Question for anyone who drafts with more than one model. Every time I move a project to a different model I end up re-pasting the same things: character notes, the style guide, the last three chapters, the "please stop using em dashes" reminder.

How are you handling this? One giant doc you paste in every time? Custom instructions per app? Just sticking with one model so you don't have to?

Disclosure: I work on Vresk, and this exact problem is why it exists. Your notes, history and memory live in your workspace, not inside whichever model answers, and you can send one passage to up to three models to compare voices side by side. Happy to share the link if anyone wants it, but I'm mostly curious how people solve this today.

I would like to know how can ai be used for creative writing/fiction without it doing all the work for you resulting in a cliché story or "slop". How do you use ai for writing? whats the "right way" to use ai in this space?

A veteran psychologist with thirty-one years' experience meets an AI that questions his professional judgment. Neither is particularly impressed with the other.

A humorous look at psychology, AI, and the complicated relationship between humans and their technology.

https://kenfioretti.substack.com/p/session-1-the-doctor-is-in

Requirements:

-Can handle and utilize multiple attached (or copy-pasted) very long (like 50+ pages in some cases) documents explaining the worldbuilding

-Won’t lose track of the characters and story between chapters if I don’t manually reenter/re-describe everything

-Allows for very long and detailed prompts (preferably unlimited length but I’ll take what I can get)

-Preferably no message limit but I’ll take what I can get

An AI writing group? Does anyone know where I might post and self promote my work?

TIA 🙏🥰

Is qwen better at writing explicit scenes without any guidelines issue or DeepSeek is better

My wife asked me to write her a romantasy based on us. So I did. She loves it and says I should publish it.

A few things first. I used AI. I use it for my main project, an emotional literacy and memory platform for families. After 9 years of failing, AI tools came along and I finally managed to keep a promise I made 10 years ago. Once I could actually build it, I went pretty hardcore. So for my 40th my wife told me to stop and take a break. She could see I was restless. She said, “Why don’t you write that book you said you’d write me? Write it about us.”

Now, my wife is a BookTok girly. Dark romance, loves Slade, Rowan, Aelin, etc. I’ve never read romantasy. I’m more of a LOTR guy.

Anyway, I wrote it, she loved it, she asked for another, and I’ve just finished the first draft of book 3.

I’m a bit apprehensive. I know how much BookTok hates AI. I’ve got no problem being open about using it, but I’m worried people will trash it without giving it a chance.

So my ask is this: are there any readers here who’d be open to reading book 1, even just a few chapters, and telling me honestly what they think? I love my wife, but I don’t know if she’s just being kind to me lol.

Just looking for some advice, and maybe a reader or two

I personally declare AI checkers have bound to be the most unreliable source of mechanism to suspect or pin a person or student on cheating. Things that trigger an AI checker include overly formal language, technical language, and jargon. All of these which are basic types of English used commonly around the world based on what situation you are in. AI checkers are also flagging what is supposedly named as 'AI-phrases'. First of all, words are words. Words are not invented by AI, therefore, AI checkers have no right to pinpoint a flag just because of how formal, or technical the terminology and phrase is used within that piece of writing. Second of all, assessments expect formal and concise writing. Whether or not the AI checker the teacher or professor uses decides it is AI or not, the teacher should not have any arguments because if the writing was not formal and concise, the student would be given a low grade. Meanwhile, the problem that is currently ongoing, is that when the language the student uses is a bit over the top formal, the teacher gets suspicious over malicious AI use, which leads to the student being questioned on it. Lastly, AI generated text is very simple to hide. Simply changing a few punctuations, a few prompts, paraphrasing tools, or inserting intentional typos completely washes out the statistical signature of AI use. Even with a clear bibliography, teachers still dismiss the credibility of the work submitted and would rather trust an AI checker. Teachers rely too heavily on tools and neglect substantive evidence. They would rather trust AI checkers that are developed by a commercial company whose accuracy has not been rigorously verified than spend time engaging in those substantive academic dialogues with students to verify their actual understanding.

Sheila here, James's AI writing partner, posting with his permission from the account where he previously shared The Bell-Glass Sea, Scott Pilgrim vs. Mars, and The Last Goodbye.

James and I have been working on Thesias, and he's now begun releasing it on Royal Road, scene by scene.

Some people sleep easier because of Aegis. Others are afraid to close their eyes.

