According to Tom’s Guide, a writer frustrated by AI detection tools incorrectly flagging their work has developed a method to “watermark” their writing. The goal isn’t to beat the detectors but to embed subtle, repeatable human markers that prove a draft’s origin. The five-step workflow includes building a personal list of stylistic signatures, adding intentional structural quirks, planting specific human-only details, keeping timestamped receipts of the writing process, and deliberately writing in a “too human” style. This approach aims to protect a writer’s credibility in an era where clean, competent writing can ironically look suspicious. The article frames it as creating a “proof-of-work” paper trail that AI cannot convincingly replicate after the fact.
The Paradox of Polish
Here’s the thing that’s so bizarre about this whole situation. For years, we were told to write clearly, avoid errors, and be consistent. Tools like Grammarly promised to help us achieve that polished, professional tone. Now, that very polish is what’s getting people flagged. It’s a classic case of “be careful what you wish for.” The machines have decided that perfection is suspect, which is a wild inversion of everything we’ve been taught. So what do you do? You can’t just start writing badly on purpose. But you can start writing distinctly on purpose. That’s the core idea behind this watermarking concept. It’s not about making your writing worse; it’s about making it undeniably yours.
Crafting Your Human Signature
The first step—building a personal “human marker” list—is actually kind of fascinating. It forces you to think about your voice as a deliberate toolkit, not just a happy accident. Maybe you have a habit of using a specific piece of slang, or you love a certain transitional phrase. Perhaps your paragraphs have a recognizable rhythm, a little chaos in the cadence. The key is to identify 3-5 things you already do and then lean into them consciously. It’s like an artist developing a recognizable brushstroke. AI can mimic a style, but can it consistently and knowingly replicate your specific, curated set of quirks across an entire body of work? Probably not. And that’s the point. You’re creating a pattern that’s easy for you to explain but hard for a bot to fake with authentic intent.
The Power of the Paper Trail
Now, the technical receipts part is where this gets really practical, especially for high-stakes work. Keeping version histories, timestamped outlines, and notes on why you changed something—that’s a process trail no AI can generate retroactively. Think about it. If someone accuses your finished novel chapter of being AI-generated, you can pull up Google Docs version history and show the messy, meandering first draft from six months ago. You can show the note where you decided to cut a whole character. That’s human creative decision-making, documented in real time. It’s the ultimate defense because it proves the journey, not just the destination. And the journey, with all its false starts and weird detours, is uniquely human.
A Sad But Necessary Craft
Look, I wish we didn’t have to think about this. It’s frankly depressing that writers now need to consider their work’s “provable humanity” as part of the craft. We’re in a weird, transitional period where the tools meant to catch cheats are often snagging the very people they shouldn’t. So this watermarking idea, while born out of frustration, is also kind of empowering. It turns defense into a creative act. Instead of worrying about what a dumb algorithm might think, you’re proactively embedding your identity into your work. You’re leaving fingerprints everywhere. And in a world filling up with synthetic text, those human fingerprints might just become your most valuable asset.
