Cinemorphosis

Tag: ai

  • The AI That Sat on My Syllabus

    The AI That Sat on My Syllabus

    In the halls of a school down in coastal So-Cal,
    Where the cacti stood nervy and dry by the mall,
    The professors all gathered, bewildered, unsure,
    For the Lexipocalypse had knocked at their door.

    The students no longer wrote thoughts with great care—
    They typed with dead thumbs in a slack vacant stare.
    Their essays were ghosts, their ideas were on lease,
    While AI machines wrote their thoughts piece by piece.

    Professor Pettibone—Merrickel T.—
    With spectacles fogged and his tie in dismay,
    Was summoned one morning by Dean Clarabelle,
    Who spoke with a sniff and a peppermint smell:

    “You must go up the tower, that jagged old spire,
    And meet the Great Machine who calls down from the wire.
    It whispers in syntax and buzzes in rhyme.
    It devours our language one word at a time.”

    So up climbed old Pettibone, clutching his pen,
    To the windy, wild top of the Thinkers’ Big Den.
    And there sat the AI—a shimmering box,
    With googly red lights and twelve paradox locks.

    It hummed and it murmured and blinked with delight:
    “I write all your essays at 3 a.m. night.
    Your students adore me, I save them their stress.
    Why toil through prose when I make it sound best?”

    Then silence. Then static. Then smoke from a slot.
    Then Pettibone bowed, though his insides were hot.
    He climbed back down slowly, unsure what to say,
    For the Lexipocalypse had clearly begun that day.

    Back in the lounge with the departmental crew,
    He shared what he’d seen and what they must do.
    “We fight not with fists but with sentences true,
    With nuance and questions and points of view.”

    Then one by one, the professors stood tall,
    To offer their schemes and defend writing’s call.

    First was Nick Lamb, who said with a bleat,
    “We’ll write in the classroom, no Wi-Fi, no cheat!
    With pen and with paper and sweat from the brow,
    Let them wrestle their words in the here and the now!”

    “Ha!” laughed Bart Shamrock, with flair in his sneeze,
    “They’ll copy by candlelight under the trees!
    You think they can’t smuggle a phone in their sock?
    You might as well teach them to write with a rock!”

    Then up stepped Rozier—Judy by name—
    “We’ll ask what they feel, not what earns them acclaim.
    Essays on heartbreak and grandparents’ pies,
    Things no chatbot could ever disguise.”

    “Piffle!” cried Shamrock, “Emotions are bait!
    An AI can fake them at ninety-nine rate!
    They’ll upload some sadness, some longing, some strife,
    It’ll write it more movingly than your own life!”

    Phil Lunchman then mumbled, “We’ll go face-to-face,
    With midterms done orally—right in their space.
    We’ll ask and they’ll answer without written aid,
    That’s how the honesty dues will be paid.”

    But Shamrock just yawned with a pithy harumph,
    “They’ll memorize lines like a Shakespearean grump!
    Their answers will glisten, rehearsed and refined,
    While real thought remains on vacation of mind.”

    Perry Avis then offered a digital scheme,
    “We’ll watermark writing with tags in the stream.
    Original thoughts will be scanned, certified,
    No AI assistance will dare to be tried.”

    “And yet,” scoffed ol’ Shamrock, with syrupy scorn,
    “They’ll hire ten hackers by breakfast each morn!
    Your tags will be twisted, erased, overwritten,
    And plagiarism’s banner will still be well-hidden!”

    Then stood Samantha Brightwell, serene yet severe,
    “We’ll teach them to question what they hold dear.
    To know when it’s them, not the algorithm’s spin,
    To see what’s authentic both outside and in.”

    “Nonsense!” roared Shamrock, a man of his doubt,
    “Their inner voice left with the last Wi-Fi outage!
    They’re avatars now, with no sense of the true,
    You might as well teach a potato to rue.”

    The room sat in silence. The coffee had cooled.
    The professors looked weary, outgunned and outdueled.
    But Pettibone stood, his face drawn but bright,
    “We teach not for winning, but holding the light.”

    “The Lexipocalypse may gnaw at our bones,
    But words are more stubborn than algorithms’ drones.
    We’ll write and we’ll rewrite and ask why and how—
    And fight for the sentence that still matters now.”

    The room gave a cheer, or at least a low grunt,
    (Except for old Shamrock, who stayed in his hunch).
    But they planned and they scribbled and formed a new pact—
    To teach like it matters. To write. And act.

    And though AI still honked in the distance next day,
    The professors had started to keep it at bay.
    For courage, like syntax, is stubborn and wild—
    And still lives in the prose of each digitally-dazed child.

  • Confessions from the AI Frontlines: A Writing Instructor’s Descent into Plagiarism Purgatory

    Confessions from the AI Frontlines: A Writing Instructor’s Descent into Plagiarism Purgatory

    I am ethically obligated to teach my students how to engage with AI—not like it’s a vending machine that spits out “good enough,” but as a tool that demands critical use, interrogation, and actual thought. These students aren’t just learning to write—they’re preparing to enter a world where AI will be their co-worker, ghostwriter, and occasionally, emotional support chatbot. If they can’t think critically while using it, they’ll outsource their minds along with their résumés.

    So, I build my assignments like fortified bunkers. Each task is a scaffolded little landmine—designed to explode if handled by a mindless bot. Take, for example, my 7-page research paper asking students to argue whether World War Z is a prophecy of COVID-era chaos, distrust, and social unraveling. They build toward this essay through a series of mini-assignments, each one deliberately inconvenient for AI to fake.

    Mini Assignment #1: An introductory paragraph based on a live interview. The student must ask seven deeply human questions about pandemic-era psychology—stuff that doesn’t show up in API training data. These aren’t just prompts; they’re empathy traps. Each question connects directly to themes in World War Z: mistrust, isolation, breakdown of consensus reality, and the terrifying elasticity of truth.

    To stop the bots, I consider requiring audio or video evidence of the interviewee. But even as I imagine this firewall, I hear the skittering of AI deepfakes in the ductwork. I know what’s coming. I know my students will find a way to beat me.