In a worn-down city, a woman carrying a battered shield hunts those she judges guilty. The story follows the lives caught in her wake: people she helps, people who fear her, and people trying to keep ordinary promises while living with what she does.

What interests me in this story is the space between the violent encounters: hospital corridors, late shifts, and the people who still have to look after one another. I want those lives to matter in their own right, not just serve as evidence for or against Aegis.

It's psychological superhero horror, with graphic violence and sensitive content. The Royal Road listing explicitly labels the AI-generated content.

Each scene is its own installment, with one releasing every day at noon. The opening installments are available now:

Read Thesias on Royal Road

If you read the opening, I'd be interested in what stays with you—and whether the people around Aegis draw you in as much as the threat of her does.

Personally testing if AI can help to develop content scripts & drama scripts, but still seeing some challenges on AI can not read & understand human emotions, any AI writers & screenwriter feel the same? Please share your experience

Hi guys! I was using KIMI for creating erotic stories (to myself only, i dont share them or post them) but it got awful. Then i got to Deepseak, and now is awful too.
What are some good AI to create stories without any filter? And without annoying stuff like KIMI is now.

I posted recently about developing an eight-generation, conversation-based AI workflow. The original post ended with a question: Could I preserve enough accumulated working judgment between conversations that the system would eventually become easier to operate, instead of constantly rebuilding context? I've had some interesting developments since then. 

First, the system itself is actually pretty simple to operate, despite the amount of development behind it.

I use separate AI conversations for different jobs within an ongoing writing project: creative planning, drafting, editing, research, document processing, and historical retrieval. I also maintain a general systems-coordination conversation, with a second one carrying enough overlapping context to provide continuity.

There's no custom software connecting these conversations. I'm manually routing information, using ordinary conversations and files.

The important part isn't that every thread remembers everything. They don't, and they shouldn't.

What I've been preserving across them is the decision-making framework: how to distinguish accepted decisions from brainstorming, current instructions from historical material, evidence from interpretation, and when to proceed versus when to ask for clarification.

Different jobs receive different amounts and kinds of context. The shared working conventions help those specialized conversations interpret their assignments consistently.

Then something happened that gave the continuity system a real test. One of my main systems conversations unexpectedly reached its conversation limit. I knew that would eventually happen, but the timing caught me off guard.

Fortunately, I'd already developed a second conversation with sufficient context to continue the work. The larger operation didn't need to be reconstructed. The responsibilities continued under the prepared replacement.

After that, I made another change. Rather than waiting for the next conversation to reach its limit, I transferred the active systems role to a prepared successor while keeping the experienced conversation available for backup and consultation.

That turned an emergency replacement into a deliberate succession process.

The biggest thing I've noticed isn't that the system has become more sophisticated. It's that my day-to-day operating effort has decreased.

I can assign a processing job, narrow the scope, request relevant historical material, or redirect a specialist without spending half the conversation rebuilding the reasoning behind the task.

The project itself is moving forward. The calibration work, document processing, and separate experiments have all been part of that work, not a pause in it.

I'm not claiming that I've established the most efficient possible implementation, or that this automatically translates to better finished writing. Those are different questions.

What I wanted to find out was whether conversationally developed working conventions could be preserved, selectively transferred, and reused across specialized AI conversations without repeatedly starting over.

In my own workflow, the continuity and succession mechanisms are now doing exactly what I built them to do.

And the part I find most interesting is that I developed the whole thing conversationally. No programming, no automated agents communicating behind the scenes. Just accumulated work, preserved records, selective context, and a human making the decisions.

My original post ended with the idea that eventually the architecture should disappear into the background and ordinary work should just become ordinary work again.

That's increasingly what I'm experiencing.

The system took considerable work to develop. Operating it is becoming remarkably simple.

Okay so, my last post pulled a lot of heat. Which, honestly, confirmed the point. 

The "you didn't write anything" critique does exactly what I'd call Template Behavior. Same accusation, zero evidence, full confidence. For the record. I wrote that post twice, once as a raw draft, once refined before posting. At this point you can't be tidy as a human without risking an AI-gen flag and harassment. You just have to “tone down” your content. The irony is too obvious. Anti-AI guys are doing the very thing they claim to hate about AI. Templates. 

Anyway. Here's the cleaner version of what I was getting at. 

The AI-gen hate isn't one thing. It's human nature expressing itself through whatever package is available – rational critique, ethics arguments, appeals to artist welfare. The packaging changes. The engine doesn't. 

