Pulling the curtain back a little on my creative process…
Most of what I create—whether it’s a song, a blog, or even a quick line that turns into something bigger—starts in the same place: tension.
Not everything I’m processing has a name. Not everything is meant to be explained. And honestly, not everything is meant to be shared in full.
But creativity has become the space where I can translate what I can hold into something tangible.
Some pieces are raw.
Some are refined.
Some are just fragments that helped me breathe for a minute.
There’s a difference between being transparent and being.
What you’re seeing now is me taking ownership of my voice, my process, and what I create.
For a long time, I filtered it.
Second-guessed it.
Waited for the “right” time, the “right” version, the “right” permission.
Not anymore.
Ownership looks like showing up before it’s perfect.
It looks like creating without over-explaining.
It looks like trusting that what’s on me to say will land where it’s supposed to.
It also means I get to decide what I share—and what I don’t.
This space I’m in right now?
It’s honest.
It’s intentional.
And it’s mine.
No permission needed.
Just alignment.
Just obedience.
Just truth.
Introduction
In my writing process, I leverage my past writings to form lyrics and will edit those lyrics based on a number of factors—but that’s where it starts: a concept pulled from something I’ve already worked through on paper.
You’re privy to some of those writings here.
But what you don’t see are the hundreds of blogs I never released—for one reason or another.
What I don’t think people always realize is that most of my writing is retrospective.
It’s not always written in the moment—it’s written through a more recent lens, looking back, processing, and making sense of what’s already unfolded.
There’s distance in it.
Clarity that only comes after the fact.
So while it may feel current when you read it, a lot of it has already been lived, wrestled with, and, in many ways, resolved before it ever makes it to the page.
I’ve had a few people say to me recently—
“Isn’t this just as easy as pushing a button and creating a song?”
And the short answer is: “Yes. It can be.”
Tools like Suno make it possible to generate music quickly, sometimes in a matter of seconds.
But creating something quickly and owning what you’ve created are not the same thing.
That distinction matters.
I didn’t set out to make an album — that wasn’t the goal. I set out to learn prompt engineering and stacking. But one class assignment changed all that by integrating two worlds into one.
And to be clear—this isn’t just creative instinct, it’s informed.
I’ve had guidance from general counsel around intellectual property and credit claims. I work in a space where IP and trade secrets are part of the landscape, so I understand the weight of ownership—what it means, how it’s protected, and where lines need to be drawn.
And from my time in the music industry, I know who to call, what to ask, and how to move when it comes to protecting creative work.
So when I talk about ownership, I’m not speaking loosely.
I’m creating freely—but I’m also creating wisely.
Because while it’s easy to generate output, it’s much harder—and much more intentional—to design something with clarity, direction, and authorship in mind.
My process isn’t centered around speed.
It’s centered around ownership.
Ownership of:
- the concept
- the structure
- the direction
- and ultimately, the creative intent behind what’s produced
That means being thoughtful about what I contribute, what I guide, and what I refine.
It also means understanding where the line is between:
- what is generated
- and what is actually authored
So yes—there’s a version of this process that is as simple as pressing “create.”
But that’s not the version I’m using.
What I’m building is something more intentional—where intellectual property, authorship, and creative direction sit at the center of the work.
And everything else builds from there.
What started as learning prompt engineering—understanding how to communicate with AI systems—turned into something else entirely.
Somewhere along the way, logic met creativity… and didn’t cancel each other out.
They collaborated.
What I’m building right now sits in that intersection.
Not just songs.
Not just writing.
But a process.
Creating Without Saying Everything
If you’ve followed any of my recent work—blogs, lyrics, or the project I released—you’ll notice a pattern:
I’m not here to explain everything.
I’m here to translate it.
There’s a difference.
Some experiences are meant to be processed, not performed.
Some truths are meant to be held, not handed out.
That tension—between what is felt and what is shared—has become the foundation of how I create.
And interestingly… AI has become part of that process.