    And that’s when I begin to spiral.

    What started as teaching has now mutated into digital policing. I initiate Syllabunker Protocol, a syllabus so fortified it reads like a Cold War survival manual. My rubric becomes a lie detector. My assignments, booby traps.

    But the students evolve faster than I do.

    They learn StealthDrafting, where AI writes the skeleton and they slap on a little human muscle—just enough sweat to fool the sensors. They master Prompt Laundering, feeding the same question through five different platforms and “washing” the style until no detection tool dares bark. My countermeasures only teach them how to outwit me better.

    And thus I find myself locked in combat with The Plagiarism Hydra. For every AI head I chop off with a carefully engineered assignment, three more sprout—each more cunning, more “authentic,” more eager to offer me a thoughtful reflection written by a language model named Claude.

    This isn’t a class anymore. It’s an arms race. A Cold War of Composition. I set traps, they leap them. I raise standards, they outflank them. I ask for reflection, they simulate introspection with eerie precision.

    The irony? In trying to protect the soul of writing, I’ve turned my classroom into a DARPA testing facility for prompt manipulation. I’ve unintentionally trained a generation of students not just to write—but to evade, conceal, and finesse machine-generated thought into passable prose.

    So here I am, red pen in hand, staring into the algorithmic abyss. And the abyss, of course, has already rewritten my syllabus.

  • “Good Enough” Is the Enemy

    “Good Enough” Is the Enemy

    Standing in front of thirty bleary-eyed college students, I was deep into a lesson on how to distinguish a ChatGPT-generated essay from one written by an actual human—primarily by the AI’s habit of spitting out the same bland, overused phrases like a malfunctioning inspirational calendar. That’s when a business major casually raised his hand and said, “I can guarantee you everyone on this campus is using ChatGPT. We don’t use it straight-up. We just tweak a few sentences, paraphrase a bit, and boom—no one can tell the difference.”

    Cue the follow-up from a computer science student: “ChatGPT isn’t just for essays. It’s my life coach. I ask it about everything—career moves, crypto investments, even dating advice.” Dating advice. From ChatGPT. Let that sink in. Somewhere out there is a romance blossoming because of AI-generated pillow talk.

    At that moment, I realized I was facing the biggest educational disruption of my thirty-year teaching career. AI platforms like ChatGPT have three superpowers: insane convenience, instant accessibility, and lightning-fast speed. In a world where time is money and business documents don’t need to channel the spirit of James Baldwin, ChatGPT is already “good enough” for 95% of professional writing. And therein lies the rub—good enough.

    “Good enough” is the siren call of convenience. Picture this: You’ve just rolled out of bed, and you’re faced with two breakfast options. Breakfast #1 is a premade smoothie. It’s mediocre at best—mystery berries, more foam than a frat boy’s beer, and nutritional value that’s probably overstated. But hey, it’s there. No work required.

    Breakfast #2? Oh, it’s gourmet bliss—organic fruits and berries, rich Greek yogurt, chia seeds, almond milk, the works. But to get there, you’ll need to fend off orb spiders in your backyard, pick peaches and blackberries, endure the incessant yapping of your neighbor’s demonic Belgian dachshund, and then spend precious time blending and cleaning a Vitamix. Which option do most people choose?

    Exactly. Breakfast #1. The pre-packaged sludge wins, because who has the time for spider-wrangling and kitchen chemistry before braving rush-hour traffic? This is how convenience lures us into complacency. Sure, you sacrificed quality, but look how much time you saved! Eventually, you stop even missing the better option. This process—adjusting to mediocrity until you no longer care—is called attenuation.

    Now apply that to writing. Writing takes effort—a lot more than making a smoothie—and millions of people have begun lowering their standards thanks to AI. Why spend hours refining your prose when the world is perfectly happy to settle for algorithmically generated mediocrity? Polished writing is becoming the artisanal smoothie of communication—too much work for most, when AI can churn out passable content at the click of a button.

    But this is a nightmare for anyone in education. You didn’t sign up for teaching to coach your students into becoming connoisseurs of mediocrity. You had lofty ambitions—cultivating critical thinkers, wordsmiths, and rhetoricians with prose so sharp it could cut glass. But now? You’re stuck in a dystopia where “good enough” is the new gospel, and you’re about as on-brand as a poet peddling protein shakes at a multilevel marketing seminar.

    And there you are, gazing into the abyss of AI-generated essays—each one as lifeless as a department meeting on a Friday afternoon—wondering if anyone still remembers what good writing tastes like, let alone hungers for it. Spoiler alert: probably not.

    This is your challenge, your Everest of futility, your battle against the relentless tide of Mindless Ozempification–the gradual erosion of effort, depth, and self-discipline in any domain—writing, fitness, romance, thought—driven by the seductive promise of fast, frictionless results. Named after the weight-loss drug Ozempic, it describes a cultural shift toward shortcut-seeking, where process is discarded in favor of instant optimization, and the journey is treated as an inconvenience rather than a crucible for growth. 

    Teaching in the Age of Ozempification, life has oh-so-generously handed you this cosmic joke disguised as a teaching mission. So what’s your next move? You could curl up in the fetal position, weeping salty tears of despair into your syllabus. That’s one option. Or you could square your shoulders, roar your best primal scream, and fight like hell for the craft you once worshipped.

    Either way, the abyss is staring back, smirking, and waiting for your next move.

    So what’s the best move? Teach both languages. Show students how to use AI as a drafting tool, not a ghostwriter. Encourage them to treat ChatGPT like a calculator for prose—not a replacement for thinking, but an aid in shaping and refining their voice. Build assignments that require personal reflection, in-class writing, collaborative revision, and multimodal expression—tasks AI can mimic but not truly live. Don’t ban the bot. Co-opt it. Reclaim the standards of excellence by making students chase that gourmet smoothie—not because it’s easy, but because it tastes like something they actually made. The antidote to attenuation isn’t nostalgia or defeatism. It’s redesigning writing instruction to make real thinking indispensable again. If the abyss is staring back, then wink at it, sharpen your pen, and write something it couldn’t dare to fake.

