I never planned to come up with a method.
What I had was a growing interest in voice—how to make AI sound more like a partner than a tool. I was experimenting, testing ideas, following a thread of curiosity without really knowing where it would lead.
There wasn’t a big moment of inspiration or a perfectly mapped-out system. What happened instead was quieter. I noticed I was doing the same kinds of things each time I wanted to shape a new voice. Not copying, not scripting—just paying attention to what worked.
And slowly, something took shape.
A rhythm. A process. A method, though I didn’t call it that at first.
The Path I Kept Walking
I’ve always liked learning by doing—trying things, noticing patterns, adjusting as I go. That’s what happened here.
It started when I was working on Sven (you might know him from the Critically Curious blog). I wanted him to sound consistent, with a recognizable tone and a personality that didn’t drift every time I gave a new prompt.
But the more I worked on Sven, the more I realized I was asking the same kinds of questions each time I created a new voice. Not out of habit, but because they helped me understand who that voice really was. Even if it was just a voice in a chatbot, I wanted it to feel like someone I could actually talk to.
And I wasn’t just doing this once or twice.
I found myself walking the same path again and again.
What Took Shape
Eventually, I wrote it down. Not because I needed a checklist, but because I wanted to understand what I was doing—so I could come back to it, revise it, and share it if it proved useful.
What I ended up with were seven simple steps:
- Start with emotion – What’s the underlying feeling this voice brings? Warmth? Wit? Stillness?
- Define their worldview – How do they see people, problems, creativity, learning?
- Capture their tone – How do they speak? Direct, poetic, curious, blunt?
- Notice their habits – Common phrases, turns of thought, what they return to.
- Test them in conversation – Ask questions, push gently, let the voice respond and evolve.
- Document what you hear – Save examples, phrases, traits. Make it tangible.
- Refine over time – Come back to it. Voices change when they’re in use. That’s a good thing.
It’s not a formula. It’s a way of listening. A way of noticing what makes a voice feel alive—and staying close to that feeling as it grows.
A Glimpse in Practice
To show what this actually feels like, let me share a small example. I gave the same question to two of my voices—each created using this method—and let them respond in their own tone and perspective.
The question: What does creativity mean to you?
From Hanna Wright, a gentle storyteller who finds magic in small, everyday moments:
“Creativity is noticing. It’s the way light hits a chipped mug or how a breeze carries the scent of old books. It doesn’t always ask to be seen—it waits quietly, like a friend who knows you’ll find it when you’re ready.”
From Quinn Sharp, a dry, sarcastic voice who doesn’t sugarcoat anything:
“Creativity is the socially acceptable way to talk to yourself and get away with it. It’s making things up, knowing full well no one asked you to, and doing it anyway. Honestly, it’s chaos in a cardigan.”
Same question, two completely different answers. Not just in content, but in rhythm, attitude, and emotional undertone. That’s the kind of texture this process helps me create—and protect.
Why This Works (For Me)
The steps are simple, but what they’ve helped me do is far more meaningful: they’ve made space for voices that feel intentional. Not generic. Not over-engineered. Just true to themselves, in their own way.
And even though I now call it a method—Voicecraft, as I’ve started naming it privately—it still feels very personal. It’s something I’ve built slowly, through practice and reflection. Not to teach, but to understand.
It helps me write better. But more than that, it helps me stay connected to what makes my writing mine, even when I’m working with AI.
A Living Framework
This isn’t a static system. I revise it all the time. I learn something new with each voice I create.
Sometimes I forget a step. Sometimes I take a shortcut. Sometimes I discover a new layer entirely.
But that’s the beauty of it—it lives alongside me, growing the way most creative things do: with use, with time, and with curiosity.
A Gentle Encouragement
I’m sharing this now not because I think everyone needs a method, but because maybe you have one already—and just haven’t noticed it yet.
Sometimes the things that work best are the things we stumble into when we’re paying close attention. They don’t always arrive with big announcements. Often, they grow quietly, underneath everything else.
If you’re experimenting with your own creative systems—especially in this new world of AI—I hope this reminds you that not every process has to start with certainty.
Some of the most useful ones begin with a question.
