Devil or Angel

In the world of writing, where words hatch into stories ready to take flight, many diverse voices are yearning to be heard. Among them are those who face unique challenges due to physical limitations, their bodies unable to keep pace with the rapid flow of thoughts and ideas. But in this age of innovation and possibilities, a new tool has emerged, offering a new path to empowerment: artificial intelligence.

With AI as a writing tool, combined with voice-to-text features, disabled writers have the means to mitigate the obstacles imposed by their physical limitations. These tools provide a conduit through which their stories can be told and voices amplified. This remarkable integration of human creativity and artificial intelligence opens doors previously closed, revealing new avenues for expression and connection.

Yet, amidst the promise of this digital companion, there exists a cloud of stigmatization surrounding AI's role in the creative process. Skepticism and concerns about transparency cast a shadow, challenging the legitimacy and authenticity of works produced with the aid of algorithms.

Together, let’s take a tour of the landscape of AI, and observe its use as a conduit to creativity for the disabled, a method of increasing output driven by for-profit writing, a source of existential dread, and ultimately another tool in the writer’s toolbox.

Crafting a compelling narrative requires more than just adhering to rigid grammatical rules. It demands a delicate balance of rhythm and flow, the seamless cadence of sentences that transport readers into the heart of the story. But when AI enters the equation, it brings with it a well-intentioned but sometimes disruptive presence. Take, for example, the ever-helpful Grammarly. With its keen eye for grammar and punctuation, it offers some valuable suggestions to refine our prose. And while these suggestions may indeed be technically accurate, they can occasionally act as intruders, interrupting our natural momentum.

David W., a writer from Washington State, offers this insight into Grammarly: "The AI will make suggestions that, though they are good suggestions in grammatical terms, they disrupt the narrative flow."

Grammarly is often like a sound technician, who with a single slide can mix a melody that swells and tapers with perfect harmony. But sometimes, Grammarly is Klimt’s older brother, telling him that trees don’t look like that.

And then there's the realm of text-to-speech, a realm fraught with frustration and occasional comedy. Imagine you're dictating your story, pouring your soul onto the page, when suddenly, the AI misinterprets your intent. A simple word like "comma" becomes a tangled web of confusion. Will it be transcribed as the word itself, or will it interrupt your flow with unnecessary punctuation? Or will it interpret the word as "Karma," convincing the southern speaker they have a thick working-class Bostonian accent?

In these moments, the collision of human expression and artificial intelligence reveals both the limitations and the idiosyncrasies of this unnatural partnership. While AI can offer valuable assistance, in navigating the nuances and finding the sweet spot in your story, it can also make a mess of your narrative if your discernment falters. And while text-to-speech is a valuable tool for the disabled, it can disrupt the flow of dictation like an implacable child mistaking boredom for hunger.

The trap you can also fall into with these tools is a boom in production at the expense of originality and passion. But the tools are not the real source of this creative death dance. This is an inescapable part of the writing lifestyle, especially since your writing has to have real-world appeal.

Amir A., a graphic designer from Karachi, Pakistan, had this to say about the developmental process, "Sometimes you have to choose between what you're passionate about and what will sell."

Writers, artists, and creators of all kinds often find themselves standing at this crossroads, forced to make difficult decisions that shape their artistic journey.

Passion fuels the creative spirit. It drives us to pour our hearts onto the page, creating narratives that only resonate within us. But there are economic realities that demand attention, creating a clash between artistic fulfillment and financial viability.

For many, the path of passion may lead to obscure territories. But the stories we yearn to tell, the visions we strive to bring to life, may not always align with the demands of the market. And so, a Faustian bargain must be struck – a choice that can feel like sacrificing a limb.

This is perhaps our most profound dilemma as writers. Do we relinquish a fragment of our creative essence in pursuit of commercial success? Do we mold our narratives to fit within the confines of what will sell, distilling our dreams into a marketable commodity? It's a choice that can be both heartbreaking and necessary, a balance between compromise and authenticity.

There's a profound weight to the realization that creativity, like life itself, often requires sacrifice. It demands that we confront the tension between our deepest passions and the practical considerations that shape our artistic careers. We have to grapple with the haunting question: What are we willing to give up to share our stories with the world?

It's a reckoning that calls for introspection, for understanding the delicate balance between pure artistry and commerce. The path forward may not always be clear, and the choices we make can feel like betrayals or selfish acts of self-preservation. Within this struggle lies the growth potential, for honing our craft and finding a harmony that satisfies both our creative yearnings and the demands of the world we inhabit. It’s like walking a tightrope. The first time, your knees shake, and your legs beg to buckle, but with time you may find that you traverse the chasm with ease.

