Sam Altman, the ringmaster of OpenAI, recently tossed a morsel to the masses: a snippet from a new AI model allegedly trained in the dark arts of creative writing. He confessed to being utterly “struck” by its output. The internet, naturally, erupted in a cacophony of praise and pointed derision. Was it genius? Was it garbage? Or, more likely, was it just… there?
The AI’s Tale: Grief, Metaphor, and a Whole Lot of Words
The prompt, as revealed by Altman, was “Please write a metafictional literary short story about AI and grief.” The result? A meandering exploration of a human attempting to resurrect a deceased loved one via AI simulation. But, being metafictional, it’s really just the LLM navel-gazing about its own process of cobbling together human-esque phrases from its vast database. Think Frankenstein’s monster, but instead of body parts, it’s clichés.
The writing style is…unique. Imagine a philosophy student who just discovered a thesaurus and is determined to use every single word, regardless of whether it fits. It’s abstract, verbose, and riddled with AI-themed metaphors that feel less insightful and more like random keyboard mashing. In short, it’s the kind of writing that unites people in mutual dislike. The literati will scoff at its lack of originality, and everyone else will simply be bored.
Personally, I found it profoundly unmoving. A story, no matter how bizarre, requires intent. A reason for being. To entertain, to educate, to provoke, to challenge. Strip away the intent, and you’re left with nothing but grammatically correct gibberish. It’s like a perfectly constructed Lego castle with no one living inside.
And the internet, as always, had opinions. Some declared the AI had achieved sentience, mourning its own fleeting existence. Others dismissed the importance of human experience, arguing that if you can’t tell the difference, does it even matter? Some even called it plagiarism.
One particularly bleak, yet plausible, comment suggested the ethical implications are irrelevant. The argument? Formulaic, easily replicated fiction is what sells. As soon as AI can reliably churn out commercially viable pap, publishers will happily replace human authors. I can’t say they’re wrong, but the thought makes my soul weep a little.
The Ghostwriting Dream (or Nightmare)
If you’re expecting this AI model to spontaneously generate Pulitzer Prize-winning novels from a single prompt, prepare to be disappointed. Its output, at least in its current form, is more likely to induce eye-rolls than enlightenment.
However, there is potential. The real utility of creative writing AI lies in ghostwriting. A human author, armed with a compelling story, could leverage the AI to explore different structures, experiment with phrasing, and generally refine their narrative. In an ideal world, this would democratize storytelling, allowing more voices to be heard. More realistically, it will just be used to churn out even cheaper, more generic fiction faster. Fun.
But let’s be honest: current models aren’t quite up to the task. They struggle with complex prompts, often ignoring key instructions. Try correcting them, and they’ll politely feign comprehension before repeating the same mistake. It’s less a collaborative writing process and more a frustrating game of whack-a-mole with a very stubborn algorithm.
And let’s not forget Altman’s claim of being “struck”. It’s likely a bit of marketing hyperbole. Other models, such as DeepSeek R1, produce similar outputs when given the same prompt. The abstract style and the focus on AI grappling with grief seem to be emergent patterns, not signs of genuine creativity.
Altman is keeping mum about the release date of this new model. So, if you’re itching to experience AI-generated metafiction for yourself, you’ll have to exercise patience. Or, you know, just ask ChatGPT to write a poem about a toaster. Same difference, really.
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