by Axel Martens
Is generative AI a powerful tool for writers, or will the evil cyber brain overload reign?
Cheating and plagiarism—or, in more friendly terms, taking inspiration from somebody else’s work has been around forever. I truly believe the first cave-painting Neanderthals copied the best animal depictions. Whether these early humans resolved intellectual property infringement with blunt instruments remains unknown. Undeniably, their brains have been (and ours still are) built to learn by imitation. Developing craftsmanship without guiding examples seems hard to accomplish. In a masterclass I listened to, Neil Gaiman said that his first works sounded very much like the authors he admired until he found his unique voice.
Still, if you steal too blatantly, copy whole paragraphs verbatim, and sell the work of others as your own, you’ve crossed a line. If found out, you’ll rightfully suffer the consequences. A rising star in German politics once saw his career take a sudden nosedive when the public learned about his Ph.D. thesis being solely distinguished by the author’s liberal use of copy & paste.
Even if you get away with the theft, you won’t find the joy and satisfaction I experienced when writing my first novel. It’s like telling your wife you’ll go for a run when, instead, you stop at your favorite bar for a beer. No runner’s high for you.
Yet, generative artificial intelligence (GenAI) changes the ballgame. If you don’t know what’s possible today, I encourage you to try it. Go to your preferred cyber brain, like Gemini, MetaAI, or ChatGPT. All offer free versions to experiment with. For this essay, I used Gemini with the following prompt:
“Write a 500-word short story about a young boy dropping his ice cream in the style of William Shakespeare.”
You’ll find the output at the end of this essay. The result is astonishing. You can see the word choices and meter of Shakespearian poetry reflected in the work. The story has an arc, and the imagery is detailed.
What makes GenAI such a great temptation is that this exact text has never been written before. It’s unique. Every renewed execution with the same prompt will yield a different result. The machine accomplishes its “creative writing” by synthesizing bits and pieces from all available information. Most GenAI bots have the entire internet at their disposal. Their “intelligence” stands on the shoulders of giants—the aforementioned Shakespeare, as well as the awkward Facebook posts of your weird Uncle Bob.
When you look closer at the generated text, you’ll realize it sounds pleasant and polished. Yet, it lacks depth and soul (although I wonder how much soul can fit into a poem about dropped ice cream). The text sounds somewhat generic because the AI simply puts words together that often appear next to each other. It’s a game of probability. You might think the scriptwriters of the countless Marvel movies must have used this technology for decades. But that’s a different story.
I wouldn’t put my name under a work like this. It doesn’t reflect me—my thoughts, fears, experiences, and dreams. I could use it as a source of inspiration. But it remains the work of someone else—a technically skilled yet still(!) soulless robot.
So, have I used AI while writing my debut novel? Of course. Powerful spellcheckers like Grammarly and Hemmingway use AI to analyze and correct complex sentences. You might have realized that English isn’t my first language. I needed all the help to stop me from writing one–page-long sentences as Thomas Mann did. Still, I fought with the machine. I wanted some feel of my native German to bleed through into my manuscript.
In photo and video editing, AI is everywhere, adjusting the exposure, removing unwanted details, extending the canvas, and blending layers. I’ve enjoyed working with professionals on my book cover and the illustrations. Still, I utilized a lot of Photoshop with embedded AI to generate my initial visions and to alter or compose the works I received. Moreover, I love creating images of my protagonist with AI. I’ve spent considerable effort in creating profiles for all my characters. Having a visual representation helps me get into their heads. And it’s fun.
When wordsmithing, I often agonize about individual word choices, searching long and hard for the perfect phrase. Stephen King once wrote, “The road to hell is paved with adverbs.” Thesaurus and Web search have been my go-to places. Lately, however, I have switched to AI as it allows me to express my questions in natural human language. For example, I’ve asked Gemini, “Is there a Viking equivalent for the phrase ‘Beggars can’t be choosers’?”. Many AI chatbots allow you to interact with the responses. I can refine my questions, steer the conversation, and take inspiration. Yet, ultimately, it remains my responsibility to evaluate, judge, and incorporate the new information in my own words, matching my voice, mood, and intentions.
So, what’s my verdict? Is artificial intelligence, especially GenAI, heaven-sent, or is it the devil’s work? I find AI a valuable tool if appropriately applied. In my first book, I gave my character, Jarne, a fitting line about powerful spells: “It’s a tool, like a knife. You can slice bread or slit someone’s throat with a knife. The tool is neither good nor evil. You have to be careful how you use it.”
AI aids my creative process but doesn’t take anything away because of the way I use it. I write for fun. I have no intention of letting a machine take the joy and agony of wordsmithing from me.
Could someone else rely on AI exclusively to write many books and publish one full-length novel every month? Sadly, yes. With the lightning-fast technological advances, we will soon be unable to distinguish whether human synapses or Nvidia chips have generated a work of literature.
What it boils down to is which side we choose to act on. I won’t have AI write whole paragraphs or chapters for me. Not because I’m above immoral temptations. Instead, I see these easy wins as hollow victories. When I go for a run (or a Peloton ride, lately more often), and it is hard and long and miserable, what keeps me going is the satisfaction I’ll feel at the end. I have done it. I’ve pushed myself and achieved something worthwhile—like publishing my first full-length fantasy adventure novel.
The Tragedy of the Sundae
by Gemini GenAI
(Prompt: Write a 500-word short story about a young boy dropping his ice cream in the style of William Shakespeare)
A summer’s day, when skies were painted blue,
And golden sunbeams danced on emerald hue,
Young Horatio, a lad of tender years,
Did wander forth, with joy that banished fears.
In hand, he bore a treasure, sweet and cold,
A sundae grand, with flavors yet untold.
With every step, a moment of delight,
As he would savor this delicious sight.
His eyes, two stars in heavens earthly bright,
Were fixed upon the treat, a wondrous sight.
With eager haste, he journeyed down the street,
His heart, a drumbeat, with a rhythm fleet.
But fate, unkind, a cruel twist did play,
As stumbling foot did block his onward way.
A treacherous curb, a villainous incline,
Did cause his sundae to decline.
With mournful cry, he watched in sheer despair,
As creamy goodness met the pavement bare.
His world was shattered, hopes and dreams did flee,
A tragedy of ice cream, for all to see.
The sundae, once a paragon of taste,
Now lay in ruin, a desolate waste.
No longer crowned with cherries, sweet and red,
But smeared and sunken, where its lifeblood fled.
Young Horatio, with tears that did cascade,
Upon the wreckage of his joy dismayed,
Did kneel and weep, in sorrow’s mournful strain,
His heart, a tempest, racked with bitter pain.
Oh, cruelest fortune, why this bitter blow?
To snatch away such sweetness, overthrow
A moment’s pleasure, leaving naught but grief,
A sundae’s ending, offering no relief.
© 2025 Axel Martens All rights reserved.
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