

I’m not about to sprinkle in typos just to prove I’m human. And I’m certainly not giving up my beloved em dashes on principle alone.

Still, I’m curious.

Should I go back to my original editor?

Or keep the one who never asks for a coffee break?

ChatGPT kept on offering more. I signed out.

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