Whenever I read my short story, “Leap of Faith,” to an audience, people wanted to buy it. This was before I had it made into a book. This was when the words were just typed on inexpensive white paper. Double spaced. Crinkled by the grip of my hand. Still, I was offered money. Obviously it wasn’t because they wanted to display it on their coffee table. What they wanted was to capture that moment. That moment the words jumped (or should I say leaped) not from the page, but from my soul, into their soul. This is the power of writing. The beauty of the written word.
There is a lot of talk lately about artificial intelligence. AI. People are using AI to do their homework. Write their messages. Even create books. I listened to a review yesterday about a newly constructed book, almost 100% artificially generated. I say constructed, because for me, to be written, it must contain the personality, the heart, the experience, the life of the writer. The reviewer seemed to agree with me. It was not a terrible book, he said. But what it lacked was soul. Soul — without it, to me, it’s only paper.
And it’s not just books. AI can now generate a picture. But can you feel the strokes? The welcoming of the blue, and the slight trepidation of the buoy. This beautiful imperfection of fear and familiar. The comfort and the uncertainty. The soulful play of the water.
Some people are worried. They imagine that humans don’t care enough. They imagine that the speed and bulk of artificial creation will win out. But I’m not afraid. I believe our taste cannot be “Old Country Buffed.” We are deeper. We are better.
Maybe I believe it because I’ve seen it. I’ve stood in front of a crowd and splashed them with the words of Lake Latoka. I’ve swam them through the blue, over their heads. Walked them up the slippery ladder onto the diving board. And I’ve hooked them, hand in hand, with words. Words that connected us. Protected us. Inspired us. Dared us to take that leap. Together.
In this I have faith. The very soul of us. In life. In love. Nothing artificial.
