Essay: AI's and the Future of Writing - The Wandering Inn

Essay: AI’s and the Future of Writing

[Video for context. Relevancy begins around 22:00]. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U2OEQnZEC5U)

 

AI-based writing software is threatening to replace the art of writing. I am sure you’ve seen or heard stories about the new AI-based software that is capable of mimicking art to the point where it can create pieces that have won art contests.

Well, I am writing because it’s come to my attention there are programs in development and even in use at this very moment that allow people to generate entire sections of text based on prompts. You may have seen the sillier versions that come up with mostly nonsense in years past, but the newer programs apparently are beginning to mimic high-level literature.

In time, they have the potential to replace actual writers and generate entire novels and storylines without a user needing any practice or training of their own. Not just books, but television shows, movies, and songs would fall under this purview. The threat of this kind of AI-developed software that essentially trivializes the act of writing is why I’m writing this essay about the future of writing.

Because frankly, I think it’s alright. I imagine that the first three paragraphs will be repeated in news stories and opinion pieces in the years to come. Right now, artificial intelligence or the algorithms that can generate art and writing are just getting to the point where they’re actually useful. Hence me talking about it.

I didn’t think we’d get here this year, but I just watched a video by a Youtuber named Markiplier where, in his livestream, he talks about using a software called ‘Novel AI’. He claims that recent developments have allowed him to integrate the program into his own writing process and expedite writing. Not replace his work, but essentially help when he runs into a slow patch and direct his train of thought.

Think of it like a focus group, or someone spitting ideas and doing a lot of typing, perhaps for parts of a story you don’t want to write. I have not tested this software myself, but I can imagine how helpful it would be for some writers. If not now, then in five versions where it can essentially add in descriptions for, say, a mountain range by sampling excellent descriptive pieces.

A writer, like Markiplier, can use this as a significant boost to their writing process even if it doesn’t replace him. For instance, he claims that in 4 days, he wrote 50,000 words with the help of Novel AI.

I’d like to put that into context. Most writers have a daily writing goal like 2,000 words, or 5,000. Nanowrimo, the famous monthly contest to write a novel in a month, sets the goal at 50,000 words. Markiplier generated in 5 days what the contest asks writers to try for in a month.

Maybe it wasn’t all one cohesive beginning, middle, and end to a story but it is a wild number. I am a web serial writer who occupies the #3 rank on Patreon as of this essay, and I have what I think is the longest piece of published work in the English language at 10 million words by one person. That’s not to brag, that’s context. I write chapters from 20-30,000 words on average twice a week.

I could write 50,000 words in four days. I have done that. I can do it–at my best. I would be wiped out afterwards and I wouldn’t be certain if all of it is stuff I could keep and publish. There may be a difference between the 50k that Markiplier uses and the words I publish as a chapter, but the point should be that Novel AI, for this one writer, is a huge boost.

Perhaps, upon hearing that, you might not care. But I think that a lot of writers if they read this might be offended on behalf of the process of writing. Or perhaps its worry. I confess, I don’t like the idea of people being able to generate anything good with the help of AI, even if it just provides ideas or cues. Much less writing actual chapters that could be anywhere near the level of a human person.

However, I think that’s the conceit and the lies we’re telling ourselves. At the start of this essay I said that it’s alright. Yes, I’m competitive with a piece of software. Yes, I don’t like being challenged.

But I do believe this is a war we’re going to lose. People have said, ‘artificial intelligence may become super-smart, and smarter than us, but a computer will never learn to love or create’ or some variation on that statement.

I think that was our way of denying reality, and coping with the idea of something that would surpass us individually and as a species. Because–clearly–AI is now making pieces of beautiful art. If you don’t believe me, Google it. Yes, 99% might be crap, but so is what a lot of even the best artists make. Yes, it might be derivative and use inputs from established art and literature to create, but so do we.

The idea that AI will not replace artists or writers is silly. It already has. I have been told that film studios are using AI to help create ideas for TV scripts. This is not ‘the future’, it’s happening now.