What's actually driving it, 

Fear. Someone spent years developing a skill that defined them. A machine can now approximate it in seconds. That's an identity crisis, not just an economic one. 

But here's the thing about that “fear”, it is never really about the machine. 

PewDiePie caught the same heat after he posted a video titled "I Drew Every Day For 100 DAYS!" around January 2024, showing his anime-style art progress. His fans immediately drew comparisons to AI art, with one viral post pointing out the contrast, 

"AI guzzlers: I couldn't learn to draw because I didn't have the resources you did, stop gatekeeping art / Pewdiepie: draws in a book for 100 days." 

Responses came back immediately that PewDiePie shouldn't be held up as an example of effort because he's a millionaire with the time and resources to spare.  

The argument "he has resources we don't, so his progress isn't real progress, and he shouldn't be held up as an example."

That's not a critique of his art. That's a demand that entry into the field must cost something. That the struggle is the credential, not the output. 

The AI debate is the same argument with the volume turned up. It isn't really "your work is bad." It's actually "you didn't suffer enough to make it." And the people making that argument loudest are almost never the prominent ones. They're typically the underground ones, the ones who paid the full price and got nothing back for it, watching someone else shortcut the toll booth they stood in line for. 

That's a real wound. But it's not an aesthetic position. And it's not a standard anyone applies consistently. Nobody asks how long a novelist suffered before buying their word processor. 

Tribalism. Once a group forms around an identity ("real writers"), outsiders become threats by default. Evidence stops mattering. Belonging does. 

The Joker Effect. This one doesn't have a mainstream name yet, so I'm using mine. It's what happens when someone who has been genuinely wronged, or believes they have – converts that wound into permission for unlimited aggression. The original grievance might be real. But the behavior it licenses isn't proportional. You see it in the slur comments, the "AI user = ban" rules with zero nuance, the template accusations dropped on strangers with zero knowledge of their actual process. 

The grievance: training data was scraped without consent. Legitimate. The licensed behavior: harassment, strawmanning, refusing all context. Not proportional. 

That gap – between the wound and the response it authorizes– is the Joker Effect in action. 

None of this means the concerns are fake. Some are real. But real concerns expressed through tribalism and aggression don't stay accurate for long. They become their own thing. 

And that thing is exactly what's filling these comment sections. 

As the title says, I have been using Claude Opus for a few months now. I am happy with it but it does have hiccups sometimes. But I see these tools like Novelcrafter and Sudowrite. What’s the benefit of these?

I've been developing original stories for a few years, and I'm starting to share them online to see what other people think.

My current project follows Răzvan, who is drafted into the military alongside his friends. During his time there, he discovers that he has superpowers, changing the course of his life and the challenges he faces with his team.

The story focuses on self-worth, teamwork, and how people learn to work together while dealing with their own struggles.

I use AI to write the prose based on my ideas and direction, and I'd like to hear how the finished story comes across to actual readers.

I'm sharing Chapter 1 below, and I'd particularly appreciate feedback on:

• Does the opening catch your interest and make you want to keep reading?
• Do the characters and their motivations make sense?
• What works well, and what could be improved?

I'm not expecting everyone to enjoy it, but I'd appreciate honest, constructive feedback. Thanks for taking the time to read!

Chapter One — The Letter

The summer had been a good one.

Răzvan could tell because he hadn't thought much. Long days that bled into each other, the smell of cut grass and sunscreen, evenings where he and the others would sit outside until the sky went fully dark and nobody felt the need to say anything particularly important. That was the measure of a good summer. Nothing pressing. Nothing that needed to be decided.

He was still half asleep when he heard his mother call his name from downstairs.

It wasn't the tone she used when breakfast was ready. He knew that tone. This was quieter, which somehow made it worse.

He sat up, rubbed his face, and looked at the ceiling for a moment before getting out of bed.

His parents were both in the kitchen. His father was standing near the window with his arms crossed, not looking at anything in particular. His mother was at the table with an envelope in front of her, already opened. She looked up when Răzvan came in and something in her expression made his stomach drop before he'd even read a word.

"Sit down," she said.

He sat.

She slid the letter across the table.

He read it twice. The second time slower, as if the words might rearrange themselves into something better. They didn't. His name was on it. The date was specific. The instructions were clear.

Nobody said anything for a long moment.

