The life of a creative purist in an AI world

 

The creative life is hard, always has been and always will be. Today, technology rubs digitized, AI-generated salt into the bruised egos and wounded pride of the steadfast writers, artisans, and free minds who see colors that are not html-compliant. The hurt is real. Even though the assailants are faceless consumers, near-sighted corporate jesters, and nano-brained algorithms, this attack on creative individuality is rampant--and dangerous. Excuse me while I cry.

Our world is becoming generic, unaccepting of original thinkers or doers. To be fit for distribution and consumption, ideas must be simplistic, easily duplicated, conveniently boxed, and consumed in small gulps. It’s a mocha, Times New Roman, recyclable, assemble-with-an-Allen-wrench, photoshopped world. If you’re not swipe-worthy, forget it.

For me, creative expression comes through words. I am a self-proclaimed storyteller extraordinaire. With a degree in Journalism, I have enjoyed a successful 30-year career writing content used in marketing (think whitepapers about cybersecurity). I also write fiction (think novels for sale on Amazon for only $12.99 and ebooks for $1.99).

Both professions have been slaughtered and chewed up by technology. I did not get any of the spoils of war, only the heartburn.

My long-time corporate gig provided the biggest coldcock jab. One day I was the star performer, showing off my product expertise and persuasive prose like an athlete about to land a Nike deal. The next day, an upstart new manager (UNM) with the obligatory goatee and Meme vocabulary decided to replace the entire writing team with a subscription to an AI-app.

It only took a short six months for that cost-saving AI experiment to fail and the UNM to be axed, too. In true Karma-sweet justice he was kicked to the same “Open to Work” curb. But by then, the career I had loved was on a respirator. I was only one of millions of technology workers laid off when the COVID work-from-home bubble burst.

At the same time, the launch of AI-driven tools has made copy writing seem like a formulaic trick, like training chickens to play a toy piano. Good writing ain’t that easy, I swear.

Yet corporate writers in numerous roles are at risk of being replaced by AI-driven technology and managers who find regurgitated copy acceptable. I predict the pendulum will swing, though. The novelty of experimenting with easy shortcuts will wear off. Negative repercussions of unresearched, unsubstantiated, and unoriginal text will impact the bottom line—where it can be understood. Enterprises that value security will insist that AI algorithms not be allowed to taint text with claims that can’t be verified or phases that were “learned/stolen” from copyright-protected work. Lawsuits will come. 

Besides the legal risk, fresh writing, as only humans can generate, is more effective. It prickles the senses and piques curiosity because it sounds unique. Creative voices scratch the itches we don’t know we have yet.

In the fiction-writers world, technology is also demoralizing the publishing industry. Authentic voices with something meaningful to say are lost in the gobbledygook of mediocre. The talented and skilled must fight for air, among the legions of bloggers, vloggers and podcasters sucking oxygen out of the biodome where punctuation is rationed, auto-correct is the authority, and Facebook trolls police their-there-they’re debates and semicolon health is underappreciated.

What objective authority can we trust? Where is Walter Cronkite when you need him? Oh, Lamar, where is the Reading Rainbow today? Reese Witherspoon, where does your book club meet? More importantly, will you promote my newest novel for me? I have a $500 budget. I speak pay-to-play fluently.

Traditional publishing houses have merged to the point of near extinction. The remaining few should be captured and put into safe habitats and captive breeding programs to restore the herds. Only by careful nurturing can the once grand entities—with flowing manes and ruthless dispositions--be returned to the wild, where they played an important role. Publishers ate subpar writers for lunch, protecting innocent readers from frauds and wanna-be Tolkiens who compose eight-volume epic fantasies on their phones.

In their absence, the industry’s self-publishing tools have opened the floodgates. Anyone can be an expert with a surefire five-point plan for boardroom success, offshore fortunes, perfect marriages, genius toddlers, and gourmet dinners in 30 minutes or less. Anyone can retell Romeo/Juliet with some Pride and Prejudice on the side and a dab of Crawdads Singing and Handmaid Tales. Unfortunately, most of it is crap—my novels not included, of course.

Some of us purists are downright gobsmacked and stinking with indignation at the turn of events and vow to never-ever-ever stick our toesies in the lukewarm AI-pool. Just as the candlemakers boycotted Edison’s treacherous light bulbs, I will toil away in the dark, rather than succumb. I won’t go down without a fight.

And, I am proud to say, not a single AI logarithm lost its life in the making of this blog, and all mistakes are purely mine.

Check out my novels here: https://amzn.to/3JSNShF