In a world where AI is advancing astonishingly, the line between human and machine creativity is becoming increasingly blurred. In this post, ChatGPT and a human writer go head-to-head.

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June 2021 3 Write a description with the title, ‘The view from the other side’.

AI Creative Writing

The View from the Other Side

As the sun dipped beneath the horizon, casting its last golden rays across the world, I found myself standing on the precipice of a world unknown, gazing upon “The View from the Other Side.” The air, tinged with a hint of the sea, whispered through the tall grasses that swayed in the gentle breeze. It carried with it the aroma of salt and adventure, tickling my senses and filling my lungs with the essence of discovery.
Before me, a vast expanse stretched out like an artist’s canvas, painted with hues of azure and cerulean. The ocean, a shimmering tapestry, danced and shimmered under the fading light, its waves crashing against the rocky cliffs below, sending forth a symphony of crashing crescendos. Each surge of water reached towards the heavens, like a celestial orchestra playing its grandest symphony.
A flock of seagulls circled above, their wings cutting through the air like graceful brushstrokes against a watercolor sky. Their cries echoed, intermingling with the gentle whispers of the wind, creating a harmonious melody that resonated deep within my soul.
The distant mountains stood proud and majestic, their peaks piercing the sky like ancient sentinels guarding the secrets of the land. Their jagged silhouettes resembled the etchings of an artist’s knife upon a stone tablet, stark and breathtaking against the fading light.
Down below, nestled within the embrace of the landscape, a quaint village came alive with the soft glow of twinkling lights. Like scattered stardust, they illuminated the darkness, painting a picture of warmth and serenity amidst the wild beauty that surrounded them. From this vantage point, the village seemed like a miniature world, a charming oasis amidst the grandeur of nature’s embrace.
The chorus of nature’s symphony continued, as the crickets emerged from their hiding places, filling the air with their enchanting nocturnal melody. Fireflies, like tiny luminescent fairies, danced among the flowers, casting an ethereal glow upon the night. The fragrant scent of jasmine mingled with the earthy aroma of freshly fallen rain, creating an olfactory kaleidoscope that transported me to another realm.
“The View from the Other Side” revealed a world of wonder and possibility, where the mundane was transformed into the extraordinary. It was a place where the senses were awakened, where the spirit soared, and where the heart found solace amidst the vastness of existence. And as I stood there, immersed in the beauty that surrounded me, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude for being granted this glimpse into the enchanting tapestry of life.

Irony: Adding Layers of Complexity and Surprise

Human Creative Writing: 


1 – busy street, people buying flowers in a market
2 – one child wants candyfloss, and the parents argue about it
3 – stall of rare flowers
4 – back to the crowd
5 – twist, the speaker is dead – this is the market she used to go to with her husband before he died, she sees him in the crowd and he smiles

Early on Sunday morning, a fine grey mist swirls through the stalls at the Flower Market, setting little dewdrops on buds and leaves. Stall owners in gilets and green galoshes sit around gossiping and sipping steaming cups of coffee, as they await the onslaught of purchasers that will soon flood the place. As the sun rises, people trickle in.

The flowers, too, open slowly in the sun – spreading their petals wide with a huge, sleepy yawn. The pale dawn sunlight casts a vintage filter over the scene, muting the giant, loud yellow of the sunflowers, amplifying the deep crimson roses. Like bees, people meander from one stall to the next: drawn by the perfume of the flowers, their bright colours, their beautiful shapes.

“What on earth were you thinking? It’s too early for candyfloss! She’s not even had her breakfast yet! ”

In the centre of the market, a couple argue about their child, a little girl, dressed in a bucket hat with bright red wellies. She chews her fluffy blue cloud-on-a-stick and stares directly at me, tugging at her mother’s skirt for attention. Her mother pays no notice; she continues berating her poor father.

People collect around one stall in particular: The Secret Garden. The lady who owns it looks like something from another time: she sits demurely in an antique rocking chair, in a pinstripe linen dress, with a messy blonde bun full of curls like pea tendrils. Unlike The Lavender Stall, which sells only lavender, or The Tulip Hut, which sells .. (you guessed it!), this lady carefully curates her little shop to look like a perfect miniature garden, the kind you might find in an old country hall. Trailing purple wisteria frames the stall, with dark, bushy hostas and ferns spreading out below. The inner walls are lined with jasmine, which spills its rich scent all over you if you brush by too closely. Peonies and irises add large splashes of pink and purple to the dark backdrop. In the centre of the stall, terracotta pots with giant citrus trees are clustered together, heavy with oranges and lemons. This place was always our favourite to visit, John and I, before he passed away.

It’s getting towards midday and the crowd is thick now, flowing fast around the stalls as people find themselves pushed forwards in a continuous motion. I stand still in the middle of them all, watching the faces blur as they move round me, even through me – as if I wasn’t there. It seems to take an age, but finally I find it: the shock of white hair, and a loose paisley silk shirt: John’s face looks back at me, smiling. I knew I’d find him here.

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