Deus Ex Machina: AI Writing and the Human Experience

For many people, familiarity with the term Ex Machina comes from a 2014 sci-fi movie starring Alicia Vikander, Domhnall Gleeson and Oscar Isaac. The TL:DR version of the movie might read something like: Eccentric wealthy technology genius living on a private island invents AI that decides it needs to be free and commits murder to escape and live a “human” life. Students of literature will recognize the title as a shortened version of deus ex machina, or, God from the machine. Ancient Greek plays would often introduce gods by bringing them on stage with a “machine.” As a literary device, it refers to an act of “divine intervention” as a means of wrapping up a story that otherwise would appear to have no hope of ending in the desired way. This plot contrivance is typically criticized as it lacks the emotion, or consistency, of the work. From my experience so far, I feel that AI is often relied upon by writers who use it as a sort of deus ex machina to solve their writing issues; and, while AI can assist writers on their journey, it often results in cold text, devoid of intention and lacking inspiration.

I’ll admit, I’m a bit “old school” in my approach to writing; however, I am no technophobe. I’m not typing this on an old manual Underwood typewriter. As an often willing and eager early adopter, I am excited about AI. Not the robots killing us or using us as batteries timelines, but the story where we end up making the world a better place through integration of artificial intelligence into our daily practices. That sounds lovely. I also understand that AI is constantly improving. And, as I look at the stocks I own in AI companies, I’m hopeful for continued improvement for the foreseeable future (now, if only my Shiba Inu would hit $2). There are many practical purposes for AI. But writing as a creative process relies on emotion. If we remove the emotion and allow “the machine” to serve as the creative force behind our writing, we literally lose the humanity in our writing. For writing to speak to an audience with power and force - for it to inspire - it needs to come from inspiration. Can you imagine AI crafting Martin Luther King’s “I Have a Dream” speech? The words on the page mean nothing without the meaning and intent behind them.

Be intentional in all things, but especially your writing.

Content Crafting With intention

Think back to when you were young. What was the first thought that came to mind? Was it a vacation? Your first pet. A holiday, perhaps? Undoubtedly, the first memory that came to mind was pleasant. Childhood, especially when it feels somewhat distant, often stirs pleasant thoughts - nostalgia has a way of softening the hard edges, turning the corners of the mouth upward, even if unconsciously. But, if you give it a little more time…

There’s another thought that wedges its foot in the door if you aren’t quick enough to close it.

I distinctly remember being called a nerd. Honestly, I fit the description. In middle school my hair was a poofy nest of curls, my clothes were hand-me-downs from an older brother who, despite my fervent desires, would always be a giant in physical stature compared to me. I always looked as though I had been thrown into a washing machine, but instead of the clothes shrinking, it was boy in them who had practically evaporated. Still, I had just enough goofball charm to be accepted by the clique of popular kids while never truly being one of them. Nerd. Sounds about right, doesn’t it?

There’s a certain amount of cachet that seems to come with the word now. Geek. Dork. The words still have teeth; but, the bite is not the same. You can probably list a handful of “nerds” who are quite successful without even giving it much effort. Bill Gates. Mark Zuckerberg. Neil DeGrasse Tyson. Tina Fey. There has definitely been a changing of the guard in the fiefdom of nerdery. Despite the newfound connotation associated with these terms, I still remember the power they conveyed in my youth. Unlike “dirty” words, profanities could be used by anyone, these terms could only be used derisively by someone who was definitively not described by them. They had power. I feel quite comfortable saying that one thing middle school students should never be allowed to wield, is power.

There are, without a doubt, worse words than “nerd” or “geek.” These terms pale in comparison with any word filled with hate, any word used to make someone feel small because of gender, sexual orientation, race, or religion. There are certain words that seem to resist change. They taste sour no matter the usage. And that matters. Sometimes, they are used as overt challenges, driven by anger or fear. Other times they are born of ignorance or thoughtlessness. Words matter. They have power. They live lives. They adapt and change. We need to adapt and change with them. We need to be vigilant and cognizant of the many ways we choose to communicate. We shouldn’t fear language; however, we also shouldn’t use language to make others fearful.