Interestingly, that’s what I do in my professional space.
What AI Is (and Isn’t) in This Process
Let’s clear something up.
AI is not the artist.
It doesn’t live your experiences.
It doesn’t carry your history.
It doesn’t wrestle with meaning, faith, tension, or truth.
You do.
What AI does—when used well—is respond to direction.
It’s a system that translates language into output.
Which means the quality of what comes out is directly tied to the clarity of what goes in.
That’s where this becomes less about “using AI”…
and more about learning how to communicate creatively with precision.
Understanding the System Behind the Tool
Part of what shapes how I approach this process is my background beyond music.
In my professional work and formal education, I’ve spent time building and working with AI and data models—understanding how systems are structured, how inputs are interpreted, and how outputs are generated. I specialize in architecting and structuring inputs from a systems perspective, understanding how they propagate through models, and translating resulting outputs into meaningful insights that inform and drive strategic decision-making—bridging the gap between complex systems and real-world application.
That experience changes how I interact with tools like Suno.
Instead of seeing it as a black box, I approach it as a system:
- Inputs are signals
- Prompts are structured instructions
- Outputs are probabilistic responses shaped by those inputs
Which means results aren’t random—they’re influenced.
The more intentional the input, the more aligned the output.
This is where technical understanding and creative direction intersect.
How Suno Fits In
At a basic level, tools like Suno allow you to generate music from prompts.
At a premium level, this isn’t about typing to “make a song.”
Suno is great at generating songs—but to truly round it out, it needs stronger ownership infrastructure and more advanced post-generation control… especially the ability to strip vocals and export instrumentals.
Because at this level, creation isn’t random—it’s intentional.
It’s about building a layered instruction set that defines:
- Genre + tempo
- Instrumentation + rhythmic structure
- Vocal tone + delivery
- Emotional intent
- Song structure + energy progression
You’re not asking for a song.
You’re designing one.
And when you understand ownership, control, and structure—you’re not just creating…
you’re directing the outcome.
Prompt Engineering, Stacking, and Control
This is where the process becomes more intentional.
At a basic level, a single prompt can generate a song.
But at a more advanced level, you begin stacking prompts—layering multiple instructions that work together to shape the outcome.
Instead of one input, you’re thinking in components:
- Prompts for instrumentation and rhythm
- Prompts vocal tone and delivery
- Prompts for structure and energy flow
- Prompts for emotion and theme
Those layers work together to guide the system toward something more precise.
This is essentially what prompt engineering becomes in practice—
not just describing what you want, but structuring how it should be built.
And the more clearly those layers are defined, the more control you have over the result.
At a surface level, both free and premium (which I have) versions can generate music.
The difference is in control and iteration.
With more advanced access, you gain the ability to:
- refine prompts more precisely
- iterate faster across variations
- guide vocal tone and delivery more intentionally
- explore different structures and styles without starting from scratch
- incorporate additional inputs (like voice notes or phrasing variations)
- and make more nuanced adjustments across the design process
It becomes less about generating a single output…
and more about shaping and refining a sound over time.
That shift—from generation to design—is where the real value shows up.
Where Experience Meets Acceleration
One thing worth clarifying—this isn’t my first time creating music.
I’m a trained musician.
I’ve played piano since the age of six, classically trained in both technique and theory.
Music has been part of my foundation for as long as I can remember.
I started writing songs around fifteen—long before tools like Suno existed—and over time, that evolved into leading bands and worship teams, working within group dynamics, and understanding how different parts come together to form a cohesive sound.
Vocally, I’ve been singing since elementary school, primarily in choir settings.
While I wouldn’t describe myself as a solo vocalist, I understand breath control, phrasing, and how to translate emotion through delivery—how a line should feel, not just how it should sound.
Over the years, I’ve also picked up additional instruments—violin, guitar, bass, and some drums—which has given me a broader perspective on arrangement, rhythm, and how instrumentation interacts within a track.
Beyond performance, I’ve had exposure to the production side of music as well.
