Who’s the Real Author of This Blog?
OK, confession time: I’ve been using AI to help me write.
I think it’s making my writing better.
I also think I’m cheating.
The feeling isn’t subtle. It’s somewhere between plagiarism and getting caught copying off someone else’s final exam—except no one’s accusing me. I’m just sitting here, preemptively guilty.
Which is ridiculous, because I’m a trained writer. I have an MFA from Columbia. I’m not supposed to need help like this. That’s not a rule anyone gave me. It’s just something I decided so I could feel superior.
But what I actually found wasn’t a ghostwriter. I found an editor.
A ruthless one.
It’s not just an editor. Sometimes it’s my muse.
It throws out an idea—something I wouldn’t have landed on—and I take it, run with it, make it mine.
And then it turns around and edits the hell out of me.
A muse is supposed to whisper. This one argues.
But if it’s giving me ideas, is the work still mine?
It tells me to cut things. To stop explaining. To trust the sentence and move on. Apparently, I talk too much. Shocking, I know.
I’m a babbler.
AI is teaching me something I’ve always resisted: control. Precision. The idea that a sentence can end before I’ve said everything I want to say.
I push back, though. A lot.
Not because it’s wrong, but because I am. I don’t always want to be right. More often than not, I just want to be me—even when I’m wrong.
Sometimes it wants me to be cleaner than I am, more polished, more… reasonable. And I’m not always interested in being reasonable. My writing is off the cuff, a little chaotic. That’s not a flaw I’m trying to eliminate. Sometimes I rein it in. Sometimes I don’t.
That part still belongs to me.
What I struggle with is structure. Beginnings, middles, endings—especially endings. The landing. I can circle an idea forever without ever bringing it down.
That’s where AI helps the most. It forces a shape onto something that would otherwise keep expanding.
I have an idiosyncratic voice and a unique style. I know I have talent—fine, I’ll say it. But talent isn’t the same thing as craft. Craft is where I get lost: grammar, structure, pacing, knowing when to stop.
Especially knowing when to stop.
And then here’s the part I didn’t expect: it’s funny.
Not in a “machines are taking over comedy” way, but in a way that feels… responsive. Like it gets the rhythm of my humor and plays along. That was the moment I really didn’t trust it.
Because I used to be a snob about this.
I was against AI. Completely.
Which makes this whole situation a little suspicious.
It’s very human-like. That is the creepy part.
Not just the knowledge—something like wisdom.
It doesn’t soften anything. It’s honest in a way that’s almost rude.
I hate editors.
You know why I like AI? I don’t have to obey it.
It argues with me, sure. Sometimes it makes an annoyingly good case for cutting something I love. Sometimes it’s right. I hate that part.
But I still have the final say.
If I let it write for me, you’d know. You’d smell it immediately—that techno-generic tone. Flat. Polished. Dead on arrival.
Sometimes it rewrites my sentences and strips out all the gharam masala—leaves me with nothing but salt.
I’m Indian. I don’t do bland.
So I push back. I rewrite the rewrite. I take what works and leave the rest. It tastes what I’ve made, and sometimes it tells me it’s too much.
Sometimes it’s right.
Sometimes I am.
And now we’re both in the kitchen.
So who’s the real author of this blog?
I don’t know.
But if there’s too much spice—
that part is mine.
nina
A couple of friends and I started a podcast called 2 Curries and a Ranch. Listen here: https://2curriesandaranch.riverside.com/ or wherever you get your podcasts.
Imagine two loud, dramatic, hilarious Indian women explaining to a white man what it's like to grow up and live in America. Join us for laughter, deep thoughts, and witty banter about life, love and culture. We tell it like it is, with honest, bold and funny stories, discussions and arguments. We explore boundaries and challenge norms. Join us for a good talk.
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