Two in the morning, and I’m staring at a story the AI has generated. It’s good. Genuinely good. The prose flows. The structure works. The edit I’d been planning to make, the one where I’d tighten the third paragraph and sharpen the dialogue in the second half, it turns out the machine already saw that. It’s already done it. Better than I would have.
So I sit there thinking: what exactly am I doing here?
Continue reading “What Am I, If the Machine Can Write and Edit Better Than Me?”
The Prompt – This week the prompt came from ChatGPT:
“Write a subtle, unsettling story about a room in a workplace that is always occupied but never assigned. Keep the narrative grounded and realistic. Let the strangeness emerge through observation and routine interactions. Avoid revealing what happens inside the room. End with the protagonist recognising their own involvement in maintaining the situation.”
Continue reading “The Room That Is Always in Use”
It used to begin with a pause that felt both familiar and faintly uncomfortable, the kind that arrives when you sit down with the intention to write and are met by nothing but an empty page and the quiet expectation that you will somehow fill it. There was often a moment of stillness before anything happened, a brief negotiation between intention and uncertainty, during which you might type a sentence, hesitate, delete it, and begin again, or perhaps abandon the attempt altogether for a few minutes in favour of a cup of tea and the hope that clarity would return with it.
Continue reading “The End of the Blank Page”
Each evening, the sun sets exactly on time, as instructed. Maren watches from the upstairs window, measuring small changes no one else seems to notice. In a world that has standardised even the horizon, she begins to suspect that something is quietly shifting.
I sometimes like to put an image into AI and ask for a story. Today I wondered how Claude would cope if the image was a simple stickman.
Here’s what it gave me…
The AI Grandad 