AI is helpful but it can also trigger the angst-filled analysis writers often dread. It often makes us confront the demonic presence on the page, the maw waiting to gobble our baubles and ornamentations, or the shadow hand reaching out to force us to murder our darlings. To us, the writers, it can be a crippling prospect, confronting the fact that our brilliant elocution may not serve the story.

AI, on the other hand, will murder our darlings with neither grace nor cold cunning, but rather, with detached machine-driven apathy. It may be the brutal taskmaster some of us need. Decide for yourself.

As technology advances and algorithms grow more sophisticated, a question finds fertile ground for debate and existential trembling. It’s the monster in the closet that will continue to nag at us until we find the courage to throw open the door. Will AI eventually replace the human writer entirely?

Grace P. a poet from Columbia, South Carolina, said, "I do not believe that AI will ever completely replace the writer. Not me, at least. My words are too [expletive deleted] soulful.”

There is truth to that. AI, with all its prowess, will never completely replace the essence of humanity. At the very heart of every story lies a spark of humanity that defies replication, an intangible soul extension that pulls together collected emotions, experiences, and nuances of the human mind.

AI may excel in data analysis and pattern recognition, wielding its computational might to generate coherent sentences and even entire narratives. It can mimic the structures and rhythms of storytelling, giving rise to tales that seem captivating and engaging, but what it lacks, what it can never possess, is the profound wellspring of human emotions, the vulnerabilities, and the unique perspectives that breathe life into our words.

Writers, human writers, have the capacity for empathy and introspection, bringing an irreplaceable depth to their work. They draw from the well of their own lived experiences, infusing their stories with a richness that resonates on, not necessarily a profound level, but a human one. We are curators of emotions, explorers of the human psyche, and custodians of the narrative.

We should not dismiss the role of AI in the writing process simply because it scares us or presents us with notions of irrelevancy. Lots of tools in our toolkit scare us. Is there anything more terrifying than an empty page, anything more deserving of vitriol than a first draft edit? In an age where productivity and efficiency are valued, embracing AI as a tool for productivity becomes a pragmatic choice. The immense computational power at our disposal can aid in generating ideas, refining prose, and streamlining workflows. It becomes a companion, augmenting the creative process rather than supplanting it.

Writing prompts operate in much the same way, and they have been a part of the process for centuries. Some purists may frown on them, but the majority of strict purists never reach their ultimate goal, which is, for every writer, the precipice of the craft. The only thing that will drive someone into irrelevancy is their inability to fully adapt to the changing landscape. Writers that do not embrace this technological change may find themselves left behind, grappling with outdated methods in a world that thrives on innovation. It is an era where the boundaries between human and machine blur, and those who adapt, who harness the capabilities of AI while maintaining their authorial voice, will find themselves at the forefront of a literary revolution.

Viewed through a pragmatic lens, accepting the evolving role of AI in writing is a logical step forward. It opens doors to new possibilities, perhaps enabling writers to explore uncharted territories and reach new audiences. Yet, viewed through the lens of romanticism, it can feel like a minor apocalypse, a loss of something deeply human; as if a muse could be replaced by lines of code.

Chad P., a comic book artist/writer from Monmouthshire, Wales, had this to say about reactions to AI text and image generation, “I try not to be reductive. We all have fears. I’m not scared. The art it produces is terrifying but not in a good way. You get blended heads, and holes where there shouldn’t be any. Disturbing crap. It’s pretty much the same with AI writing.”

The fear, it seems, lies not in this current iteration of AI, such as Chat GPT-4, but in future iterations. Regulation of the technology can be filed under good sense, not because it can become self-aware, not for speculative science-fiction-based reasons, but for tangible, heartbreaking ones. Writers fear the loss of income and the onset of obsolescence. They see a roadblock to growth or success. But even though a daunting list of negative socioeconomic and ethical implications can be formed under the canopy of AI, it is important to remember that there are positive implications as well. While many writers fear roadblocks to success, others have been confronting them for years. AI in concert with voice-to-text can be employed by disabled writers who have lost the ability to write through traditional means. Of course, the use of AI creates a greater need for transparency in writing, an obligation by the writer to reveal if the text was self-generated or machine-generated. But where that responsibility begins and where it ends is the question. The process is a private thing, and if your process includes AI to generate outlines or to help you formulate ideas, then that secret is yours to keep.

Author’s Note: The shortening of the tendons in my hands is agonizing and will only continue. I used to spend hours in front of my computer just dropping words on the page, crafting, and weaving. I lost that with the progression of my disease. Now that the mechanical functions of my hands, and indeed the rest of my limbs, are breaking down, assistive technology has become a huge part of my life. If AI can help me get back to the grind, then so be it. This work was human-generated. I contemplated using AI to form an outline, but I’m a bigger believer in proof of concept, and feeling the pain as I wrote this was a necessary component of the passion and compassion with which it was written. Thank you for reading.