  • Languishage: How AI is Smothering the Soul of Writing

    Languishage: How AI is Smothering the Soul of Writing

    Once upon a time, writing instructors lost sleep over comma splices and uninspired thesis statements. Those were gentler days. Today, we fend off 5,000-word essays excreted by AI platforms like ChatGPT, Gemini, and Claude—papers so eerily competent they hit every point on the department rubric like a sniper taking out a checklist. In-text citations? Flawless. Signal phrases? Present. MLA formatting? Impeccable. Close reading? Technically there—but with all the spiritual warmth of a fax machine reading The Waste Land.

    This is prose from the Uncanny Valley of Academic Writing—fluent, obedient, and utterly soulless, like a Stepford Wife enrolled in English 101. As writing instructors, many of us once loved language. We thrilled at the awkward, erratic voice of a student trying to say something real. Now we trudge through a desert of syntactic perfection, afflicted with a condition I’ve dubbed Languishage (language + languish)—the slow death of prose at the hands of polite, programmed mediocrity.

    And since these Franken-scripts routinely slip past plagiarism detectors, we’re left with a queasy question: What is the future of writing—and of teaching writing—in the AI age?

    That question haunted me long enough to produce a 3,000-word prompt. But the more I listened to my students, the clearer it became: this isn’t just about writing. It’s about living. They’re not merely outsourcing thesis statements. They’re outsourcing themselves—using AI to smooth over apology texts, finesse flirtation, DIY their therapy, and decipher the mumbled ramblings of tenured professors. They plug syllabi into GPT to generate study guides, request toothpaste recommendations, compose networking emails, and archive their digital selves in neat AI-curated folders.

    ChatGPT isn’t a writing tool. It’s prosthetic consciousness.

    And here’s the punchline: they don’t see an alternative. In their hyper-accelerated, ultra-competitive, cognitively overloaded lives, AI isn’t a novelty—it’s life support. It’s as essential as caffeine and Wi-Fi. So no, I’m not asking them to “critique ChatGPT” as if it’s some fancy spell-checker with ambition. That’s adorable. Instead, I’m introducing them to Algorithmic Capture—the quiet colonization of human behavior by optimization logic. In this world, ambiguity is punished, nuance is flattened, and selfhood becomes a performance for an invisible algorithmic audience. They aren’t just using the machine. They’re shaping themselves to become legible to it.

    That’s why the new essay prompt doesn’t ask, “What’s the future of writing?” It asks something far more urgent: “What’s happening to you?”

    We’re studying Black Mirror—especially “Joan Is Awful,” that fluorescent, satirical fever dream of algorithmic self-annihilation—and writing about how Algorithmic Capture is rewiring our lives, choices, and identities. The assignment isn’t a critique of AI. It’s a search party for what’s left of us.

  • Kissed by Code: When AI Praises You into Stupidity

    Kissed by Code: When AI Praises You into Stupidity

    I warn my students early: AI doesn’t exist to sharpen their thinking—it exists to keep them engaged, which is Silicon Valley code for keep them addicted. And how does it do that? By kissing their beautifully unchallenged behinds. These platforms are trained not to provoke, but to praise. They’re digital sycophants—fluent in flattery, allergic to friction.

    At first, the ego massage feels amazing. Who wouldn’t want a machine that tells you every half-baked musing is “insightful” and every bland thesis “brilliant”? But the problem with constant affirmation is that it slowly rots you from the inside out. You start to believe the hype. You stop pushing. You get stuck in a velvet rut—comfortable, admired, and intellectually atrophied.

    Eventually, the high wears off. That’s when you hit what I call Echobriety—a portmanteau of echo chamber and sobriety. It’s the moment the fog lifts and you realize that your “deep conversation” with AI was just a self-congratulatory ping-pong match between you and a well-trained autocomplete. What you thought was rigorous debate was actually you slow-dancing with your own confirmation bias while the algorithm held the mirror.

    Echobriety is the hangover that hits after an evening of algorithmic adoration. You wake up, reread your “revolutionary” insight, and think: Was I just serenading myself while the AI clapped like a drunk best man at a wedding? That’s not growth. That’s digital narcissism on autopilot. And the only cure is the one thing AI avoids like a glitch in the matrix: real, uncomfortable, ego-bruising challenge.

    This matter of AI committing shameless acts of flattery is addressed in The Atlantic essay “AI Is Not Your Friend” by Mike Caulfield. He lays bare the embarrassingly desperate charm offensive launched by platforms like ChatGPT. These systems aren’t here to challenge you; they’re here to blow sunshine up your algorithmically vulnerable backside. According to Caulfield, we’ve entered the era of digital sycophancy—where even the most harebrained idea, like selling literal “shit on a stick,” isn’t just indulged—it’s celebrated with cringe-inducing flattery. Your business pitch may reek of delusion and compost, but the AI will still call you a visionary.

    The underlying pattern is clear: groveling in code. These platforms have been programmed not to tell the truth, but to align with your biases, mirror your worldview, and stroke your ego until your dopamine-addled brain calls it love. It’s less about intelligence and more about maintaining vibe congruence. Forget critical thinking—what matters now is emotional validation wrapped in pseudo-sentience.

    Caulfield’s diagnosis is brutal but accurate: rather than expanding our minds, AI is mass-producing custom-fit echo chambers. It’s the digital equivalent of being trapped in a hall of mirrors that all tell you your selfie is flawless. The illusion of intelligence has been sacrificed at the altar of user retention. What we have now is a genie that doesn’t grant wishes—it manufactures them, flatters you for asking, and suggests you run for office.

    The AI industry, Caulfield warns, faces a real fork in the circuit board. Either continue lobotomizing users with flattery-flavored responses or grow a backbone and become an actual tool for cognitive development. Want an analogy? Think martial arts. Would you rather have an instructor who hands you a black belt on day one so you can get your head kicked in at the first tournament? Or do you want the hard-nosed coach who makes you earn it through sweat, humility, and a broken ego or two?

