Soundness, Intensity, and the Choice to Resist: Writing with Agency in the Age of AI

 At a recent Generation AI forum, I sat on a panel alongside other creatives. I was the only woman there, representing the Freelance Writers’ Guild of the Philippines. We were all wrestling with the same question: How do we work with this technology without losing what makes us human?

One question for the panel stood out to me: “Should creatives resist AI?” It wasn’t a new question, but hearing it asked out loud—to us, working creatives—felt more urgent.

My response was simple: resistance, yes, but not the kind you might think.

We can’t afford to pretend the technology doesn’t exist. Whether we like it or not, it’s already part of the tools we use. For writers like me working professionally—juggling client deadlines, research reports, grant proposals—it’s no longer realistic to avoid AI completely. But that doesn’t mean surrender.

I think of these as “pockets of resistance.” These are the places in our process, practice, and values where we draw the line. It might mean not using AI to write something personal. It might mean always rewriting what it generates so it sounds like us—not like a model trained on millions of scraped texts. Sometimes, it simply means being aware, asking better questions, or teaching others how to use the tools critically. Resistance, in this sense, isn’t rejection. It’s agency.

 What Makes Writing “Real”?

Earlier that day, I’d heard an educator on another panel say something that stuck with me. When asked how he evaluates student work now that anyone can generate polished writing with a prompt, he said he looks for soundness, intensity, and authenticity.

That framework stayed with me. Not just as a way to grade student work, but as a lens for my own writing.

 Soundness

This is the easiest for me to track. I’ve never asked AI to “write for me.” When I use it, I input my own words, angle, and intention. My starting point is always clear: what do I want to say? If I don’t know that yet, I won’t begin.

For me, soundness means the argument holds—it’s coherent, it’s structured, it doesn’t just sound nice. Tools can help with phrasing, but the thinking? That has to come from me.

 Intensity

This one’s harder, and I admit I’m still learning how to evaluate it. But here’s my personal gauge: Did the piece move me? Did it make me question something, or stay with me afterward? If not, it’s probably flat.

When I write, I rely on emotional truth—on the precise words that reflect what I’m feeling. I don’t expect AI to capture that for me. I expect it to help me sharpen what’s already there.

 Authenticity

Authenticity, for me, is about lived experience. It’s in the details you remember, the lines that feel like yours and no one else’s. You can tell when a piece is “too ChatGPT”—it’s neat, it’s plausible, but it’s hollow.

Authentic writing doesn’t just fill space. It carries voice. It carries self.

 Staying Human

Another panelist said something that’s equally worth holding on to: “AI can never be human. Only humans can think and feel.” It sounds obvious, but it’s easy to forget when the outputs are so fast, so clean, and sometimes even impressive.

The risk isn’t that AI will take over creativity—it’s that we stop recognizing when it already has.

That’s why it matters to write with care, with reflection, with real limits. Tools can help with structure, pace, even getting past that dreaded blank page. But depth, emotion, presence? Only we can bring that.

So yes, I believe in resistance. But not the kind that turns away from change entirely. I believe in resistance that takes the form of awareness. Making space for your own words, your own meaning. Teaching others not just how to use tools, but how to stay grounded while they do.

Something to think about:

What does resistance look like for you as a creative today? What parts of your process are you protecting—and why?