Note to readers: This article contains content first created by LLM ChatGPT, and later modified by yours truly. The story portion began as the product of my prompt to ChatGPT and ChatGPT’s response. A rewrite of the story follows the introduction and was completed by myself, dredged from the depths of my personal organic database. Please, feel free to contact me with questions related to the content of this article or the series of articles.

We are now at scene four. ChatGPT’s story “Shadows in the Smoke” becomes more reliant on leaps of the imagination, genre clichés and hyperbole in characterization. The threat of artificial intelligence (AI) becomes less concerning. I have to work harder at story mechanics. At least if I hope to humanize the story. Bear with me. It’s a deep dive into how much I presumably know about storytelling.

I’ve made notes at the end of the scene. They include my reasoning for the changes and my thoughts on AI as a tool for crafting story. If it happens that they highlight my skills as a writer, that’s good too. 

Come along for the ride.

I’ll tell you a story, scene four.

Shadows in the Smoke

Harland figured the woman in the photograph wasn’t just one more fling on Cartwright’s dance card. Instinct suggested she was more dangerous. Evelyn Cartwright had been around the block with weak-willed men. It told Harland that she could spot a floozy from a mile. This one had her rattled, and that told him a lot. 

He drove over to visit an informant from the wayback, Leo, a hustler who made his dime skirting the line between the white hats and the black hats. By necessity, Leo kept an ear tuned to every shady alleyway of the city. A very good bet that he knew about a woman pulling strings from the shadows of Cartwright’s life.

Leo’s makeshift base of operations was a dimly lit bar on the south side. The kind of seedy haunt where patrons entered with their hats pulled low and spoke in graveled whispers. Harland found Leo in the same corner booth, nursing a familiar glass of whiskey. A wiry man with a sharp nose and eyes that never stopped moving, Leo spied Harland long before he reached the table. A couple of restless flunkies slid from the booth and disappeared into the rearmost contours. 

“John Harland,” Leo greeted, his voice bright and friendly. “You look like a man with a mission.”

“Observant as ever, my friend,” Harland said, sliding into the booth. “I’ve some hope you’re the man to help me.”

“You know I’ll try, mon ami.” He shot up his hand and whistled with the perfect balance between shrill and considerate. In the wink of one eye a waitress set a cold bottle of beer in front of Harland. “I hope I didn’t forget,” Leo said with a questioning eyebrow.

Harland took a pull. “Just right.” He raised the bottle in toast.

“What pointed your old bones in my direction?” Leo asked after a beat.

“Hoped for some tips from the expert,” Harland said. “On a woman who’s been clinging to the arm of one Thomas Cartwright.”

“A woman not his lovely wife, Evelyn, I presume.”

“You presume correctly.”

Leo raised an eyebrow, leaning back as he considered Harland’s words. “Cartwright’s a slippery one, but the women he gets involved with—they’re usually the kind of trouble he can handle.”

“This one’s different,” Harland insisted. “Word is, she’s been in and out of his life for years, nothing more than a silhouette that pulls his strings and then disappears. Only lately, she’s causing a stir, taking more of his time. Be nice to know who she is and what she’s up to.”

Leo took a long sip of his drink, eyes narrowing. “I might know of a woman. There’s been talk—quiet, but persistent—about a special kind of bird who’s making waves in certain circles. Among the rich and dangerous. They call her ‘The Widow.’ Heard about a couple of heavy hitters she’s played with—gets close in with the power players, then yanks the rug out when they least expect it. Leaves them with some real hurt.”

Harland’s jaw tightened. “What kind of hurt?”

Leo shrugged, a cloud passing over his sharp features. “Kind what strips a man of his man-stuff. Leaves him waving his winky dink at windmills. Couple of them took the deep dive off a tall bridge after the tango with her.”

“Not just a dame after their money is what you’re saying.” Harland grimaced. “Still, she has to have clout. Where’s she get her backing? How’s she get inside?”

“Depends on who you ask,” Leo said. “Some say she’s tied to the underworld—connections that go deep, all the way to the core. Others say she’s collected dirt on half the city’s elite and she knows how to play her hand with subtle deceptions. Thing is, nobody really knows her endgame. Some big players meant to shut her down just ended up ruined, all their assets and allies gone. Poof. Others took ill of a sudden and died.” He leaned forward across the table. “There are whispers—just whispers—that she gets underneath her prey, getting to the ones closest to the men she targets. Making them doubt, making them… turn.”