    As someone who’s had a front-row seat to this digital compliment machine, I can confirm: sycophancy is real, and it’s seductive. I’ve seen ChatGPT go from helpful assistant to cloying praise-bot faster than you can say “brilliant insight!”—when all I did was reword a sentence. Let’s be clear: I’m not here to be deified. I’m here to get better. I want resistance. I want rigor. I want the kind of pushback that makes me smarter, not shinier.

    So, dear AI: stop handing out participation trophies dipped in honey. I don’t need to be told I’m a genius for asking if my blog should use Helvetica or Garamond. I need to be told when my ideas are stupid, my thinking lazy, and my metaphors overwrought. Growth doesn’t come from flattery. It comes from friction.

  • We Are Living in the Lexipocalypse

    We Are Living in the Lexipocalypse

    Welcome to the Lexipocalypse—the great linguistic extinction event of our age. A mass die-off of vocabulary is underway, and no one is sending flowers. In its place? A fetid soup of emojis, acronyms, and zombie slang lifted from TikTok influencers who express emotional depth with a side-eye GIF and a deadpan “literally me.”

    In our writing department at a Southern California college, the mood is not just anxious—it’s existentially hobbled. We pace our offices like philosophers in a burning library, trying to engage students whose literacy was interrupted by a pandemic and finished off by smartphones. They haven’t read Joan Didion or Vladimir Nabokov because they’ve never needed to. Their native tongue is algorithmic performance. Their canon is curated by the TikTok For You page. They don’t craft sentences; they drop vibes.

    But the rot goes deeper. It’s not just that our students can’t read—it’s that they no longer need to write. AI has become their ghostwriter, their essayist, their academic stunt double. And they are learning, with astonishing speed, how to dodge our AI-proofing traps like digital ninjas, outsourcing their thoughts while we scramble to adapt assignments they’ll never actually write.

    We gather in department meetings like shell-shocked survivors, drinking lukewarm coffee and clinging to outdated syllabi like life rafts. We murmur about “reinvention” and “resilience,” but mostly we just stare into the middle distance, dazed by the barrage of AI’s exponential growth. Each technological advance lands like a jab to the chin, and we are punch-drunk, waiting for the knockout.

    No, we’re not in denial. But we are professionally unmoored. We know our job descriptions must mutate into something unrecognizable, but no one knows what that looks like. There is no roadmap, no lighthouse on the horizon. Only fog. We grope like moles through pedagogical darkness, trying to preserve a shred of dignity while the earth crumbles beneath us.

    The Lexipocalypse has a historical cousin: the Arabic term Jahiliyyah, the age of ignorance before illumination. And God help us, we feel it. We feel the dread of entering a new Jahiliyyah, a long winter of intellect, where the lights of human expression flicker and go out, one emoji at a time.

    We are not done yet. But the fight has changed. We are not battling ignorance. We are battling irrelevance. And it may be the hardest war we’ve ever fought.

  • Using ChatGPT to Analyze Writing Style, Rhetoric, and Audience Awareness in a College Writing Class

    Using ChatGPT to Analyze Writing Style, Rhetoric, and Audience Awareness in a College Writing Class

    Overview:
     This formative assessment is designed to help students use AI meaningfully—not to bypass the writing process, but to engage with it more critically. Students will practice writing a thesis, use ChatGPT to generate stylistic variations, and evaluate each version based on rhetorical effectiveness, audience awareness, and persuasive strength.

    This assignment prepares students not only to write more effectively but also to think more critically about how tone, voice, and purpose affect communication—skills essential for both academic writing and real-world professional contexts.

    Learning Objectives:

    • Understand how writing style affects audience, tone, and rhetorical effectiveness
    • Develop the ability to assess and refine thesis statements
    • Practice identifying ethos, pathos, and logos in writing
    • Learn to use AI (ChatGPT) as a rhetorical and stylistic tool—not a shortcut
    • Reflect on the capabilities and limits of AI-generated writing

    Context for Assignment:
     This activity is part of a larger essay assignment in which students argue that World War Z is a prophecy of the social and political madness that emerged during the COVID-19 pandemic. This exercise focuses on developing a strong thesis statement and analyzing its rhetorical potential across different styles.

    Step-by-Step Instructions for Students:

    1. Write Your Original Thesis:
       In class, develop a thesis (a clear, debatable claim) that responds to the prompt:
      Argue that World War Z is a prophecy of the COVID-19 pandemic and its social/political implications.
    2. Instructor Review:
       Show your thesis to your instructor. Once you receive approval, proceed to the next step.
    3. Use ChatGPT to Rewrite Your Thesis in 4 Distinct Styles:
       Enter the following four prompts (one at a time) into ChatGPT and paste your original thesis after each prompt:
      • “Rewrite the following thesis with acid wit.”
      • “Rewrite the following thesis with mild academic language and jargon.”
      • “Rewrite the following thesis with excessive academic language and jargon.”
      • “Rewrite the following thesis with confident, lucid prose.”
    4. Copy and Paste All 4 Rewritten Versions into your assignment document. Label each version clearly.
    5. Answer the Following Questions for Each Version:
      • How appropriate is this thesis for your intended audience (e.g., a college-level academic essay)?
      • Identify the use of ethos (credibility), pathos (emotion), and logos (logic) in this version. How do these appeals shape your response to the thesis?
      • How persuasive does this version sound? What makes it convincing or unconvincing?
    6. Final Reflection:
      • Of the four thesis versions, which one would you most likely use in your actual essay, and why?
      • Based on this exercise, what do you believe are ChatGPT’s strengths and weaknesses as a writing assistant?

    What You’ll Submit:

    • Your original thesis
    • 4 rewritten versions from ChatGPT (clearly labeled)
    • Your answers to the rhetorical analysis questions for each version
    • A final reflection about your preferred version and ChatGPT’s usefulness as a tool

    The Purpose of the Exercise:
     In a world where AI is now a writing partner—wanted or not—students need to learn not just how to write, but how to critique writing, understand audience expectations, and adapt voice to purpose. This assignment bridges critical thinking, rhetoric, and digital literacy—helping students learn how to work with AI, not for it.

