READWIT

So many good books; so little time! Original stories, poetry, book reviews and stuff writers like to know.

Saturday, November 29, 2025

To swap creativity for convenience is like selling one's inheritance for a bowl of Lentils. Can anyone really be that hungry?

 

You 'bout done in there?

READERS WHO ARE ALSO WRITERS, PAINTERS, MUSICIANS, DANCERS, OR ANYONE ELSE WHOSE LIFE WOULD BE CHEAPENED IF THE CREATIVE ARTS YOU LOVE WERE RENDERED OBSOLETE—READ THIS, IT’S URGENT.

               I wrote the first paragraph of a possible post (below) and gave AI (Copilot) instructions to add two paragraphs in the same style on the perils facing writers as a consequence of AI. I had the result in about twenty seconds.

               Tell me why I should expend time and energy to make this case when AI can do it in one third of a minute—all grammatically correct with no spelling or punctuation errors.

               AI’s assistance cost me $0.00.

               Let’s not shrug off the implications of this enormous transition to productivity over the arts.

               Enjoy the irony of AI being tricked into arguing against its own existence.

               Share with your creative friends. Respond to gg.epp41@gmail.com

 









So much is being said and written about AI: its “enormous benefits” for health, its contribution to productivity, etc. An article on Canada Writes verbalized the near panic AI has raised among artists, in this case, creative writers. The article reiterates an obvious point: AI is the result of the theft and accumulation of masses of data which are then raided and recombined by pre-constructed algorithms to produce a product with amazing similarity to something a human mind might have created. Any such image, video, song, story can be the result of the recombination of bits of human work by thousands, who certainly won’t be rewarded for their contributions.  

               For creative writers, the ascent of AI technology casts a long shadow over the traditional notions of authorship and originality. With algorithms capable of generating prose, poetry, and entire narratives in a matter of moments, human writers face the unsettling prospect of competing not only with their peers, but with machines that never tire, hesitate, or doubt. The marketplace for stories, once shaped by human voice and unique perspective, is increasingly crowded with works whose lineage stems not from lived experience but from data synthesis. This relentless proliferation risks diluting the value of authentic, personal expression, as readers struggle to discern between what is born of genuine imagination and what is the clever product of computational mimicry.

               Furthermore, the economic implications for writers are profound. As publishers and media platforms turn to AI-generated content for its efficiency and cost-effectiveness, opportunities for human writers may dwindle, threatening livelihoods and diminishing the diversity of literary voices. The labor of writing—a craft honed through years of discipline, intuition, and vulnerability—becomes vulnerable to commodification by software that effortlessly assembles passable imitations. In this shifting landscape, creative writers must grapple with the fear that their words, their stories, and ultimately their identities as artists may be rendered valueless, not by lack of merit, but by the inexorable advancement of artificial intelligence.

Saturday, September 13, 2025

Readers, Writers and the Autodidact

 


“He told her nowt,
and so she were wrong to do what she did. More, her friend failed to tell her owt, so she were just as guilty. The copper was no help; he couldn’t stop a pig in a ginnel!”

            English is my first language. I had no trouble following the dialogue in the British TV series, Last Tango in Halifax. Language is my main preoccupation; I guess I’m a Sapir-Whorf Theory kind of guy, bearing a belief that we think in our language, so that a language deficiency results in a thought impairment. This is either amazing insight, or the musings of a theoretician who “couldn’t stop a pig in a ginnel!”

            Halifax in that series isn’t in Nova Scotia, but in West Yorkshire. I won’t review Last Tango in Halifax except to say it’s nothing like Last Tango in Paris, and that we gave up on it early because we tired of watching characters repeatedly wallowing in miseries of their own making.

            I was a volunteer with MCC in Europe from 1986-89, a long enough time of relearning the German language to distinguish among Bavarian German, Rheinland-Pfalz and Hamburg German, the latter said to be the purest German of all. Speakers of any of these understand each other well, although they’re very adept at pinpointing your origin if you should happen to speak.

          


 
Writers of prose (especially fiction) or verse, plays, screenplays, even journalism must be life-long language students—to contend the obvious—if they’re to succeed to gain a readership. I wrote a short story once in which an antagonist was a foul-mouthed and violent man. I thought about my mother reading, “Get the hell off my property, you son-of-a-bitch!” I’m sure she would have been appalled. On the other hand, if he’d said, “Please leave, you person I don’t like,” I might as well have scrubbed him from the story, and if he wasn’t in the story, was there any point to that attempt at all? 

            A far greater challenge involves mastering the language appropriate to a) the topic, and b) the audience. The Flesch Kincaid Reading Ease[1] calculator told me that the level in which this piece is written is about Grade 10.6, so a high school graduate should—by this token—read this with ease.

            Writing in a dialect appropriate to the place and characters of your story is difficult, and the best advice is the old “go where you know” maxim.

            Of course not every reader is a curious, life-long explorer of language and ideas, nor is everyone in a position to spend much time reading. The social networks on the internet are turning many into surfers through endless possible diversions, an experience that may be miles wide, but only an inch deep. If I’m lucky, ca. 100 people will open this post and of those, only a percentage will read far enough to know that the f**k word we still flinch to hear (especially on television) is an example of the “dysphemism treadmill or semantic drift known as melioration, wherein former pejoratives become inoffensive and commonplace.” (Fuck - Wikipedia)

            Finally, if you wake up in an unfamiliar place and a man approaches and you ask, “Who are you?” and he says, “I's the b'ye that builds the boat and I's the b'ye that sails her./ I's the b'ye that catches the fish and brings 'em home to Lizer,” you probably know where in Canada you are.