Stop the Insanity: Me, Myself & A.I.

Stop the Insanity
Me, Myself & A.I.

Artificial intelligence.

Advocates say the benefits are unlimited. From new medical breakthroughs to greater educational access to safer air travel and more.

I’m not a doctor, or a teacher, or a pilot. So I don’t know if that’s true.

But I am an author. And a book lover. And I’ve been thinking a lot about the impact of A.I. on writing, publishing and literature.

I have some real concerns.

Just maybe not the ones you might expect.

I’m happy to say, I don’t think the human-written word is doomed.

In fact, thanks to the rise of A.I., I’m convinced that books written by real people are going to become more important than ever.

There’s no denying artificial intelligence is an impressive piece of technology. I’m talking here about chatbots. Type in just about anything— “How do I replace the timing belt in my ’87 Chevy?” “Why did the Ottoman Empire fall?” “What’s the weather like on Venus?” “Where should I go on my honeymoon?”—and it will spit out clear, conversational answers.

Usually it gets its facts right. Usually. A.I. isn’t perfect. And that’s a problem. But for helping with research—something I do a great deal of, every time I start a new novel—artificial intelligence is a welcome tool.

But chatbots are more than just chatty search engines.

One of A.I.’s biggest selling point is its ability to “write” original text. Like rhyming poems. Short stories. Pages-long essays. Even the outlines and opening chapters of entire novels. All in a few seconds. Literally.

This is what keeps a lot of writers up at night. And I get why.

But I’m here to say: we can all go back to bed.

Fiction “written” by today’s artificial intelligence isn’t bad.

But it certainly isn’t good.

There’s always a numbing blandness to the writing. The plots are usually predictable. The characters are flat. There isn’t a trace of personality in the work, and rarely a fresh idea. The sentences might be “original,” but everything A.I. churns out feels like you’ve read it all before. And better.

A.I.-generated fiction seems so derivative because it is. It was designed to be. Artificial intelligence doesn’t “think.” It uses algorithms and machine learning to absorb, predict, recombine and regurgitate.

That’s why there is—and always will be—elements missing.

Like originality. Creativity. Humanity.

Good writing comes from good living. From existing in our crazy, messy human world. From experiencing the spectrum of human emotions. From having a unique, human point of view.

Artificial intelligence might get better at aping us. But it will never produce truly great literature. It will always lack that magical human touch.

Even if it started spitting out decent fiction someday, I’m confident most people still wouldn’t be interested.

Today’s readers, I’ve found, increasingly want to connect with authors in meaningful, human ways. Look at the growing popularity of author interviews, social media engagement, in-person events like readings and signings, BookTok, Substack (ahem).

These aren’t just sales tools. They’re all part of what makes books appealing: the flesh-and-blood people who write then. The authors who put themselves out there and reveal a piece of their soul through their words.

No faceless machine could ever come close.

Good books—like all good art—also take risks. A.I. doesn’t. It can’t. It’s programmed to color within the lines. Only human writers know when to follow the rules and when to break them. When to try something new.

I speak from experience.

Years ago, I faced some pushback when I wrote my first Alex Cross novel. Some in the publishing world warned a mainstream thriller about a Black detective wouldn’t sell—because it had never really been tried before.

A.I. would probably have looked at all the data, scanned through the tens of thousands of old novels it had been fed, and agreed.

But my creative instincts told me otherwise. And one of my most popular characters was born.

Years later, I decided to write a nonfiction book about the despicable Jeffrey Epstein—another idea I bet A.I. would never have dreamed up.

First, I was drawn to the story because we had acquaintances in common in Palm Beach—a real-world, offline connection. Second, the project was enormously difficult. Even dangerous. Epstein was a powerful man. Most of his crimes had been brushed under the rug. Writing Filthy Rich took years of persistence. It required genuine compassion for the victims. And lots of shoe-leather, on-the-ground investigating.

I’d like to see a chatbot do that.

My point isn’t that I’m some genius who’s smarter than A.I.

My point is that all human writers are more human than A.I.

That’s the whole bag. As long as authors continue to speak with their authentic voices, draw from their unique perspectives, and push boundaries, great books will continue to be written. Great stories will continue to be told.

And they need to be. Now more than ever.

Because America’s reading skills are circling the drain.

Especially young people’s. I’ve written about this before. Many can barely make it through a single novel anymore.

In their defense, they no longer “need” to. Thanks to A.I., literally any book ever written can be summarized at the touch of a button. A decent college-level essay about any topic can be spawned in seconds.

This is my biggest fear about the harms of artificial intelligence.

Not that A.I. is going to replace writers.

That A.I. is going to decimate the next generation of readers.

Children aren’t born book lovers. I firmly believe any kid can be turned into one if they’re given great novels that really grab them. But that only works if they know how to read in the first place. And if the people around them—their family, their teachers, their peers—value reading too.

This is a problem not just for authors to solve, but everyone.

I worry it’s going to get worse before it gets better.

I’m working on it. I’m thinking about it.

But I don’t have a solution yet.

Maybe I’ll ask A.I.

Like what you just read? Share it, post it.

—James Patterson

For more of my “Stop the Insanity” essays, please visit my Substack.