I was in my late fifties when the Covid lockdown forced me to figure out how to teach college writing online. Picture me scrambling like a headless chicken, trying to cram my course content into Canvas Modules and somehow create “student engagement” without turning my class into a glorified correspondence course. I didn’t whine—thankful, at least, that I could work from the safety of my cocoon while everyone else was busy losing their minds, juggling the chaos of the ever-mutating pandemic.
I completed a ten-week course on making online classes engaging, a challenge that felt a bit like coaching Dorothy and Toto along the Yellow-Brick Road. The students start off in Canvas, as lost as Dorothy in MunchkinLand, and my role, apparently, is to guide them along that winding, glitch-riddled road through all the trials of digital Oz. From the outset, I had to assume they’d be staring at their screens with a mix of dread and confusion—no teacher hovering nearby to reassure them, no calming voice to say, “Yes, you’re on the right track,” when they feared their uploaded assignment might not follow directions. And then, of course, there’s the matter of grades. For an anxious student, a low score notification feels less like feedback and more like the academic version of opening a FedEx package only to find a smelly sock inside.
I did everything I could to make Canvas feel like a safe zone. If students botched an upload, I’d let them try again without a penalty. Finding the right balance in directions was its own adventure: too many instructions, and it’s like staring at the cockpit of a 747, baffling and overwhelming. Too few, and they’re adrift without a compass. I also worked hard to break down each writing assignment into manageable steps, taking a page from the DMV playbook. At the DMV, there’s no mystery—big yellow signs point you to “Station 1,” “Station 2,” and so on. My goal? Make Canvas as easy to navigate as the DMV steps but minus the endless lines and bureaucratic misery.
The pandemic taught me that online education is a different animal than face-to-face teaching. Here, I’m not just a teacher but a guide, a cheerleader, and the technical help desk, ushering students through the labyrinthine modules and dodging their inevitable worries about formatting and deadlines. My goal? To help them make it to the other side of the digital Land of Oz without clicking their heels three times and disappearing from Canvas forever.
When we returned to in-person teaching, masks on and vaccination cards at the ready for safety checks, I assumed I’d be back to a full schedule of face-to-face classes, delivering sixteen hours of lectures each week for my four sections of college composition. Instead, student demand for online classes held strong. As a result, my new schedule shifted to two online courses and two hybrid courses meeting only once a week. My in-class lecturing dropped to just four hours weekly, and, truth be told, I didn’t mind. Teaching four-hour weeks rather than sixteen was more manageable at this point in my life.
With this new format, I knew I’d need to stay sharp in the online teaching world. But just when I got a handle on Canvas, I faced an even bigger challenge to my teaching–AI. Around 2022, my students started throwing around the name ChatGPT like it was the Second Coming, and suddenly, I found myself knocked back on my heels. But instead of morphing into the cranky old man shaking his fist at the apocalypse, I found myself in awe of this technological sorcery. It was like someone parked a glowing UFO in my driveway and left the keys.
Naturally, I did what any self-respecting writer would do—I took it for a spin. And let me tell you, this wasn’t just some flashy gimmick. It was a literary jet engine strapped to my prose, launching me into the stratosphere of seemingly unlimited possibilities. AI became my performance-enhancing drug, pumping my writing into an Arnold Schwarzenegger-esque “most muscular” pose. And let’s be honest—there’s no way to stuff this genie back into its bottle.
But it wasn’t just me grappling with this disruptive technological beast; my students had to wrestle with it too. It wasn’t enough for them to simply dabble in AI—they needed to master it. I knew, deep down in my coffee-stained soul, that it was my duty to teach them how to wield this digital superpower ethically and effectively. After all, they weren’t just competing against each other anymore; they were preparing for a future job market where AI would be as essential as a stapler—an indispensable tool for saving time and money. To leave them unequipped would be nothing short of educational malpractice.
Two years of mindlessly binging on ChatGPT like a glutton at an all-you-can-eat buffet have brought me to a harsh realization: there are two distinct breeds of AI users. The first group is the Hamburger Helper crowd. To explain this, I must first take you back to the 1970s, when Hamburger Helper—an unholy mix of dried potatoes, peas, and cornstarch—was the go-to for my exhausted mother. She never served it with a smile or a flourish; no, it was the grim “I’m too tired to cook, so this will have to do” meal. She’d look at me with glazed eyes and mutter, “Sorry, Jeff, it’s going to be Hamburger Helper tonight.” In other words, it was a culinary last resort—a one-skillet concoction born of fatigue and resignation.
Over time, Hamburger Helper became less about necessity and more about convenience. It wasn’t a moment of joy; it was a surrender to mediocrity, a reluctant capitulation to convenience at the expense of culinary standards. And this, my friends, is the perfect metaphor for the Hamburger Helper approach to using AI. Most AI users approach the tool with the same defeated attitude: “Just whip up something for me, and I’ll deal with the aftermath later.” These folks create work that is as appetizing as a soggy, expired burger, then slap some AI-generated lipstick on it, thinking they’ve made it presentable. They fool themselves into thinking this will be enough to pass as something worthy of attention—but it’s ultimately forgettable. This is the lowest form of AI use, no more groundbreaking than relying on a spell-checker. It’s been done before with Grammarly and other tools. Those who adopt this approach are destined to lead a life of mediocrity and quiet despair, wallowing in a sea of well-polished yet hollow work.