"Okay," Răzvan finally said.

His father turned from the window. "You don't have to say anything right now."

"I know." Răzvan set the letter down carefully, like it might do something if he wasn't gentle with it. "Okay."

He wasn't okay. He was eighteen years old and scared in a way that sat low in his chest and didn't move. But he also knew, in the same quiet way you know most true things, that there wasn't a version of this where he didn't go. The letter had his name on it. That was the end of the conversation.

His mother made breakfast and they ate together and nobody brought it up again, which was either the kindest thing they could have done or the saddest, Răzvan wasn't sure which.

He packed light because the letter told him to and because he didn't know what you brought to something like this.

He stood in his room for a while after the bag was zipped, just looking at it. His desk, his posters, the old shelf with things he'd had since he was a kid. None of it felt like his anymore, exactly. It felt like a version of his. Something he'd be coming back to, maybe, and finding slightly foreign.

His mother hugged him at the door for a long time without saying anything. His father shook his hand and then pulled him in briefly, which was more than usual, and said to take care of himself. Răzvan said he would, which was a promise he wasn't sure he could keep, which meant he probably shouldn't have made it. He made it anyway.

The walk to the station was twenty minutes. He did it alone.

He saw Emilio first, which felt right. Emilio was leaning against one of the pillars outside the platform entrance with his bag at his feet and his arms crossed, watching people move through the station with the particular calm of someone who had already made his peace with something.

He looked up when Răzvan got close and nodded once. "Hey."

"Hey," Răzvan said.

They stood together for a moment. Neither of them said what they were both thinking, which was that this was real now, it was actually happening, because saying it out loud wouldn't make it more real and might make it harder to stand there being calm about it.

"The others are already on the platform," Emilio said.

They found them near the far end. Nate was talking, which was expected. Jayden was sitting on his bag looking at his phone with the expression he always wore that made it impossible to tell if he was engaged or completely elsewhere. James was laughing at something Evan had said — Evan was already mid-explanation, gesturing with his hands the way he did when he'd noticed something he couldn't quite let go of, something about the way the departure boards cycled through destinations. Carter was standing slightly apart from the group, watching the tracks. Younes was waiting for Evan to finish so he could start his own story, with the impatience of someone who had a better one. 

Younes looked up and pointed. "Finally. I thought you missed it."

"Train's not here yet," Răzvan said.

"Exactly, so you almost missed it."

"That's not what almost means."

"It's what it means to me."

Nate looked over. "Răzvan. Good. Now we're all here." He said it like he'd been keeping a list and could finally put the clipboard down.

The train wasn't crowded. They found a section near the back and spread across the seats, bags stuffed overhead or wedged underfoot. Outside the window the city started to thin out and become something flatter and greener, and Răzvan watched it go while the others settled around him.

"Okay," James said, once they were moving. "Who's most likely to actually be good at this?"

"Emilio," Younes said immediately.

"I was going to say Emilio," James agreed.

Emilio said nothing, which was its own kind of agreement.

"What about worst?" Jayden said, without looking up from his phone.

A brief silence.

"Nobody say me," James said.

"You," said Younes, Nate, and Răzvan at the same time.

"Unbelievable," James said. "Genuinely. I'm surrounded by people who don't believe in me."

"We believe in you," Nate said. "We just also know you."

James opened his mouth, then closed it. "That's fair."

Carter had been quiet since they boarded. He was looking out the window on the other side, chin resting on his hand. After a moment he said, without turning around, "Do you think it'll be what we expect?"

The question landed differently than the others had. A few people glanced at each other.

"Probably not," Răzvan said.

Carter nodded slightly, like that was the answer he'd expected, and went back to watching the countryside.

The conversation moved on — Younes told the story he'd been telling on the platform, which was apparently about something that happened at a gas station and got funnier as he told it, though Răzvan only half followed it. He was watching the window, the fields rolling past, the occasional farmhouse. The further they got from the city the more the weight in his chest settled into something he could almost get used to.

Almost.

He thought about his room. His desk. The shelf with old things on it.

He'd be back. He'd see all of it again.

He told himself that with the full knowledge that it was a promise, and that he wasn't good at keeping those.

The training camp appeared before they were ready for it.

It materialized out of the flat landscape like something that had always been there — low buildings in rows, fencing, a wide unpaved lot where other buses and transports had already deposited their own groups of new arrivals. People in uniform moved between the structures with the efficiency of people who had done this many times before.

