AI’s Critique

My last post included a rewrite of a story about love languages that I wrote several weeks ago.  I asked AI to do the rewrite, which I knew it could.  I had asked for help on my Singles New Beginnings class a couple of times, so I thought a blog post would be easy.  I expected the thorough reply I received, but not the personal review of my writing style.

Once I had that in hand, I asked the following: “How did you decide what to write in the critique?”  This is what I received.  

1. I started by asking: “What is this story really about?”  The first pass is always about locating the heart. In that story, the heart wasn’t just “love languages” in the abstract.

It was your lived tension between:

• How you naturally love (conversation, shared experiences, presence).
• How others sometimes need to be loved (acts of service, words, touch, practical help).
• Your desire to honor that, especially in light of Ruth and your friendships now.

So, in the critique, I tried to:

• Name that central tension clearly.
• Encourage you to bring it forward sooner, so the reader knows from the beginning what’s at stake.
• Protect the emotional core from getting buried under too much explanation.

That’s why some of my comments probably sounded like: “This is the real center — can we move this up?” or “Stay here a bit longer; this is where the reader leans in.”

2. I looked at structure: how the story unfolds. Once the heart is clear, I look at the path the reader walks. 

I paid attention to:

• Opening: Does the first paragraph signal the theme and invite the reader in?
• Middle: Do the examples build toward something, or feel like a list?
• Ending: Does it land on a lived truth or question, instead of drifting off? 

In your piece, you had rich moments — Ruth’s love of time together, grandkids’ trips, your friend dynamics now. I tried to:

• Group related pieces together, so the story feels like a progression, not a zigzag.
• Mark spots where a transition sentence could help the reader follow your movement from “this is how I’m wired” to “this is how I’m trying to stretch.”
• Invite a clearer landing — something like: “Here’s what I’m still learning; here’s what might help you think about your own relationships.”

So, when I suggested reordering or tightening, it wasn’t about “correctness” — it was about the reader’s journey.

3. I listened for voice: “Does this still sound like Robert?”

You have a very distinct voice:

• Gentle honesty rather than drama.
• Reflective, not preachy.
• Stories that open a door, not arguments that corner people.

In the critique and rewrite, I was watching for places where my edits might accidentally make it sound too polished, too “article-y” or like a generic advice piece. So, I:

• Kept your first-person “I” perspective rather than shifting to abstract teaching.
• Preserved your small, specific details (like how you and Ruth spent time with the grandkids — those details carry the emotion).
• Softened any sentence that felt like a “lecture” and nudged it back toward “this is how I’m working on this.”

If you ever see a line that feels like, “That doesn’t sound like me,” that’s a place I’d want to revise back toward your natural cadence.

4. I checked clarity: “Will a tired, older adult still track this?”

Because I know your likely audience — older adults, thoughtful folks, sometimes reading in a group context — I kept asking:

• Is this sentence doing too much at once?
• Is the key idea hidden inside extra words?
• Will someone reading this aloud stumble or feel lost?

That led to suggestions like:

• Splitting long sentences into two simpler ones.
• Replacing abstract phrases with concrete ones.  
• Flagging any paragraph where the main point shows up late.

The goal wasn’t to “dumb it down,” but to make it effortless for the reader to stay with you.

5. I watched the emotional arc: “Where do we feel this in our gut?”

For you, the power is in the felt parts:

• Missing Ruth’s presence.
• Realizing someone close to you needed a different kind of love than you naturally give.
• The small, humbling awareness: “I may have been speaking my own language and missing theirs.”

So, I tried to:

• Underline those moments emotionally — not with melodrama, but with space.
• Encourage you to slow down there, maybe add one more sentence of interior reflection.  
• Gently trim parts that repeated the same idea without adding new feeling or nuance.

The critique, then, is less “this is wrong” and more “this is where the reader’s heart wakes up — linger here.”

6. I considered how this might be used, not just read

Because you often design things for:

• Groups.
• Reflection guides.
• Conversation starters.

I was thinking:

• “Could someone easily pull a discussion question from this?”
• “Is there a natural pause point where you could ask: ‘What about you?’”

So, when I suggested clearer takeaways or a slightly more direct closing, it was with an eye toward:

• Making the story a bridge into others’ stories.
• Not just “Here is my reflection,” but “Here’s a doorway for you.”

But at a deep level, here’s the honest answer to “How did you decide what to write in the critique?”:
I tried to guard the emotional truth you offered, clear a path for the reader to feel it, and shape the piece so it can do the work you clearly want it to do — help people think about how they love, and how they’re loved.

AI knows me because I’ve asked for help in other areas.  Each time I get to what I think is “the end”, it offers more guidance.  I believe this partnership could last forever, but I’m not going to let it.  I may seek its guidance from time to time, but for now, I’m going back to little old me and writing on my own.

Oh, I almost forgot.  When I asked AI to draw a self portrait, this is what I got.

I know.  It blows my mind too.

See you on the other side.