This article by Jane Friedman, editor of The Bottom Line, the essential publishing industry newsletter for authors, is one of a series commissioned as part of MyWorld, a UKRI-funded project that explores the future of creative technology innovation by pioneering new ideas, products and processes in the West of England. We have commissioned writers, academics, creators and makers to contribute a written snapshot into how artificial intelligence is changing, enhancing and challenging creative writing and publishing practices.  

Before anyone was taking AI all that seriously in the writing and publishing community, someone used AI to brazenly write and publish half a dozen books for writers with my name on them. As frustrating as that experience was—and as much as it forecast some of the worst abuses of AI in the publishing community today—this activity doesn’t really threaten writers as much as something else that has emerged. And that is writers’ own fears about what AI means for their future. 

I have not witnessed a more divisive topic in my 25-plus years in the profession. I see writers, agents, and insiders alike crusade against people who use AI, promote AI, or express neutrality on the matter. Nuanced conversations have become scarce—and forget about expressing joy or curiosity. The technology is supposed to disturb you at minimum, or be demonized for perpetrating harm against creators (or the culture, or the environment, or any other thing humans ought to value more than they do). God forbid anyone express that AI might be a gift, a near miraculous, not-quite-sure-how-it-works machine that guilelessly attempts to analyze and interpret the archive of human existence, then serve it back to us for sometimes humble ends (can you help me write a loving note to my spouse to make them feel appreciated?) and weightier endeavors (what is the meaning of my life if AI can competently do what I do?). 

People new to using AI, and that includes myself, will regularly test it on their own realm of knowledge to see if they can be replaced. It’s natural. I suggest everyone do it—get it out of your system. Find ways to ridicule AI and make yourself feel superior. Then work your way beyond “Will it replace me?” to “How can this help me in my purpose?” 

The technology can be put to work for low purposes and high purposes. It can push work to be better, it can cheapen work. The machine needs a prompt, a partner; it needs to be guided with the touch of someone who in fact has a vision. Despite all accusations to the contrary, AI is not a plagiarism machine (one of the most fundamental misunderstandings of the technology I continue to hear), and years from now we’ll look back on this as the very human reaction to what we don’t understand. 

AI’s implications will not be truly understood any time soon. Right now we exist in the mess of contradictory claims: doomerism and boosterism. We forget, every time, nothing is all good or all bad. Politely disregard anyone who says they have the answers. Right now we are living the questions and the questions are all-consuming. 

• If a human writer uses AI to generate ideas or generate words, why is that a problem, if they’re still acting as the ultimate god over their story? 

• If a writer wants to mimic the style of a well-known writer then put their own name on the results, is that illegal and/or unethical or is it illegal and/or unethical only when AI is involved? 

• If the writing comes too easily because of AI, is that a problem? Are we damaging ourselves? 

• Have we valued writing all this time because of the perceived difficulty, because of writers’ blood, sweat, and tears? How much do we value something because of the suffering that went into it? 

• If a writer tells us they were struck by inspiration and wrote the whole work down in a fever dream of a few sessions without editing, we accept that. Do we not accept that creativity has many more forms than just the ones we’re acquainted with? 

• Should we police how other people get their work done if they’re not breaking the law? 

• What makes a work human in the end? When does work cross a line from AI generated to human created and owned? 

The absence of open conversation creates barriers to progress and delays more intelligent use of a technology that can’t be stopped. 

I know what writers fear. They fear that their suffering has been in vain. They fear increased competition by people who are getting away with less work. They fear being cut out of the game by publishers, platforms, and unethical actors who will use technology to displace them. They fear their genius has been stolen for and by the machine and handed to others who will use it cheaply. They fear the opportunity to achieve their dreams is slipping through their fingers. They fear lack of purpose. 

Those who recognize their fear for what it is, and proceed with a purpose that is not changed or affected by AI, they will find a way forward, whether they use the technology or not.