There’s a conversation happening right now about AI and human work, and I want to be completely transparent about where I stand—and how I work.
I use AI tools extensively. For writing, including this blog post. For coding. For thinking through complex problems.
Not to hide behind. Not to replace my thinking. But to finally express ideas that have always been in my head but just out of reach of my ability to articulate or execute them clearly.
Let me explain why this matters—and why I’m not remotely ashamed of it.
The Story No One Tells About Intelligence
I come from a background that should have silenced me permanently.
I grew up economically and socially marginalized in Los Angeles—you can read the full story in my first book, Better Places, about my childhood on the edge of hunger and homelessness. A hard-working father and a sick mother raised us. Neither were given the time to heal from generational trauma, much less self-actualize.
Poverty and instability never gave me the chance to develop the kind of formal education that would have allowed me to express complex ideas clearly. For most of my life, I had insights and perspectives trapped inside me, but I lacked the tools to articulate them.
My first book changed that—but only because I could finally afford editors. Developmental, copy, and line editors who cost thousands of dollars and took months. They helped me find my voice by holding up a mirror to my rough attempts.
This book exists because AI changed that equation entirely.
The Machine as Mirror, Not Replacement
Despite decades in technology—from copying BASIC code as a twelve-year-old to careers in programming, systems engineering, and cybersecurity—I approached AI with both excitement and exhaustion. Did I really want to throw myself into another revolution?
The fears were real: dystopian futures, mass unemployment, bias baked into algorithms. But the more important question wasn’t “what could AI do to us?” It was “what might it do for us?”
So I began to play.
The turning point came when I asked ChatGPT to read my first book and give me a reflection. It felt like recognition—of all the quirks, metaphors, the optimism and gentle skepticism, even the rhythm of my sentences.
Not imitation. Being seen.
Suddenly, the machine was a mirror, a sparring partner, a coach that didn’t tire. For the first time in years, writing felt less lonely.
And here’s what struck me: AI does this better than human editors. Available at 3am when ideas flow, never tires, allows fifty iterations instead of three, costs a fraction of professional editing.
That’s why AI-edited work is often “too perfect”—too polished, too consistent. The rough edges that signal “authenticity” are smoothed away. But those rough edges were never the source of authenticity. They were just markers of who could and couldn’t afford good editing.
The Double Standard No One Talks About
Here’s what’s strange: I also code with AI. For my websites I use Replit and ChatGPT helping me write functions, debug errors, refactor messy code.
No one has an issue with this.
Developers celebrate these tools. They share tips on Discord. They write blog posts about productivity gains. There’s no hand-wringing about “authentic code” or whether using AI assistance makes us “real programmers.”
Why? Because we understand that coding tools have always been about leverage. We moved from assembly to high-level languages, from text editors to IDEs, from manual testing to automated frameworks. Each abstraction layer made us more productive, not less legitimate.
Yet somehow, when I use the exact same tools to write prose instead of code, it becomes “cheating.”
The difference reveals the gatekeeping. Programming was never about performing struggle—it was about solving problems. Writing, for too long, has been about performing a particular kind of educated articulation.
AI is exposing that performance as unnecessary.
Tools That Emancipate
This pattern extends far beyond writing and coding.
Every powerful tool in history has liberated time from some people and marginalized others.
The printing press emancipated readers but destroyed the scribal class who’d gatekept knowledge through hand-copying.
The calculator emancipated thinkers from arithmetic drudgery but threatened those whose only skill was fast mental math.
The internet emancipated information seekers but marginalized the gatekeepers who’d controlled access to specialized knowledge.
Those who learned to use these tools inherited the productivity gains. Those who dismissed them as threats to “authentic” work were left behind.
AI is the same pattern, only faster and broader.
The people who will thrive aren’t the ones with the most pristine grammar, the most prestigious credentials, or the most polished execution. They’re the ones willing to express themselves imperfectly and vulnerably—and co-create with machines to bridge the gap between their vision and their current capability.
