The Biggest Tell That Something Was Written by AI - The Atlantic

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A few weeks ago, where I live in Johannesburg, a man ran a stop sign and crashed into my Subaru. At the scene he was frantic, unable to gather his thoughts. Half an hour later, I received a lengthy, perfectly grammatical text from him elegantly explaining how he perceived the crash had happened. For a repair quote, I wrote to a mechanic I know, a man who used to text me in curt phrases riddled with shorthand. I got a response using just the same voice as the man who’d crashed into me—the distinctive voice of AI.<br>In surveys, people consistently say they distrust AI-generated writing. But that hasn’t stopped more and more of us from using it in everyday life—to compose work emails and personal texts, to make shopping lists, even to write scripts for arguments with our spouses. “I feel like I’m going nuts,” the writer Jason Koebler complained in the tech outlet 404 Media, under “the cognitive load” of trying to discern whether every piece of text he reads is real or fake.<br>AI writing is also creeping into our most elite literary spaces—newspapers’ opinion sections, books, literary magazines. I edit professionally, often working with authors renowned for their prose. Maybe two months ago, I began receiving a kind of submission I’d never gotten before: perfectly clean, without a stray comma; uniform in length, with evenly paced paragraphs and a distinctive tone that was simultaneously breezy and grandiose. At first I was surprised that people who prided themselves on their writing would turn to AI to write for them. Even six months ago, when I occasionally identified a paragraph in a writer’s work that seemed AI-generated, they would apologize.<br>Now some authors tell me they’ve embraced AI as a “writing tool,” no different from spell-check or a laptop. The phrase is protean and euphemistic, covering everything from using ChatGPT to find a quote to having it compose a long essay based on a two-sentence prompt. The reason for the change is simple: Competition in journalism and academia and grant writing and even YouTube influencing is insanely fierce. The edge goes to those who can stand out in a deluge of content, which is achieved through cleanly packaged messaging and sheer volume. Even professional communicators who are confident in their writing and unsure that AI is a perfect replacement are under increasing pressure to use it, so long as they feel they’re doing so within their profession’s boundaries. (The Atlantic, for the record, prohibits writers from using AI-generated text unless it’s explicitly identified as such.)<br>People who aren’t professional writers are making a similar calculation. AI programs’ efficiency in generating smooth, grammatical text is irresistible, whether you need a savvy sentence in a job application or a line of banter on a dating app. AI-generated writing can easily trick readers, especially if they’re only skimming. Tutorials exist for how to strip the telltale signs of AI use from your writing: Get rid of em dashes, colons, and of course the now-icky “It’s not X; it’s Y” formulations.<br>Read: The typo vibe shift<br>The problem is that the efficiency and frictionlessness that make AI appealing to writers are the same qualities that make it feel untrustworthy to readers. And readers are right not to trust it. No matter how much we may tell ourselves that AI is just a tool like spell-check, it isn’t. When we use AI to flesh out ideas, we lose the most important part of the writing process: thinking.<br>We tend to believe that efficiency is the highest virtue, the four-hour workweek the ultimate goal. Why sweat over the introductory paragraph of an essay if an AI program can sail over whatever argumentative obstacle you have in the space of 15 seconds? But the effort and the hang-ups are, as they say, a feature of the human thought process, not a bug. When human beings write, we judge ourselves; we stop; we backtrack. In published writing, the traces of this process are erased. But it is the process that makes human writing sensible and meaningful. Many authors describe how, when they’ve finally hit on the right idea, writing feels like going down a water slide; putting one sentence after another becomes easy.<br>When writing is hard, it’s often not just because we are tired, underfed, or inefficient but because our mind is trying to tell us crucial things. How many draft texts to colleagues or family members have we all stared at in frustration, wondering why they don’t feel quite right—until we finally realize that they need to be rethought completely, or not sent at all? When a book I was writing became an almost hopeless grind, I tore up 90 percent of the manuscript; it became a far more honest work for having been halted at a conceptual dead end, forcing me to turn back.<br>AI can’t make that kind of judgment. Even if the companies that design AI programs could make them reason like a human being—a...