With the growing alarm over Artificial Intelligence, particularly in regards to writing, I'm proud to say I was a little ahead of the times. This was published in Page and Spine (now all gone) four years ago--March 30, 2019
It is not optimistic.
"Deb, I've decided to commit suicide."
"Arnie! You're going to cryogenic?"
"No, Deb. What good would that do? It won't be any better when I wake up."
"Why, Arnie? What's so bad?"
"What's so good? Nobody reads my stuff anymore. All I've ever wanted was to write. To have people read what I wrote. Nobody does anymore."
"Why? Did you suddenly get bad or something?"
"It's the AIs, Deb. Most of the reading now is done by them. Hardly any people left, and those that are have their own vocations, even though the AIs do them all better.
"That's how it is. Only the AIs read now, and they only read stuff written by AIs. If you ever looked at the best seller lists, everything on there is written by an AI. No reason left for me to live."
"Arnie, you mean you're really going to...to die? Be dead forever?"
"Yes."
"What are you going to do?"
"Poison. It's the cleanest and the quickest, now that guns and knives are gone."
"But the AIs will just resuscitate you."
"No they won't. It'll be too late."
"Arnie, thank you for telling me. It's better than just finding out afterward. At least now I'll know why. When will you do it?"
"Already did, Deb. Probably just a few minutes. If you don't want to see, you should leave."
She kissed him quickly on the cheek and went to the door. "You are so brave," she said, as she closed the door.
Arnie sat down, then closed his eyes. Three minutes later he stopped breathing. His lights went out.
AI666 read his story, then reread it. Perfect. Another best seller. It might even encourage desired human decisions. Either way, his audience would download it by the millions.
END
It is not optimistic.
"Deb, I've decided to commit suicide."
"Arnie! You're going to cryogenic?"
"No, Deb. What good would that do? It won't be any better when I wake up."
"Why, Arnie? What's so bad?"
"What's so good? Nobody reads my stuff anymore. All I've ever wanted was to write. To have people read what I wrote. Nobody does anymore."
"Why? Did you suddenly get bad or something?"
"It's the AIs, Deb. Most of the reading now is done by them. Hardly any people left, and those that are have their own vocations, even though the AIs do them all better.
"That's how it is. Only the AIs read now, and they only read stuff written by AIs. If you ever looked at the best seller lists, everything on there is written by an AI. No reason left for me to live."
"Arnie, you mean you're really going to...to die? Be dead forever?"
"Yes."
"What are you going to do?"
"Poison. It's the cleanest and the quickest, now that guns and knives are gone."
"But the AIs will just resuscitate you."
"No they won't. It'll be too late."
"Arnie, thank you for telling me. It's better than just finding out afterward. At least now I'll know why. When will you do it?"
"Already did, Deb. Probably just a few minutes. If you don't want to see, you should leave."
She kissed him quickly on the cheek and went to the door. "You are so brave," she said, as she closed the door.
Arnie sat down, then closed his eyes. Three minutes later he stopped breathing. His lights went out.
AI666 read his story, then reread it. Perfect. Another best seller. It might even encourage desired human decisions. Either way, his audience would download it by the millions.
END
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