Chapter 1: The Age of Automation

In today's world, we find ourselves surrounded by automation—be it self-driving cars, automated social media feeds, checkout systems, or targeted advertisements. This era of convenience has made us increasingly complacent, and I must admit that I, too, am complicit.

Isn't AI the foundation of our technological progress? We are awed by its rapid evolution and gaze at the stars, imagining machines carrying us into the vast unknown. However, a pressing question arises: should AI encroach upon the realm of art? We often prioritize the "how" over the "should," a dangerous mindset famously noted by J. Robert Oppenheimer, the "father of the atomic bomb." Upon witnessing the bomb's detonation, he reflected, "Now I have become Death, the destroyer of worlds."

Consider this: have you ever felt the burden of countless lives lost on your conscience? With our painful histories haunting us, we must tread carefully in our technological pursuits. Yet, it seems our moral compass is still in its infancy compared to our machines.

Janelle Shane's TED Talk illustrates the quirky nature of AI as it attempts to invent new ice cream flavors with amusing results. Just imagine the unconventional flavors it concocts! You can explore these unique creations in her talk.

Likewise, when tasked with navigating from point A to point B, AI's methods can be bewildering. It becomes clear that even with clear instructions, predicting technological outcomes remains a challenge.

We turn to Grammarly, hoping it will enhance our writing. It seems straightforward, right? But do we truly achieve our intended goals?

Chapter 2: The Question of Machine Art

Are we witnessing the emergence of machine-generated art? Am I simply a disgruntled artist, akin to factory workers replaced by machines, lamenting my fate?

In my humble view, language is the most adaptable medium we possess. This malleability explains why in the biblical Genesis, it is the Word that shapes creation. Language, devoid of time and space, can be molded like clay, allowing us to conjure unique worlds and ideas from our imagination.

Historically, attempts to control language have been authoritarian. If individuals lack the vocabulary to articulate their oppression, they may never recognize their mistreatment. I don't mean to suggest that Grammarly is a tool for tyranny, but I do highlight the risks associated with controlling language and, consequently, our thoughts.

Take a look at this list of "inclusive language" that Grammarly seeks to enforce. Embedded within this software is a political ideology, one that many users may be oblivious to.

I received a premium Grammarly account through my student loan in the UK, initially thinking of it as a glorified spell-checker. However, over time, its constant corrections became a source of irritation, distracting me from my work. I began to question whether I should modify my writing to avoid offending anyone. In a space where creativity should flourish, fear should not dominate. We ought to think boldly so our ideas can thrive.

The conflicts I've encountered with this program are numerous. It insists on a specific point of view and tone while discouraging anything that might offend. Who, then, is truly writing? A nameless programmer in San Francisco? The lack of neutrality in this tool is glaring.

Creativity thrives on originality, yet how can one be truly original when constrained by a rigid ideological framework? Grammarly often feels like a parody of intelligence, merely replicating the creator's intent without the capacity to evolve like the living organism that is language.

Free speech is enshrined in our constitution because it is closely linked to our thoughts. Most individuals think in words, so manipulating language can be more dangerous than we realize. While Grammarly seems helpful, particularly for minor grammatical errors, it becomes insidious when it attempts to dictate our tone. There is no single correct tone; context matters, and AI lacks the ability to perceive these nuances.

My concerns primarily lie within the realm of fiction, though I would advise caution when using such programs. When has convenience ever come without sacrifice? Beyond the tangible costs, there are subtle damages that often go unnoticed. I suspected Grammarly was problematic, but I gained greater clarity when I began writing longhand in my morning pages.

Using a pen, I quickly recognized my spelling had deteriorated. As a millennial, I've always relied on autocorrect, much like someone who uses a calculator for math. I realized I hadn't exercised my memory for spelling words I should know. When crafting a document, I often type rapidly, correcting minor errors without truly understanding where I went awry.

Over time, my disdain for this technology has grown. Looking back at my earlier writing, I can see a clear impact this AI has had on my skills. I shudder to think how much my spelling has suffered—I simply click the red underline without engaging my memory.

Don't misunderstand me; Grammarly has its merits. It can be beneficial for academic papers and finalizing documents before sending them off. But when it comes to art—our essence as humans—can a machine truly create?

Consider this: if I write a poem that uses more words than necessary, Grammarly flags it for tautology with its annoying red underline. Yet, such verbosity has been employed by literary giants like Shakespeare, Woolf, and Plath. Circumlocution is a recognized literary device, and the economy of language is not superior to the creative choices we make. AI overlooks the emotional depth and intent behind our words, making assumptions that are yet to be universally acknowledged. Who decided that the most concise sentence is always the best way to express oneself in poetry?

Prose should be left to the writer, and poetry must resist the constraints of an editor. Remember when you learned to ride a bike with training wheels? If you never removed them, how would you ever develop your skills?

Moreover, who decided it was wise to edit as you write? I often adopt a "throw it all on the page" approach, allowing my thoughts to flow freely before refining them. Introducing an editor into this process is akin to a parent hovering over a child's play; it stifles creativity and imposes rigidity.

I reiterate: AI has no place in the arts. The essence of creativity is intrinsically human. Every simile, metaphor, and carefully crafted phrase reflects our souls, experiences, and individuality. A sailor uses nautical terms; a doctor references anatomy. My point is clear: I don't want a machine dictating what constitutes "effective language." I crave my imperfect, unique expressions.

Language is a living entity that evolves just like any biological organism. Imposing arbitrary constraints only serves to mechanize our art.

Machines are remarkable in their capabilities; our smartphones grant us access to unimaginable information. However, the potential for surveillance and the power to manipulate information raises concerns. Just because we can do something doesn't mean we should.

I might be exaggerating when I compare Grammarly to nuclear weapons, but hyperbole is a literary device I enjoy using.

And for goodness' sake, stop suggesting "better" synonyms, robot. If you're drafting a novel or poem, do yourself a favor and turn off the editor. I want to see vibrancy, volatility, and unconventional sentences that linger in my mind long after reading.

If you're an artist, try writing without training wheels for a change. You might discover the exhilarating freedom that comes with it.