I recently read about a scandal erupting in the publishing/writing world in which an author used artificial intelligence to produce their debut work. There is some debate regarding whether it was an author, an editor, a publisher, or even – God forbid – the intern at 3 AM that was tasked with printing and binding said manuscript for a red-pen read. Regardless, this has caused quite a stir, raising questions about the legitimacy of AI in a creative function where the story should come from an author’s point of view and voice.
I find the idea unsettling that any creative work can originate from artificial intelligence, but before anyone numbers me amongst the haters, let me also be clear: I used AI in editing some of my earlier works. I used it, followed it religiously for a period of roughly 90 days, then promptly discarded it after printing my work out and realizing that it was garbage. You see, AI – in the pursuit of pace, of language that encapsulated the story concisely – sacrificed my voice. One chapter was reduced from 3500 words to – I kid you not – just under 700. It removed any semblance of narrative and instead focused on what would propel the absolute bones of the story forward.
In doing so, it removed much of the heart from my work. In one late-night editing session with AI where it kept repeated telling me, “This isn’t flowing fast enough,” I started a new document entitled, “S#$% I f@$%ing too out.” Thankfully, after printing the manuscript and reading it post-artificial intelligence editing, I was able to re-inject much of that soul back into the work. In fact, in those 6-7 pages lies much of the heart of the book. Admittedly, there were large swaths of it that could not be used – garbage will always be garbage, regardless of how well it is wrapped and polished – but there were occasionally lines that I felt evoked the right feeling.
So do not count me among those who say, “AI is not relevant to the writing world.” On the contrary, I would argue that it is increasingly relevant. As writers, we cannot simply say that we will not advance, we will not embrace change and the future without consideration. Am I writing this on paper with quill and ink pot nearby? Absolutely not. My laptop is (fairly) new and this will be posted shortly on my blog, which you will read on your own laptop. Technology and change is not the enemy, but rather should be used as a tool.
I am old enough to remember a time before personal computers and cell phones and even the internet. When I was registering for my first email address, I spent days considering the name that should show at the beginning: Sexystud69? MackDaddy16? SaltPepaSupaFan912? I won’t go into the meanings behind each of those – suffice it to say I chose none of them (thankfully), and that email address is still following me around today. But when I was registering for that address, older generations were decrying the use of email that would one day replace the traditional mail, causing a collapse in that venerable institution, the United States Postal Service, not to mention the inevitable demise of good penmanship. While the second might be true (both of my children – though sweethearts – have the penmanship of serial killers. Or doctors…?) the United States Postal Service still drops off items to my mailbox 6 days a week.
No, I think the frustration in modern times comes not from the use of technology to improve the craft, but rather from the lack of authenticity that accompanies such use. I recently started a social media plan (prompted by an article on 6 things all aspiring writers should do) that was chock-full of AI-generatedposts. I allowed it to run for one week then deleted everything scheduled for the next month. It was not me. I like bourbon, but it is not my life. I like living in the South, but that singular aspect also does not define me. It was a generated persona, and – while I freely admit that JT Blackwell is a pseudonym – he should also be a synonym for me. I don’t want to be someone else. I don’t hide behind my pseudonym, but it is useful to keep certain aspects of my professional life separate from my personal life.
Authenticity arises when we confront the truth that – as I said before – garbage will always be garbage, regardless of how well it is wrapped and polished. Not everything I write is perfect; in fact, I can read a paragraph 5 times and come away with 5 different suggestions for improvement. It is those occasional flashes of brilliance, the fresh perspective, that we feel have been stolen from us when a writer poses another’s work (even AI-generated) as their own. Would Faulkner have used ChatGPT? Would Hemingway have preferred GROK? Would Dickens have Claude write “A Christmas Carol”? Doubtful, though I feel that Poe could certainly have used the editing functionality of AI in some of his works (I’m looking at you, “Philosophy of Furniture”). I wonder whether we have to endure items like “Philosophy of Furniture” as writers to also produce “The Raven” or “The Tell-Tale Heart”? Perhaps the artistic suffering is less about the physical and more about the mental? Do you think that Poe sat back in his chair and thought, “Today I have written a masterpiece,” as he crossed the last t in “Philosophy of Furniture”? Conversely, he probably did not think that when he penned one of the most memorable lines in all of literature, “Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
The lack of suffering (in my mind) yields to a lack of authenticity. Ask any author whether they produced a perfect manuscript the first time around, with no revisions necessary and no substitutions. I can guarantee 100% will tell stories of how they agonized over whether a character laid down their struggles or laid down WITH their struggles. Like a well-worn gym sock or a gnarly pair of running shoes, authenticity reeks of struggle and smells gamey from the sheer amount of caffeine-fueled nights evoked from singular word choices. Authenticity is not pretty, but it is necessary for creation. Anything worthwhile requires some work or it will not be valued.
When I started writing, I wanted to use AI to go straight to the top of the published world. I wanted to be successful and famous. I wanted the results without the work. I wanted the destination without the journey. But it would have been fake, and I think it would have been obviously fake. We have a nose for authenticity, even as AI becomes increasingly sophisticated. It is in this authenticity that we find connection.
And after all, connection is what makes the journey worthwhile.
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