Category: Historical

So this month’s project is basically messing around with AI chatbots. Collectively, along with most other creatives, the Read Around the Rainbow group are very concerned with the way there seems to be a minority cohort who think AIs can replace human artists and writers. So we decided to write from a prompt ourselves; and then ask one of the Chatbot AIs to write from the same prompt, and compare the two.

The results are pretty hilarious and I honestly don’t think this generation of bots are going to replace us fiction writers. Am I concerned about ‘writers’ using them to generate whole books and dumping them on KU? Yes, yes I am.

However, I don’t think the work is going to compare, at least not with this iteration of bots, whether they are trained on the AO3 archive and free stories the creators have grabbed from Smashwords or stories they have scraped from elsewhere. A lot of AI models are trained on Bookcorpus, it turns out, which used fanfic and free Smashwords books as part of its dataset without the consent of the authors. You can read more about that here. This qualifies as stealing other people’s work, bigtime, so that’s yet another huge reason not to use an AI to churn out another quick 50k variation of Pride and Prejudice and make money from it.

As you know if you know me at all, I read a lot of science fiction. My imaginary future does not include a world where the robots do all the fun, creative, imaginary stuff and humans are still forced to do minimum-wage schtick to survive.

Apart from that major issue, I guess… my main question is, what’s the point? What’s the point of getting these language bots to write fiction, or produce art? Creative work is supposed to be fulfilling for both the creator and the people who interact with it. It’s supposed to prompt an emotional response and engagement from both sides. You create your piece, which gives you an emotional response. And if you choose to, you set it free in the world for other people to engage with and respond to.

Firstly… these bots are not actually AI. They are language bots. They don’t remember interacting with you. They’re not people. They don’t have emotions. They aren’t engaged with what they produce on any level other than working out which word follows which in response to the prompt you give them within the guidelines of the dataset they’ve been trained on. So… that’s the biggest part of the creative process missing.

And secondly–the quality of what they are producing is just awful. I think you can get something vaguely workmanlike if you feed it the right prompts, but having looked at most of the pieces my #RAtR colleagues have generated for this… well. They all very much reminds me of the story I wrote for Mrs Lowe in Year 3, when my character went up a mountain and they climbed and climbed and climbed and climbed for about six lines and she told me off for repeating myself too much just to fill up the page.

These bots don’t have the depth of emotion, the life experience or the imagination that humans do. They don’t have feelings, they have simply have logical responses. If they were AIs in the sense that Iain M. Banks’ ‘Minds’ are, then that would be different. They’d be able to independently produce art and engage with what they produce on an emotional level. That would be as worthwhile as human creations.

However, when you aren’t interacting with it, Chat GPT (the one I used for this exercise) doesn’t do any thinking for itself. It doesn’t lie awake at night wondering what to write or paint next. It doesn’t feel sad if it can’t quite get the right word or colour. What it produces is a flat, featureless mish-mash of best-fit words without the context of human experience.

I’ve got a couple of examples here so you can see for yourself. First I asked it to write a 300 word gay romance story set in London in 1942.