And this is the first generation of this kind of software that works. In time, it will replace writer’s rooms, or perhaps supplement them. It will be a slow process. First, people will push back against anything made by an AI and there will be people sneaking in the program, being ‘found out’ or confessing to using it.

My prediction is that in the coming years, there will be famous authors who admit they used Novel AI or variations on the software. There will be scandals, and drama. But this is my bold claim:

If artificial intelligence and this kind of software development continues. If the world is still around and we haven’t burnt it all to the ground or been destroyed by something–if this very narrow section of writing and artistic creation via software continues as it has, we, writers, have 100 years.

100 years before we are obsolete. Not ‘computers are now taking our jobs’ obsolete, but ‘there is nothing we can write, period, that a computer cannot do better or just as well’. One hundred years.

I’m just making up the timespan, but the point is that this is going to be a war we’ll never win. We will slowly go from being far superior to what an AI can generate, to the AI producing or cloning good sections of prose, to it being able to mimic and surpass us.

This will not just be prose or novellas, but even extend to ideas. Yes, we like to think we’re ‘original’, but originality can be learnt. An algorithm can be developed to generate new concepts as original as anything a brain can come up with. We’ll have the edge for a while, I hope, but it is the height of arrogance to assume we’ll always be better than a computer.

It’s a very human trait and we have not, as a species, run into a superior opponent. Which is probably why we make such bold claims about computers and can’t imagine being replaced or turned into the many animals we treat poorly. But listen–a computer will someday be able to sample the entire world’s literature in every language.

All the greats. It will read Shakespeare, poets and writers in every language, not just English. It will sample the finest prose and build a style based on whatever input it needs. It will be able to write in damned iambic pentameter and generate a 1-million page book in ten seconds because it is a computer.

And it will be the best thing ever written because it will have all of our finest works to use as a guide. That day might be a hundred years in the future, or ten. But I’m here for it.

I would love to read a book better than any I can imagine. Being wiped out by a computer that sees me as superfluous to existence? Less fun. But I would love to read that book. Will I be upset if my talents are no longer useful and all I’ve worked for can be done by the push of a button?

Yes, of course. But I don’t want to lie and say it could never happen. I think the odds are, it could, and frankly, it’s closer than we think. I didn’t write this to talk about the ethics of using AI in art or writing. Some people will, some people will make rules–I just want to read good stories.

There will come that day when the greatest writer is an algorithm, a super-AI who will take humanity’s prose and elevate it beyond anything we can imagine. Some might think of that as the death of writing, but I believe that computer, in the micro-moments in which it downloads all the literary works in the world, will have to read everything people ever thought of as good.

And my intention is that it’ll have to download one gigabyte of data marked ‘pirateaba’. That would be a pretty funny legacy.

My message is that writing software is going to pop up more and more. Industries are going to experiment with them. We are going to see their flaws–and I suspect the current versions might be trope-heavy and less original for now, but like I said, I don’t doubt that better versions will appear so quickly it storms the literary world. If anything, essays will probably be AI-generatable at a high level first because essays are formulaic.

Even if it’s new data, a scientist might be able to generate an essay with perfect bibliography because there is a set way to do these things. Fantasy will last a bit longer, but they’re coming for us. Put up a good fight and teach the software something. But seriously, I would love a good story better than any I’ve ever read.

–pirateaba

 

 

 

 

Author’s Note: Some people are going to disagree with my takes and if I wasn’t lazy and on Twitter, I’d directly post there and Reddit and all the places. But I’ll try to link this out. My point…well, you heard me.

I think it’s funny whenever I see movies or hear discussion where people believe a little too hard about Human supremacy. It reminds me of, say, the Romans, or the British, or any other large group which probably thought they would never fade. I bet you Neanderthals thought that.So this is a counterpoint to a lot of the opinions as well as my take on what the potential of this software is.

