5 AI Prompts That Made Me Think More Deeply—Not Less
A writer’s perspective on using AI tools like ChatGPT to reflect more deeply, get in the flow, and stay human in the creative process
I’ve been using generative AI regularly in my creative process for brainstorming, planning, outlining, and critique.
I’ve even written and spoken publicly about how it supports my writing life.
Lately, there’s been growing conversation—some of it referencing my work—about whether tools like ChatGPT might discourage “real thinking.”
That hasn’t been my experience.
When I bring a meaningful question to AI, it doesn’t hand me an answer.
It reflects something back, often with a surprising insight or an idea that feels like it came out of my own subconscious.
I don’t use it to speed up or shortcut my process.
I use it to challenge myself, to test ideas, to expand my thinking, and to keep me in creative flow.
Sometimes, it helps me see through the noise. Sometimes, it simply reminds me I’m not stuck.
Used this way, AI doesn’t flatten my voice.
It helps me return to it.
There’s a subtle confusion I want to name here: the idea that “real thinking” or “good writing” must be slow, private, and free of tools.
But deep thinking isn’t about how long it takes. It’s about how far you’re willing to go inside yourself, and what you’re willing to question along the way.
For me, AI sometimes helps me go farther into my creative processes.
“I don’t use AI to replace my thinking. I use it to deepen the process.”
In a world that often equates deep thinking with struggle, I’ve found that AI, when used with care, can actually support reflection, not replace it.
Here are five prompts I’ve used recently—not to speed things up, but to go deeper.
1. “What part of me is afraid to finish this book?”
When I was feeling stuck on my novel (again), I asked ChatGPT this.
It didn’t diagnose or fix me, it just mirrored possibilities: fear of being seen, of disappointing myself, of having to let go of the version of me who always had a book in progress.
That single prompt helped me shift. Not dramatically. Just enough to breathe more gently into the resistance—and write again.
2. “Write a short scene where my character tells me what they need from me.”
This one surprised me. I’d been digging into a scene that felt emotionally flat. When I asked Chat to generate a short dialogue between me and one of my characters, what came through wasn’t plot—it was feeling.
A sense of relationship. Of mutual trust.
It reminded me that my stories don’t live in outlines. They live in conversation.
And sometimes, I need to listen more than I plan.
3. “If my future self could reassure me right now, what would she say?”
There are days when I don’t want advice. I just want to feel less alone. This prompt became a form of self-compassion.
ChatGPT offered something warm, direct, and grounded: “You’re already walking the path. You don’t need to see the whole trailhead to take the next step.”
It wasn’t perfect.
But it was kind. And kind is often enough to keep going.
4. “What am I not seeing clearly about my current direction?”
Sometimes I ask this when I’m spinning. Not in crisis, just unsure.
I don’t expect any sort of magical insight, but I do find that the act of asking invites humility and openness.
Chat offered a few possibilities I hadn’t considered: assumptions I’d made about what “success” should look like, places I might be overlooking joy in favor of productivity.
Permission to lean into joy? A reminder about why I’m writing this novel in the first place? Yes, please.
And here’s something else: I didn’t need to text a friend, email a mentor, or book a session with anyone to ask this question.
That matters.
I love the human relationships that support my writing—my critique partners, my editors and coaches, my family members who brainstorm plot twists with me.
AI doesn’t replace any of that.
It simply adds another layer of reflection—available in moments when I feel unsure, blocked, or too tender to reach out.
AI doesn’t get tired, doesn’t judge, and doesn’t need context.
It simply reflects back what I bring to it.
That kind of low-stakes reflection—always available, never pressuring—has helped me return to myself more than once.
5. “Based on this dream, what inner gift or fear might be asking for attention?”
I often journal about dreams, but recently I’ve tried giving some of my dreams to ChatGPT and asking it to help interpret the symbolic terrain.
Not as a psychic. As a wise mentor.
One dream involved a cave, dancing, and a costume I didn’t recognize.
The AI’s interpretation echoed what I’d been feeling: a part of me was ready to emerge through my creative work, but was still hiding under layers of protection.
When I paired this with intuitive journaling, the dream came alive as an invitation to celebrate this new part of myself.
Or at least bear witness to her presence.
AI as Mirror, Not Machine
I don’t use AI because I think it knows more than me.
I use it because it has access to vast swaths of human thought—a library of stories, struggles, insights, and meaning-making across time.
There are important, unresolved questions about how that knowledge is gathered—who deserves recognition and remuneration, and how we honor the creative labor embedded in these tools.
I care deeply about that.
I hope we arrive at fair, transparent outcomes for the past and present creators whose words help shape what AI can reflect.
But for me, the value lies not in treating AI as an oracle, but in how it helps me reflect. These prompts help me draw from the collective to align to my own voice.
And that’s what I’m most interested in—not using AI to do my thinking, but to deepen it.
To slow down.
To see with fresh eyes.
To hear myself more clearly.
We don’t have to agree on every tool. But we do share a responsibility to engage with one another, and not shame those who choose to explore different paths to truth, connection, and creation.
I understand that for some writers, the idea of AI in the creative process feels like a threat to the sacred work of making art.
That’s a valid fear.
But fear doesn’t have to shut down conversation. It can invite us to listen more closely, to ask better questions, and to stay human with each other through change.
If you’re curious about inviting AI into your creative flow, here’s a gentle place to start:
Ask ChatGPT: “What does my creativity want from me today?”
And just… see what comes back.
You might be surprised by how much of you is already there, waiting to be heard.
If you like thinking about the future—both real and imagined—come hang out. I write about AI, creativity, human evolution, and the strange, thrilling intersection of all three.