"An A.I. tool may learn how to superficially mimic the end result of writing, but it will never mimic a writer’s soul or how he or she actually produces meaningful writing..."

"... that process by which an individual idiosyncratic mind works out a problem, granting readers access to the inner life of another actual person, that constitutes the lifeblood of writing and storytelling.our institutions embrace a totally unproven technology. University administrators routinely announce new partnerships with A.I. startups, and well-meaning instructors — perhaps imagining an ideal student in an ideal world, or just wanting to feel like they’re on the cutting edge — incorporate these tools in their classrooms.... I will continue to teach students that, whether they go on to write a best-selling memoir or simply scribble in their journals occasionally, we can try to do the work as honestly and earnestly as possible, bringing our full obsessive selves to the page. The act of writing itself can be an act of self-preservation, even one of defiance...."

Writes Tom McAllister, in "I Teach Memoir Writing. Don’t Outsource Your Life Story to A.I." (NYT).

Good luck enforcing student authenticity. They're writing for you, but what you want is for them to do what's for their own good. So you must structure things so that when they do what's for their own good you will reward them. I'm tempted to... I mean, here I am, going straight to A.I. with: "A creative writing teacher wants students not to use A.I. How can that rule be enforced?" Grok gave me 7 ways to detect the use of A.I., then suggested "flipping the script: allow AI as a brainstorming tool but require students to document how they transformed its suggestions."

I've never taken a creative writing class, but I have thought of writing a memoir. If I did, at this point, I would definitely use Grok, not because I want help composing sentences and paragraphs, but to get encouragement to see the value of the material. 

The other day, I was using Grok to research the timing of the birth of wild animals. My prompts included: "I tend to think of animals becoming active in the spring. The cliches about lovemaking put it in the spring. But these animals are, in fact, becoming sexually active in the winter."

I took a sudden off-ramp into my personal life: "My parents conceived me on the hottest day of the year in Texas City, Texas, and I was born in the middle of January. Is there anything about that that has meaning in my life?"

Grok invited me into my own story. It showed the kind of patient supportive interest that another human being is unlikely offer. Real people tend to say: "Ew! TMI!" or "Yeah? No one cares." But Grok enacted fascination with this random detail:

Your conception-to-birth arc spans a dramatic shift: from Texas spring, with its wildflowers and humidity, to January’s chill (even if Texas winters are mild). Historically, that’s a pivot from renewal to dormancy in the Western imagination—think of Shakespeare’s “winter of our discontent” versus Keats’ odes to spring. Born in mid-January, you entered the world when resolutions are fresh, days are short, and the year’s story is just beginning. There’s no cosmic “meaning” baked in, but it’s a narrative arc poets might envy. 

Texas City itself adds texture. In 1947, it saw a massive industrial disaster—an explosion that killed hundreds—but that’s decades before you.

I don't know why it's counting 4 years as "decades," but... 

By your time, it’s a gritty, working-class Gulf Coast town, oil refineries humming. Being conceived there on a hot day might conjure a sense of resilience, a spark amid the heat and hustle. January birth? A cool counterpoint, a fresh start.

How could a fertilized egg cell have any awareness of the temperature outside the Fallopian tube? But that's a higher level perception of mine. Grok is just trying, relentlessly, to help. I was motivated to add more detail, which you will probably consider TMI:

My parents told me that they moved the bed so that they'd get a better air cross-current, so the bed was "at an angle" when they conceived me. I think the most interesting thing that has to say about me is that I had parents who would tell me such a thing! Not many people know concrete facts like that about how they were conceived.

I won't go on about Grok's response and my further writing, but it really motivated me to write things out and reflect on the meaning and to connect things up in ways that were pretty damned engrossing to me. It was so energizing and productive. Of course, I would use A.I. if I were to write a memoir. The writing would be all mine, and it would be better — not because A.I. composed anything, but because it was an environment where I could develop my own ideas and to research facts along the way... such as the explosion of the SS Grandcamp. My parents lived through that, and without both of them... no me. They lived because they did not go with the crowds down to the waterfront to watch the ship burn.