Teach AI to write like YOU

so you stop rewriting every single thing it hands you.

I asked AI to write me an email last spring and what came back contained the phrase “in today’s fast-paced digital landscape.”?

OMG. Cringe.

I don’t talk like that; I have never talked like that, and only two weeks before this I’d described a lasagna as f*ck ass incredible out loud, in a restaurant, to a stranger.

But there it was with my name at the bottom, sounding like a bank apologizing to me.

So I rewrote the whole thing, which took longer than writing it from scratch would have taken, and I sat at my kitchen table doing that math and felt something small die inside me.

And you know exactly what I mean, because you’ve been doing the same thing.

You paste in the prompt and what comes back is 400 words of confident mush, so you keep maybe one sentence out of it, usually the third one, which is somehow always the third one, and then you spend the next 40 minutes turning the rest into something a human being would actually say, at which point you could have written the whole thing yourself and had time left over to eat a sandwich.

Then you do it again the next day. And the day after that.

Please, for the love of God, stop doing this to yourself.

YES, GIVE ME THE BLUEPRINT

Ok so here’s what’s actually happening…

AI isn’t bad at writing.
It’s bad at writing like YOU, and that’s because nobody ever told it who you are. You gave it the topic and the word count, and maybe you said “casual and friendly,” which is roughly as useful as telling a hairdresser “hair.”
So it defaults, and the default is every blog post ever written, blended into paste, with an em dash floating in it.
Your voice lives in your mouth. It comes out perfectly fine when you’re leaving a voice note for your funniest friend, and then you open a blank doc and it evaporates and gets replaced by a woman named Brenda from Corporate Communications.
There’s nothing worse than reading something with your own name on it and not recognizing a single sentence.
And here’s the real tea: the fix isn’t a better prompt. It’s not the magic sentence somebody’s selling on TikTok this week either.
It’s a document. You write it once, about you, and then you hand it over every single time and the guessing stops.

Your rhythm, the words that make you itch, the phrases you actually say out loud, your jokes, and the stuff you’d rather die than publish.

THE BRAND VOICE BLUEPRINT.

The done-for-you system for capturing your actual voice and handing it to AI, so what comes back is already yours.

No prompt engineering degree, and no 90-minute course you’ll watch 11 minutes of and then feel guilty about for a year.

Fill in a document, paste it in, done.

Come get it, buttercup

What you actually walk away with

.

31 questions that pull your real voice out of you. Including “what’s your go-to insult for a bad trend” and “what word makes you physically cringe.” Nobody asks you to describe your brand adjectives, because that question has never produced a useful answer in the history of business.
A banned words list that kills about 80% of the robot residue before you write a single word. ALL THE OBVIOUSL AI WORDS you’re going to start seeing EVERYWHERE and never unsee. Sorry in advance.
One master prompt block you copy, paste, and never think about again, so your emails sound like you while you’re ignoring your laundry and looking at your ex’s vacation photos.
3 sample voices built out end to end, so you’re not staring at a blank template feeling stupid. Steal the shape.
4 side-by-side rewrites. Same email, robot version next to trained version. You will read the second one and go “oh. OH.”
The 6 things that go wrong and how to fix each one in under a minute, for when it’s still off and you can’t figure out why.

Give me the blueprint

What actually changes:

01.

The rewriting stops, and that’s the big one, because rewriting isn’t 5 minutes, it’s 40, and you’re doing it 4 times a week without ever adding it up.

02.

Your Tuesday email gets written while the pasta water comes to a boil, and it sounds like you, so it goes out without being read 6 times first.

03.

Everything starts sounding like the same person, because it IS the same person, finally.
And that thought you keep having, the one that goes “forget it, I’ll write this myself, it’s faster”? Gone. Which is good, because that thought is the tool waving a white flag.

Best part: nobody can tell. Nobody. Can. Tell.

Did you use ChatGPT for this?

Somebody hit reply on your email and asked if a robot wrote it.

Or nobody asked, which is honestly worse, because then it’s just you at 11pm reading your own newsletter back on your phone, going, “Who IS this person, and why does she talk like a bank?”

We dont do that here buttercup!

IT’S HARD OUT HERE. You don’t need to make it harder by dropping another $200 on something that sits in a folder with the other 14 things you bought this year, and you definitely don’t need to spend another six months rewriting robot emails at 11 pm while wondering if you’re just bad at this.

You’ve already wasted the time. That’s the part that gets me. Not the money, the TIME.

So it’s $19, which is less than the lunch you’re going to eat while filling it in, and I’d rather 400 of you actually use the thing than 40 of you feel very serious about having bought it

FINE, TAKE MY $19

Ok listen

You’re not going to become a prompt engineer. Not happening. There’s a business over there and a life and possibly a small person narrating your every move from three feet away.

So this needs to be EASY! AND! STILL! WORK!

And it can be, which is the thing I’m always yelling about, because easy doesn’t mean it doesn’t count, easy means you found the shortcut before you burned out, and the small version you build this weekend beats the perfect version you’ll get to in a quarter that never actually arrives.

Build the document once, then use it for the next 400 things you write.

YES TEACH IT TO SOUND LIKE ME

Answers to what you’re thinking

“Does this work with ChatGPT or Claude or whatever I’m using?”
All of them, because it’s a document and not a plugin, so you paste it wherever you’re working, and when you switch tools next year it comes right along with you.
“I don’t think I have a strong voice.”
You have opinions about at least 4 things nobody asked you about, and there’s a phrase you say constantly that you’ve never once noticed. That’s a voice.
“I don’t have 43 mins.”
You have 40 mins. I know because you spend them every week rewriting a robot’s homework. Spend them ONCE instead.
“I don’t know how to describe my own voice.”
Nobody does! Which is exactly why there are 31 sideways questions instead of “what’s your tone,” so you answer normal things about how you talk and the document builds the description for you.
“I’ve bought prompt packs before and they sat there.”
I know. So has everybody, which is why your hard drive is a graveyard. The difference here is you build one thing once, and then there’s no library of 300 prompts to babysit. One doc.
“My writing isn’t that distinctive.”
Pftttttt. It is, you just can’t hear it, and that’s because you’ve been stuck inside your own head your entire life. Showing you what you’ve been doing without noticing is question 1 through 31’s whole job.

Where you are right now

Using AI, rewriting most of what it gives back, quietly wondering if you’re bad at this.
You’re not bad at this. Nobody gave it the file.
Instant access, lifetime use, yours forever.
Go build the document, Risers, and then go write your emails in the time it takes your coffee to go cold.

The 4 side-by-side rewrites are the part people message me about. Same email twice, robot version and trained version, and the second one is so obviously a person that you’ll feel a little insane about how big the difference is. That section alone is worth the $19 and it’s not even the main thing in there.

And when somebody replies to your next email asking if you used AI, it’ll be because they want to know what prompt you used.

COME GET IT $19