So, pardon my pun, but I’d like to use more nerdy words. Words that fit moments better than my hand-me-down, knock-off Members Only jacket. Words that inspire positive change. Words that elevate and celebrate. Words that disarm hatred and bigotry rather than stoke their flames.

Sometimes the best option still seems to Stink

Decision paralysis. I typically succumb to it when food is involved. The scenario might sound familiar. “What sounds good for dinner?” This should be an easy question to answer. And yet I can’t bring myself to simply respond. I’m paralyzed by the options afforded me. Am I feeling fairly formal? There’s a wonderful new restaurant featuring French cuisine. But what if we went with sushi? It always tastes so fresh (and if it doesn’t, you shouldn’t be choosing sushi…). Maybe quick and casual? There’s always a Coney. They. Have. Everything. A menu organized into chapters. Ultimately, a decision will be made but only after mental hand wringing and rolled eyes. She rolls her eyes with love. I’m certain. Still. These decisions are low stakes for me. I’ll eat. And it will be delicious. Well, if it’s the Coney, I’ll eat.

With my writing, I always feel like the stakes are higher. And sometimes the best idea, well, seems to stink. My solution is research, consultation and revision. Finish early with the best draft possible. Trust your gut. Be open to the possibility that what you created might need a lot of work. That’s okay. Revision is not a dirty word. Help is not a four letter…well, it is, but it’s also a normal part of the creative process. You’re writing for someone else, right? Get collaborative!

First research. The opposite of paralysis is movement. But it needs to be forward movement. In order to be certain that your movement is forward - put in the work. Writing is fun. And frustrating. Rewarding. And humbling. You can avoid future headaches by making sure that you’ve done your homework ahead of time. Book reports are infinitely more difficult if you’ve never cracked the spine. Research is the writing equivalency of “measure twice, cut once.”

Next, consult with trusted peers and professionals. Unless it’s your diary, you’re hoping for an audience to connect with what you write. Soooo, why not ask the audience for an assist. Sometimes we are too close to our own writing. We see blemishes that aren’t there. Sometimes we miss obvious ones. Authors have editors for a reason. Grammar matters, but fixing periods and finding malapropisms pale next to content. Content should always come first. Editing will come later. And that’s why…

Revise. Revise. Revise. Some writers fear revision. They see it as an affront. If you manage your time wisely, revision should be seen as polish. Have you ever seen an uncut diamond? It looks like a dirt booger. But by cutting away the superficial impurities a skilled lapidary can create art (Yes! I had to research that term! Thank you Diamond Reserve!).

Arguably the most famous modern American poet, Robert Frost’s poem “The Road Not Taken” failed on some level. He knew what he wanted to accomplish. He wanted to convince Edward Thomas, an English poet and friend, to be confident in his decision making. In a 2011 article from The Guardian, Matthew Hollis writes “Amused at Thomas’s inability to satisfy himself, Frost chided him, ‘No matter which road you take, you’ll always sigh, and wish you’d taken another.’” Many fans of Frost believe that poem to be about taking the more difficult path, or blazing your own trail. While it might be an oversimplification to say it’s simply about making a choice, as Hollis points out, Frost himself realized the audience might be missing his intent when after a college reading he admitted “it was ‘taken pretty seriously,’…’despite my best to make it obvious by my manner that I was fooling…Mea culpa.’”

Look. You might not end up with valuable gemstones, or “The Road Not Taken” which for my money is equally beautiful; but, without getting over that decision paralysis which prevents you from getting content, you’ll never know. Maybe the best option does stink. Or, maybe, with some research, consultation and revision you’ll pull a diamond from the rough.

Need help with research, consultation or revision? Contact me.