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swanhookheart · 8 months

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Thoughts on AI writing, the WGA strike, and ways to help

This whole post is a hot mess, but I think it communicates the point I'm trying to make so I'm gonna hit "publish" and call it a day, peeps!

In the last four years, I have worked as a writing tutor, a teaching assistant for first-year composition, an embedded tutor for ESL writing workshops, a reading partner, editor-in-chief of my school's literary magazine, and as a freelance college essay coach. I'm also a novelist (unpublished but working on it), a poet, recipient of my community college's 2021 Outstanding English Student Award, a voracious reader, and in possession of a two-year degree in Creative Writing (four-year Berkeley literature degree coming in Spring). I guess you could say I like words.

I could go on for days about all the reasons I hate ChatGPT being used as a writing aid (especially by students—ffs, pls don't make me have to report y’all for academic dishonesty; it will be a shitty experience for both of us), but here’s one I really care about: vulnerability.

As it is, ChatGPT's ability to generate prose rivals my own at about age eight (that is, it looks like a thesaurus vomited all over the page and still struggles to spell the word "fluorescent" when prompted—fuck that word, to be fair). But let's envision a world two, maybe five, years down the road where AI is capable of generating a flawless sentence. It's well-structured, the grammar checks out, everything's spelled right, and the words the algorithm has chosen work to communicate its thoughts. Even then, AI wouldn't be able to replace or compete with even the most inexperienced writers among us. Why? Because, in my opinion at least, imperfections are what make art, art.

Any time I get the urge to overthink something I've created or edit it to the point of unrecognizability (which is often; I have OCD, fam!), I like to think of this sentence in Latin:

perfectus est.

To those who have not subjected themselves to completed 2 years of Latin, this might look like it'd translate to "it is perfect", but the actual, direct translation beside the adjective "perfectus, -a, -um" in all my textbooks and dictionaries has been, instead, "finished, completed". Proper classicists can feel free to correct me here, but the original Latin doesn't seem to carry with it quite the same connotations of quality or superiority that we have in the English word "perfect", and that's low-key fucking inspirational. I think about it like this: things can be "perfect" without being flawless. They only need to be done, and "done" leaves a lot more freedom for self-expression. If just being "done" makes something "perfect", then whatever peculiarities that piece possesses are also perfect. This makes total sense in my mind, but I feel like I'm on the verge of having a stroke trying to articulate it.

Art, for me, is never about the completed piece itself. It's the quirks, it's the process, it's the slight imperfections—like finding out 14 years after starting my fantasy series that the surname of one of my main characters is slang for "severe diarrhea" but being too committed to the name at this point to change it. It's the brushstroke in a painting that doesn't quite stay in the lines or the musician’s voice cracking as they sing through an especially personal set of lyrics. Some wise person once gave me a variation of this advice, and I’ve just kind of run with it ever since: the little details in our creations we convince ourselves are flaws are, more often than not, just spaces where our humanity is seeping through. They’re not bad. They’re just instances of us, as creators, making ourselves vulnerable in the name of our craft. Whether it's in a writing workshop, therapy, school, or anywhere else, I think we all feel a bit self-conscious or even uncomfortable any time we have to share pieces of ourselves with others. Baring our souls is scary. But I like to think humans are generally good at heart, and the kinds of things they typically have to say in response to these instances are designed to enhance the bits of humanity they find in our works, rather than erase or destroy them. So, making choices as artists that force us to feel vulnerable and get us out of our comfort zone because we think we’re “not doing it right” are not just welcome experiences to those intent on growing, but essential. And AI cannot do that. It can't feel, it can't think, and so these moments of vulnerability never occur. The opportunity to generate real, human connection has been lost.

The human brain is a remarkable thing. It’s "trained", as it were (in the same way ChatGPT is trained), to think the way it does not just because it's consumed a lot of other people's material, but because it's experienced a lot in its own right. We've all experienced love, we've mourned, we’ve endured trauma, we’ve laughed to the point of tears, we've left the fucking TV remote in the refrigerator again dammit, and all of these things affect how we relate to the world and to certain topics we may write about. We’re not even touching on how neurodivergence and other brain stuff can further change how we experience life; there’s even more variety to be found when factors like that are taken into account, but I'm not trying to write a dissertation here. As the products of all these influences, our brains make very intentional choices when we write (even when it feels like we're just slapping stuff on a page and hoping it sticks). The formal features of our prose are all going to be dependent on a combination of things we’ve done, felt, and read.

I mean, I guess some might want to use the Infinite Monkey Theorem (the idea that, if you leave infinite monkeys with infinite typewriters for an infinite amount of time, they will inevitably produce a finite number of texts, including the Complete Works of William Shakespeare, an infinite number of times) to argue that writing is actually more formulaic than artistic and so maybe utilizing these algorithms is totally fine. I guess the algorithm is being compared to infinite monkeys here. I don’t know. I’ve gotten hungry since sitting down to write this silly blog post and so I’m getting a little distracted. But humans aren’t alive an infinite amount of time, and the brevity of our existence necessitates a certain urgency in what and how we write—an urgency that leads us to conclude it’s better our work be flawed but out there than faultless but stuck inside our heads. So we write. We write good shit, we write bad shit, we buy a copy of Scrivener or MS Word, we join Tumblr dot com and publish all kinds of silly memes and dick jokes, and we get a world full of funky, crazy, chaotic art that reflects our funky, crazy, chaotic selves. Our humanity seeps out with every word we commit to paper, and we let it because it’s better to live in a world filled with jagged edges and mismatched hues than it is to live in one created by something that is literally fucking incapable of feeling.

You might think this is a great blog post. You might think it's garbage. You’re valid either way. But AI couldn't have written it. It’s full of tiny little pieces of me that just kinda slipped their way in as I was writing. It’s not super polished. It’s a bit all over the place because oh my god I’m craving a cookie but want to finish writing this before I leave my desk to go and get one. No matter what anyone’s thoughts are on my particular voice, though, I think we can all agree that it exists. It exists because I write often—daily, if I can—and because I feel, I think, I am. Those things come through, and they’re what make this a semi-coherent (I hope) blog post as opposed to a smattering of random words ChatGPT probably couldn’t define for you at gunpoint. Whatever you think about this post, AI couldn’t have written it and that’s the point.

This is just one of the reasons why I support the WGA strike and will continue to do so for as long as it takes the union to get the deal they deserve. I am not and will likely never be a member of this union, but the work they’re doing with this strike to push back against AI and its wildfire-like proliferation across creative industries is essential. Algorithms simply cannot do the work that humans do—not today, not ever. Not because they’re not advanced enough, but because vulnerability is what make art, art. Connecting with other human beings—which is all any of us ever really hope to do with our art anyway—requires that vulnerability.

I’m just some random dweeb on the internet, seeing marginalized workers struggle because a bunch of crappy billionaires don't want to come to the table and feeling like shouting some words into the void about it. Maybe nobody will see this post, and that’s okay. But maybe they will and I can do some good with it. I haven’t got a lot of money to help (I’m in my broke college student era). But donations to the Entertainment Community Fund are being accepted and these funds go back into the hands of union (WGA and SAG-AFTRA) members as hardship funds if they need financial help during the work stoppage—this is my understanding, at least; pls correct me if I’m wrong!

Link below:

If you can’t donate, please reblog. I know it would mean a lot to me if I were in their position.

#writers strike #WGA #support the wga #Chatgpt #artificial intelligence

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