I’ve worked with drum machines and sequencers, spent time in recording studio environments, and contributed to projects that made their way onto CDs. I’ve also had the opportunity to intern with a record label and build relationships with others working in the music industry.
That experience shaped more than just how I create—it shaped how I think about ownership.
I’ve spent time working with advisors to understand what I can claim credit for, what I own, and how intellectual property applies within creative work. That awareness carries into how I approach AI-assisted creation today.
So this process isn’t about discovering music.
It’s about accelerating what I already understand—while remaining intentional about authorship, contribution, and ownership.
What’s different now isn’t the ability to create—
it’s the speed and flexibility of execution.
Tools like Suno don’t replace musicianship.
They compress parts of the process that used to take significantly more time.
What might have required:
- building out instrumentation from scratch
- coordinating production layers
- or working through multiple iterations manually
can now be explored in minutes.
That doesn’t remove the need for skill—it actually highlights it.
Because the difference between:
“generate a song”
and
“design a sound, structure, and emotional arc”
comes down to musical understanding.
Knowing how tempo affects energy.
How chord progressions shape emotion.
How phrasing changes delivery.
How space in a mix impacts clarity.
And just as important—having a trained ear.
An ear that can hear when something is off.
When the groove doesn’t sit right.
When the vocal delivery doesn’t match the tone.
When the emotion feels forced instead of natural.
AI can generate options.
It cannot tell you what works.
That discernment—what to keep, what to refine, what to discard—
is still entirely human (human-in-the-loop).
What “Premium-Level” Actually Looks Like
Here’s what I’ve learned through this process:
1. You Separate the Components
Instead of one prompt, you think in layers:
- Instrumentation prompt
- Vocal style prompt
- Lyrical direction
- Structural intent
Then you refine.
2. You Iterate—Intentionally
The first output is rarely the final.
You adjust language like:
- “more space”
- “less aggressive drums”
- “stronger hook”
- “talk-sung delivery”
Small changes → completely different results. I can even go as far as dropping in a voice note with a specific sound, chord progression, or even humming a hook. Because I play piano, I use a piano app to record melody lines or notes for specific instrumentation - just depends on what I hear is missing or what I don’t like.
3. You Design Contrast Across Songs
This was a turning point for me.
At first, everything I created started to sound the same.
Same tempo.
Same tone.
Same emotional space.
That’s when I realized:
Creating a song is one skill.
Designing a body of work is another.
So I started building in contrast:
- Groove-driven, rhythmic tracks
- Emotional, vocal-heavy ballads
- Worship-driven, surrender moments
- High-energy, joy-filled praise
Same message.
Different expressions.
From Processing → Creating
For me, this hasn’t just been about music.
It’s been a way to process what I can’t control…
what I won’t explain…
and what I’m still working through.
My day-to-day work is structured, analytical, and mentally heavy.
Creating gives me a different kind of outlet—one that doesn’t require everything to be solved before it’s expressed.
Sometimes I write to understand.
Sometimes I write to release.
Sometimes I write just to translate what I’m carrying into something that can exist outside of me.
Faith, Boundaries, and What Stays Sacred
Not everything I create is meant to be decoded.
There are parts of my life—especially my marriage—that I choose to keep private.
Not because there’s something to hide.
But because there’s something to protect.
There’s a difference.
If I ever choose to tell those stories, it will be intentional, mutual, and aligned—not reactive or extracted.
Until then, some things remain what they are:
Sacred.
What This Becomes
This process—blogging, writing, building songs with AI—has become something I didn’t expect:
A way to create without needing permission.
A way to express without overexposing.
A way to hold both logic and emotion in the same space.
And maybe that’s the point.
Not to explain everything.
Not to prove anything.
But to create something honest…
and let it speak for itself.
Final Thought
What started as learning how to prompt AI has become learning how to articulate what’s inside of me with clarity and intention.
The tool didn’t give me a voice.
It forced me to define it.
And that’s where the real work is.
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