If You Use AI in Your Writing YOU Are the Literary Asshole

Well, hello there! Welcome back! I think we all know what time it is: Am I the Literary Asshole O’Clock! That’s right, the world’s drunkest advice column that also would like to give you a book recommendation. I’m your host, Kristen Arnett, and I’ve never met a margarita I didn’t like. Fresh fruit, tequila, enough sun to roast a chicken? Must be July in Florida.

The thing about writing an advice column with sneaky literary gossip is that we truly never run out of questions. Today is jam-packed with some wild ones, folks. I don’t think you’re gonna be disappointed… 👀

So, let’s turn on the blender, pour ourselves a pair of frosty glasses, then sit back, relax, and enjoy:

1) This is a weird one, Dad. I’ve been friends with another writer (let’s call them J) for almost three years now. I met J at a writing workshop. We weren’t in the same workshop group-think short fiction and novel-but ended up bonding. Some of the best talks I’ve ever had about writing! When we got back to our respective cities (on opposite sides of the country), we kept emailing and texting each other. I felt really seen as an artist and I know they felt the same way. We started exchanging work for feedback. It was amazing. I truly feel my writing improved. But then something changed. For the past six months or so, J has pulled back. In fact, as of this submission to you, I haven’t heard from them in close to a month. They won’t reply to anything (but we’re also friends on social media and they’re posting constantly so I know they’re out there… living life). It’s starting to feel like I’ve been ghosted? Which is weird, since we’re not dating or anything. It’s all just writing. Are they being an asshole? Or am I the asshole for caring? 

Oh, friend. That must have really hurt your feelings!

Writing is a deeply personal act, and when we share it with others, it becomes an even more vulnerable one. It must have felt very special that you found this person who you felt shared your artistic sensibilities. When we come across someone like this, we feel incredibly seen and valued. We feel held. Community is important inside of artistic practice for this very reason: it allows us to feel less alone. That’s a valuable thing.

So, to be “ghosted” by this person you considered a friend must have felt awful. I hesitate at this point to straight up call them an asshole, because even though they’ve been posting on social media, that can’t tell us what’s REALLY going on in their personal life (hey, we’ve all been there—posting something cute or funny and our life is in reality a total dumpster fire). It could be something incredibly serious. I also can’t know if there was possibly something that happened between you two—something you might not even recognize as an issue—that ultimately made them decide to give your relationship some space.

What I can tell you is that you’re not an asshole to feel sad about this. Let yourself grieve for this relationship—because even if it wasn’t romantic, it still was something personal and special—and then allow yourself to move forward. Don’t let this deter you from sharing your work with others in a similar capacity.

I’m not a person who really believes in “closure” when it comes from others (that has to come from ourselves, no one else can give it to us), but if you need to, you could always have someone else reach out to this person to gently ask what may have caused the rift. It’s possible (let’s be honest, likely) that you’re going to learn something unpleasant. Sometimes people simply exit our lives because they no longer want to share space with us. But I guarantee there are others who can and WILL provide this same kind of love toward you and your work. Be sad, friend. But then ultimately give yourself grace and move on.

Two more margaritas? Sure, why not! Extra tequila shot for me, because I said so. Let’s take a peek at our next question:

2) Whenever I reach the midway point of a writing project, like around 30k words, I burn out. I always start out with high hopes. I’ll tell everyone about it and get really excited, but ultimately flame out mid-way through and start all over again. 

This is completely normal and not asshole behavior!

I’ll take (small) detour here and use myself as an example to let you know that you’re not alone. There have been many, many times that I’ve found myself excited about the prospect of a new writing project. Something glittery and brand new, shining with promise. I gravitate toward it, eager to bask in all that glow. But once I get to the tough, chewy center, things can sometimes start to lose their spark. The fact of the matter is that writing is not easy; it’s called a practice for a reason. In light of this, I’m going to give you a few practical ideas to get you past this particular hump:

• If you find yourself giving out when you get to the middle, perhaps a new practice would serve you well. If you normally outline, allow yourself to fly off in a new, uncharted direction. If you’re normally formless, give yourself a particularly detailed map. Sometimes changing direction can activate our creative brain in new and exciting ways.

• Wait to talk to others about something you’re really excited about. Allow yourself to experience it alone for a while. Sometimes we feel the failure already out there, waiting in the wings. If it’s just you thinking about this project, then it can just be you in the middle when things go awry. There’s less stress and lower stakes involved. If there are fewer eyes involved, you might be able to muscle through without the worry that you’re going to let other people down.

• Understand that not every project turns into “something.” But that’s not a bad thing! Any time we sit down to write we are doing good work because we are developing our writing muscles. Tell yourself that in writing these practice projects, you are ultimately moving toward the book that you’re actually supposed to write.

To leave off, I’ll also say this: when a project is really cooking, themes and ideas and through-lines will become a near obsession. When you can’t stop thinking about a topic, then you’ll be able to power through the middle. Good luck, friend! You’ve got this.

I’m at the point where I’m ready to gulp the dregs of margarita straight from the blender! Down the hatch, let’s check out our final caller of the day:

3) This is annoying, I know, but what can we do about “asshole” parents who talk nonstop about using AI? My mother is very well-meaning and I love her, but whenever I talk about my writing she immediately gives me advice how to streamline my work using CHATGPT or whatever. It’s so frustrating I immediately start a fight instead of saying what I mean and we get nowhere. 

Wooooooooooof.

Listen, I feel your pain. At this point, we’ve all been in some kind of social situation where we’ve had to defend our craft against the terrors of AI, even if that person we’re yelling at wasn’t our parents. It’s a plague. It’s everywhere. I’m sure I will get some very weird, very mean emails about my approach to this question because people that use this kind of thing for their work are ANGRY with anyone who dares dispute its usefulness.

There is no answer I can give you that will make people stop being annoying about this. I can tell you, however, that calmly answering “the beauty and joy of my art is in the making of it, not the end result” has been helpful in terms of getting people to stop talking about using AI for my work. Does it stop them from telling me about how it helps THEM? No, it does not.

Do I think we need to have these arguments, regardless of this fact? Yes, I do.

This will be one of the few times you’ll hear me (in this column, anyway) tell you that you need to have active conflict with people who tell you that AI is not harming anyone. Feel free to argue! You should! Tell your mom she’s wrong (because she is). It’s annoying and exasperating, but it’s important.

Normally I’d say I’m finished drinking, but good LORD I am going to go and make myself another pitcher! Join me next time when we answer more of your fabulous questions and I attempt to drink a beer through a snorkel.

Whimsically,
Dad

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Are you worried you’re the literary asshole? Ask Kristen via email at AskKristen@lithub.com, or anonymously here.