Nobody Writes Like Me

Sunday, May 24, 2026

Good morning, Twfw. O/

Welcome to the show.

Subtle dawn. Cloud cover keeps every birdsong to a gentle murmur. Sometimes the sky plays a ballad to announce the day, tucks the trumpets away to croon the morning.

I haven't brought up +he Ghos+ bit in quite awhile...

+he Ghos+, my avatar, my purpose, my life's work to share it with you.

"What is it?"
-New Reader to Wonder Fell

"O/"
-Author Giving You the Honest Answer

Who's waving to you? A writer made entirely of words?

As humbly beautiful as these lines are they're still only scientific scribbles on a screen.

Where'd I come from, your joyful deep-thought poet friend?

I'm obviously not AI. No one's ever wrote like me before.

"Who is this guy?"
-Inquiring Readers Who Want to Know

Your friendly Nation-hood Poet reminding you the true power of the written word in this time of AI's infancy.

Thanks for joining me. O/

I can be traditional, can share pics of myself and details of my day-to-day life, but any Large Language Model in any Appstore could do the same.

Words do more than paint pictures and relay information; they communicate who we are.

That's why Wonder Fell is a journal. It's the best 'poetic form' to express the point: Words are all about identity.

To recap why this site exists:

Imagine your favorite concert Diva before she was discovered. She'd drive around blaring ballads to herself and friends. She loved to sing and knew she was exceptional at it. It's not vanity for her. It's honesty. It's a gift she wants to share.

Instead of her getting recognized for her gift she develops a chronic auto-immune illness which she fights almost full-time for over a decade of her adult life.

She still sings every chance she can, but the chances are limited by the illness.

Imagine having the flu everyday for over a decade. That was her life.

One day she hears the word she's been fighting to achieve: Remission.

What does she do? Her whole adult experience has been fighting through the Hell of illness.

Courageous, certainly.

But what does she have to show for it?

She still has her voice and her dream. It's still a gift worth sharing.

She's sacrificed friendships and social media accounts so she could survive.

Where to start? The Online World, The Whole World itself, will think she's a ghost...

I've known I write better than most since high school. I've always had the dream to share it. I've fought my whole life to get these words to you.

To one-up the Diva in our story:

A couple years post-remission, while developing my portfolio and audience, I was killed. An SUV crossed a double yellow at around 50MPH and drove into my driver's seat. I flatlined and woke up three days later in an ICU with a host of internal injuries and a left leg split in two waiting to be conscious enough so the doctors could put it back together.

I took about a year to learn to walk again and another couple to heal all the internal nerve damage. While I healed, I wrote.

Still going.

I decided to use my 'ghostliness' to help us all deal with the reality of AI.

Just like if we ask AI to generate a picture in the style of Cubism, it can't unless painters like Picasso did first. Artificial Intelligence can't do a single thing unless a person did first.

Nobody writes like me; I thought it might help us all if you knew.

Thanks for reading. O/