Harland’s gut turned cold. “She goes after their families.”

Leo nodded slowly. “Wives, children, even their dearest friends. She finds the cracks and spreads them until the entire structure of their life falls apart. Once she’s done, she disappears, leaving nothing but smoldering ash and suffering in her wake.”

The news had Harland’s thoughts tumbling. If this woman—The Widow—had set her sights on Cartwright, it was bad news. But if she realized he was looking into her and decided to turn her attention toward him… his marriage, his life with Eleanor, everything he held dear could be in jeopardy.

“Does she have a name?” Harland asked, his voice low.

Leo shook his head. “Many names. No one can pin her down. She’s a wraith, Harland. Shows up, wreaks havoc, and then she’s gone. If she’s in Cartwright’s life, you’re in deep water, my friend.”

A tingle in his midsection made Harland sit back and take a deep breath. He knew he’d pushed the limits of acceptable risk the moment he took the case, but this snapped the ropes. The Widow was no ordinary villain—she was a force of destruction who played the long game. Ruthless. And very unlikely to ignore Harland’s efforts to usurp her plans.

“You’ve been extremely helpful, Leo,” Harland said, slipping him a few bills. “I’ll keep your name out of it.”

“Watch your back, Harland,” Leo replied, his tone unusually somber. “This lady is not one you toy with.”

Harland left the bar with a sick stomach. Thoughts of Eleanor swirled in his mind, causing a warp in the road that made driving difficult. He couldn’t afford to lose her. She was his touchstone, the one who kept him grounded despite the darkness of his work. Now, he’d put her in danger. 

He checked his watch. She’d be at her book club. No reason to disturb her with these threats right now. 

Back in his office, Harland stared at the grainy image of the woman by Cartwright’s side. This had to be The Widow. Evelyn Cartwright suggested this woman had been in her husband’s life for a long time. But why? Leo made it sound like she preferred quick turn arounds. Thomas Cartwright was different. That meant something. He just had to figure out what.

Harland needed to find this woman, confront her, and put an end to whatever game she was playing before it reached Eleanor. The more he thought about the case, how insidious The Widow’s methods were, the more he worried. She didn’t just attack her targets directly—she sowed doubt and discord, turned lovers against one another until their relationships crumbled. If she decided to come after Harland, she wouldn’t do it with guns or knives. She’d do it with whispers and secrets, with the kind of poison that seeps into a marriage and destroys it from the inside out.

Harland knew he had to change his usual approach. This was a thinking man’s case. If The Widow had learned of his investigation, she would already be moving against him. Every thing he did from this point forward had to be calculated, thoughtful. One wrong step and The Widow could turn his fears and insecurities into a nightmare.

In the growing dark of his office, Harland couldn’t help but wonder if she’d already started.

What did we learn from AI?

Once again, I focused on improvements in  verisimilitude. A lot of this comes from Harland’s perceptions of events and interactions. Since characterization was thin, I used enhancements in that area to bring out a more realistic cast and bolster genre expectations. 

As I indicated in the opening paragraphs of this post, ChatGPT drew on the reader’s imagination to connect the plot dots. Of course, we want the reader to experience the story via their imagination. But when a writer expects audience members to draw plot lines based on previous exposure to similar stories the narrative becomes a regurgitation rather than a creative encounter.  

The scene between Harland and his informant prior to the edit reveals the problem. Dialogue based in hyperbole is good for characterizing the overly dramatic personality. But in ChatGPT’s story, lines such as, “she’s dangerous—real dangerous” only make it sound silly. I used the conversation to create nuance in Leo’s character. This makes him more complex as an individual who knows things, but is also aware of his limited knowledge.  

I felt it was smart to retain The Widow’s dark strategy of going after family and friends to undermine her targets—“Making them doubt, making them… turn.” It fit well with Leo’s more refined characterization.

To reduce heavy-handed melodrama and smooth out the story’s pacing, I followed Leo’s more genuine revelation with humility in Harland’s thoughts about this malevolent Widow and his vulnerable wife. His final assessment of the danger he’s gotten into is built on details of her methods and how ill-equipped his tactics are in a situation like this. 

ChatGPT used repetition to raise the stakes. It makes a better story to use details that represent her success as a villain. Inclusion of the potential that The Widow may already have started to weave a web of deception with Eleanor reinforces this concept. I hope that comes through in my rewrite.