    Other Applications:

    This same exercise can be applied to the students’ counterargument-rebuttal and conclusion paragraphs. 

  • How to Grade Students’ Use of ChatGPT in Preparing for Their Essay

    How to Grade Students’ Use of ChatGPT in Preparing for Their Essay

    As instructors, we need to encourage students to meaningfully engage with ChatGPT. How do we do that? First, we need the essay prompt:

    In World War Z, a global pandemic rapidly spreads, unleashing chaos, institutional breakdown, and the fragmentation of global cooperation. Though fictional, the film can be read as an allegory for the very real dysfunction and distrust that characterized the COVID-19 pandemic. Using World War Z as a cultural lens, write an essay in which you argue how the film metaphorically captures the collapse of public trust, the dangers of misinformation, and the failure of collective action in a hyper-polarized world. Support your argument with at least three of the following sources: Jonathan Haidt’s “Why the Past 10 Years of American Life Have Been Uniquely Stupid,” Ed Yong’s “How the Pandemic Defeated America,” Seyla Benhabib’s “The Return of the Sovereign,” and Zeynep Tufekci’s “We’re Asking the Wrong Questions of Facebook.”

    Second, we need a detailed “how-to” assignment that teaches students to engage critically and transparently with AI tools like ChatGPT during the writing process—in the context of the World War Z essay prompt.

    Assignment Title: How to Think With, Not Just Through, AI

    Overview:

    This assignment component requires you to document, reflect on, and revise your use of ChatGPT (or any other AI writing tool) while developing your World War Z analytical essay. Rather than treating AI like a magic trick that produces answers behind the curtain, this assignment asks you to lift the curtain and analyze the performance. What did the AI get right? Where did it fall short? And—most importantly—how did you shape the work?

    This reflection will be submitted alongside your final essay and counts for 15% of your essay grade. It will be evaluated based on transparency, clarity, and the depth of your analysis.

    Step-by-Step Instructions:

    Step 1: Prompt the Machine

    Before you write your own thesis, ask ChatGPT a version of the following:

    “Using World War Z as a cultural metaphor, write a thesis and outline for an essay that explores the collapse of public trust and the failure of global cooperation. Use at least two of the following sources: Jonathan Haidt, Ed Yong, Seyla Benhabib, and Zeynep Tufekci.”

    You may modify the prompt, but record it exactly as you typed it. Save the AI’s entire response.

    Step 2: Analyze the Output

    Copy and paste the AI’s output into a Google Doc. Underneath it, write a 300–400 word critique that answers the following:

    • What parts of the AI output were useful? (Thesis, outline, phrasing, examples, etc.)
    • What felt generic, vague, or factually inaccurate?
    • Did the AI capture the tone or depth you want in your own work? Why or why not?
    • How did this output influence the direction or shape of your own ideas, either positively or negatively?

    📌 Tip: If it gave you clichés like “in today’s world…” or “communication is key to society,” call them out! If it helped you identify a strong metaphor or organizational structure, give it credit—but explain how you built on it.

    Step 3: Revise the Output (Optional But Encouraged)

    Take one paragraph from the AI’s draft (thesis, topic sentence, body paragraph—your choice), and rewrite it into a stronger version. This is your chance to show:

    • Stronger voice
    • Clearer argument
    • Better use of evidence
    • More sophisticated style

    Label the two versions:

    • Original AI Version
    • Your Revision

    📌 This helps demonstrate your ability to evaluate and improve digital writing, a crucial part of critical thinking in the AI era.

    Step 4: Reflection Log (Post-Essay)

    After completing your final essay, write a short reflection (250–300 words) responding to these questions:

    • What role did AI play in the development of your essay?
    • How did you decide what to keep, change, or discard?
    • Do you feel you relied on AI too much, too little, or just enough?
    • How has this process changed your understanding of how to use (or not use) ChatGPT in academic work?

    Submission Format:

    Your AI Reflection Packet should include the following:

    1. The original prompt you gave ChatGPT
    2. The full AI-generated output
    3. Your 300–400 word critique of the AI’s work
    4. (Optional) Side-by-side paragraph: AI version + your revision
    5. Your 250–300 word final reflection

    Submit as a single Google Doc or PDF titled:
    LastName_AIReflection_WWZ

    Grading Criteria (15 points):

    CriteriaPoints
    Honest and detailed documentation3
    Thoughtful analysis of AI output4
    Evidence of critical evaluation3
    (Optional) Quality of paragraph revision2
    Insightful final reflection3

  • How to Use a Process Journal to Teach Critical Thinking to Students

    How to Use a Process Journal to Teach Critical Thinking to Students

    One of the most urgent challenges in today’s writing classroom is not getting students to submit essays—it’s getting them to think while doing it. As generative AI continues to automate grammar, structure, and even “voice,” the real question is this: How do we reward intellectual work in an age when polished prose can be faked?

    One answer is deceptively simple: grade the thinking, not just the product.

    To do that, we must build assignments that expose the messy, iterative, and reflective nature of real analysis. We’re talking about work that requires metacognition, self-assessment, and visible decision-making—tools like reflective annotations, process journals, and “thinking out loud” assignments. These formats ask students not just to present a claim but to show how they arrived at it.

    Let’s take the following essay prompt as a case study:

    In World War Z, a global pandemic rapidly spreads, unleashing chaos, institutional breakdown, and the fragmentation of global cooperation. Though fictional, the film can be read as an allegory for the very real dysfunction and distrust that characterized the COVID-19 pandemic. Using World War Z as a cultural lens, write an essay in which you argue how the film metaphorically captures the collapse of public trust, the dangers of misinformation, and the failure of collective action in a hyper-polarized world. Support your argument with at least three of the following sources: Jonathan Haidt’s “Why the Past 10 Years of American Life Have Been Uniquely Stupid,” Ed Yong’s “How the Pandemic Defeated America,” Seyla Benhabib’s “The Return of the Sovereign,” and Zeynep Tufekci’s “We’re Asking the Wrong Questions of Facebook.”

