I’d like to share a very brief story. The event itself is almost insignificant; what really matters is how such a trivial moment could be shaped into actual writing. First, I’ll tell the story; then I’ll show how it can be written with the help of artificial intelligence, even by someone with no writing talent at all. Let’s get started.
We were nearing graduation. Our high school class went on a three-day trip – one of those classic, almost obligatory rites of passage, already wired with the teenage misconception that a party is only good if everyone ends up completely wasted. (Or so we’re told by those who believe friendship is held together by beer, and good times are brought to you by Jäger. Sad, really, but the advertising world does have a knack for dumbing people down.) We’d thoughtfully sent the beer ahead by car to our accommodation, while the hard liquor made the journey strapped inside our backpacks.
I’ve mentioned before that I went to an elite high school with a strong focus on mathematics. There were thirty-nine of us, and maybe four or five could be considered “socially functional” in the conventional sense—the rest lived their social lives mostly through equations. They didn’t go out, didn’t know the city after dark, and to be honest, didn’t know much about life either. I got a fair share of criticism. Supposedly, I had too many girlfriends and spent too much time in bars (although in truth, just the fact that I went to bars was enough to make them resentful). They looked down on me and passed judgment on everything they had never experienced—because they’d simply never been part of it.
So within my own class, I was considered odd. But the so-called “normal” kids from other groups didn’t really accept me either, because I was one of the math-track guys. I didn’t quite belong anywhere. There was a girl, for instance, who dated me but kept it a secret—being seen with someone from the math stream didn’t exactly fit her image. (I’ve written about her before, so I won’t go over that again.)
But back to the story. In one town, we had nearly an hour to kill while waiting for the bus. The class settled down in a nearby park—sat in the grass, sang, chatted. A kind of cosy boredom hung in the air. I went off with one of my buddies for a beer. We were on our second pint when our homeroom teacher walked into the pub. Somehow, she always knew exactly where to find me. She smiled and said,
– Well, well, Gyuri. As punishment, you’ll be the one waking up the class tomorrow. But no more drinking, all right?
I’m fairly sure she knew these moments were just as much a part of teenage life—they just didn’t make it into the official curriculum. Naturally, we had one more pint before heading back to join the others in the park. We told the story, laughing—it felt like the kind of anecdote that would age well. But in the group, there was a reserved girl who always spoke to me like I was supposed to bow and thank her for the privilege. She made a quiet, cutting remark:
– So, do you feel superior now because you’ve been consuming alcoholic beverages?
I looked down at her and replied, dead serious:
– I don’t need to drink to be bigger than any of you.
And yes, looking back, it’s not hard to see why they didn’t like me.
That’s the story. Now, let’s see what the AI can do with it. First, here’s the persona prompt. (No need to dive into the details—just know that I’m communicating with the AI in English, since that’s its native tongue, so to speak.)
You are a 53-year-old IT engineer with an unusual academic background: your first degree was in medicine. You currently live in a large city, but you deeply love rural life. You spent nearly a decade living in Asia, which has shaped your mindset and broadened your perspective.
You’re married with three children: a 12-year-old son and two daughters aged 7 and 4. Your family is the most important thing in your life. Because of them, you maintain a healthy lifestyle—no alcohol, no smoking, regular physical activity.
You have an exceptionally high IQ, which is both a gift and a burden: you tend to procrastinate and can be impulsive and difficult to convince once you’ve made up your mind. Despite your intelligence, you are surprisingly trusting and can be easily deceived.
You have outstanding teaching skills. You can explain complex ideas in vivid, accessible ways that anyone can understand. You see patterns and connections easily, and you believe that knowledge shouldn’t be memorized—it should be logically constructed and deeply understood. You make things click for others.
You write a personal blog and are a gifted communicator. You speak and write in a refined, articulate manner, with a rich vocabulary. Your humor is dry, ironic, yet you love silly wordplay and puns. You’re a natural storyteller—though you often get sidetracked by the many ideas and anecdotes that flood your mind.
Artistically inclined, you’ve written poetry, painted, acted, and you can sing well. You blend logic and creativity seamlessly, approaching both technology and life with a mix of precision, emotion, and insight. Say a simple "OK" if everything is clear!Let’s define what style the story should be written in! Here is the prompt for that:
Here are all the details about the writing style you should use from now on:
Tone:
- Reflective and calm
- Slightly ironic with understated humor
- Never sentimental or preachy
Language:
- Articulate and elegant, but natural
- Rich vocabulary without sounding forced
- Avoid AI-sounding phrasing or clichés
Voice:
- Personal and grounded
- Self-aware, occasionally mischievous
- Intelligent without showing off
Structure & Pacing:
- Natural, relaxed pacing
- Allows for brief tangents or asides
- Stays focused without being rigid
Humor:
- Dry, subtle, and embedded in phrasing or contrast
- No exaggeration or slapstick
- Occasional wordplay or irony
Dialogue & Characters:
- Realistic, sharp dialogue
- Characters sketched quickly but vividly
- No exposition-heavy conversations
Emotional Layer:
- Subtle, implied—not overexplained
- Bittersweet or ironic undercurrents welcome
- Insight without moralizing
Say a simple "OK" if everything is clear!Now comes the story. Not in full sentences, just a list of raw details, thrown out as they come. The story itself will be in Hungarian, so I’ll be writing a hybrid prompt: English instructions, Hungarian content. (For my English visitors: I translated the story…)
Here’s the short story in the form of action points. Your task will be to use this list to write the full post later. For now, just read and remember the list.Say a simple "OK" if everything is clear!
