Will AI Replace Authors? Here's Why I'm Not Worried
Because even if robots can write, they still aren't people
An Opening Note
Yes, I know. I’m preaching to the choir here, submitting my human-made thoughts to a bunch of humans on a human-curated writing platform about why AI will never replace us humans. However, I think most takes on AI are a bit wrong-headed, and I’m keen to share my take from a publisher’s perspective on why even the most powerful AI won’t come close to delivering what we humans do when it comes to the authorship of a book.
The TL;DR
People want writing from people, full stop. The magic, mystery, and majesty from almost any piece of writing is completely lost as soon as you learn it’s from AI.
Why?
An Unpopular Opinion: AI Can Actually Write
Well, let me get an unpopular opinion out of the way: I think the current LLM-driven AI models are actually pretty good at writing.
Yup, I do. With the right prompting, direction, and back-and-forth, it can craft something pretty compelling. Calm down, put away your pitchforks, and hear me out. I’ve heard many folks swear up and down that AI only writes generalized slop or can’t quite capture the nuance we humans do. Sorry, either these folks haven’t tried out the tools, or they are splitting hairs about what qualifies as “good.” Yes, I’ve seen the slop. But I’ve also seen AI whip up something indistinguishable from human-made work. Yes, this requires prompts, yes, this requires context, and yes, this required millions of stolen words from human minds. Now, I suppose with all that, you could say that it’s not AI writing, but this is how the AI we’ve got works, plus, anyone who writes would absolutely say it’s AI writing. Ok, now I’ve gotten that out of the way.
Why am I not worried that the robots will replace all the authors?
Two reasons.
Reason One: Reading Isn’t Just About the Writing
Let’s unpack that. Think of the last book that you read. For me, it was Katabasis by R.F. Kuang. A puzzling book that didn’t quite click for me until the end, but I digress. With that last book you read in mind, consider that while reading, you were interacting with far more than just the writing. You smuggled in a great deal that may seem obvious and yet cannot be taken for granted. Like, say, who the author is. What age they are, the race they might occupy, the gender identity they claim, or the literary achievements they may have attained. Each of these brings with it a myriad of connections, context, and/or a sense of importance. They inform the writing. They shape how you view the very work. Even that little headshot in the back of the book comes along for the ride in influencing your experience.
I, for example, don’t put a lot of stock in fancy degrees (Sorry, Harvard or Stanford), so when I read an author with said degree, they aren’t working with an intellectual advantage in my mind. But I do put a lot of stock in whether someone has won a Hugo or two (or three)—N.K. Jemisin, for example.
Oh, and don’t forget about who recommended the book! Was it a close friend, Reese, Oprah? What do you think of their opinion? Will it only get you to 50 pages, and then the book goes to the DNF pile if it doesn’t deliver? Or are they so trusted you’ll ride it out to the end (read Katabasis and me).
Did you find it in the bestsellers or the new crime section at your local B&H? Did you see one of those signs that said, “if you loved X, then you’ll love Y” and immediately purchased it because you indeed loved “X”? Did it get a funny 5-star review on Goodreads that you thought, “why not give it a try?”
See how everything but the art can impact said art.
Yes, you are going to need to engage with the writing; that is what reading is, after all, but when you are reading a book, there is so much more taking place. As my kids would say, “Have you heard the Lore?” which is to say there is quite a backstory to any work, whether fiction, non-fiction, children’s, or some other such genre. Whether it comes from the author, publisher, packager, marketer, or online forum, it’s there, and it leaves its imprint on the work.
AI Has No Backstory
When it comes to AI books, there is no backstory to the work.
There is no person to point to, experience to connect to, or intention to glean. It’s merely a robot doing what robots do: input and output. A widget factory ready and willing to spit out more output; nothing more important, elevated, connected, or meaningful than any other output.
How does this look in practice? Consider the difference between the following two book pitches: ‘How I Endure: The stunning memoir from Cheryl Comb, a 96-year-old cancer survivor, who shares her thoughts on grief, love, and building a life worth living.” There’s something there, I think. And now this one: “Endurance: An AI book of life advice from the perspective of a 96-year-old cancer survivor.” Not as interesting.
Now, maybe I’m being a bit unfair because surely the AI book could merely present itself as an honest, true-blue memoir from an aged cancer survivor. But that would be a lie, and because we care about backstory, lying doesn’t put you on great footing with a reader (See A Million Little Pieces by James Frey).
We may take for granted all this lore, but it is there, and it has its fingerprints, as it were, all over the book we are reading.
Yes, of course, we like good writing, but we also enjoy reading books because of a myriad of things related to the backstory of a book, not least of which is the humanness of that book.
Reason Two: We Value Art That Requires Effort
We like to interact with art because it requires effort. That’s right, we appreciate the level of friction, or rather, the impossibility of the book that’s been made, and confer that value onto the work itself. Did it require skill? Did the author pay some price to get it across the finish line? Was there some obstacle that stood in their way that they had to overcome to bring their story to the shelves?
When art is made with effort, it places in us a sense of awe, inspiration, and possibility. That a human can do, nay, did such a thing—is powerful. We marvel at the level of difficulty. It is why we are amazed that a woman can lift 350 lbs in a competition, and not a forklift doing the same. For one, it requires difficulty, effort, and strength; for the other, it involves pressing a button.
Now you might say here, “then what do we do with the artists or authors for whom the work is quite easy to create, who seem to be able to do the work in their sleep?” Well, let’s set aside that they likely spent countless hours practicing, meddling, and perfecting their craft to make it look so effortless, which is undoubtedly the case most, if not all, of the time. Instead, consider this: it’s not about whether it was easy for them, but rather about whether it would be hard for us or anyone we know to do the same. It’s still one in a million, even if it requires little effort on their part (which I am sure it does not).
For example, I was told that Mary Shelley’s first draft of Frankenstein is essentially the book we still read today. A teenager creates a masterwork on the first go. Easy or not for her, that sounds quite impossible for anyone to do. It’s fantastic, incredible, almost beyond belief. That creates a kind of draw to the book in such a way that I cannot imagine the finest prompt-engineered book garnering.
AI Can Produce Content — Not Meaning
And so it is with AI. It requires no effort. It contains no difficulty. Likely worth marveling at the coding, the genius of the model, or the clever training approach to create such outputs.
But the writing itself. Soulless.
Interacting with such writing is like polishing off a TV dinner instead of a home-cooked meal, wearing a slap bracelet instead of a handmade watch, or buying a Hallmark card instead of writing a heartfelt poem.
Why I’m Still Not Worried
I’m sure I’ve upset some folks with this line of argument, because surely we humans can write better than the AI. Right? In a manner of speaking, yes. But I’m not referring to craft, or how exquisite humans can write prose. I’ll leave those arguments to better-equipped individuals. For if AI can’t write like humans right now, I’m sure it will in a handful of years, and protestations to the contrary will seem silly with time. No, when I say that we are better at writing, I’m referring to the fact that for writing to be good, mean anything, have any impact, contain any enjoyment, it must come with intent, ideas, experiences, identity, effort, blood, sweat, and tears—all things AI brings none of.
That makes our writing better. And it’s why I’m not worried about AI replacing authors anytime soon—or really ever.