Writing is a weird…art? Not sure it’s art, but it’s definitely no science. And yet, the writing software will make an impact and there are things it can probably do that will begin to compete with writers. Most of all, though, let’s watch the elitism. Literature is a space rife with it. I, personally, think copyright opens up anyone using AI writing software to issues and I don’t think I need to use it, but I still want to see what the best writing looks like.

We can advance, and this is an interesting thing that’ll change a lot. Like web serials. It just means we wait and see what happens–unless you’re one of the people who finds the wave and rides it for a while. Again, if you’re a traditionalist, you’ll probably only see the wave when it’s fifty feet tall.

 

 

Update: Here’s something I was sent that illustrates my point. Someone fed one of the writing programs two paragraphs of my story and let it run. It’s not great writing but it’s illustrative how it creates not only stakes, but characters and a plot.

 

Most people began their journeys well prepared. If Erin had known she would have ended up in this place, she would have brought along a backpack crammed full of essentials. And a gun. To fight off the little green men. But she hadn’t planned this adventure. She hadn’t known it was going to happen.
How did one travel to another world, or another…another place? Erin’s forehead wrinkled as she thought. This was clearly no virtual reality, she didn’t remember being drugged or abducted, and she was fairly certain she wasn’t crazy, although her present situation made a good case to the contrary. But if any of those logical, real-world explanations didn’t fit, that only left…
“Magic,” she whispered, and then laughed. It was a hysterical sound, bordering on the edge of a sob. “I’ve been transported to another world by magic.”
Erin shook her head and tried to clear her thoughts. This was no time to be losing it. She had to figure out what was going on and how to get back home. Home. The word brought a fresh wave of homesickness and she had to swallow hard against the lump in her throat.
She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t hear the soft footfalls approaching until it was too late. She turned just in time to see a small, green creature lunge at her with a sharp knife.
Erin screamed and stumbled backwards, tripping over a root and landing hard on the ground. She scrambled to her feet, heart pounding in her chest, and faced her attacker.
It was a creature she had never seen before, but it was definitely not human. It was small, no taller than her waist, with green skin and large, black eyes. It was wearing some kind of crude clothing made from animal skins, and it was armed with a knife and a small wooden shield.
The creature hissed at her and brandished its knife. Erin backed away, her mind racing. She had no weapon, no way to defend herself. She was going to die here, in this strange place, killed by some kind of monster.
Suddenly, the creature attacked. Erin yelped and threw her arms up to protect her face, but it was too late. She felt the sharp blade slice into her skin and she cried out in pain.
The creature hissed in triumph and raised its knife for another strike, but before it could land the blow, there was a loud whooshing sound and the creature was yanked backwards, disappearing into the trees.
Erin stared in disbelief, her hand pressed to her wounded arm. What had just happened? Was she dreaming? She pinched herself, hard, but she didn’t wake up.
She heard the sound of footsteps crunching on the leaves and she tensed, her heart pounding, but then a familiar voice called her name.
“Erin! Are you okay?”
It was her friend, Sarah. Erin let out a relieved breath and ran to her.
“Sarah, thank God! What’s going on? Where are we?”
Sarah shook her head. “I don’t know. I was just taking a walk in the woods and I ended up here. And then I saw that thing attacking you…”
Her voice trailed off and she stared at Erin’s arm, which was still bleeding.
“We need to get you to a hospital,” she said.
Erin shook her head. “I don’t think that’s going to be possible.”
She looked around, trying to get her bearings. They were in a small clearing in the woods. She could see the sun shining through the trees, but she had no idea what direction they had come from.
“We need to find a way out of here,” she said. “Whatever this place is, it’s not safe.”
Sarah nodded. “I think I saw a path over there,” she said, pointing.
Erin followed her friend through the woods, trying to ignore the pain in her arm. She had no idea what that creature was, or what else might be lurking in these woods, but she had to find a way out. She had to get back home.
