A.I. Scares Me, then Gets Coy
Are Writers Cooked? Not Yet, and Here’s Why
You cannot have missed the news about artificial intelligence and how much it can do. There was a recent thread on X (Twitter), where an author found out her book cover design was partially created by AI. She was blasted with mean responses — but she never knew it before she was told on the social media platform.
Writers have to be shuddering in their well-worn boots. After all, you must fight like bobcat to get anywhere in this business. Even self-publishing, which guarantees publication, is a craggy path. Getting sales is like playing dentist with an alligator.
Since I’m almost finished with my middle-grade novel, Lena, I thought, generically Victorian-era prairie themed fiction should be where I go with this.
Scary. But okay, I decided, I’m going to try it. I’m going on Bing to see what it will do.
Bing is not the most powerful AI tool out there (none of us common folk even have access to that yet) but it’s free and everywhere. If I were in high school right now, would I use it to write papers? No, because writing always came easy for me. I took a Shakespeare class in college where you had to read 12 plays. I read two, which I hated, then got Cliff’s Notes and bluffed my way through the class by writing admiring summaries — not directly from Cliff’s Notes, but getting the gist in my head and then putting it in my own lying words. Psychological strategy was key; the professor no doubt loved Shakespeare.
I’d gotten a good grade in high school using the same technique, even without Cliff’s Notes. We were assigned a horribly long, detailed novel set in the Roman Empire by LeGette Blythe. I slogged it out through a few chapters, then dipped into parts of the book and read the end. I hated it but said I loved it, my summary was accurate, and I got a perfect grade.
Proof that your smarts are still greater than AI.
Well, so far.
Would I have used AI in math, science, or other subjects I hated? Certainly. But then, I didn’t have to pop in into TurnItIn.com, and possibly get busted.
There was the inviting box on Bing. I typed in, Write a story about a girl on the prairie and there’s a windstorm
Okay, I’ll try to write a story for you. Here’s what I came up with:
The Windstorm
Lila had always loved the prairie, with its endless fields of golden wheat and blue sky. She enjoyed helping her father on the farm, riding her horse, and playing with her dog. She felt free and happy on the land.
But one day, everything changed. A dark cloud appeared on the horizon, growing bigger and bigger as it approached. Lila heard a loud roar, like a train, and saw dust and debris flying in the air. It was a windstorm, a powerful gust of wind that could rip apart anything in its path.
Lila ran to the house, where her father was waiting for her. He grabbed her hand and pulled her inside, locking the door behind them. They huddled in the basement, listening to the wind howl and the house creak. Lila was scared, but she trusted her father. He told her stories to calm her down, stories of his childhood, of his parents, of how he met her mother.
The windstorm lasted for hours, but it felt like days to Lila. She wondered if their farm would survive, if their crops would be ruined, if their animals would be hurt. She prayed for the storm to end, for the sun to come back, for everything to be normal again.
Finally, the wind died down, and the silence was deafening. Lila and her father emerged from the basement, cautiously opening the door. They gasped at what they saw.
The prairie was unrecognizable. The fields were flattened, the fences were broken, the barn was collapsed. Their house was damaged, but still standing. Their horse and dog were nowhere to be seen.
Lila felt a surge of sadness and anger. She hated the windstorm, she hated what it had done to her home. She wanted to cry, but she didn’t. She saw her father’s face, pale and tired, but also determined and hopeful.
He hugged her and said, “Don’t worry, Lila. We’ll rebuild. We’ll start over. We’ll make it through this together.”
Lila nodded and hugged him back. She knew he was right. They still had each other, they still had their land, they still had their dreams.
They were prairie people, and they were strong.
Then it asked questions like story prompts to keep it going.
I slightly revised the query and got another story about “Anna.” No title this time.
The wind howled like a pack of wolves, whipping the dust and dirt into a frenzy. Anna clutched her bonnet to her head and squinted her eyes against the stinging sand. She had been out gathering eggs from the chicken coop when the storm hit, and now she had to make it back to the farmhouse before it got worse.
