Uncover the Hidden Secret Behind Writers Who “Just Write Like That”
Remember the thrill of clutching a brand-new Babysitter’s Club book after mowing the lawn for exactly $3.17? That monthly ritual wasn’t just about turning pages under a flashlight—it was proof that writers can churn out stories at a swift pace without needing a silicon sidekick. Yet, nowadays, if you crank out a few essays or toss in an em dash too freely, suspicion lurks: “Was that AI?” Really? Since when did productivity become synonymous with artificiality? Here’s the deal—some of us are wired to write nonstop, scribbling notes between Zoom calls or revising thoughts while doing the dishes. Writing isn’t always glamorous, but it’s as natural as breathing—and it sure ain’t cheating. Ready to confront the myth that real writers must dawdle? Let’s dive in. LEARN MORE
On The Babysitter’s Club, AI paranoia, and the myth that real writers take it slow.
When I was a kid, I’d mow the lawn for $3.17. That number is etched in my memory because it was exactly enough to go to the local bookstore, stand in front of the bright spines, and pick up the brand-new Babysitter’s Club book for $2.99 + 6% sales tax.
The Babysitter’s Club books came out every month like clockwork, and I lived for them. I’d crack the spine on the car ride home from the bookstore and finish it under a blanket reading by flashlight. That book wasn’t just a story, it was proof that someone out there understood the shape of a teen girl’s interior world.
I didn’t know or care how they were written so fast. I just knew they were, and that they kept showing up right when I needed them. No one accused Ann M. Martin of cheating because she was consistent. We just called her a writer.
So you’ll understand why I get a little annoyed when people start saying things like, “No one can write that much, that fast. It has to be AI.” Really? Tell that to my childhood bookshelf.
First they came for the em dashes . . .
Apparently, writing too well is now considered suspicious. You use one too many em dashes, or publish more than three essays in a week, and suddenly someone’s asking if a bot did it for you. As if the only explanation for productivity is artificiality.
But here’s the truth — some of us are just built this way. Our minds never sit still. In every spare moment, between emails, during lunch breaks, while brushing our teeth, we’re writing. Not because we’re chasing clicks or trying to game an algorithm. Because we can’t help it.
Some people run to clear their heads. Some people knit. And some of us write essays in our Notes app at midnight.
These days, I’m still the same kid, just with more tabs open. I write between Zoom calls. I jot down ideas on napkins. I revise in my head while loading the dishwasher. Not every word is brilliant, and most of it never sees daylight. But the act of writing is as natural to me as breathing. I don’t write to be impressive. I write because if I don’t, I feel like…
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