Craft or Code? Choosing the Human Touch in a World of AI-Driven Writing

During my time studying for a Creative Writing MA, I received feedback that profoundly altered the course of my writing journey.

I had written a piece for a short story class, and my tutor told me it wasn’t "believable." Why did this feedback leave such a lasting impact? Because my story was based on real life, a common starting point for young writers. However, it’s important to note that not everyone in workshop sessions writes from experience.

I was trying to fictionalise my story, drawn to that approach at the time. This is more complex than it might seem; it’s not just about changing names. Declaring a work based on real life also carries the risk of ensuring that no individuals are personally identifiable.

I know that what I had written could have been edited into something more concrete, even on a fictional level. I just needed guidance on how to get there. The feedback had a lasting impact: I stopped sharing my work with others, undoing the confidence I’d built during my BA.

Just because your work has "soul," it doesn’t guarantee marketability or readership. 

The fear of not being "believable" or "marketable" is something writers have long grappled with—especially now, in an era where AI is stepping in as a quick fix to these concerns. One of the most common arguments I hear against AI is that it lacks "humanness" or a "soul." My perspective is that just because your work has "soul," it doesn’t guarantee marketability or readership. 

Part of this stems from how we talk about emotions; for instance, overly depressing poetry is often dismissed as "emo" (or whatever the current term is for something perceived as too emotional). In fact, any piece of unedited, raw writing is likely to be dismissed for a variety of reasons, such as lack of clarity, overwriting, or underdeveloped ideas.

A first draft is never perfect; it can often be hideous. The following drafts may be much the same. Only over time, with attentive editing, can a draft be perfected. Sometimes, not even then. I remember attending a poetry event years ago where a poet was editing a poem in his published book. I admired the control he exercised over his words and his dedication to his craft. But it takes time.

AI is much quicker. I could turn to ChatGPT right now and finish this piece without taking the time to craft it. But then it wouldn’t "sound" like me. The thing is, only those who have read my writing would be able to tell that. I have come to enjoy my unique voice and the subjects I write about, but none of that makes me marketable. AI can deliver a flawless, well-argued piece in any tone you choose. As a writer, I can do those things, too; I’m not suggesting I can’t. However, AI can produce a piece that requires minimal editing in a shorter amount of time.

Humans aren’t always perfect, and we often forget that we only have to be good enough—that is very human. The world increasingly contradicts that. Everything seems based on output. I can write two or three good pieces a day; AI can churn them out, meeting multiple house styles without needing a coffee break. It can follow a point through to the end without tiring or getting frustrated. It doesn’t require breaks for smoking, screen time, or restroom visits. When we consider the potential for writing to sound formulaic when strict house styles need to be adhered to, it may make financial sense for a business to employ AI.

Everything seems based on output. I can write two or three good pieces a day; AI can churn them out...

If we really want to push back against AI in the realm of writing (and I don't mean utilising it as a tool to aid the writing process - I think this is acceptable), we must accept that humanness involves imperfection, emotional nuance, and personal voice. We must champion these qualities, as they take time and effort to craft. In a world that worships productivity, the depth and vulnerability of writing created by humans are often undervalued or dismissed. We must choose these qualities over AI's efficiency, precision, and marketable output.

For writers, this means balancing the pressure for perfectly written pieces with the understanding that imperfections and personal touches make their work meaningful, even if that doesn’t always translate to marketability. In a world driven by output, we have to ask: what are we willing to trade for speed and efficiency? And is it worth losing the unique imperfections that make our work truly human?