A tale of two prompts... "wake up in morning"

Getting different output from gpt-turbo and making “prompt engineering” easy for end users…

Very easy to read…

wake up in morning

I wake up, stretch. Sunlight peeks through curtains. Birds are chirping outside. I yawn, rub my eyes. It’s time to start. I swing my legs, sit up. My pjs feel cozy. I hop out of bed. Stretch my arms wide.

I shuffle to the bathroom. My toothbrush waits patiently. I squeeze toothpaste on. Brush my teeth diligently. Spit into the sink. Rinse my mouth out. I glance at the mirror. My hair is messy. Need to brush it.

I grab my brush. Run it through my hair. Smooth and shiny now. I feel so clean. I walk to the kitchen. Pancakes are calling me. They smell delicious. I sit at the table. Pour syrup on top.

I start to eat. Giggle as syrup drips. On my pajama top. My mom walks in. She smiles and says, “Good morning!” I smile back and say, “Morning, Mom!” She gives me a hug. Breakfast is the best.

Now I’m ready. I wash my face. Put clothes on quickly. Time for a new day. I pack my backpack. It’s time for school. My mom waves goodbye. I walk out the door. Adventure awaits me.

Very hard to read…

wake up in morning

I awaken from my slumber, as the first rays of the morning sun filter through the tattered curtains of my dreary abode. The alarm clock, with its pulse-like ticking, is an intrusive reminder of the ceaseless passage of time. The entire notion of “waking up” seems to be a paradoxical enigma; for how can one truly awaken when one is trapped in the convoluted realms of existence?

As I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, my feet touch the cold, unforgiving floor, sending a shiver up my spine. The creaking of the floorboards echoes through the silence of the room, a symphony of eerie dissonance. I gaze upon the chaotic arrangement of objects strewn haphazardly across the room - a solemn testament to the disorderly nature of my life.

The mirror hanging on the cracked wall reflects a face blurred and distorted, as though mocking the very notion of identity. The images staring back at me, countless fragments of a fractured self, compel me to question the very essence of being. Who am I, really? A mere reflection in the looking glass is all I seem to be.

The morning routine commences, with each motion accompanied by a sense of futility. The toothpaste, squeezed meticulously onto the toothbrush, constitutes the ceremonial cleansing of the mechanisms of digestion. The water, flowing hastily from the faucet, strives to quench the insatiable thirst for meaning that engulfs my every waking moment. But alas, the thirst cannot be slaked, as it is inherent in the very fabric of existence itself.

Dressed in the garments of banality, I tread the labyrinthine corridors of this fractured reality. The mundane chatter of the outside world, a dissonant symphony of aimless prattle, fills the air. The cacophony of meaningless words exacerbates the isolation of my being, rendering me a solitary figure amidst a swarm of inconsequential noise.

Outside, the sun hangs high in the vast expanse of the sky, casting its indifferent gaze upon the insipid landscape. The trees, with their skeletal branches reaching towards the heavens, seem to embody the universal longing for transcendence. Yet, in their twisted forms, they serve as a reminder of the impossibility of escape.

The path ahead, stretching infinitely into the distance, beckons me towards an unknown destination. Each step I take is laden with uncertainty, as the very ground beneath

Anything you’re doing to make prompting easier for users rather than teaching them to prompt?

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