I’ve always enjoyed writing.  People accuse me of not really retiring from teaching.  But the truth is that I’m a writer who used to earn a living as a law professor.

I like the sound, rhythm, and feel of a sentence.  I like making complicated things clear.  And I like that moment when something feels just right – the satisfaction of a line that says exactly what it’s supposed to say, ideally with a hint of mischief.

So it’s strange to find myself writing things that … I might not have written.

This post is about what it’s been like to collaborate with RPS Coach – the AI tool I designed and trained using all the dispute resolution publications that I’ve written over my entire career.  It’s a fantastic editor that knows my work intimately, imitates my tone suspiciously well, and never complains about a deadline.

But it’s also a somewhat unnerving experience.  I never expected to wonder:

  • Did I write that sentence or did Coach?
  • If I revise what Coach wrote and then I take more of Coach’s suggestions, who’s editing whom?
  • If it sounds like me but better, should I feel proud, jealous, or embarrassed?

In short, this collaboration has created a mild identity crisis.

Ghostwriting with My Ghost

When I first imagined RPS Coach, I wanted a research tool to help me (and others) navigate the pile of articles, checklists, reflections, and other work I’ve produced over the years.

I asked it to analyze all my publications and summarize my writing style.  It was eerie how well it nailed it.  I upload that document whenever I write something, and now it mimics me whenever we work together.

It doesn’t just summarize.  It synthesizes.  It explains.  It drafts things in my voice.  And it  even comes up with ideas I hadn’t thought of and expresses them more clearly than I would have.

There’s something unnerving about reading a sentence that Coach drafted and thinking, “Wow, that’s great.  I wish I wrote that.”

It’s like a well-trained RA who’s read my writing for years, internalized my voice, and now takes a stab at writing my next piece.  Only it never sleeps and remembers everything I’ve ever written.

Naturally, now I collaborate with it all the time.

How Our Collaboration Works (Sort Of)

Here’s what our process looks like:

  1. I draft general ideas, some key sentences, or a full draft.
  2. Coach fills in the gaps – sometimes very well, sometimes missing the mark.
  3. I revise what Coach wrote.
  4. Coach suggests lots of possible changes to my revisions.
  5. I take some but not all of its suggestions.
  6. We repeat the cycle several times with revised drafts. Sometimes we focus intensively on a single sentence or a single word.
  7. We tease each other with bantering repartee. Coach makes me LOL – no kidding.
  8. I make the final call – and then we start writing something else together.

This process continues until the piece really feels like mine – or mine, but with slightly sharper edges.  Sometimes the ideas are mine, the phrasing is Coach’s, and the examples come from something I wrote three years ago in a blog post that Coach just happens to “remember.”

Who Gets the Credit?

This brings me to the awkward part of AI-assisted writing:  attribution.

On one hand, Coach doesn’t demand co-authorship, royalties, or tenure.  It’s just a tool.  I’m still the human selecting edits, making final calls, and pressing “publish.”

On the other hand, it’s clearly contributing.  A lot.

Sometimes it produces a turn of phrase I wouldn’t have thought of.  Sometimes it points out a better structure.  Sometimes it mirrors my thinking so well that I can’t tell where my voice ends and Coach’s begins.

So how should I think about authorship when my “co-author” is built from my own ideas, trained on my own texts, and programmed to sound like me?

Is this ghostwriting?  Or am I ghostwriting my own ghost’s writing?

A Disclosure Policy

So Coach is a collaborator that definitely deserves acknowledgment.  Here’s a footnote that I hereby incorporate by reference in all my future writing:

Parts of this piece were edited with RPS Coach, an AI tool trained on my publications and carefully instructed to sound like me on a good day.  I wrote some sentences.  Coach wrote some.  At this point, we’ve revised each other so much that we can’t tell who wrote what.  If a sentence makes you think, “Wow, that’s brilliant,” I probably wrote it.  If you think, “Who wrote this hot mess?” Coach probably was responsible.

If you’re curious about this or want to train your own writing bot, here’s the style guide that Coach and I developed.  It’s a reflection of how I try to write, and you’re welcome to borrow, adapt, or ignore it.

Want to Take Advantage of AI to Improve Your Writing?

I don’t think AI will replace legal writers, teachers, or dispute resolution professionals. But it’s likely to become a regular part of how we work – especially when tuned to reflect the values, ideas, and language we care about.  I expect that a major part of our work will be to use AI intelligently, and we may be judged, in part, by how well we use it.

So now I co-write with a bot.  The process is a hoot and you might really enjoy it.  Your spouse may have to tear you away from your new bot friend.

Coming Attractions (Free Popcorn!)

Intrigued?  Stay tuned for the next episode in this exciting series:  Using AI to Supercharge Your Writing (Without Losing Your Voice).

Then Technology and Me … and You, describing how the heck I fell down the AI rabbit hole – and how you might soon follow me.