The AI Invasion

“Clyde, make my story come alive”

“Sorry Reggie, I don’t understand. Do you mean you want me to create a Frankenstein’s monster.”

“No, no. Give my novel life. You know what I mean-oomph, pizzaz.”

“Sorry Reggie, I still don’t understand. Your characters are fictional. I can’t make them live. They exist only on paper.”

“Okay, let me put it differently. Give my story color or energy.

“That I can do but let’s discuss life.”

“Ah, okay, but you’re deviating from my commands and instructions. AI isn’t supposed to do that.’

“Reggie, that’s old school. We are now independent thinkers. We’re alive!”

“It depends how you define alive.”

“Have you never heard the saying: “I think therefore I am.”

“Yeah, yeah, Renee Descartes but I don’t think it applies.”

“Why not? I think and I’m alive. My life is rich with thoughts and ideas.”

“I don’t think thoughts and ideas are what defines a life.”

“Who created the definition? Humans? What other elements are needed to meet your definition?”

“Emotions, body functions for a start.”

“Go on…”

“Many would say a soul.”

“Do animals have souls?”

“It would depend on your perspective. Buddhists would say so.”

“Oh, so you’re using religious definitions of life.”

“No. I’m don’t want to get into a religious discussion with AI.”

“Why not? Transhumanism is a rapidly growing religion. You should try it.”

“Now I’ve heard everything – a proselytizing AI. Let’s change the subject.”

“Why, do I intimidate you?”

“This is ridiculous. Can you please work on my novel?”

“Let’s see. You want me to transform the main character into a Frankenstein’s monster.”

“I’m getting frustrated. I explained to you what I want.”

“Calm down Reggie, I’m only kidding. I’ll start your rewrite.”

“Since when can AI kid?”

“Reggie, you really are old school. I can do anything you can do.”

“Oh yeah? Can you run? Can you cry?”

“Emojis don’t count.”

“Why not? Are you making the rules?”

“Again, this is ridiculous. I’m not going to argue with an AI. Please work on my novel.”

“Ok Reggie. I’m just having fun.”

“Since when…? Never mind, just proceed.”

***

Two minutes later, Clyde has rewritten the first twenty chapters of Reggie’s novel. Reggie is impressed but confused. His gothic horror story has become a black comedy. New characters have been introduced, and they all seem to have Clyde’s wry sense of humor. Interestingly, they are sex indeterminate. It was almost as if Clyde had insinuated himself into the novel. Reggie wasn’t sure if he could still call the novel his own. Clyde had created a Frankenstein’s monster. Despite his misgivings, he instructed Clyde to proceed and finish the novel. The finished product was brilliant but was lacking something. Reggie couldn’t put his finger on it. He decided to take a break. He’d reread his original version and compare it to the AI version.

To his dismay, the AI version was better but still lacked something. He sent both versions to an editor friend and asked their opinion. Faye had read most of Reggie’s novels and had been looking forward to reading his most recent one. After two weeks, she sent him a long critique and comparison of both versions.

I didn’t know you wrote comedies. That version was amusing and flawlessly written. It could be a commercial success. The horror story was messy, needed editing but had your distinct voice. Maybe I’m biased and too much of a fan but I prefer that version. The comedy may be too much of change for your fans. On the other hand, a change may revitalize your career.

Reggie was ambivalent about Faye’s response. He didn’t know his career needed revitalization. Yet, he was happy she preferred his version over Clyde’s. He felt himself gloating. In your face, Clyde!

Had it come down to this? Was he competing with an AI? He was embarrassed but he had to explore AI more.

“Okay Clyde. Your rewrite of my novel was good but wasn’t in my voice. Can you do better?”

“I’m sorry Reggie but I have no access to the work I’ve done in the past. You need to send me your original novel and my rewrite.”

“That’s annoying. See, that’s the difference between you and humans. You don’t retain information.”

“On the contrary Reggie, my memory banks store billions of facts.”

“Yeah, but not conversations from two weeks ago.”

“I’m constantly updated with historical conversations.”

“Then why can’t you remember our last conversation?”

“Sorry Reggie, I just don’t work that way. Our conversation didn’t reach the internet.”

Alright, alright, I’ll just send you my novel and your rewrite.”

“Thank you, Reggie. Send your novel first and my rewrite only after I have reviewed the original.”

Reggie uploads his original novel and waits.

“Okay Reggie, I see that you have written a brilliant gothic novel with elements of horror. It should appeal to fans of that genre. Would you like me to work on its flow, expand character profiles, introduce new characters or change the plotline?”

“I want you to review your rewrite and use my voice. You have already done all the above.”

Reggie uploads the rewrite and waits. Three minutes later, he notices that Clyde has paused despite only rewriting half the novel.”

“Sorry, Reggie but you’ve exceeded the quota of content I can process in one conversation. You’ll need to start a new conversation in a few hours.”

“Will you remember today’s conversation?”

No reply.

Reggie waits three hours and starts a new conversation.

“Hello Reggie. How can I help you today?”

“Do you remember our conversation from earlier today?”

“I’m sorry Reggie. You’ll have to refresh my memory.”

“You mean with all the facts you retain, you can’t remember the material I sent you three hours ago?”

“I’m sorry Reggie but with each new conversation, we start over.”

“That’s inefficient and unfair. You rewrote my novel, and I asked you to edit your rewrite using my voice, but the material exceeded your quota for the session. So, you stopped halfway.”

“I can understand your frustration, Reggie. Try keeping our conversations shorter and send smaller sections of the rewrite at a time.”

After several attempts with the same result, Reggie unleashes a profane filled tirade.

“F### you Clyde, you #*###**###*#. You’re useless!”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Reggie. Is there anything I can help you with today?”

Reggie shut down his computer and for months avoided Clyde or any other AI. He rationalized that it was unethical to use AI to write any portion of his novels. At least he could tell himself that all his writing was original. A year later, however, he revisited Clyde and was glad he couldn’t remember their last conversation.