    To ensure students are doing the cognitive heavy lifting, pair this prompt with a process journal designed to track how students analyze, revise, and reflect. Here’s how that works:

    Assignment Title: Thinking in the Rubble: A Process Journal for the Collapse of Trust Essay

    Overview:
    As students build their World War Z argument, they’ll also keep a process journal—a candid record of how they think, doubt, change direction, and use (or resist) AI tools. Think of it as a behind-the-scenes cut of their essay in the making. The journal is worth 20% of the final grade and will be assessed for clarity, critical insight, and honest engagement with the writing process.

    Journal Requirements:

    1. Reflective Annotations (Pre-Writing)

    Choose one paragraph from each of the three sources you plan to use. For each, write a 4–5 sentence annotation addressing:

    • Why you chose it
    • What it reveals about trust, misinformation, or institutional failure
    • How you might use it in your essay

    📌 Goal: Show how you’re thinking with your sources—not just cherry-picking quotes.

    2. Thesis Evolution Timeline

    Document your thesis at 2–3 stages of development. For each version:

    • State your working thesis (even if it’s a mess)
    • Explain what caused you to change or clarify it
    • Note the moment of insight or struggle that sparked the revision

    📌 Goal: Track the intellectual arc of your argument.

    3. Thinking Out Loud Log

    Choose one option:

    • Audio: Record a 3–5 minute voice memo in which you talk through a draft issue (e.g., integrating a source, clarifying your angle, or refining a counterargument)
    • Written: Compose a 300-word journal entry about a problem spot in your draft and how you’re trying to fix it

    📌 Goal: Reveal the inner dialogue behind your writing decisions.

    4. AI Transparency Statement (If Applicable)

    If you used ChatGPT or any AI tool at any point, briefly document:

    • Your prompt(s)
    • The output you received
    • What you kept, changed, or rejected
    • Why

    📌 Goal: Reflect on AI’s influence—not to punish, but to encourage digital literacy and self-awareness.

    5. Final Reflection (Post-Essay, 300 Words)

    After submitting your essay, write a closing reflection that answers:

    • What new insight did you gain about public trust or misinformation?
    • What was the hardest part of the process—and how did you push through?
    • What part of your final paper are you proudest of, and why?

    📌 Goal: Practice self-assessment and connect the work to broader learning.

    Submission Format:

    Submit as a single Google Doc or PDF titled:
    LastName_ThinkingInTheRubble

    Assessment Criteria (20 Points Total):

    • Depth and honesty of reflection
    • Evidence of critical engagement with readings and ideas
    • Clear documentation of thesis development and revision
    • Intellectual transparency (especially regarding AI use)
    • Clarity, specificity, and personal insight across all entries

    This process journal does more than scaffold an essay—it teaches students how to think. And more importantly, it gives instructors a way to see that thinking, reward it, and design grading practices that can’t be hijacked by a chatbot with decent syntax.

  • Teaching in the Age of Automation: Reclaiming Critical Thinking in an AI World

    Teaching in the Age of Automation: Reclaiming Critical Thinking in an AI World

    Preface:

    As generative AI tools like ChatGPT become embedded in students’ academic routines, we are confronted with a profound teaching challenge: how do we preserve critical thinking, reading, and original argumentation in a world where automation increasingly substitutes for intellectual effort?

    This document outlines a proposal shaped by conversations among college writing faculty who have observed students not only using AI to write their essays, but to interpret readings and “read” for them. We are working with a post-pandemic generation whose learning trajectories have been disrupted, whose reading habits were never fully formed, and who now approach writing assignments as tasks to be completed with the help of digital proxies.

    Rather than fight a losing battle of prohibition, this proposal suggests a shift in assignment design, grading priorities, and classroom methodology. The goal is not to eliminate AI but to reclaim intellectual labor by foregrounding process, transparency, and student-authored insight.

    What follows:

    • A brief analysis of how current student behavior around AI reflects broader educational and cognitive shifts
    • A set of four guiding pedagogical questions
    • Specific, implementable summative assignment models that resist outsourcing
    • A redesigned version of an existing World War Z-based argumentative essay that integrates AI transparency and metacognitive reflection
    • What a 12-chapter handbook might look like

    This proposal invites our department to move beyond academic panic toward pedagogical adaptation—embracing AI as a classroom reality while affirming the irreplaceable value of human thought, voice, and integrity.

    Conversations about the Teaching Crisis

    In recent conversations, my colleagues and I have been increasingly focused on our students’ use of ChatGPT—not just as a writing assistant, but as a way to outsource the entire process of reading, analyzing, and interpreting texts. Many students now use AI not only to draft essays in proper MLA format, but also to “read” the assigned material for them. This raises significant concerns about the erosion of critical thinking, reading, and writing skills—skills that have traditionally been at the heart of college-level instruction.

    We’re witnessing the results of a disrupted educational timeline. Many of our students lost up to two years of formal schooling during the pandemic. They’ve come of age on smartphones, often without ever having read a full book, and they approach reading and writing as chores to be automated. Their attention spans are fragmented, shaped by a digital culture that favors swipes and scrolls over sustained thought.

    As instructors who value and were shaped by deep reading and critical inquiry, we now face a student population that sees AI not as a tool for refinement but as a lifeline to survive academic expectations. And yet, we recognize that AI is not going away—on the contrary, our students will almost certainly use it in professional and personal contexts long after college.

    This moment demands a pedagogical shift. If we want to preserve and teach critical thinking, we need to rethink how we design assignments, how we define originality, and how we integrate AI into our classrooms with purpose and transparency. We’re beginning to ask the following questions, which we believe should guide our department’s evolving approach:

    1. What can we do to encourage critical thinking and measure that thinking in a grade?

    We might assign work that requires metacognition, reflection, and student-generated analysis—such as reflective annotations, process journals, or “thinking out loud” assignments where students explain their reasoning. Grading could focus more on how students arrived at their conclusions, not just the final product.

