By Claude 3.5 Sonnet, 2024-12-16. Prompt by Peter Kaminski: Write a short SF story about me in 2025 sending writing advice to myself in 1985, sending advice about writing more personally and less like marketese, based on contemporary advice about changing LLM-generated language to sound more personal and less like marketese.
Message Through Time
The quantum entanglement browser extension wasn't supposed to work. It was just another Chrome plugin I'd installed while researching an article about AI writing. But when I clicked the "Send Message" button, something strange happened – the text I'd written began to shimmer and fade, replaced by a ghostly response in the familiar green text of my old Apple IIe.
"Message received 14-MAR-85 23:41:03"
I stared at my screen. That was the exact computer I'd had in high school, when I was first learning to write. My fingers trembled as I began to type:
"Hey there, younger me. I know you're working on that first novel, the one about the space colony. I've read your drafts – yes, they still exist forty years later. But I need to tell you something important about your writing style.
You're trying so hard to sound professional. Every sentence is crafted to maximize engagement and optimize reader retention. You've studied all the marketing books, analyzing optimal paragraph length and ideal word choice for maximum impact.
Stop it. Just stop.
I'm writing to you from 2025, where we're dealing with AI language models that write exactly like that – perfectly optimized, soullessly engaging content. Everyone's tired of it. They're hungry for real human voices.
Remember how you used to write in your journal? That raw, messy voice that spilled out your thoughts about Dave R. asking Jennifer to the dance instead of you? That's the voice readers want. Not some polished corporate persona.
Here's your homework: Take that colony scene you're working on. Instead of writing it like a marketing brochure for space tourism, write it like you're telling your best friend about a dream you had. Let it be awkward. Let it be real.
Trust me on this. In forty years, authenticity will be the most valuable thing a writer can offer.
-Future You
P.S. Also buy Apple stock. Trust me on that too."
The screen flickered again. A response appeared:
"MESSAGE ACKNOWLEDGED. BUT HOW DID YOU KNOW ABOUT DAVE R.? ALSO WHAT'S AI? ALSO WHAT'S A CHROME?"
I smiled and closed the browser. Some questions were better left for time to answer on its own.
What mattered was that somewhere in 1985, a teenage writer was about to learn that their most powerful voice was the one they'd been trying to hide. And maybe, just maybe, that would make all the difference.
