The practice
Constructive interference.
- physics
- Two waves meet in phase; where the crests line up, the signal grows.
- practice
- A person's voice and a machine's assistance, lined up on purpose, so the writing comes out more itself, not less.
Two waves can meet two ways. Out of phase, they cancel, and the water goes flat. In phase, they add, and the crest doubles. Most writing done with a machine is the first case: the model's cadence and the writer's average into something smoother and emptier than either one alone. Constructive interference is the practice of arranging for the second case—a small set of instruments for keeping a writer's voice, judgment, and understanding intact while they work with a machine, and sharper for it.
The instruments below are built and building. One is finished enough to walk through.
Two waves
Drag to bring them into phase.
Two signals of the same frequency add by their phase. Aligned, crest reinforces crest and the sum stands twice as tall—constructive. Opposed by half a wavelength, crest meets trough and they erase each other—destructive. Everything between is their exact sum.
The practice puts a person's voice on one wave and the machine's on the other, and works to keep them in phase.
The instruments
Your voice, read back to you from your own writing, then compiled into a working instrument. One face audits a draft and tells you where it stops sounding like you. The other briefs a session so it starts in your voice instead of the machine's. A mirror, not a judge: it never scores your prose good or bad, and it never guesses whether a machine wrote it. The only question it asks—does this sound like you?
Walk through Voice DNA →Two voices—yours and the machine's—held in one draft until the work collapses it to yours. You have something real to write and no practiced way to write it: a toast, a eulogy, a letter to a board, an essay. Superposition walks you through it. You answer questions and react to short drafts; it builds the piece from what you reject, correct, and add, shows you every place it guessed past what you gave, and will not write it for you. What comes out is yours, because your judgment shaped every part that matters.
Walk through Superposition →The map of what goes wrong. Eight named classes of structural failure in AI-influenced prose: the emptied intensifier, the false balance, the ending that only restates. Writer-independent—these are failures in anyone's draft, not one person's habits. The point of naming them is discernment. A failure with a name is one you can see coming and cut on sight.
Kiku listens to a finished AI collaboration and pulls out one class of language behavior on command—every place the model slid into caretaking, say, or every place the writer pushed back. Regex catches the obvious hits; a model reads for the ones no pattern could. It is how the practice studies what AI language does across a long working session, with evidence instead of impression.