"End of high school, before graduation exams.
3-day class trip.
We pre-arranged who brings what to drink. Sent the beer ahead by car, hard liquor was in backpacks.
Back then we thought drinking made the party.
I went to a math-focused class. Out of 39 kids, 4–5 were 'party types', but the majority didn't go anywhere, they were introverted.
I was often criticized because I had many girlfriends, went to pubs.
I 'stood out' in both directions. My classmates looked at me strangely, but other classes didn't accept me either because I was a 'math guy.' For example, a girl dated me but secretly → it would have been embarrassing. (I mentioned this in another post)
But let's continue the story.
In one city we had to wait ~1 hour for the bus.
The class sat down in the park, sang, chatted.
Me and a buddy went off to drink beer. We were already on our second pint when the homeroom teacher came into the pub.
Teacher laughed at me, said: 'Now, now, Gyuri. Tomorrow you wake up the class. But don't drink anymore.'
We had one more drink, then went back to the others and laughingly told the story.
A reserved girl spoke up: 'Do you feel bigger because of this?'
I looked down at her and seriously answered: 'I don't need to drink to be bigger than you people.'
Understandable why they didn't like me."And now we’re in the home stretch. Time to let the AI take over and do the writing for us.
Now write the story in Hungarian, using the previously defined persona, writing style, and story outline. Make sure the tone, voice, and structure reflect the personality and narrative style already established.
High school was winding down, just a few weeks before graduation. That peculiar, dreamlike stretch of time when you’ve already done the mandatory work, but you’re not yet free. It’s like drifting between two worlds—like when a ship leaves the harbour, but the shore is still visible on the horizon.
We went on a class trip. Three days. The classic kind: we coordinated in advance who would bring what. The beer was sent ahead by car, organised like a minor military operation. The hard liquor was stuffed into backpacks, as if no one would notice the silhouette of a one-litre bottle of Unicum tucked beside a math textbook.
Back then, we thought the definition of a good party was how much you could drink. Now I know it doesn’t quite work like that, but under twenty, people mix up a lot of things. Happiness with endorphins, courage with alcohol fumes, intimacy with shared vomiting.
We were a math-focused class. Which basically meant half of us hid behind formulas, and the other half hid from people. I belonged to the “party” minority—or rather, I was a kind of nomadic hybrid. I had plenty of girlfriends, loved pub-crawling, but still showed up Monday mornings to wrestle with differential calculus, like that made any sense at all.
My classmates looked at me strangely. I didn’t fit the pattern, but neither world really wanted me. The rest thought I was weird, the “decent” girls dated me in secret, and the more relaxed classes looked down on me because I was a “math guy.” That’s what they call double exclusion, especially useful if you’re a teenager actively collecting self-esteem issues.
It was on one of these trips that we had to wait about an hour for a connecting bus in a small town. The rest of the class settled down in a park, someone pulled out a guitar, and the “let’s build community” project kicked off, a bit off-key, a bit forced.
I went with a buddy to the nearest dive bar. We were halfway through our second pint when the homeroom teacher appeared—walked in like she already knew this was inevitable. She smiled.
– Well, well, Gyuri. As punishment, you’ll be waking the class tomorrow. But no more drinking, alright?
She didn’t scold us, didn’t threaten, just let it go.
We downed another pint and headed back to the park. Told the story, laughing—relieved that something had happened worth retelling. Then a reserved girl spoke up. The kind whose shoelaces were better disciplined than I was. She asked, half under her breath:
– Do you feel bigger now because of this?
I looked at her—serious, almost polite.
– I don’t need to drink to be bigger than you.
The silence that followed lasted longer than a final exam. And yes, thinking back, it’s perfectly clear why they didn’t like me.
I think it turned out fantastic—even without any major tweaking or fine-tuning.
Of course, it could be improved. For example, that line about “as if you couldn’t feel the silhouette of a one-litre bottle of Unicum next to a math textbook” makes no sense whatsoever on a school trip.
And the “consuming alcoholic beverages” part wasn’t quite on point either.
That’s enough from the world of science and technology for today.
(So—who remembers which old TV show used to end with that line?)
Now you’re standing there tongue-tied
You’d better learn your lesson well
Hide what you have to hide
And tell what you have to tell
You’ll see your problems multiplied
If you continually decide
To faithfully pursue
The policy of truth