I’ve never been one for plotting outlines or charting character arcs. I’m a writer, not a planner, which, ironically, is my poetry and my pain-point.
I’m honest though, I tell the truth even when I erect fictional worlds around it. That’s the art of story telling, the skull and bones of it.
My opinion on AI generated art is the same as my opinion on plagiarism—sure they can steal your work, but they can never replicate it because they don’t have your voice.
I write to hone my voice and be shown new ones. I write to uncover stories like an archeologist. That’s the intangible thing that robots will never understand—stories are stored inside of people.
Mine are buried deep in my bones and it’s fascinating as fuck to witness what emerges. I mean, I genuinely enjoy it, and I’m not sure that’s something I want to be paid for. I don’t want to be paid to write a specific thing. I want to write what I want, period.
So writing as a hobby may one day pay, but I’m totally at peace with the fact that it may not. I may never pay my bills by writing poetry. I may never pay my bills by writing volumes upon volumes of erotica, yet the vision of these things being written remains.
Whatever I’m doing, I know I’ll be writing. I’ll wring some other skills dry for paychecks and keep writing for pleasure, for myself.