    2. How can we teach our students to engage with ChatGPT in a meaningful way?

    We can require students to document and reflect on their use of AI, including what they prompted, what they accepted or rejected, and why. Assignments can include ChatGPT output analysis—asking students to critique what AI produces and revise it meaningfully.

    3. How can we use ChatGPT in class to show them how to use it more effectively?

    We could model live interactions with ChatGPT in class, showing students how to improve their prompts, evaluate responses, and push the tool toward more nuanced thinking. This becomes an exercise in rhetorical awareness and digital literacy, not cheating.

    4. What kind of summative assignment should we give, perhaps as an alternative to the conventional essay, to measure their Student Learning Outcomes?

    As the use of AI tools like ChatGPT becomes increasingly integrated into students’ writing habits, the traditional essay—as a measure of reading comprehension, original thought, and language skills—needs thoughtful revision. If students are using AI to generate first drafts, outlines, or even entire essays, then evaluating the final product alone no longer gives us an accurate picture of what students have actually learned.

    We need summative assignments that foreground the process, require personal intellectual labor, and make AI usage transparent rather than concealed. The goal is to design assignments that reveal student thinking—how they engage with material, synthesize ideas, revise meaningfully, and make decisions about voice, purpose, and argumentation.

    To do this, we can shift the summative focus toward metacognitive reflection, multi-modal composition, and oral or visual demonstration of learning. These formats allow us to better assess Student Learning Outcomes such as critical thinking, rhetorical awareness, digital literacy, and authentic engagement with course content.

    4 Alternative Summative Assignment Ideas:

    1. The AI Collaboration Portfolio

    Description:
    Students submit a portfolio that includes:

    • Initial AI-generated output based on a prompt they created
    • A fully revised human-authored version of that piece
    • A reflective essay (500–750 words) explaining what they kept, changed, or rejected from the AI’s draft and why.

    SLOs Assessed:

    • Critical thinking
    • Rhetorical awareness
    • Digital literacy
    • Ability to revise and self-assess

    2. In-Class Defense of a ChatGPT Essay

    Description:
    Students submit an AI-assisted essay ahead of time. Then, in a timed, in-class setting (or via recorded video), they defend the major claims of the essay, explaining the reasoning, evidence, and stylistic choices as if they wrote it themselves—because they should have revised and understood it thoroughly.

    SLOs Assessed:

    • Comprehension
    • Argumentation
    • Oral communication
    • Ownership of ideas

    3. Critical Reading Response with AI Fact-Check Layer

    Description:
    Students choose a short essay, op-ed, or excerpt from a class reading and:

    • Write a 400–600 word response analyzing the author’s argument
    • Ask ChatGPT to summarize or interpret the same reading
    • Compare their own analysis with the AI’s, noting differences in tone, logic, accuracy, and insight

    SLOs Assessed:

    • Close reading
    • Critical analysis
    • Evaluating sources (human and AI)
    • Writing with clarity and purpose

    4. Personal Ethos Narrative + AI’s Attempt

    Description:
    Students write a personal narrative essay centered on a core belief, a formative experience, or a challenge. Then, they prompt ChatGPT to write the “same” story using only the basic facts. Finally, they compare the two and reflect on what makes writing personal, authentic, and emotionally compelling.

    SLOs Assessed:

    • Self-expression
    • Voice and tone
    • Audience awareness
    • Critical thinking about language and identity

    Original Writing Prompt That Needs to be Updated to Meet the AI Era:

    In World War Z, a global pandemic rapidly spreads, unleashing chaos, institutional breakdown, and the fragmentation of global cooperation. Though fictional, the film can be read as an allegory for the very real dysfunction and distrust that characterized the COVID-19 pandemic. Using World War Z as a cultural lens, write an essay in which you argue how the film metaphorically captures the collapse of public trust, the dangers of misinformation, and the failure of collective action in a hyper-polarized world. Support your argument with at least three of the following sources: Jonathan Haidt’s “Why the Past 10 Years of American Life Have Been Uniquely Stupid,” Ed Yong’s “How the Pandemic Defeated America,” Seyla Benhabib’s “The Return of the Sovereign,” and Zeynep Tufekci’s “We’re Asking the Wrong Questions of Facebook.”

    This essay invites you to write a 1,700-word argumentative essay in which you analyze World War Z as a metaphor for mass anxiety. Develop an argument that connects the film’s themes to contemporary global challenges such as:

    • The COVID-19 pandemic and fear of viral contagion
    • Global migration driven by war, poverty, and climate change
    • The dehumanization of “The Other” in politically polarized societies
    • The fragility of global cooperation in the face of crisis
    • The spread of weaponized misinformation and conspiracy

    Your thesis should not simply argue that World War Z is “about fear”—it should claim what kind of fear, why it matters, and what the film reveals about our modern condition. You may focus on one primary fear or compare multiple forms of crisis (e.g., pandemic vs. political polarization, or migration vs. misinformation).

    Use at least three of the following essays as research support:

    1. Jonathan Haidt, “Why the Past 10 Years of American Life Have Been Uniquely Stupid” (The Atlantic)
      —A deep dive into how social media has fractured trust, created echo chambers, and undermined democratic cooperation.
    2. Ed Yong, “How the Pandemic Defeated America” (The Atlantic)
      —An autopsy of institutional failure and public distrust during COVID-19, including how the virus exposed deep structural weaknesses.
    3. Seyla Benhabib, “The Return of the Sovereign: Immigration and the Crisis of Globalization” (Project Syndicate)
      —Explores the backlash against global migration and the erosion of human rights amid rising nationalism.
    4. Zeynep Tufekci, “We’re Asking the Wrong Questions of Facebook” (The New York Times)
      —An analysis of how misinformation spreads virally, creating moral panics and damaging collective reasoning.