They’re the ones who understand that tools don’t replace human insight—they amplify it.
Those who fear will be marginalized by the technology they refuse to use.
Not because the technology is hostile, but because those who embrace it will move so much faster, think so much more clearly, and create so much more value that the gap will become unbridgeable.
Full Transparency: How I Actually Work
I use AI as developmental editor, line editor, coding partner, and thinking companion. Available whenever I need it, patient with endless iterations.
The ideas, the architecture, the vision, the years of experience—all mine. AI didn’t give me the ideas. It gave me the ability to express and execute them.
Whether writing prose, writing code, or solving complex problems, the pattern is identical to working with human collaborators—only faster, cheaper, and always available.
The Emancipatory Potential
For decades, we’ve gatekept intellectual and creative work based on formal execution ability rather than actual insight.
AI is demolishing that gatekeeping. Someone whose mind works faster than their grammar can now express complex ideas clearly. Someone whose architectural vision exceeds their coding ability can now build what they imagine.
This isn’t replacement. This is emancipation.
And those sitting in judgment are defending a system that benefited them by excluding others.
A Warning to the Skeptics
In 1995, Clifford Stoll wrote a Newsweek article titled “Why the Web Won’t Be Nirvana,” predicting with confidence that the internet would fail. He was wrong in ways that now seem quaint.
The people dismissing AI’s role in writing today are making the same mistake.
They’re clinging to tools and gatekeeping mechanisms that served them well, declaring anything new inferior or illegitimate.
They will be left behind—not because they lack intelligence, but because they lack imagination. Because they’re defending a system that privileged polish over insight, articulation over truth.
The writers who thrive won’t be the ones with pristine grammar or prestigious education. They’ll be the ones with something genuine to say—and the courage to use whatever tools help them say it clearly.
What I’m Not Doing
I’m not asking AI to create from scratch while I claim credit. I’m not feeding it generic prompts and publishing the output. I’m not faking expertise.
What I AM doing: Starting with rough ideas. Creating terrible first drafts. Using AI to see where my logic weakens or my execution stumbles. Iterating dozens of times.
The ideas are mine. The vision is mine. The responsibility is mine.
An Invitation to Honesty
Many writers and creators are doing what I’m doing—but not talking about it because of stigma. That stigma needs to end.
I use AI the same way I used human collaborators for my first book. The work is mine. The thinking is mine. The responsibility is mine.
If that makes my work “inauthentic,” then so does every book improved by an editor.
The Question That Matters
The real question isn’t “Did you use AI?”
It’s: “Did you think clearly? Did you create value? Did you solve a real problem?”
If yes, the tools matter far less than we pretend.
AI changed the economics and accessibility—but not the fundamental process of collaboration.
The Future Belongs to the Honest
The creators who will thrive will be those willing to express themselves imperfectly and vulnerably—and co-create with machines to bridge the gap between vision and capability.
Not the ones clutching their tools from 2020 or defending gatekeeping systems that privileged their advantages.
I use AI the same way I’d use any collaborator. The vision is mine. The responsibility is mine.
The conversation isn’t “should we use it?” It’s “how do we use it to amplify human insight rather than replace it?”
The gatekeepers will judge. The skeptics will scoff. The Clifford Stolls will declare this a passing fad.
They’ll be wrong. And they’ll be left behind.
Those who learn to use these tools will inherit the productivity gains.
Those who express themselves vulnerably and co-create will thrive.
Those who fear will be marginalized by the very technology they refuse to touch.
I choose to use them. I choose to be honest about it. I choose to celebrate what that makes possible.
The future belongs to those brave enough to do the same.
This reflection is part of my ongoing work on Twenty-Five Hours: How to Create a Time-Rich Future in the Age of AI, where I explore what it means for all of us trying to think clearly, create meaningfully, and express ourselves honestly in an age of unprecedented technological change.
Better Places 