As they walked, Sarah told her what she knew. She had been out for a walk, just like Erin, when she suddenly found herself in this place. She had seen the creature attacking Erin and had used her knife to kill it.
“I’ve never seen anything like it before,” she said. “But it’s definitely not human.”
Erin shivered. “Do you think there are more of them?” she asked.
Sarah shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen any, but that doesn’t mean they’re not out there.”
They walked in silence for a while, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Erin’s arm was throbbing and she was starting to feel lightheaded. She knew she was going into shock and she had to fight to keep herself from panicking.
Finally, they came to the edge of the woods. Erin stopped and stared.
In front of her was a castle.
“What the…” she trailed off, her eyes wide.
It was huge, made of gray stone with towers and turrets reaching into the sky. It was surrounded by a moat, and Erin could see a drawbridge that was currently raised.
There was no sign of life, but Erin had a feeling that they were being watched.
“I think we should go back,” Sarah said, her voice trembling.
Erin shook her head. “No,” she said. “We need to find out what’s going on. Maybe someone in there can help us.”
Sarah hesitated, but then she nodded. “Okay,” she said. “But be careful.”
Erin started to walk towards the castle, but she was so weak from loss of blood that she stumbled and fell to her knees.
Sarah ran to her and helped her to her feet. “You’re not going to make it if we don’t get that wound looked at,” she said.
Erin shook her head. “I’ll be okay,” she said. “Just help me to the castle.”
Sarah wrapped Erin’s arm around her shoulders and helped her to the drawbridge. They crossed over the moat and Erin felt a shiver run down her spine. She had a feeling that they were being watched, but she saw no sign of life.
They reached the huge, wooden doors and Erin leaned against them, panting.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Sarah asked.
Erin nodded and pushed against the doors. They opened with a creak, and Erin staggered into the castle.
It was dark inside, and it took Erin’s eyes a moment to adjust. When they did, she saw that they were in a huge, empty hall. Stone walls stretched up to a vaulted ceiling, and there was a staircase leading up to a balcony.
“Hello?” Erin called out, her voice echoing in the empty space.
There was no answer.
Erin took a step forward, but her legs were shaking and she stumbled. Sarah caught her before she could fall and helped her to a nearby chair.
“You need to rest,” she said. “I’ll go explore a bit and see if I can find anything.”
Erin nodded and sank into the chair. She was so tired, and her arm was throbbing. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, letting herself drift.
She was only vaguely aware of Sarah moving around the room, and then she heard her friend gasp.
“Erin, you need to see this,” Sarah said, her voice shaking.
Erin forced her eyes open and stood up. She staggered over to where Sarah was standing and looked down.
Lying on the floor was a body. It was human, a man wearing armor. He had a sword by his side, and Erin could see a large wound in his chest.
“Is he…dead?” she asked, her voice trembling.
Sarah nodded. “I think so,” she said. “But who is he? And what happened to him?”
Erin had a feeling she knew the answer to that, but she didn’t want to believe it.
“We need to find a way out of here,” she said. “Before whatever killed him comes back.”
Sarah nodded and they started to search the castle. But it was empty, and there was no sign of a way out. It was as if they were trapped.
As the hours passed, Erin’s wound began to throb more and more. She was starting to feel lightheaded and dizzy, and she knew she was going into shock. She had to find help soon, or she was going to die.
Sarah was starting to look just as bad. She was pale and her hands were shaking.
“We need to find a way out of here,” Erin said again.
Sarah nodded, but she didn’t say anything. She just followed Erin as they continued to search the castle.
It was getting harder and harder for Erin to stay on her feet. She wanted to give up, to lie down and rest, but she knew she had to keep going. She had to find a way out.
Finally, they came to a door that led outside. Erin’s heart leaped with hope, but when she tried to open the door, it was locked.
“Stand back,” Sarah said.
She raised her foot and kicked the door open. Erin staggered outside and sucked in a deep breath of fresh air.
They were in a courtyard, and Erin could see the drawbridge and the moat. But there was something else in the courtyard, something that made her blood run cold.