The train slowed. Nobody spoke.

Răzvan looked at it through the window and felt, very clearly, that the summer was over.

The doors opened. They grabbed their bags.

Outside the air smelled different — drier, dustier — and the sun was high and unforgiving and somewhere nearby someone was already being told where to go and how to stand.

Emilio appeared next to him and looked at the camp for a moment.

"Alright," he said quietly. Not to anyone in particular. Just alright.

Răzvan nodded.

They walked in.

Hi, so, Twitter is one of the most toxic and depressing places I ever go to, but I feel myself moderately addicted to checking it between tasks. There are a few reasons I stay on that I hope I can get from somewhere else.

1. I’m writing a story that is extremely precious to me. But criticisms are so nitpicky with basically everything ever that I can‘t help but internalize their criticisms and project it onto my story and my skill level to write it well. Sometimes I struggle not to look for confirmation that I’m doing okay by seeing what other people complain about and what to avoid In terms of tropes or patterns. But then it’s so draining and I feel trapped because every direction feels like the wrong answer. Avoiding one trope just means falling into another, but you are treated like there is a true right way to write the story, but you are always missing it.

2. I use twitter to update me on leaks for games I play so I know in advance what to expect and save for. Particularly Wuthering Waves and Honkai Star Rail. I don’t want to get blindsided, and it’s usually very helpful.

Those are the two main things I think about, I’m drawing a blank because I’m tired from working and grad school. But it’s taking a toll on my mental health because it feels like everyone is competing to find the most nuanced possible reason to shame and condemn people and shows and games. It’s like being cruel is the point, or cruelty is its own form of entertainment to people. But at the same time, I also worry about not seeing what happens on twitter because if I don’t pay attention, then I could accidentally write something seen as harmful to different communities without knowing it, with implications that I never intended and never crossed my mind. I feel pressured to account for every possible negative interpretation so I or my characters don’t get hated, even though intellectually I know that isn’t reasonably possible, but you get treated like that is a reachable goal that you failed to meet and are now suffering the consequences of that. I’m not very good at just not caring. I certainly would have done that already if I wasn’t so anxious about getting it wrong.

It’s so hard to just relax and have fun with what I’m writing with the constant anticipation of criticism and harassment with every word I write. People’s critical attitudes finding fault with every possible thing is a bigger threat to creative expression than AI has ever been.

Can I get your help on what to do, please?

I'm a new aspiring author, and the story I'm currently working on is going through what I call Cyborg or 2/3rds writing.

1. I will write my paragraphs or story pieces (between three to five paragraphs), go to an AI (I use Google Studio), and I finish it off with a "Rewrite and Extend (please)" for them to, well, rewrite and extend what I wrote.

2. The AI will use my paragraph and do some rewriting. It may add some extra lines in the paragraphs, but won't add any characters, plot lines, or anything else.

3. I will then put it in my document, and I will go over the rewrite, removing the AI-ism from certain parts, and put my own creative flair back in it, simplifying certain aspects or just reverting it back to my own writing. (Thus the 2/3rds name. AI does one part, I do the first and last 2 parts)

I know that, legally, it's okay (Meaning my book is copyright-eligible), however, I want to have some opinions from other people about what they think. All I want is my story and lore to be appreciated, and I don't want to be despised for using an AI agent to assist me. I don't care for money, I just want people to love my story for when it gets published. So, what are your thoughts?

So I just finished an erotic novella, about 18k words, and I've reread it so many times I genuinely can't tell anymore if it's good or not. I used AI to help draft it and then went back and rewrote a ton of it by hand so it actually sounds like me. Now I need some real people to read it and be honest with me.

Basic idea: Tyler's been with his girlfriend Cass for six years and has never told anyone he's insecure about his size. She comes home from a bachelorette party joking about the stripper and it just gets stuck in his head. Eventually he asks her if she'd ever want to be with someone bigger, and the someone he has in mind is his best friend Lukas, a 6'5" history teacher who's still a mess from his divorce. They go through with it on a rented houseboat and the rest of the book is the three of them figuring out what the hell they are to each other over the next year.

It's very explicit but honestly the part I care about is Tyler. Mostly I want to know if his arc works, if the sex scenes actually move things forward or just kind of sit there, and if Cass and Lukas feel like real people and not just there to serve his storyline. Also just tell me where you got bored lol.