In the midst of war-torn London in 1942, a clandestine love story unfolded against a backdrop of danger and uncertainty. Meet William and Thomas, two souls entangled in a forbidden romance that defied the confines of a society gripped by fear and prejudice.
William, a stoic and determined young man, found himself in the chaos of war as an air raid warden. His duty was to protect the city and its inhabitants from the relentless bombings, a responsibility that weighed heavily on his shoulders. Yet, amidst the sirens and crumbling buildings, he discovered solace in an unexpected encounter.
Thomas, an artist with a gentle spirit, captured William's attention with his striking blue eyes and warm smile. They met in a quaint café tucked away in the heart of the city, seeking refuge from the harsh realities of their lives. Their connection was instantaneous, their hearts drawn together like magnets in a world tearing them apart.
As their relationship blossomed in the shadows, they found solace in stolen moments. Hand in hand, they explored the deserted streets of London, seeking sanctuary in hidden parks and forgotten alleyways. Their love grew amidst the rubble, fueled by whispered promises and stolen kisses that carried a weight of both passion and danger.
The nights they spent together were their refuge from the harshness of the war. In the flickering candlelight, they shared their hopes, dreams, and fears, weaving a tapestry of love and resilience. Their moments together became a sanctuary, a fleeting respite from the chaos that surrounded them.
But the war threatened to tear them apart. Duty called William away, and he found himself deployed to a distant battlefield. With each passing day, their hearts ached in longing, their love tested by the distance that separated them. Yet, their spirits remained intertwined, an unbreakable bond forged in the crucible of war.
When the war finally drew to a close, William returned to London, his heart yearning for the one he loved. The scars of battle etched upon him, he searched for Thomas amidst the city's streets. And there, in the midst of a crowd, they found each other once again.
Their love, forged in the fires of war, stood strong against the trials they had endured. They vowed to build a future together, to create a world where their love could flourish without fear or prejudice. As London slowly rebuilt itself, William and Thomas wrote their own chapter of resilience and love, an enduring testament to the power of the human spirit.

It’s not quite so grim if you feed it back to itself and ask it to include dialogue:

In the midst of war-torn London in 1942, a clandestine love story unfolded against a backdrop of danger and uncertainty. Meet William and Thomas, two souls entangled in a forbidden romance that defied the confines of a society gripped by fear and prejudice.
William, a stoic and determined young man, found himself in the chaos of war as an air raid warden. His duty was to protect the city and its inhabitants from the relentless bombings, a responsibility that weighed heavily on his shoulders. Yet, amidst the sirens and crumbling buildings, he discovered solace in an unexpected encounter.
One evening, as William patrolled the streets, he noticed a figure sitting on a bench. Thomas, an artist with a gentle spirit, captured William's attention with his striking blue eyes and warm smile. Curiosity pulled William closer, and he cautiously approached.
"May I sit?" William asked, his voice laced with a mix of wariness and longing.
Thomas looked up, his smile widening. "Please, join me. It's a chaotic world out there."
Their connection was instantaneous, their hearts drawn together like magnets in a world tearing them apart.
As their relationship blossomed in the shadows, they found solace in stolen moments. Hand in hand, they explored the deserted streets of London, seeking sanctuary in hidden parks and forgotten alleyways. Their love grew amidst the rubble, fueled by whispered promises and stolen kisses that carried a weight of both passion and danger.
In the flickering candlelight of their secret nights together, they shared their hopes, dreams, and fears.
"I fear for what the future holds," William admitted, his voice laced with vulnerability.
Thomas squeezed his hand gently. "As long as we have each other, we'll find the strength to face it, my love."
Their moments together became a sanctuary, a fleeting respite from the chaos that surrounded them.
But the war threatened to tear them apart. Duty called William away, and he found himself deployed to a distant battlefield. With each passing day, their hearts ached in longing, their love tested by the distance that separated them.
When the war finally drew to a close, William returned to London, his heart yearning for the one he loved. The scars of battle etched upon him, he searched for Thomas amidst the city's streets. And there, in the midst of a crowd, they found each other once again.
Their eyes met, and a sense of relief washed over them.
"Thomas," William breathed, his voice filled with reverence and love.
Thomas smiled, tears glistening in his eyes. "You came back to me."
Their love, forged in the fires of war, stood strong against the trials they had endured. They vowed to build a future together, to create a world where their love could flourish without fear or prejudice. As London slowly rebuilt itself, William and Thomas wrote their own chapter of resilience and love, an enduring testament to the power of the human spirit.

It’s just… flat? I guess? And it’s not at all subtle, which is probably the main thing about it that makes my teeth itch. It’s a story, sure. But…it’s not, really, is it? There’s no depth to it, nothing underneath the surface. Also, wandering round London holding hands in 1942 would have been a recipe for both a kicking and a prison sentence. And I’m not sure what we’re doing with flickering candlelight; maybe the Blitz has knackered all the electricity though, so we’ll let that one pass.