Bodies. There were bodies everywhere, all of them wearing armor. And they were all dead.
Erin’s legs gave out and she sank to the ground. This was a nightmare. It had to be. There was no other explanation.
Sarah sat down next to her and put her head in her hands. “What is this place?” she whispered.
Erin shook her head. She didn’t know. But she had a feeling that they were never going to find out.
They were going to die here, in this strange place, just like all the others.
“Wait,” Erin whispered.
“What is it?” Sarah asked.
“I think I know how we can get back home,” Erin said.
Sarah looked at her, hope shining in her eyes.
“How?” she asked.
“Magic,” Erin said. “It has to be magic. That’s the only explanation for all of this.”
Sarah nodded. “But how do we use magic?” she asked.
Erin shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “But we have to try. We have to find a way back home.”
Sarah nodded and they both stood up. Erin took a deep breath and squared her shoulders.
“Let’s go,” she said.
They started to search the castle again, this time looking for anything that could help them use magic. But they didn’t find anything.
As the hours passed, Erin’s wound began to throb more and more. She was starting to feel lightheaded and dizzy, and she knew she was going into shock. She had to find help soon, or she was going to die.
Sarah was starting to look just as bad. She was pale and her hands were shaking.
“We need to find a way out of here,” Erin said again.
Sarah nodded, but she didn’t say anything. She just followed Erin as they continued to search the castle.
It was getting harder and harder for Erin to stay on her feet. She wanted to give up, to lie down and rest, but she knew she had to keep going. She had to find a way out.
Finally, they came to a door that led outside. Erin’s heart leaped with hope, but when she tried to open the door, it was locked.
“Stand back,” Sarah said.
She raised her foot and kicked the door open. Erin staggered outside and sucked in a deep breath of fresh air.
They were in a courtyard, and Erin could see the drawbridge and the moat. But there was something else in the courtyard, something that made her blood run cold.
Bodies. There were bodies everywhere, all of them wearing armor. And they were all dead.
Erin’s legs gave out and she sank to the ground. This was a nightmare. It had to be. There was no other explanation.
Sarah sat down next to her and put her head in her hands. “What is this place?” she whispered.
Erin shook her head. She didn’t know. But she had a feeling that they were never going to find out.
They were going to die here, in this strange place, just like all the others.
Suddenly, Erin heard a noise. She looked up and saw Sarah standing in front of her, a sword in her hand.
“What is it?” Erin asked.
“I don’t know,” Sarah said. “But I’m going to find out.”
She started to walk towards the castle, but Erin grabbed her arm.
“Wait,” she said. “We don’t know what’s in there.”
Sarah shook her head. “I have to find out,” she said. “I have to know what happened to all of these people.”
Erin knew she was right. They had to find out what was going on.
“Be careful,” she said.
Sarah nodded and then disappeared into the castle. Erin waited for what felt like an eternity, but Sarah never came back out.
Finally, Erin couldn’t take it anymore. She had to know what had happened to her friend.
She staggered to her feet and started to walk towards the castle. She was weak and her vision was blurred, but she kept going.
She had to find Sarah.
She had to find a way out.
Erin walked for what felt like hours, but she finally reached the castle. She pushed open the door and staggered inside.
It was dark and cold, and Erin’s heart sank when she saw the bodies. There were so many of them, all of them dead.
She heard a noise and she turned, her heart pounding. Sarah was standing there, her face pale.
“What happened?” Erin asked.
Sarah shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “I found this place, and it was like this. I think they were all killed by the same thing, whatever that creature was.”
Erin’s legs gave out and she sank to the ground. This was a nightmare. It had to be. There was no other explanation.
Sarah sat down next to her and put her head in her hands. “What is this place?” she whispered.
Erin shook her head. She didn’t know. But she had a feeling that they were never going to find out.
They were going to die here, in this strange place, just like all the others. But Erin refused to give up.
She had to find a way out.

She had to find a way back home.

 

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