As a college writing instructor who wants and needs to be relevant in the AI Age, I have to discourage students from using the following feeble methods in what I call the Hamburger Helper Approach, leading to a lifeless, mediocre outcome:
1. Spell-Check Substitution
Using AI purely to catch typos and minor grammar mistakes, as if it were nothing more than an over-glorified spell-checker.
2. Synonym Swaps
Asking AI to replace a few words with fancier synonyms, hoping it’ll make the writing sound sophisticated without adding any actual depth.
3. Intro and Conclusion Generators
Letting AI crank out generic introductions and conclusions that could fit any essay, giving the illusion of structure without genuine insight.
4. Polishing Bland Ideas
Feeding AI lackluster content and using it to simply smooth out the sentences, dressing up empty thoughts in polished prose.
5. Filler Paragraph Production
Using AI to churn out long-winded but meaningless filler paragraphs, padding word count without adding substance.
6. Rehashing Clichés
Prompting AI to layer clichés over every paragraph, resulting in writing that’s formulaic and as stale as week-old bread.
7. Overusing Pre-Set Templates
Relying on AI to generate responses based on rigid templates, so the writing lacks any original thought or personal voice.
8. Generating Fake Transitions
Inserting AI-generated “transition sentences” that sound smooth but connect ideas as awkwardly as puzzle pieces from different boxes.
9. Blind Acceptance of AI Output
Copying and pasting AI suggestions without question, as if the AI’s word is law, resulting in sterile, uninspired text.
10. Avoiding Research
Asking AI to generate “facts” instead of doing actual research, with signal phrases, quotations, paraphrases, and close textual analysis, creating a paper full of broad, generic statements without accuracy or depth.
These methods rely on AI to add surface polish rather than meaningful improvements, creating writing that’s technically correct but creatively lifeless—perfect for those satisfied with mediocrity.
In spite of its shortcomings, the allure of the Hamburger Helper approach is undeniable. Its mass appeal lies in its speed and efficiency. It delivers exactly what 90% of college instructors and workplace bosses want, 90% of the time. The rise of this approach isn’t hard to understand: it’s the standard currency of information now. We’re bombarded with it, and after a while, we become numb to anything better. It lowers the bar so insidiously that we barely notice our defenses weakening or our standards slipping. In fact, the Hamburger Helper approach is so pervasive that I could almost throw up my hands, admit defeat, and quietly await my extinction as a college writing instructor.
But here’s the thing: teaching students to resist this mediocrity is in their best interest. It saves them from the fate of becoming bland, replaceable functionaries, filing TPS reports in some forgotten office. Instead, it steers them toward excellence, helping them develop a distinctive writing voice and the self-confidence that comes from original thought. The truth is, sinking into the Hamburger Helper approach is a form of self-abasement. It’s a cheap way out, one that carries the silent shame of knowing you’re squandering your potential. With these counterarguments in mind, I have to guide my students toward a better way to use AI—one that doesn’t turn their writing into lifeless mush but instead pushes them toward something real, something worth saying.
So if we ditch the Hamburger Helper approach, what is the alternative? In my experience with AI-writing platforms like ChatGPT, there is a meaningful engagement you can achieve provided you do the preparation work. Just as a concert pianist would be a worthless complement to an orchestra if they didn’t first master Chopin’s Second Piano Concerto, a writer is a worthless complement to ChatGPT if they didn’t do the necessary preparation. With this in mind, we will call the opposite of the Hamburger Helper approach, the Orchestra approach where you and ChatGPT join forces to make beautiful music.
This is when AI goes full Beethoven, but—here’s the twist—you have to know how to conduct the orchestra. You can’t just wave a wand and hope for Mozart; you need the writing chops of a virtuoso to coax something sublime out of the AI. And this is the approach that’s going to throw a wrench into every corner of the world—from jobs to education to entertainment. This is what will send the gatekeepers running for cover and disrupt industries like a tsunami.
The irony here? AI doesn’t make writing easier for the lazy; it makes it better for the diligent hard workers. If you really want to harness AI’s full potential, you need more talent, not less. The future isn’t for the Hamburger Helper crowd slapping together half-baked essays; it’s for the maestros who can orchestrate brilliance with AI as their partner in crime. Advanced writing won’t just be useful—it’ll be essential. If you’re only using AI to dress up your expired burger meat, you’re missing out on the true feast.