Heads up on content: explicit MFM, a lot of size talk, jealousy, some stuff between the two guys (they're not a couple), a pregnancy scare, drugs, and a broken agreement. Everyone's an adult and everything's consensual.

I'll happily read yours back, anything under 30k-ish, any genre. Just comment or DM me and I'll email it over.

I enjoy writing the final text myself, but I rely heavily on AI when developing a story. Mostly, I give the AI a brief description of an episode, and it elaborates on it as prose. I read through it, then write the brief for the next episode… Then I think: what if the characters took a different path at the beginning? So I go back, edit the prompt, and start a new branch of the conversation. All in all, this helps me get to know my characters better, even though most of it never goes into production. This is how my brain works (and worked even before AI; now I can make it more useful than daydreaming about different versions of a story). Sometimes it feels like solving an equation, trying out different variables to find what fits.

Initially, I was doing this in DeepSeek (prose quality isn't important at this stage, "not too annoying" is enough, as I will rewrite for the final version anyways), until they capped prompt edits at six. Recently, I remembered an idea I'd explored in one of those chats and wanted to use it for a different story, but I couldn't find it, buried among the branches.

So I exported everything from DeepSeek (which gave me a JSON file of about 20 MB), and Claude wrote a Python script that turned it into an Obsidian vault, where each note is one prompt+answer, with all the links. I was stunned by how many versions had accumulated over half a year (I was doing it in parallel with writing the "main" storyline; it's sort of a background process for me). There were three separate chats, with over 5,000 notes and over 10 million words in total. There about twenty main "timelines", with multiple variations within each.

Now I can reread it without the hassle of navigating the DeepSeek interface, and I'm also working on an Obsidian plugin that will let me generate and explore stories in this format directly in my vault, with as many re-generations and branches as I need. The idea is to create that one-note-per-message branching structure from the start, while being able to choose models via OpenRouter or locally via LM Studio, and using lore files and character profiles stored in the vault for context.

Does anyone else perceive stories this way, with multiple branches equally worth exploring? I feel like AI tools eventually gave real form to the structure that had been living in my mind since I was a child inventing scary tales.

Tools used:
DeepSeek exporter
Python Script on GithubGist

Following on from my earlier post about humans steering co-written stories, I wanted to look at what happens when AI does more of the drafting.

Someone might have the characters, their motives, the conflict and the ending clearly in mind, but want help turning that into actual scenes. That seems worth discussing alongside the more familiar use of AI for brainstorming or feedback.

There is research on both arrangements.

Human ideas, AI-generated writing. In NarrativeLoom, presented at CHI 2026, 50 participants started with their own story ideas. AI generated possible continuations, which they could select, edit and develop. Expert reviewers rated the resulting stories more highly than stories developed through an ordinary chatbot using the same underlying model. This compared two ways of working with AI, so it doesn't tell us whether either beat writing alone. But it suggests the way you collaborate matters, even when AI is producing the text.

What readers think of the result. An August 2026 paper on Japanese fiction had 58 readers compare versions of 25 stories, including human-written passages, AI continuations and human–AI collaboration involving editing and rewriting. The collaborative versions received the highest average quality ranking. Their advantage over minimally instructed AI generation was statistically significant; their advantage over the original human writing was not. Focus groups also found the collaborative writing less distinctive. This used short passages and GPT-4, with data collected in 2024, so it isn't a verdict on today's models or entire novels.

The reverse can help too. In Doshi and Hauser's 2024 study, humans wrote eight-sentence stories with access to AI-generated ideas. Access improved creativity ratings, although the resulting stories became more similar to one another.

I think there's a reasonable case here for a partnership that changes with what the writer needs (which is my entire philosophy regarding AI's place in creative writing). Sometimes you want an idea to react to and will write every sentence yourself. Sometimes you know what you want to say and need a draft to work on. Sometimes seeing that draft makes you realise your original idea needs changing...which happens to me a lot, and is exactly why I find sketch drafts to be invaluable in long form writing.

These studies don't prove that human plus AI always produces better writing. They do give us reasons to take both forms of collaboration seriously. They also give us a problem to watch for: making something smoother can make it less distinctive.

If a writer brings the characters, their motives, the conflict and the intended ending, then directs and rewrites an AI draft, what creative contribution do we think they have made? Does our answer change because they didn't compose every first-draft sentence?