Why writers shouldn’t be scared of AI.

Why writers shouldn’t be scared of AI.

AI can mimic and generate emotional writing to some extent, but it does not possess the deep emotional intelligence or personal experience that human writers bring to their stories. Human writers can convey subtlety, ambiguity, and the profound emotional depth that makes stories resonate on a deeper level. In contrast, AI is currently limited to replicating emotions based on patterns and data. AI can also generate humor, but it's typically more formulaic than human humor, which involves deeper intuition, timing, and cultural context. AI-generated humor relies on patterns in language, wordplay, and common joke structures. While AI can mimic jokes, puns, or even absurdity, it often lacks the nuance of irony, sarcasm, and emotional subtleties that come naturally to humans.

Your voice is what makes you a writer. You imbue your writing with emotion and humor that AI can never do. 

All that said, listen to what AI did:

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Love Hurts

By Liz Dubelman

Sept. 12

I’ve just seen the most amazing guy.I went to The Bridge to get coffee after class and that’s where I saw him. He was playing chess against himself. I thought that was dead sexy. He wore tight black clothes, black jeans, a black T-shirt, and a black denim jacket. He smokes Camel straights and uses a Zippo. He seemed to be writing down his moves in a notebook. That’s what it looked like, anyway. I didn’t talk to him or even make eye contact, though I tried. I stared at him for the longest time but he never looked up from his chessboard. He’s so mysterious in his black clothes. I wonder if he has a closet full of black jeans and T-shirts. Does he always play alone? He has this aloof, hard-to-get manner that I find attractive, and he’s fearfully good-looking.

Sept. 14

 It’s raining again. It’s been raining so long that I feel like it’s raining inside me. I can’t seem to get a grip. I’m just sliding around. I get lost on campus all the time and I’m afraid to ask anybody because they’ll think I’m a doofus. I’m late for everything. I barely understand the teachers and I feel like I’m drowning in the sea of students in the lecture halls. 

I saw Luke today. His name was scribbled on his white paper coffee cup so the coffee guy could remember who got the Chai Latte and who got the Americana. I’m sure Luke drinks black coffee, nothing too foo foo. He had his notebook on his left and the coffee cup on his right, just like the first time I saw him. He would move a piece on the board, make a note, take a sip of coffee, then turn the board. I watched him for thirty-five minutes and he never varied. I envy routine.  

Sept.  17

I tried to talk to Luke today. He was at the same place, same time, and still wearing black. I had overheard some kids talking about him outside The Bridge. They said he was kind of weird but really smart. I thought, I like weird. I guess I have this idea that maybe we’re the same kind of weird, only I’m not sure I’m so smart.  

I’m still not getting the hang of college. I never know what to say to people. I can’t get a fix on who I’m supposed to be.  

I created my own personal hell today when I said hi to him. He just stared at me. I thought I was going to die.  Those wild eyes of his just locked with mine for what seemed like forever. I couldn’t tell if he even heard me.  He didn’t say anything. I mumbled something about “catching him later” or something else lame and ran out of there.  I’m such a fool. 

Sept. 21

Still raining. I feel like there’s a high-pressure weather system above me personally. I’m sure it would be sunny in Seattle if I wasn’t here. The weekend was a bust. I stayed in my pathetic little dorm room, just me and my Mallomars, and read old journals. I tried to study, but the words didn’t make any sense.    

You know what’s fucked up? All I wanted to do was get away from my parents and away from Wheeling, West Virginia, and now here I am in Seattle and I don’t feel any better. I hated it there and I hate it here. I just don’t fit in.  

I didn’t even go to The Bridge today and pretend to study. I would be mortified if I ran into Luke. But then I walked around The Bridge anyway, like a stalker. I guess I was hoping that he would see me, that he would recognize me under my stupid raincoat, and, with a glance, he would realize we were soulmates and save me from myself.

I hate my life.   

Sept. 23

He spoke to me. It was very strange. I went to The Bridge because I just needed coffee. Luke came right up to me, I mean, like four inches away. I didn’t know whether I should be scared or flattered.  

He told me he had a hole in his shoe. Well, what he said was he had “a temporary loss of soul,” and then he showed me his shoe. That’s when I noticed he was wearing two watches. I didn’t know what to ask first. I was trying to think of the question that would most prolong our encounter, so I asked about the watches. He said that one was set to local time and one to Greenwich Mean Time. He said his father gave them to him, and that his father was a plumber. I asked where he was from and then there was complete silence. After about a millennium, he got up, packed his things, and left.   

I don’t know what to think. All I know is I’m more attracted to him than ever.

Sept. 26

I am cold and wet and sick to my stomach. I don’t know if the drops on the paper are tears or drops from my rain-soaked hair. I didn’t do anything wrong. I was just standing at the bus stop. It was around 8:30. I was alone.  He came out of nowhere. He just grabbed me and kissed me.  I knew it was Luke even though his dark clothes blended with the night. The truth was, I liked it at first, but then he started grabbing and ripping at my clothes. I pushed him and he dropped his pack. All the chess pieces rolled out, like a defeated army. I looked into his eyes and I screamed. He covered his ears as if he was in pain, as if I had hurt him. I didn’t want to hurt him.