The Hidden Strengths Of Human Writers AI Can Never Mimic

Machines don’t have nightmares, which is why AI will never be able to replace the role of a writer.

Every day, we hear the fear-riddled shrieks of creative minds proclaiming that the sky is falling, all because of AI. The machines will come to take our craft away, and soon we’ll be as obsolete as an eight-track.

These concerns are real. No one wants to lose the creative endeavours intricately woven into our souls. The idea that a machine, a computer program, a robot’s digital mind, could usurp a craft to which we have dedicated ourselves is nothing short of a nightmare the machine itself can’t experience.

That’s why, if you give me a few minutes of your time, I’ll explain why the fear we feel about AI’s advancement is precisely the reason why we shouldn’t be afraid.

What do you call someone who has no empathy? A psychopath? A sociopath? A narcissist?

Well, yes, all of the above.

We’ve all felt the sting of heartbreak or at least understood it from the sidelines. If we couldn’t relate, we’d be as soulless as those who pretend to feel—think of them as the psychological equivalent of a cover band. No matter how well they nail the notes, they’ll never capture the raw energy of the original.

It’s like watching someone play Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” without Freddie Mercury’s voice or Tool’s “Schism” without Maynard’s intensity. It looks and sounds the same, but something vital is missing—the soul, the gut-wrenching anxiety of a live performance.

AI? It’s basically a digital cover band or a digital psychopath. It churns out content without the emotional investment or the authentic fear of whether anyone will care. It might look impressive, but it’s all surface—like a prosthetic arm that can mimic movements but can’t bend at the wrist or truly grasp things.

We’re so focused on AI’s ‘intelligence’ that we overlook the ‘artificial’ part—the fakery behind it. Just like a fake Rolex or a plastic plant, no matter how convincing, we can spot the counterfeit a mile away.

Yet, despite this, creatives everywhere are still uneasy. To get to the bottom of why AI will never truly replace us, we need to dig into this underlying fear and what’s being missed in the conversation about AI.

For a writer, getting a rejection letter from a publisher is like having an infected tooth. You can piss and moan all you want, but if you don’t see the dentist, that infection’s only going to fester. It’s the same with receiving criticism. You can wallow in self-pity, or you can take it on the chin and use it to up your game.

So, what does this have to do with AI?

Let me paint a picture for you: A writer proudly hands me their pages, puffed up with confidence and a smirk so big, you can’t help but wonder where they hid the bodies. But when I slide them my own work, their posture sags, their smile buckles, and their eyes narrow into slits. It’s not just about the quality of the writing; it’s their ego taking a hit.

When faced with something they think is better, writers can either find excuses to protect their fragile egos or use the feedback to grow. Now, imagine that instead of receiving feedback from another writer, they’re getting it from AI.

It’s not just about fearing AI. It’s about confronting our own ego and insecurity.

I know that I’m good at what I do, but I’m not deluded into thinking I’m the best. I’m always learning and honing my craft. If I came across someone who wrote circles around me, I’d be asking for tips. That’s the mark of a true writer.

If that superior writer turned out to be an AI, it wouldn’t mean I’m out of a job. It’d mean I need to step up my game. And let’s face it, if anyone’s going to replace me, it won’t be some soulless algorithm—it’ll be another writer with a fresh voice and perspective.

AI isn’t disappearing and we shouldn’t be fighting it. Instead, it should light a fire under us to push boundaries and elevate our craft.

Or we should stop looking at it as if it is the enemy, and understand that if we utilize it wisely, it could become a great asset.

Back in the day of silent films, when the ‘talkies’ arrived, it was like the end of the world for filmmakers. Then, color film came along, and the outcry reached a new pitch. Actors, directors, and producers were practically screaming that their careers were over. They even threatened to boycott these advancements, convinced that their jobs were on the chopping block.

Did their boycott save them? No. They lost their jobs, not because of the technology, but because they refused to adapt and evolve. The same thing will happen to writers if they let their ego and fear dictate their actions.

Those who shun AI will find themselves left behind. And for those dreaming of using AI to do the heavy lifting of writing while they reap the rewards have a horrible shock coming to them.

Whether you like it or not, AI is just a tool, a helper. It doesn’t hold grudges or plot your downfall. It’s just doing what you tell it to do. When an editor gets your manuscript, they’re not thrilled about hunting down every typo and grammatical error. They want to dive into your story and help you turn it into something amazing. As a writer, you don’t want to waste time correcting mistakes only to discover new ones.

This is where AI shines.

AI is fantastic at spotting and fixing errors in seconds. It doesn’t get tired or frustrated, and it’s always ready to tackle the next batch of pages. This isn’t just a small win—it’s a huge time-saver for everyone involved.

AI isn’t your enemy. It’s not out to get you or ruin your career. It’s here to assist. Treat it like the powerful ally it is, and it’ll help you to save time so that you can focus on what it cannot do: writing like you and telling the stories only you can tell.

Embrace it, use it wisely, and you’ll soon realize that the only thing that can harm your writing is the nightmare you succumb to.

The world is always going to need stories, but not just any old stories. It needs stories that are inspired and influenced by real experiences. It needs tales that are personal, daring, and filtered through the lens of the human experience.

This can only be done by writers who are human—by humans who have dared to live, who have been brave enough to be vulnerable, and bold enough to take mammoth risks.

We always need writers. We always need their stories and their experiences. We always need to hear the unique voice that only their soul can produce.

So don’t fret. The nightmare isn’t real. It can’t hurt you. But if you let it, it can inspire you.

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