When AI Fails

I’ve been working on this essay about Ida B. Wells’ great-grandson coming for the induction of his great-grandmother into the Mississippi Press Association Hall of Fame. I mean, I’ve been working on it for days. Only in the final stages—what? the 72nd hour?—did I realize the true significance of the MPA action. It wasn’t just that it had taken the MPA so long to honor this most famous of hometown journalists. The white Southern press of Mrs. Wells’ time hated her. Now the MPA was gathering in her name.

Here’s another one: I’ve been working for years on this memoir about “surprises” I’m discovering in my family history. In the process, I’ve wandered around worse than a drunken sailor. Like clockwork, I believe I’ve (finally) understood the deeper meaning of the journey. I tell my husband I’ve got the new perfect opening. Then I realize, ah, that’s an element of the story, but it’s not the story. I do believe I’m spiraling toward the heart of the matter, but I’ve been wrong too many times to declare it so.

At the same time, I’m reading more and more articles where the author notes she’s used AI to “help.” AI didn’t help. The articles are incredibly, unmercifully repetitious. I realize the writer doesn’t have confidence in his writing, and trusts AI to produce a more professional product. But it doesn’t. If the author already knows how to write, AI can, in fact, help organize thoughts because—this is crucial—the writer is in charge. Writers with experience know what they’re after. But those who need help the most, AI betrays them.

Worse, asking AI to rearrange the sentences in these articles is like asking the deckhand on the Titanic to rearrange the chairs. The content is shallow and boring. The author is saying nothing interesting. Quantity of AI words substitutes for quality of human thought. This truth is camouflaged by ALL THE TALKING. When a unique thought does blossom, the proliferation of weedy sentences chokes it out.

Such is the betrayal of AI. All the novice writer asks is for a good product so they don’t look stupid in public. And AI fails.

I know writing is time-consuming (see above). I also know writing is a magical tool of discovery (also see above). If I had turned over my memoir, or even my essay, to AI, I would have bobbed like a cork on the surface of my life experiences. I wouldn’t have understood my journey better. I wouldn’t have understood me better. Without that, I can’t not be boring. It is only the mysterious depths of us humans that make us interesting. Trying to understand that, AI fails completely.