All That Glistens

Creativity and the Art of Noticing

I Was Seven

I was seven when my teacher accused me of plagiarism. She didn’t use that word, but she might as well have. We’d been invited to submit poems for a national poetry competition, and I’d written one about winter. At first, I’d struggled to find inspiration, until I remembered my walk to school that morning—a crisp, frosty day. The image of frost on the last blackberries clinging to a hedgerow bramble, glistening in the early sun, had caught my eye and sparked the poem.

But when my teacher read it, she questioned its originality. “It has to be your own work,” she said. “Where did you copy this from?”

I protested, indignant, but I could tell she still didn’t believe me. That moment stayed with me, a reminder of how creativity can feel both deeply personal and profoundly vulnerable.

Years later, encountering ChatGPT sparked the same curiosity I’d felt as a child noticing the frost. I wanted to test its limits—not just to see what it could uncover, but to explore what it might teach me about the way I create and trust my own voice.

The Weight of Doubt

That poem was inspired by a small detail: frost clinging to the last blackberries of the season, sparkling in the winter sun. I described the frost as glistening, a word that felt natural to me. As a sickly child—recovering from scarlet fever that had left me anemic and with a suspected heart condition—I wasn’t allowed to play outside like the others. Instead, I turned to books, devouring everything the school library had to offer. But to my teacher, the poem felt too polished to have been written by a small child.

Her disbelief stung. Unable to prove my innocence, I carried the weight of her doubt. It made me cautious about sharing my work, second-guessing whether my voice would be taken seriously. For a time, I hesitated to put myself forward, fearing the sting of rejection or dismissal. Yet, over time, that doubt also became fuel. I began writing more—not just to prove her wrong, but to prove to myself that my words mattered.

Later, she gave me another assignment, and only after reading that second piece did she admit she’d been wrong. But even her acknowledgment couldn’t erase the sting of having my voice questioned. Instead, it taught me to defend my creativity and to trust my instincts, even when others doubted them. That moment shaped my relationship with writing, instilling both a vulnerability and a resolve that continues to guide me today.

Experimenting with AI

I’ve always learned best by doing, and my continuing deep dive into AI has been no different. At first, I treated ChatGPT like an advanced search engine—posing questions and testing its limits. It was efficient but uninspiring—more like an assistant handing me facts than a collaborator sparking ideas.

That began to change when I discovered the art of prompt engineering: framing precise instructions to unlock its potential. In one experiment, I described a childhood memory in abstract terms: “a moment of quiet transition.” The AI surprised me with its response: “What sounds or textures define this moment?” That nudge drew me back to the crunch of frost underfoot as I walked to school—a forgotten detail that vividly grounded the memory.

These moments revealed how AI can spark fresh ideas through collaboration, offering clarity and perspective that deepen my creative process. With well-framed prompts, the tool became less like an assistant and more like a creative partner—challenging me to revisit my experiences with new focus and curiosity. By honing this approach, I began to see how collaboration with AI could enhance—not replace—my creativity.

Partnership in Creativity

Writing with AI feels like a dance where I lead, but my partner introduces unexpected steps. On days when my thoughts feel scattered, tools like ChatGPT provide clarity, suggesting structures or metaphors I might not have considered.

For instance, while revisiting an essay about identity, I wrote about my struggle to reconcile the person I am now with the person I used to be. ChatGPT’s question—“What ties these two versions of yourself together?”—revealed a thread I hadn’t fully recognized: my curiosity and drive to learn through action.

AI doesn’t create these connections for me, but it helps me find them. Its detached perspective lets me revisit familiar experiences in new ways, turning them into deeper reflections without losing momentum.

Trusting My Voice

At times, I find myself wondering if AI dilutes my voice—especially when I read warnings about AI ruining creativity or see examples of truly dreadful AI prose. Does the writing remain mine if AI shapes its direction by surfacing ideas I might not have found on my own?

I’ve come to see AI not as a replacement, but as a mirror. It reflects back the material I provide, highlighting patterns or angles I might have missed. When the AI suggested a metaphor for the frost-covered blackberries that felt too abstract, I reworked it into something more grounded, something that fit my style. That adjustment reminded me of what I learned as a child: creativity begins in noticing, but it thrives when you trust your voice to shape what you’ve observed.

This balance has reshaped how I think about creativity. AI offers ideas, but the meaning emerges through the choices I make and the voice I shape.

Tracing the Universal Thread

Working with AI has revealed an unexpected gift: its ability to connect personal moments to universal themes. Its questions often nudge me past surface-level reflection, asking: “Why does this moment matter? How does it connect to the bigger picture?”

The memory of being accused of cheating as a child is no longer just an anecdote—it’s a meditation on how creativity demands trust in our voices, even in the face of doubt. Resilience, I’ve come to realize, is rooted in the courage to keep creating, even when uncertainty clouds the outcome. For me, this meant continuing to write while questioning whether my voice would be taken seriously. It also meant recognizing that my experiences and observations had value—and trusting that they could offer something meaningful to others.

This lesson has influenced more than just my writing. It has shaped how I approach challenges beyond the page, like navigating collaborations where differing perspectives need balancing or adapting to new roles that require a leap of faith. Resilience isn’t just about persistence; it’s about embracing the discomfort of the unknown and finding clarity through action.

AI’s detachment offers clarity in these moments, helping me trace the universal threads woven into personal stories. The frost-covered blackberries marked my first lesson in how closely observing the world sparks inspiration—a truth that continues to guide me as I weave new threads from what I notice today.

These connections remind me why I write: to transform what feels singular into something universal, tying my story to others. With AI as a collaborator, I trace these threads with focus and clarity, turning fleeting reflections into enduring revelations.

Lessons in Reflection

Strength-testing AI—pushing its boundaries to uncover both its capabilities and limits—has taught me as much about myself as it has about the tool. Writing with AI isn’t about surrendering creativity; it’s about expanding it. AI hasn’t replaced the alchemy of writing for me; it’s added new tools to the mix, enriching the process without diminishing its essence.

When I think back to that childhood poem, I see it differently now. It wasn’t just a rhyme about frost-covered blackberries—it was proof that creativity begins in the quiet act of noticing. Working with AI has reinforced that lesson: the words are still mine, shaped by my experiences, doubts, and reflections.

For those who wonder if using AI diminishes the art of writing, I’d say this: it doesn’t. It’s a partnership, one that encourages curiosity and opens new doors. Overcoming my teacher’s doubt taught me to trust my voice—a lesson that has shaped not only my writing but also how I approach life. Whether adapting to unfamiliar situations, exploring new tools, or tackling challenges, I’ve come to see noticing as an essential habit—not just for creativity, but for cultivating empathy, problem-solving, and resilience in all areas of life.

Just as noticing the frost on those blackberries shaped my first poem, each act of noticing—whether in life or writing—breathes new life into creativity. Noticing is how I build relationships, uncover opportunities, and approach the uncertainties of the world with curiosity instead of fear. It transforms fleeting moments into stories that endure, turning doubts into meaning and curiosity into connection. With AI as a collaborator, I’ve come to trust that the spark of inspiration lies in paying attention and letting those quiet observations guide me toward what matters most.