Wanting my students to use ChatGPT effectively, I knew I’d have to teach them the 10 Effective User Principles for ChatGPT:
1. The Prompt Precision Principle: The clearer and more specific your prompt, the better ChatGPT can deliver. Vague prompts lead to vague responses. Guide it with exact needs, tone, audience, rhetorical objectives, and desired style for high-quality output. For example, instead of asking ChatGPT a general question like, “Help me write an introduction about social media,” try refining it with specific details: “I need a concise, engaging introduction for an argumentative essay targeting college students about the impact of social media on mental health. I want a balanced, thought-provoking tone that acknowledges both the positive and negative aspects of social media use, while setting up my thesis that it’s essential for users to practice mindful engagement to protect their well-being.” This precise prompt provides clear direction on tone, audience, purpose, and style, giving ChatGPT the context it needs to deliver a focused and relevant response.
2. The Refinement Principle: Treat ChatGPT responses as a rough draft, not a final product. Quality improves with iterative editing and critical review, just like any traditional writing process. You might find you have to revise your manuscript a dozen times before it reaches your standards. Learning how to revise by critically evaluating the writing and refining your editing prompts forces you to engage with the writing process in ways that are far deeper than if you never used a tool like ChatGPT.
3. The Context Clarity Principle: Provide ChatGPT with relevant background or context for complex assignments. ChatGPT should know who you are, what your level of writing proficiency is, what you need to know to improve your writing, what kind of objectives you have for your writing task, and how willing you are to make several revisions. If it understands the assignment’s framework, it’s more likely to generate a relevant, cohesive response. For example, suppose you’re drafting an argumentative essay on climate policy for an advanced environmental studies class. Instead of simply asking ChatGPT, “Help me write an argument about climate policy,” try this: “I’m an undergraduate environmental studies student writing an argumentative essay for a course on global climate policy. My current writing level is intermediate, and I struggle with making my arguments nuanced and cohesive. My objective is to present an argument that explores both the economic and ethical implications of implementing a carbon tax. I’d like suggestions that will help me elevate my analysis, and I’m open to making multiple drafts to improve clarity and depth.” With this setup, ChatGPT understands your level, goals, and willingness to refine, increasing its chances of producing responses that align with your needs and help you improve your work in meaningful ways.
4. The Realness Check Principle: Remember that ChatGPT lacks true comprehension. Cross-check any facts or references it supplies; its “confidence” is an illusion of accuracy and can lead to misleading or outright incorrect information. There is currently a tendency for ChatGPT to write eloquent prose that says nonsense or fluff in the process of padding a writing sample. A lot of times this padding is called “AI detritus.”
5. The Critical Input Principle: Feed ChatGPT with specific themes, examples, or points you want covered in your response. The more thought you bring to what you want it to emphasize and create specific essay structures, the more targeted and purposeful its answers. This is why it’s important to know expository modes like cause-and-effect analysis, process analysis, comparison and contrast, argumentative Toulmin structure, refutation structure, and so on.
6. The Creativity Booster Principle: Don’t limit ChatGPT to surface-level work. Push it to brainstorm ideas, offer counterpoints, complicate argumentative claims, or suggest new approaches—use it as a springboard for creativity rather than a formulaic shortcut. For example, let’s say you’re writing a paper on the ethics of AI in the workplace. Instead of just asking ChatGPT for a summary of common arguments, prompt it to offer unexpected counterpoints or to brainstorm unique perspectives. For example, ask it, “What are some lesser-known ethical concerns about AI in the workplace?” or “Suggest a few unconventional solutions to address job displacement caused by AI.” By pushing ChatGPT to dig deeper, you’re not just outsourcing ideas—you’re using it as a tool to expand your own thinking, helping you approach the topic in a richer, more nuanced way.
7. The Structure Control Principle: Use ChatGPT to structure and outline but bring your own voice and expertise to the core writing. Relying on it for organization can be helpful, but the details need your personal imprint for authenticity. Only through regular reading and your own writing–absent of ChatGPT–can you cultivate what I call a “strong authorial presence.”
8. The Feedback Filter Principle: Ask ChatGPT to critique your work, but take its suggestions with a critical eye. Not all feedback will be accurate or relevant, so be selective about what improvements you implement.
9. The Authenticity Principle: Your voice should guide the final product. ChatGPT can help with flow, grammar, or idea expansion, but let your unique perspective and style dominate the end result, ensuring the work truly feels like yours. You don’t develop a unique voice over night. It takes years of deep work and solitude–reading and writing on your own–to achieve it.
10. Prep Payoff Principle: Finally, realize that ChatGPT is only a valuable tool if you adhere to the preparation described above. Asking ChatGPT to write an essay out of thin air based on an instructor’s prompt is futile. The more complete your first draft, the more ChatCGPT can help you with revision process using the techniques described above. In other words, the more effort up front, the more impressive the writing out back.
Believing ChatGPT is some kind of wish-granting genie that’ll churn out flawless results on command isn’t just naive—it’s absurd. Approach ChatGPT with a sense of respect, if not a touch of healthy skepticism. This isn’t some magic pixie dust; it’s a disruptive tool, powerful and versatile, much like the personal computer that changed the world decades ago. Like all tools, its impact is determined by the skill of the person wielding it. You can use it to wander mindlessly through trivia and distractions, or you can turn it into a vehicle for genuine insight, scientific breakthroughs, and brilliant content. In the end, the tool is only as sharp as the hand that guides it.
Cinemorphosis 