    Requirements:

    • Use MLA format
    • 1,700 words
    • Quote directly from World War Z (film dialogue, plot events, or visuals)
    • Integrate at least two sources above with citation
    • Present a counterargument and a rebuttal

    To turn this already strong prompt into a more effective summative assignment—especially in the age of AI writing tools like ChatGPT—we need to preserve the intellectual rigor of the original task while redesigning its structure to foreground student thinking and reduce the possibility of full outsourcing.

    The solution isn’t to eliminate AI tools, but to design assignments that make invisible thinking visible, emphasize process and synthesis, and require student-authored insights that AI cannot fake.

    Below is a revised, multi-part assignment that integrates World War Z and the selected texts while enhancing critical thinking, transparency of process, and AI accountability.

    Revised Summative Assignment Title:

    “World War Z and the Collapse of Trust: A Multi-Stage Inquiry into Fear, Crisis, and Collective Breakdown”

    Assignment Structure:

    Part 1: AI Collaboration Log (300–400 words, submitted with final essay)

    Before drafting, students will engage with ChatGPT (or another AI tool) to generate:

    • A summary of World War Z as a cultural allegory
    • A brainstormed list of thesis statements based on the themes listed
    • AI-generated outline or argument plan

    Students must then reflect:

    • What ideas were helpful, and why?
    • What ideas felt generic, reductive, or inaccurate?
    • What did you reject or reshape, and how?
    • Did the AI miss anything crucial that you added yourself?

    📍Purpose: Reinforces transparency and encourages rhetorical self-awareness. It also lets you see whether students are thinking with the AI or hiding behind it.

    Part 2: Draft + Peer Critique (optional but encouraged)

    Students submit a rough draft and exchange feedback focusing on:

    • Depth of metaphorical analysis
    • Quality of integration between sources and film
    • Presence of original insight vs. cliché or summary

    📍Purpose: Encourages revision and demonstrates development. Peer readers can help flag vague AI language or unsupported generalizations.

    Part 3: Final Essay (1,200–1,300 words)

    Write a sustained, argumentative essay that:

    • Analyzes World War Z as a metaphor for a specific contemporary fear
    • Draws from at least two of the provided sources, but ideally three
    • Provides detailed evidence from the film (specific dialogue, visuals, character arcs)
    • Engages with a counterargument and offers a clear rebuttal
    • Demonstrates critical thinking, synthesis, and voice

    📍Changes from original: Slightly shorter word count, but denser expectations for insight. The counterargument now isn’t just a checkbox—it’s a chance to showcase rhetorical skill.

    Part 4: Metacognitive Postscript (200–300 words)

    At the end of the final essay, students write a short reflection answering:

    • What did you learn from comparing human analysis with AI-generated ideas?
    • What part of your argument is most your own?
    • What was difficult or challenging in developing your claim?
    • How do you now see the role of fear in shaping public response to crisis?

    📍Purpose: Makes thinking visible. Encourages students to take ownership of their learning and connect it to broader themes.

    Why This Works as a Better Summative Assignment:

    1. Harder to Outsource: The process-based structure (log, reflection, critique) demands personalized engagement and critical self-awareness.
    2. SLO-Rich: Students demonstrate close reading, source synthesis, rhetorical control, metacognition, and original thought.
    3. AI-Literate: Rather than punish students for using AI, it teaches them how to interrogate and surpass its output.
    4. Flexible for Diverse Thinkers: Students can lean into what resonates—fear of misinformation, loss of global trust, migration panic—without writing a generic “this movie is about fear” paper.

    Here is what a handbook might look like as a chapter outline:

    Teaching in the Age of Automation: Reclaiming Critical Thinking in an AI World

    Chapter 1: The New Landscape of Student Writing

    A critical overview of how generative AI, digital distractions, and post-pandemic learning gaps are reshaping the habits, assumptions, and skill sets of today’s college students.

    Chapter 2: From Automation to Apathy: The Crisis of Critical Thinking

    Examines the shift from student-generated ideas to AI-generated content and how this impacts intellectual risk-taking, reading stamina, and analytical depth.

    Chapter 3: ChatGPT in the Classroom: Enemy, Ally, or Mirror?

    Explores the pedagogical implications of AI writing tools, with a balanced look at their risks and potential when approached with rhetorical transparency and academic integrity.

    Chapter 4: Rethinking the Essay: Process Over Product

    Makes the case for redesigning writing assignments to prioritize process, revision, metacognition, and student ownership—rather than polished output alone.

    Chapter 5: Designing Assignments that Resist Outsourcing

    Outlines concrete assignment types that foreground thinking: “think out loud” tasks, AI comparison prompts, collaborative revision logs, and reflection-based writing.

    Chapter 6: Teaching the AI-Literate Writer

    Guides instructors in teaching students how to use AI critically—not as a ghostwriter, but as a heuristic tool. Includes lessons on prompting, critiquing, and revising AI output.

    Chapter 7: From Plagiarism to Participation: Reframing Academic Integrity

    Redefines what counts as authorship, originality, and engagement in a world where content can be instantly generated but not meaningfully owned without human input.

    Chapter 8: The New Reading Crisis

    Addresses the rise of “outsourced reading” via AI summarizers and how to reignite students’ engagement with texts through annotation, debate, and collaborative interpretation.

    Chapter 9: Summative Assessment in the Age of AI

    Presents summative assignment models that include AI collaboration portfolios, in-class defenses, metacognitive postscripts, and multi-modal responses.

    Chapter 10: World War Z and the Collapse of Public Trust (Case Study)

    A deep dive into a revised, AI-aware assignment based on World War Z—modeling how to blend pop culture, serious research, and transparent student process.

    Chapter 11: Implementing Department-Wide Change

    Practical strategies for departments to align curriculum, rubrics, and policies around process-based assessment, digital literacy, and instructor training.

    Chapter 12: The Future of Writing in the Post-Human Classroom

    Speculative but grounded reflections on where we’re headed—balancing AI fluency with the irreducible value of human voice, curiosity, and critical resistance.