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When Fable 5 is used for frontier LLM development, it does not notify the user and instead limits the model’s capabilities through methods such as prompt modification, steering vectors, and PEFT. Anthropic estimated that this would affect approximately 0.03% of traffic.

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This is a massive deal. The DFT approach defined here "trains at this higher level [distribution-level information], optimizing the distribution of outputs so that it better matches the training data." That level as I understand it are things such as sentence length and distribution of certain rhetorical moves, stylistic changes, paragraph length, rhythm and prosody, and other elements of textuality. This is the first time I've seen someone in this industry try to focus not just on language production but textiality production. If this is replicable across genres (which will be much, much harder than it sounds), this could be a massive change in what LLMs can do. Just incredible work, bravo.

I fixed why LLMs write so poorly, and I have a demo to prove it Announcing Distribution Fine Tuning (DFT): A post training step that fixes LLM writing Model outputs fooled pangram on 100% of test cases

Sorry no luck Tried some text and the first 2 AI detectors I tried rejected it Text below I opened it on the train platform. A dog-eared, crumpled paperback book with a picture of a plump girl in a tartan skirt, grinning at the reader. The book smelled of damp. I found a seat near the window and settled down with it. I could remember vividly that exact morning fifty years ago, how I had run barefoot across the hot yard of our family house, clutching the book against my chest. My mother never gave in to my repeated pleas and bought me the post-war reissue ofThe Railway Children, but my father did. He had taken me to the bookseller’s shop, where he had negotiated for three shillings off the marked price. Holding the book in my hands felt like holding something precious and secret, which no one else in the world had. I read it with wide-eyed attention. Whenever I stopped reading to listen for an approaching train, the smell of the leather-bound cover filled my nostrils. I could almost hear the shrill cries of the children as their mother clutched the broken luggage label. The train was late, the children were in terrible trouble; and yet they were not at all afraid, because they had a secret which only they knew. At the end of our little platform, I bade goodbye to the book and carried on with my journey. A Publica bus was due to come along shortly, bound for Chichester, where I was to meet up with my friend, who had promised to bring along a copy of The Railway Children, newly purchased. Another dog-eared paperback book, this one in excellent condition with its dust jacket intact. I opened it and began to read. Nothing in it shocked, surprised or thrilled me. The smell of the book was clean, almost chemical. I thought of my friend, and how, with typical generously, she had gone out of her way to get me a copy. I thought of all those rainy afternoons, in a borrowed sitting room with sloping ceilings, when my friend and I would read aloud to each other. After school, after the long families lunches, when everyone was dozing; she and I in our dressing-gowns, surrounded by books borrowed from the school library. I missed the bus. I thought of my friend, who in all probability was now sitting at home, reading quietly to herself. In front of her a saucer of cold digestives and a glass of milk, gone slightly sour. She would be tired, because her father had fallen ill and she had spent a sleepless night with him. As for me, I was going to have to wait until the next bus, bound for a different destination altogether. I wandered towards the newsagents and thought of all the things I had bought there over the years – colouring pencils, lemonade, chewing gum, sweeties in little paper bags, Zines, paperbacks, more paperbacks, many, many paperbacks. As for The Railway Children, I held my own copy close to my chest and read it all the way home