She ran as fast as she could, clutching the basket of eggs to her chest. She hoped her parents and siblings were safe inside. She wondered if they had seen her leave and if they were worried about her. She prayed that the storm would not damage their crops or their animals. They had worked so hard to make a living on the prairie, and they could not afford to lose anything.
She reached the porch and opened the door, stumbling inside. She was greeted by a chorus of relieved voices.
“Anna! Thank God you’re back!”
“Are you alright, honey?”
“Where have you been?”
She set the basket of eggs on the table and hugged her mother, who wrapped her arms around her.
“I’m fine, Mama. I’m sorry, I went to get some eggs and I didn’t see the storm coming.”
Her father came over and ruffled her hair.
“It’s alright, sweetheart. We’re just glad you’re safe. That was a close call.”
He looked out the window and shook his head.
“This is one of the worst storms I’ve ever seen. I hope it passes soon.”
Anna nodded and joined her brothers and sisters by the fireplace. They huddled together, listening to the wind rage outside. They sang songs and told stories to pass the time, hoping that the storm would end soon and that they would see the sun again.
I revised the query slightly again and got another story about “Lila.” Again, no title.
Lila had always loved the prairie, with its wide open spaces and endless sky. She felt free and happy when she ran through the fields of wildflowers, chasing butterflies and rabbits. She loved her family’s farm, where they grew wheat and corn and raised cows and chickens. She loved her parents and her little brother, who always made her laugh.
But today, she hated the prairie. She hated the wind that blew so hard it knocked her off her feet. She hated the dust that filled the air and made it hard to breathe. She hated the storm that came out of nowhere and threatened to destroy everything she loved.
She had been playing with her brother in the barn when they heard the roar of the wind. They ran outside and saw a dark cloud approaching, swirling and spinning like a giant snake. They heard their father shout at them to get inside the cellar, where they would be safe. They ran towards the house, but the wind was too strong. It lifted Lila off the ground and carried her away from her family.
She screamed and cried, but no one could hear her. She felt like a leaf in a hurricane, tossed and turned by the wind. She saw flashes of lightning and heard thunder. She saw things flying past her: branches, rocks, pieces of metal. She felt something hit her head and she blacked out.
She woke up hours later, lying on the ground. She was covered in dirt and blood. She felt pain all over her body. She looked around and saw nothing but destruction. The storm had passed, but it had left behind a trail of ruin. The fields were barren, the crops were gone, the barn was collapsed, the house was on fire. She saw no sign of her family or their animals.
She felt a surge of panic and despair. She thought she was alone in the world. She thought she had lost everything.
But then she heard a faint sound. A whimper. A cry.
She followed the sound and found a small hole in the ground. She dug with her hands and uncovered a wooden door. She opened it and saw a dim light inside.
She crawled into the cellar and saw her family. They were alive. They were hurt, but they were alive.
They saw her and hugged her. They cried tears of joy and relief.
They told her they had been worried sick about her. They told her they had prayed for her to be safe. They told her they loved her.
She told them she loved them too.
They thanked God for sparing their lives.
They held each other tight, feeling grateful for each other.
They knew they had lost their home and their livelihood, but they still had each other.
They knew they would survive.
They knew they would rebuild.
They knew they would never give up on the prairie.
Comparing this to Laura Ingalls Wilder, you can easily tell it does not have the “heart” of a writer in the writing. There were also many cliched phrases, like the wind died down, listening to the wind rage outside, tossed and turned, tears of joy and relief, and many others. I didn’t indicate middle-grade, so I deduce this as more of a chapter book level. Except for the “covered in dirt and blood” part of the second Lila story!
People rarely called each other “honey” and “sweetheart” in the 1870s. They certainly didn’t have a basement in a prairie home.
What made me tremble was “Lila.” That’s awfully close to Lena. The other girl in the story was Anna, but that’s still four letters. I don’t think AI is harvesting from my PC, but it surely knows I’ve been searching about the real-life Lena or that my pen name is connected to the name Lena on the internet. Lena did have a “little brother,” but that’s also on the internet. My character also gathers eggs in the part I just wrote yesterday. Shudder. But: that’s a common thing in prairie stories.
So, I’m not too scared. But I’m going to keep writing and get a place in children’s book publishing right away. You should, too. This could get bad.
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