The Terrible Temptation

Last year, I reunited with my dad and his wife after 15 years of estrangement. In their efforts at small talk, they inquired after the things I used to love. “Are you still reading a ton? Painting? Drawing? Playing your flute?” “No,” I said, lamely. And it’s haunted me since.

I’m almost 37. I think that most parents of young kids who work have trouble keeping up on their hobbies, but to be honest, I’d let them fall by the wayside years before Sally came along. My new hobbies are scrolling, drinking, and cleaning. I’m getting really good at all three.

I have no doubt that I could pick these hobbies back up and they would still hold a lot of interest for me, but the brain synapses have long gone cold, and I’ll be starting from the awkward rusty place of a beginner once again.

Which brings me to why I’m here. Copywriting, my professional specialty and general passion, is in danger of being overtaken by AI. This is an external problem. But even before that potentially happens, there is an even scarier risk of AI taking over my writing career internally. Let me backtrack.

Writing has never come easily to me, despite my lifelong impulse to do it and a copywriting career spanning 18 years. I remember meeting Jack, another intern at Portland Monthly, and being astounded when he told me he’d finished an entire article, from conception to delivery, within our 3-hour shift.

For me, writing is more tortured. Some satisfying observation or half a sentence will spill out with the rest and immediately feel special and shiny, but the rest of the copy is crude and requires refinement on a second, third, fourth, seventh, twentieth pass. And that’s after I finally get started.

My point is, I may be working with years of experience behind me, but my tools still feel crude. Like I’m using a channel knife to carve an entire log.

How wickedly tempting it is, then, to live in this moment of AI. We’re early enough in the adoption that I can use it sneakily, subtlely, as a partial rough draft and no one’s the wiser. Why in the world would I decide to summit a mountain by starting at the bottom when I can get a lift to the middle? There’s still plenty of skill and effort involved getting to the top, but I get to skip the drudgery of beginning, setting a pace, finding the path…which turns out to be the hardest part.

And guess what? I am. I’m using it in particular for those clients that don’t really inspire me. My edit is heavy and it’s full of original copy, but the influence of AI’s first draft is undeniable.

How long before the threat of an upcoming deadline or the importance of the result drives me to outsource my writing on a project I’m actually excited about? What if those problem-solving writing muscles atrophy, the same way my fingers forgot the proper way to plug my open-hole flute?

I created a Blog page when I made this professional website years ago, but I haven’t populated it until today. I’m trusting no one will read it, and if you know me and are reading this, please don’t tell me. This is my writing brain’s physical therapy, reps of 3 once or twice a week, and hopefully it’s enough to stave off the brain rot.