Preemptive Retaliation

I am approximately halfway through draft three of Francine is a Robot, and I’ve hit one of those difficult chapters that I had a lot of trouble writing the first/second time round. There’s two versions of it in my folder – one where I gave up about a third of the way through, and one where I rewrote the whole thing and eventually came to a conclusion. I think between the two versions I took about four months to write this one chapter, which is ridiculous since I’ve been working on draft two and three for over a fucking year now.

There’s no need for me to get snippy with myself about how long it’s taking, because writing takes as long as it takes, and it’s not as if I’m in a rush. I’m no longer the hot new thing, the literary genius, I’m just a regular guy writing a regular novel. But, even then, I’m gripped with such an urgency. I should have finished this by now. I’ve spent too long on it. I’ve spent so long on it that I’ve overcooked it. I’ve burnt it. It’s now inedible, unidentifiable as food.

I’m distracting myself because I should be working on my problem chapter. Here is why it is a problem chapter;

• It is very philosophical. Most of it is dialogue discussing the idea of art and artificial intelligence, pulling apart someone’s work.
• It is both preachy and frustratingly neutral.
• Nothing really happens. There’s a plot that trudges forward, but the only thing that happens is that Francine has a bit of argument that goes nowhere, and then moves onto the next thing.
• It’s trying to say something, and I don’t know if I agree with what it’s saying.

I think the second-to-last point is the problem that I’m going to have to deal with, though the last point is a sticking point for the whole novel. When I’ve been writing this and discussing it with peers, there has been this through line of discovery – when writing this book I will discover what I feel. I will develop thoughts and a stance. And, in this case, I don’t know how much of that is true. My stance has become more and more vague with the idea of AI generation.

It feels like an inevitability, and not in a resigned way. It’s a tool, and if humans are good at anything it’s using tools. Rallying against AI is like rallying against people using computers to type quicker, or electronic instruments to create new sounds, or digital tablets to paint. Or maybe not. There’s not an equivalent because there’s never been an equivalent before. But it’s here. It’s here, and if we don’t adapt to it, if we don’t accept it, then it’ll just get bigger and bigger.

I have a whole notebook talking about my feelings on this. I big green Moleskine notebook where I planned this novel, and where I pontificate on it a lot. I go back and forth. I should be against AI. But, I can’t. Just because someone chose a different tool to create with doesn’t give me the right to say they shouldn’t create. Even if what they create is shit.

Anyway, I rubber ducked myself into a solution three paragraphs ago. The problem with this chapter is that nothing happens in it. It should be the beginning of a breaking point for the titular Francine. It should be when she starts destroying the things around her, where she believes her own lie so much that she puts it all on red when she’s not even playing roulette. Instead it’s a friendly argument, where no one has their feelings hurt, because I honestly find that difficult to do with my characters. I find it difficult to hurt them in big and open ways. I much prefer the smaller, inner hurts.

But that’s what I need to do. This chapter needs to have something happen. I need to make something happen.