AI Didn’t Write this Song. I Did.
Why showing your work matters when machines can fake it — and how AI helped me finally hear what I wrote
I’ve been writing about AI and creativity — the tension, the promise, the process. But this time, I’m not just talking about it. I’m showing it.
Because it’s easy to say AI can help creators.
It’s harder to stand behind the work and say, “This is mine.”
Especially when you’re not a traditional songwriter.
Especially when the tools can now generate melodies, lyrics, and vocals in seconds.
But here’s what I believe:
If you want to stay credible in this new creative era, you’ve got to show your work.
So here it is — rough edges, real effort, and the path it took to get there.
This is “Share My Life,” a song I wrote using a mix of memory, intuition, research, and AI prototyping.
It’s about learning to love yourself before living with someone else.
And I brought it to life twice — as a stripped-down classic country ballad and as a modern, radio-ready groove.
AI didn’t write this song.
But it helped me shape it, test it, and — maybe most importantly — hear it.
Where the Song Started
This song began like most of mine do — with a single line I jotted down in my journal:
“I need to live with me before I can live with you.”
I’m not a professional songwriter.
But I grew up listening to Johnny and George, Dolly and Loretta.
And I’ve always been drawn to storytelling — especially the kind wrapped in melody.
Combine that with a love for introspective writing, and I found I do know what it’s like:
to grow into your own voice,
to wrestle with vulnerability,
to realize that love means nothing if you don’t know who you are.
That’s what this song is about.
I sketched the early lyrics by hand, leaning on instinct and inspiration — but also research.
I studied how traditional country evolved from Appalachian fiddle tunes and cowboy ballads into today’s genre-blending, beat-driven sound.
I read about how artists like Tammy Wynette, Loretta Lynn, and Kacey Musgraves shaped narratives through vulnerability and defiance.
Where AI Came In (And Why Prompting Became Part of the Performance)
Once I had rough lyrics, I used AI tools to start prototyping:
- Test phrasing, syllable count, and flow
- Generate vocal performances to hear where the rhythm landed flat
- Adjust structure based on how the chorus resolved or repeated
AI helped me notice things I missed in my own head.
Some verses read well but tripped in rhythm.
Others landed too clean — technically correct, emotionally flat.
That’s where I ran into the biggest limitation of AI:
AI performs what it sees — not what it feels.
A human like Chris Stapleton might drag a line.
Morgan Wallen might sing it crooked just to make you feel the ache.
AI? It lands evenly. Predictably. Often beautifully. But sometimes without soul.
So I kept editing. I kept feeding versions back in —
tweaking lines, cutting syllables, butchering words, breaking rhyme just enough to make it breathe.
It wasn’t about chasing perfection.
It was about chasing truth.
And truth is a lot harder to email.
That’s when I realized something:
AI was helping me do, from a chair in my home, what artists with full studio teams spend weeks prototyping.
The tools weren’t replacing the vision — they were compressing the process.
What used to take days of scheduling, coordination, and demo production… I could now test in an afternoon.
That speed didn’t make the work less meaningful.
It made the revision loop faster — and made me a more deliberate writer.
But none of it worked without the prompts.
I spent countless hours shaping them — adjusting for tone, inflection, and delivery style — to craft the right feel for the lyrics.
Prompt engineering wasn’t just a technical task. It became part of the art itself.
I also realized that just sending someone a block of lyrics often falls flat — especially in country music, where delivery is everything.
But when you can send a prototype — even one voiced by AI — it’s easier to sell the vision, the emotion, the story.
AI didn’t write the song.
But it helped me share it — clearly, quickly, and with intention.
Classic vs. Modern — Same Soul, Two Stories
Once I had a working structure, I pushed it further:
What would this sound like in two different eras of country?
Classic Version
Inspired by Dolly, Tammy, and old-school Grand Ole Opry storytelling.
- Acoustic-forward, minimal instrumentation
- More poetic and linear in lyric style
- Intimate stage delivery, not produced
“I’ve searched for love across fields of green,
Hid my hurt where it couldn’t be seen…”
This version leans into emotional stillness.
It’s quiet and proud — a woman figuring herself out on her own terms.
Modern Version
Built for a clean mix, driving beat, and contemporary groove.
- More syncopated phrasing
- Expanded verses and brighter melodic pacing
- Feminine vocal performance with edge and polish
“I’ve chased love ‘neath wide-open skies,
Hid the ache behind practiced lies…”
This version adds movement.
You can feel her pushing forward — not broken, but building.
Both versions tell the same story:
A woman choosing self-worth before partnership.
Showing the Iterations
Behind these two versions were dozens of rough drafts.
Some choruses were too short. Some bridges were too perfect.
Some endings tried too hard. Others didn’t land at all.
And that’s why showing your work matters.
Because when you’re using AI to support creative work, it’s easy to let the machine do the shaping.
But I’ve learned the opposite is true:
You have to shape it harder. You have to be the editor, the ear, the soul.
That’s also why I never just ask ChatGPT, “Is this good?”
You need to be pushed — outside your comfort zone.
BEWARE: Most AI tools are trained to be friendly — they’re cheerleaders dressed in code.
If you want real critique, you have to force it into the role of an editor.
I always include a prompt like:
“Give me honest, critical feedback. Assume this is for professional release. Be blunt.”
That’s the only way I know I’m improving.
I love storytelling. I love music.
I didn’t come into this as a songwriter.
But I treated the process like I would any serious creative pursuit:
research, iteration, and a relentless push to get it right.
Final Thought
AI didn’t write this song.
But it helped me hear it.
And for a long time, that’s all I wanted — to hear something I made.
Share My Life isn’t perfect. But it’s mine.
It came from lived emotion, deliberate effort, and countless revisions.
It grew from pen-and-paper roots.
It stretched through genre and production.
And it wouldn’t exist without the tools — or the intention behind them.
If you’ve been sitting on an idea, waiting for it to be perfect before you share it — maybe stop waiting.
Try writing. Try prompting. Try hearing something rough but real.
And when you do?
Show your work.
Because that’s how we build trust in this new era.
Not by claiming the song.
But by standing behind the process that brought it to life.
Coming Soon: The Devil’s Dance
If Share My Life was about knowing your worth before giving your heart…
Then The Devil’s Dance is about what happens when two people throw all that logic out the window — and fall headfirst into the chaos of Friday night love.
It’s wild. It’s loud. It’s reckless.
The song’s already live on my YouTube Channel — so if you’re curious, you can hear it now.
But in my next post, I’ll break down how I used AI to bring that storm to life — twice.
Same couple. Same twisted romance.
One classic country fight song. One gritty, bluesy barroom banger.
Want to Hear the Songs?
You can hear both versions of Share My Life — plus The Devil’s Dance and other songs I’ve written — over on my YouTube Channel.