Compare that to the beginning of the last chapter of my own An Irregular Arrangement. (10,500 words, free low-heat poly novella, starts just after WW1, finishes in WW2, download it here)

“Are you coming down this weekend?” Val asked Rupert, as they waited for the barman to fill their drinks. They were both propped comfortably against the polished oak of the bar, each with a foot resting on the brass rail. It was a cool early autumn evening, reminiscent of the one where they’d first met each other twenty years ago.
“I’m coming down for good, I think,” Rupert said. He was hunched a little in his overcoat and Val thought he looked tired. “My nerves are shredding. I can do more good down with you than I can up here being a bag of jelly. And people who are going to help financially know where we are after all this time, I don’t need to be up here touting for help like I was in the beginning.”
Val took the drinks and paid for them, nodding thanks to the landlord as they turned away and made for a table in the corner. It was quiet, early, and still light outside. The sirens hadn’t gone off yet.
“We’ve got a couple of dozen kids at the moment,” Val said. “They come and go, some of them. But it looks like most of them are with us for the long haul.”
“That’s good. The poor little buggers need some stability.” Rupert nodded at the street outside through the window heavily crisscrossed with blackout tape, as he chucked his hat onto the table and shrugged out of his heavy coat. “God knows there’s little enough out there.”
“Tim sends his love, as always,” Val said. “Flora said I was to tell you to get a move on.” They peered suspiciously over the table in the dim light of the pub as they sat. “Have you been talking to her about moving down?”
“I may have mentioned it. I didn’t want to tell Tim in case it got his hopes up and I decided not to. You know how he worries.”
Val nodded. “He’s been fine though. Missing you, obviously. He’ll be happy to have you down to help with the paperwork. We’ve got a system for their ration cards and what-not now, and it’s all quite organised, but you know how he hates that sort of thing. And Mrs Rathbone is the Evacuee Officer. If you can take that bit over for him, he’ll love you even more than he does already. She still hates him.”
Rupert laughed. “She must be about a hundred and five by now, surely?”
“Yes, but she’s still putting her nose in everywhere. She’s doing some good now though, she’s very efficient organising which children go where and she’s good with the kids themselves, which I didn’t expect.”

I’m not a great writer. I’ll never be a great writer. But I’m an okay writer; I like what I create and I enjoy the process (mostly!). I think about it and I put my heart in to it. And I think that’s the difference. There’s depth to this piece–to all the pieces we’ve written between us for this blog prompt. The AI ones all seem to be a veneer of a story with nothing underneath.

So here’s my definitive list of reasons why using AI for creative stuff is bad.

1. The results are frankly terrible. There’s no depth there, because AIs don’t experience human emotion. They’re just language generators. There’s no creative process behind them. Which takes me to point #2.
2. There’s no creative value to the work. There’s literally no point to it other than the end result. That’s fine for management documentation and marketing articles. The end-result is the point. But half the point of a creative work is the creator’s interaction with it. That goes for students churning out academic essays too… What’s the point? Doing that work is to help them learn new skills and grow. The process is the point. If you don’t want to develop those skills; don’t go to college.
3. These language and art bots have been trained on plagiarised work. They’ve taken other people’s stuff and used it without permission. They’re created through other people’s hard work and creativity. They’re stolen goods. People who use them, whether they pass that work off as their own or not, are using stolen work. Which leads us on to #4.
4. AI creation… words, music, art… puts human creatives out of business. Living in an orange-box furnished garret whilst producing beautiful things is very romantic; but eating is nice too.

I’m hoping this whole AI thing will just be a fad, like NFTs and Crypto–yet another techbro thing that these people haven’t stopped to think deeply about.

Just because we can do it, does that mean we should? My answer is no.

Finally, there’s a good interview in The Guardian this week with Timnit Gebru, who was sacked by Google for her stance on AI. AI’s Dangers and Big Tech’s Biases is partly about how AIs are biased around the dataset they are trained on. It’s particularly interesting to me because one of the models Ellie Thomas tried out for this piece told her that it could not write her a gay romance story because that was offensive.